Midnight Salt & Healing: A Discipline Priest’s Diary
Midnight Salt & Healing: A Discipline Priest’s Diary
I returned from Quel’Danas feeling almost holy again. The Sunwell’s glow still lingered on my skin, my thoughts quieter than they’d been in ages, my spirit actually centered for once. Golden light, gentle waves, and not a single idiot dying…
I let the others talk me into it after a string of decent battlegrounds. “Just one drink,” they said. “Unwind a little.” And for once I didn’t overthink it. I went. The tavern in Silvermoon was warm and loud in…
I stepped through the gate to my house expecting peace. A little Sunwell glow still clinging to my robes, my head clearer than it had been in weeks, ready to water the plants and maybe even finish one of those…
I’ve been running on empty for too long. Between the endless queues, the overthinking, the gear grind, and everything else that keeps my mind spinning when the lanterns go out, I need this. A quiet weekend retreat near the Sunwell…
I finally forced myself to clean out the bank today. The bags were bursting, the vault groaning under the weight of too many “just in case” pieces, and I knew it was time. But I didn’t expect it to feel…
I needed a break from the battlegrounds. The constant chaos, the random teams falling apart, the overthinking every cooldown while trying not to get farmed… it was wearing on me more than usual. So I stepped away from the queues…
I finally hit what should have felt like victory. Full 246 gear, (minus one stubborn 239 piece that still mocks me from the corner of my bags). Ok so mostly fully gear. The set glows nicely under Silvermoon’s lanterns, runes…
The queue dropped me straight into Arathi Basin and I actually grinned. It’s one of my favorites. We were all milling around the Horde side before the gates opened, grabbing whatever the mages and warlocks had dropped on the refreshment…
I have made many terrible decisions in my life. The ball incident. The fucked up helm. That one forbidden night with a certain human warrior whose name I refuse to scratch onto these pages again. But this one might take…
I knew I was in for it the second I opened the mailbox and saw Abeke’s handwriting looking even more aggressive than usual. The parchment was practically crumpled from how hard she must have gripped it while writing, and the…