Told by Percy Spamchop · 13th October 2026
I keep a ledger out of old habit, not because anyone told me to, and I am using it loosely here — not column by column, only as a shape to hang a few things on.
He kept a ledger once, in Southshore, for a fish-trading family that did not care to hear what his columns actually showed, and said so plainly. He does not remember their name, nor the evening Lordaeron fell on all of them together. What is left of it is only the habit, outliving the hand that learned it, and a stablemaster’s face that no longer knew his own.
Nobody at Deathknell asked whether I wanted the Dark Lady’s unwavering loyalty. I gave it anyway, and have not yet decided whether that is the same thing I once gave a fish-trading family for considerably less reason.
Apothecary Renferrel‘s letter to The Sepulcher once put a tower on my horizon that I have still not gone back for. It remains a name on a map, nothing more. Dalar Dawnweaver‘s chain against Arugal’s Folly has run me through Silverpine Forest five times over, with Mezzlos wading in ahead of me at Fenris Isle without once asking why. Pyrewood Village kept me a night longer than either errand needed, for reasons the ledger does not ask after.
Shadow Priest Allister had me counting Dalaran robes at Ambermill yesterday afternoon — watchers, wizards, a pendant recovered. One kill wanted a second look: a thing no taller than my belt buckle, dead and still laughing at something I never heard. I have decided it was a gnome, on no better evidence than its size, since Dalaran keeps gnomes among its mages as readily as anyone. I minded the humans in that tally. I did not mind that one at all, and I am not going to pretend otherwise for the sake of a tidier page.
Player’s caption: dead gnome good gnome
This morning, before any of that, I went to Gallows’ End Tavern in Tirisfal Glades for something that was not, strictly, an errand. Eleanor Shackleton keeps two lessons there for any Forsaken who wants them — Camping 101: First Aid and Camping 101: Fishing — and I asked for the second without working out why. Her hands are ruined the way a lifetime of net and line ruins a pair of hands, living or dead. She did not ask me what a warlock wanted with it. She only showed me the cast, corrected my wrist once, and let the rest go unremarked.
“Same time tomorrow, if you like,” she said, over the net, not looking up.
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Last updated 13th October 2026, 18:36