thunder in our hearts
Dark and stormy nights on the Isle of Thunder then, and in Dalaran now. Aethas seeks refuge.
A brief trip to the past, then back to the now, because I miss the boys.
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The weather on the Isle of Thunder is, surprise surprise, absolute shit.
It’s never not raining, and if it comes down vertically, Aethas counts that as a decent day. It more often than not persists in coming down at an angle that on the really bad days borders on horizontal, and if he could, he would leave this Light forsaken rock behind and never look back.
“You are not expected to join us for this part, Archmage.”
Aethas hasn’t been able to figure out yet if it had been intended as a door closed in his face, or as a kind sentiment borne of pity, but either way he had bulled his way past it, insisting on coming. Just as he insists on staying.