The Old Gnome and the Sea

Dear Grandmother,

I've caught five hundred fish.

I know. I can hear you from here. "Five hundred fish and not one of them taught you patience." But hear me out. Five hundred is a lot of fish. That's more fish than most people see in a lifetime. I've fished in Pandaria, where the streams taste like jade and the fish practically jump into your hands. I've fished in Northrend, where the water freezes around the line and you have to thaw it with your hands. I've fished in a Horde capital while trying not to get killed, but that's a separate story and I'll tell you about it when you're sitting down.

I told the man next to me on the Stormwind canal that I'd caught so many fish I was running out of things to say to them. He asked what I usually say. I told him I just tell them they've been reeled in by the best. He moved to a different spot on the bridge.

The fishermen along the Stormwind canals have started calling me The Old Gnome and the Sea. I'm not old. I'm not a gnome. And I wasn't at sea for most of them. But apparently if you fish in the same spot long enough, humans give you a nickname whether you want one or not. They do it out of respect, I think? Or possibly concern. One of them asked if I was alright. I told him I was just waiting for the fish to apologise for taking so long. He stopped asking after that.

You'd hate it here, grandmother. Too many places. Too much noise. Not enough tea.

Actually, you'd love the tea. The Pandaren here brew it differently than you do, thicker, sweeter, with jasmine that makes the whole room smell like spring came early. I found a stall in the Shrine that does it right. I sit there sometimes and close my eyes and for a second it smells like home. Don't tell them I said their tea is almost as good as yours. I have a reputation to maintain. And by reputation I mean they haven't kicked me out yet.

I've been cooking too. The Alliance folk are calling me a Pandaren Gourmet, which I think means "the Pandaren who keeps setting things on fire in the kitchen but the food turns out alright." I've learned recipes from every continent, grandmother. Fish from Northrend that I had to defrost with a totem first. Noodles from the Valley of the Four Winds that would make you weep. Something involving fire and spices from the Burning Steppes that I'm fairly sure violated several natural laws and at least one treaty.

You would have been proud of the noodles. Disappointed in the fire spices. We both know it. I'll send you the recipe anyway because I know you'll try it and then write back pretending you didn't.

I made friends. A warlock who runs the guild and is already thinking about dinner before the fight is finished. A monk who stands between danger and everyone he cares about, every time, without being asked. And a handful of others I'll tell you about in their own letters, because each one deserves the page they take up.

They're good people, grandmother. You'd like them.

---

The totems still work. I plant them in the broken places and stay until the spirits stop screaming. You taught me that. "Listen until they're done," you said. "Then listen some more." I've been listening all the way across Azeroth and the spirits are never done. But they're quieter when someone stays.

I reached the Black Temple last week. I wish I could tell you about it without your tea going cold from worry. I'll just say: everyone walked out alive. Everyone always walks out alive when I'm there. That's the promise I made the night of the Obsidian Sanctum and I haven't broken it yet.

The storm is still who I became. The water is still who I've always been.

I miss your cooking. I miss the sound of rain against the jade leaves. I miss the way you pretend my puns aren't funny when we both know they are.

Speaking of which.

I went fishing the other day and caught a fish that was absolutely enormous. Just massive. I held it up and said to Callisaw, "This is off the scale."

He walked away.

They always walk away, grandmother. But they always come back.

Just like me.

With love and terrible puns,

— Mist

P.S. I set a healing totem on fire again. Only a little. I'm blaming the fire elemental.