Fire always brought warmth.
In this wretched place full of dangers, having a little cottage to shelter from the wind and rain, a blazing fireplace, and a cup of hot tea was simply the greatest happiness.
Now I had all three, and I felt I ought to be happy.
Even though none of it belonged to me.
"Ahem... You rarely see strangers these days, in this wretched place."
The old man sitting across from me smiled as he topped up my tea. The gesture warmed my heart a little, especially after such a long time alone. That sort of care between people was impossible to refuse.
The old man was talkative, too. I could tell he might once have been someone truly important; his bearing alone showed that. An ordinary old man would never have let an armed rogue walk into his cottage.
Given his friendly attitude, I decided to hear his story out.
Every old person had an endless supply of stories. You and I both knew that.
So I answered,
"Yes, the Eastern Plaguelands aren't a good place to live in seclusion. Sir, why don't you go to the Arathi Highlands or the Hillsbrad Foothills? There are still human settlements there. Someone like you should live there. This place is too dangerous for you."
"Dangerous? No, it isn't dangerous here!"
The old man glanced at me with a smile and pointed to the weapon he had left in the corner. I followed his finger with my eyes. Well, well-there was actually a warhammer tucked between the shovel and the pickaxe.
It wasn't some shoddy thing made of stone, either. It was a real steel warhammer. Judging by the patterns, it was probably a standard-issue military warhammer produced when the Kingdom of Lordaeron still existed. The kingdom's emblem was