I woke in the cozy jumble of the Lakeshire Inn with the sun insistently at the window and a head full of new plans. The morning smell of stew and hearth sent me back out to the hills, and by noon I had fashioned a fishing pole from copper and stubborn optimism — first proper craft, and it felt damned satisfying. As a hunter I’m more used to tracking footprints than bobbers, but learning to fish and to read a fishing journal opened a different kind of patience. I even picked up a handful of fishing techniques for lands I’ve yet to see; the waters of other worlds feel closer now, even if I’ve only practiced on Lake Everstill.
I took on Nida’s Necklace, plumbed the lake, and returned her trinket with a grin — a small kindness, but it steadied me. The town’s bounty on murlocs kept my arrow arm busy and earned a bit of coin; the gnoll troubles around Redridge simmer in the back of every conversation. I tuned up my talents, hoisted a new level — I reached level 18 today, and I marked it with a satisfied whoop that felt right in my chest. Before the light faded I answered the call to Redridge and set out with orders to scout gnoll camps and a gnomecorder humming with promises. The road ahead smells of dust, teeth, and opportunity, and I’m ready.