This feeling of malaise still clings to me.
I spent the day drifting around, doing nothing in particular, and failing at that. With no direction to go but up, I found myself prowling around Westfall again. The endless fields of grain mocked me. All of Westfall feels the same. Dull. Empty, save for the hordes of adventurers all fighting for the same jobs.
Amiranda, a warrior from my guild, offered to guide me to a fellow selling a particular brew; one that a tavernkeeper out in Lakeshire wanted me to pick up some time ago. So that, at least, I got done. Then she pointed me at a lighthouse where, she said, I’d find work, and with one last warning of a huge murloc that roams the area, she went about her business.
So I swim out to this lighthouse and, heaven forbid, the shades of Darkshore have followed me! Truth, the lighthouse keeper is a spirit. A ship’s captain who drowned in these parts some time ago. He assures me he means me no harm, and I find that I believe him. What a world this is…that I’m now having perfectly civil conversations with the dead.
Anyway, it turns out that, finally, there was solid work to be had. The now-dark lighthouse needs oil to rekindle its flame and the ghost captain sends me in search of. The goblins use oil in those harvest golems, so once again its time to dissassemble those contraptions. Easy enough if I can but find them…