Imbrey crouched down in hiding, sheltered from overhead surveillance by a massive, pink-leafed tree. Her geist squatted down beside her, using one long, crooked finger to poke through the dirt. Occasionally a wet, gurgly sound would escape its mouth hole, or whatever it had under there. Imbrey didn't really care to look. "Bonethumper."
"Toooothgrinder, masssster," it hissed. With that, it proceeded to make a disturbing grinding noise, then spit out a chunk of something white.
"Okay, gross. Stop that. Now pay attention." Imbrey pointed at the floating island city of Dalaran. "Remember that time I had you--or one of your forms-- sneak into Gheldrin's quarters to steal his clothes so he'd have to slink around naked to find them?"
"Massster playsss ssstrange gamess," the geist noted.
Shopping for female Elves was, quite possibly, one of the most difficult events a man could face. Especially when it was shopping for a nice gift to aid and accompany apology.
The first question that you always had to ask was "is this thoughtful enough", the answer was usually a resounding "no" followed by an incredible amount of over-thinking. If you could get past that, the second was always "am I going to look like I'm kissing ass," which always seemed to be a resounding "yes", inevitably starting the process back over again. The "will she like it"s and buyers regret came much later.
I had found a sort of peace, it consisting of a rotted out bar in the Undercity and a main line of whiskey. But peace for me is never something that lasts for long and at the sound of my name, I didn’t even have to turn to know who stood behind me. Iloam.