Stormwind is the centre of the world
S1. E6. (World of Warcraft)
A great city feels like the centre of the world.
When you walk into Stormwind the first thing you see is the Valley of Heroes. Even though it’s all man made, it’s as impressive as any natural valley. Great statues 30 feet high provide chiselled faces to names that you have heard from stories. Neat bricks placed in tidy mortar. Washed and white. A stark contrast to the healthy dirt of Elwynn Forest that lays behind you. The smooth stone buffs your boots as you walk through gates and walls so thick they feel like tunnels.
The fortifications are ready for an invasion at any time. So when it's quiet, it’s like a sheathed sword. The moat on either side of your path lays still, but you know there is blood in that water. Places this important were never earned easily.
As you enter the market the sounds of the city takeover. The shops are stacked on top of each other like unread papers. The heavy crowd forces you to think about how your body moves through the people. Look for shortcuts and openings in the streets ahead of you. Down the alleys and lanes you catch the ends of shady conversations. Something untoward is happening in the shadows, but the shopfronts aren't safe either. When you make a deal with them, they will shake your hand and take your watch.
The cobblestones criss-cross in front of you, which, among the chaos, is disorientating. Escape into one of the many squares. It's a wonder there are so many buildings. After all there are no quarries in Elwynn. Azeroth sent all of its best stones. Collected from hundreds of regions over nearly as many years. The sheer amount of mass is the result of one huge heave of humanity’s efforts.
Beyond the market the canals parcel up the rest of the town. The water is dirty, no city's waterways are truly clean, but dirty in an honest way, with sweat and sawdust. It’s a mix of what comes out of the denizens’ collected efforts. The grease that runs off the Dwarven District. The Old Town, hammered together like a scow, leaking blood and booze. The runoff of the experimental potions brewed in the mysterious Mage Quarter. Even among the marvels of masonry, the mages of the Kirin Tor find magical new ways to build with bricks.
The Park does its best to provide a salve, a burst of green that all your senses savour. It’s different from the collections of noise and grit in the rest of the city. There is physical and mental space to think. There are shadows cast by trees, where you can sit in the shade from the sun and listen to birds sing. There are long benches with even longer silences, broken only by the sound of solitary pages turning.
But Stormwind is a temple to engineering too. Heavy stone bridges that arch proudly over the canals. Large clock towers that tick along and keep commerce churning. The tram that runs from here to Ironforge, taking thousands of people a day in a manner that seems magical. Unachievable through nuts and bolts and gears and tubes alone. The complicated jigsaw of engineering that demands respect.
But there is one place that is visible everywhere you look. The Cathedral of Light. The centre of civilization. All eyes open to this temple of humanity during the day, and at night, you can hear the prayers sent in its direction. The spire, nave and chancel rise like a fist into the sky. It is so calm inside the church that you can’t imagine a hammer hitting the base of its foundations, nor a chisel filing away the edges. It must have been found as it sits. Created by divine providence.
The stained glass casts a judgemental kaleidoscope on the blue carpet, which has a permanent smell from the incense absorbed over the years. It’s a place that insists on quiet. There is an expectation of reverence. As a result even non-believers can’t help but worship at its altar.
They say that a great house requires wisdom to build, understanding to establish, and then knowledge to fill it with treasures. If Stormwind is the great seat of a great house, where are its treasures?
In the keep, with the King. This is clear once you make your way out of the main thoroughfares and into the marble corridors of power. There’s no loud noises here. The sound of power is, it turns out, the sound of time passing without event. The drip of wax onto bronze plates, the steps of the guards and the whispers of advisors into royal ears, perked up.
But if you need a reminder that you’re at the centre of the world, make your way back to the Trade District. To the fountain by the square near the entrance to town. Stand there and let the crowds wash over you. Get draped in semaphore flags signalling new events. Let the chatter become white noise in your ears.
Yes, you’re a cog in a bigger machine, but you're an important part of this great city too.
This is essay six in a set of six travel essays about World of Warcraft and Azeroth. To read the rest click here. For information on future seasons and games click here.