It’s once again the time of the Spirit Festival. Pandaria is aglow with sparkling, warm-hued lanterns; they’re strung around trees like luminous spiderwebs, their fires shining down upon the merriment below. Ale is bubbling over the rims of rough-hewn mugs. Pandaren are bouncing and jumping around tables to the rhythm of drums and kazoos. Temples shrouded in history rest on hilltops overlooking the ceremonies, their halls and idols festooned with a kaleidoscopic display of garlands and ribbons. The aroma of steamed buns and roasted meats swirls into the air on clouds of salt and garlic.

Chen Stormstout is languidly sipping tea next to a bonfire with his niece, Li Li. Both of them are reciting stories of old. He rhapsodizes about Liu Lang, who traveled the world. He solemnly recounts the battles that plagued the lands during Garrosh Hellscream’s quest of violence. Li Li chirps in with stories of Pandaria’s eccentric inhabitants and their escapades to lighten the mood. She also, quite frequently, goes off on babbling tangents to add nonsensical additions to Chen’s stories, much to his dismay.

The stories continue late into the night, painting scenes in the revelers’ minds of terror, laughter, and melancholy. Everyone in attendance—visitors from all of Azeroth and beyond—listen on with reverence, knowing what awaits on the horizon…