Sea Songs and More

Couple days ago we attacked some of the Dwarf territories. Felt good to be working as a group, seeing everyone fighting at once. Not sure if Aysera was too pleased with it all, but she didn’t say nothing to me about it. I can get why some folks don’t like the fighting; more’n more I get the feeling that even I’m a shade less violent than some of the Guard. Or that I ain’t got the taste for it in the same way.

At the meetin’ after, back in Silvermoon, Sophiel sung us a couple’ve songs. The one that sticks in my head the most was ’bout the sea. I ain’t got any special attraction to the sea, but ain’t it true that all songs ’bout the sea are really ’bout something else anyway? For a sailor lust for the sea is the same as  a greedy person’s lust for money, or the lust of power for those that gotta mind towards it.

What’s my sea then? Some people’re easy to figure out: glory, fame, means. I sure won’t say that none of those ‘ppeal to me, but they ain’t what drives me. So what does? What’s the thing that I could spenda lifetime chasin’ knowing hopelessly that I ain’t ever gonna catch it?

Dunno. Don’t wanna try to find out anytime soon, neither. Questions like that just stir up hurtin’, and what I learned ’bout my past is still too damned fresh in mind. Probably ain’t much difference in running from it than running towards it anyway. I’m no philosopher, but something in me says that those’re just two roads leading to the same clearin’ at the end of the day anyway.

Zaliron got into a bit’ve trouble with the Silverlord, which I’m hoping blows over smooth ’nuff. I know it reflects back on me, and I guess that don’t sit too well with me. I don’t get mad with Zaliron for it, but it makes me angry at myself. I shouldn’t be so ‘fraid of what the rest’ve the Guard will think’ve us. I mean, it’s a poorly kept secret how we’ve been spending our evenings (and afternoons, and some mornings…), and no one’s made a fuss’ve it yet, so why do I feel guilty ’bout it?

Guilty conscience, maybe. And I guess that I can’t help but feel like I’ll be pitied, or some such. I remember full well how Kaste asked if Zaliron had poisoned me, the night of the party. S’funny maybe a few times, but you don’t live s’long as I have, the way I have, by being unobservant. People’ll think that I’m in line for gettin’ a broken heart (or some broken bones, ‘ccording to what Ysabelle said, heh). Act like I’m a poor little thing, like an animal that’s too dumbstruck to know it’s about to get clubbed in the head and served for dinner.

S’hard not to be bitter, ’specially because I don’t think Aysera approves. Least she ain’t treating me like something to be pitied. I confide in her more’n anyone else, and it stings to know that she ain’t happy with it. Can’t out and blame her for it, though.

Things’re better.

Things are better.

Of course, they were worse ‘fore they did get better, but there ain’t nothing new about that, is there?

I went and saw Aysera the day after the party. Can’t say the timin’ was probably the best, being mixed up as I was, but I don’t think I’d've been able to force myself to do it if I hadn’t been feelin’ pretty damn low already. The more time I had to think about Zaliron, the more’n I felt like I’d been a fool.

What’d the Silverlord tell me? Something like, “Even a fool can love more than he’s worth”, right? That ate me up something fierce. ‘Course Zaliron don’t love me or anything like that, but the more I stepped back, the more I saw that he believed what he said to me–the stuff about wanting to prove himself, that he did care for me.

That kind of power… ain’t nothing I’ve asked for. Tore a hole in me that I wasn’t expecting. I carried that on my shoulders when I went to see Aysera, and I’m sure I looked like I’d walked ‘cross the world and back. I let myself into her house which I shouldn’t've done, but I wasn’t thinking all too clearly.

I think what I saw about my past might’ve broken something in me. When I was younger, and I’m not exactly all that old in my nineties anyway, after the Sunwell exploded, I went lookin’ for my mother. I found a bad man on the way, and… well I hurt him, and then killed him. The killing isn’t anything new, but I can’t get the memory out’ve my head now. The hate that I felt was so strong that even now I can taste it, all metallic, like blood in my mouth.

The worst part is… it felt strong. I feel like part’ve me is crumbling, knowing that I ain’t a good person. I never thought I was, ya know, a saint or anything: but I’ve never really liked the idea of causing anything else pain. If I’ve liked fighting or even killing, that’s cause’ve the speed and the rush–not because I wanna cause any suffering.

That hate though, that desire to reach out and hurt someone that would’ve liked to hurt me, or someone I cared about? That’s got something innit that calls to me, and I think that frightens me a bit. I know what hate does, what festerin’ anger does–I’ve seen too damn many of my kind fall to it in the dark hours after the destruction of the Sunwell. It’ll rot you out and leave nothing behind.

The next day the Silverguard held a meeting, and after the Silverlord warned us to be detached, I was offered promotion to the rank of Guardian. I declined, though I felt stupid and ’shamed for it. But I ain’t no liar, and it would’ve been a lie to act like I was ready to be detached. Took all I had to keep from running away, hiding somewhere, though Lady Kar’lei told me that she didn’t think any less’ve me.

Afterwards Zaliron met me in the Inn–where I had planned on drinking myself dumb. He– I–

Well, we’re together now. That night I got better sleep than I think I’ve gotten in months. Even now part’ve me feels guilty. If I was a good person, how could I’ve slept under a roof that houses that machine? But I did (and more), and I would again. Will again.

I woke up early that first morning, and had nearly half my armor back on ‘fore I could get control over the panic that was all screaming in my bones. I was terrified–knowing where I was, who I had been with, what it might mean…

Then I looked over my shoulder, at Zaliron still sleeping (looking a fair deal less haughty and proud). Was the feeling like getting up your nerve to do something, only to have something go and dissolve the will in you. All quiet I took my armor back off and slipped back between his sheets. It was warmer than his big room and his big house, and I think I was sleepin’ again in the next minute. Maybe he was right about laying down responsibility for a bit. Maybe you can close your eyes to it.

Can’t tell for sure, but I’m wondering if this is what it feels like to be damned.

A Formal Party

Mazikeen sat in a corner of her room in the Silverguard Halls. The Rogue didn’t keep a home of her own, though her mother’s old house (much of it repaired by those who had fond memories and old debts to the healer) was officially under her care. This was how she liked it–permanent homes frightened her a bit: if the need should arise, she liked the idea that she could get up and walk out of a place and not be leaving anything valuable behind.

Now however, those weren’t the foremost things on her mind. The door to the room was locked, and she was curled up in the corner furthest away from it. Any furniture that was orginally there had been pushed out of the way. It would be hard to see her, having made her body so small–but it wasn’t for show, or because she expected any kind of intrusion. Her body language mirriored how she felt: little and confused, backed into a tight space. Her journal was resting against her propped up knees, and beside her, resting on the floor, was a rose that had mostly dried now, after being pressed between the pages of the large leather-bound book.

In one hand she held the quill she was writing with, and in the other a well-crafted, brightly shimmering necklace.

Damn it.

Just, damn.

The formal party was tonight. Generally I’m not one to get well, overly excited ’bout parties. And for good reason, so it seems. I just… just wanted a good night. A happy night. Lisette even convinced me that I should go in a dress, and I did!

Started off well ’nuff. ‘Parently Achates even had a date, which was heart-warming in it’s own way. Zaliron made a scene of that, must’ve laid his pride low. Then he made a scene outta Miralan’s formal attire (though I s’pose it’s kinda hard t’blame him for that–was a bit shocking). Few minutes later he asked me to dance.

I probably should’ve said no, and been blunt ’bout it. Truth is though, much’s I tease Zaliron (gods know I ain’t the only one, or the worst one) there’s a part’ve me that’s curious. Maybe just curious ’cause of how much everyone else seems t’dislike him, maybe curious ’cause for all’ve how he treats Achates and dresses like a king, he’s a fool around women. Instead… ’stead I drew Aysera into it, which I’m sure she ain’t none too happy about. Told ‘im I’d dance with him if Aysera would dance with someone. Didn’t mean for it to be anything more’n playing, but Zaliron took it hard. Guess there’s only so many jokes you can have at someone’s expense ‘fore it sinks in.

Aysera ended up dancing with Erunen, so I kept my word. Zaliron didn’t seem so pleased at first, but after a bit of coaxing he allowed me to keep my end of the deal. We danced for a bit, and he… offered me a necklace that he had made. I was a bit stunned, honestly. I accepted. Why? Damn it.

It was going beyond just being playful, beyond just having a good time. I should have ended it. I had thought, Zaliron of all people, for all his flirting, would understand just wantin’ to have some fun. I should have thought more about it… but… I know I ain’t the prettiest of girls. I don’t paint my face in any make-up, or dress in the best clothes. I know I ain’t what Zaliron would be really lookin’ for, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m a big girl, right? I can handle knowin’ that. It was just nice to feel almost like one of those pretty soft girls for once. Nothin’ I’d like doin’ on a regular basis, but, well, it was nice while it lasted.

The Troll Kaste had come with Ysabelle. I guess she’s made outta harder stuff than I’d've thought, iff’n she’s willing to open herself up to the ridicule that might’ve come down on her shoulders. I’ve got no problem with Kaste, or at least, had none. It’s a tough lot in life, being a Troll that has a lot’ve dealings with Elves, and I’m not fool ’nuff to deny that. Kaste and Zaliron have some bad blood, which I’m sure Ysabelle’s got a stake in if I remember Zaliron’s branding ceremony.

Kaste told me… well, announced it really… that Zaliron had a machine in his basement that he uses to torture creatures, like Trolls, for fun. Achates andYsabelle were quick to assert that yes, this was true, each in their own way.

The ink was smeared here, where Mazikeen stopped. When the nervous trembles of anger ran their course, she began writing again.

I don’t know who to be more angry with–Zaliron becuase of the fact that he would have such a machine, or Kaste and Ysabelle for using the opportunity to attack him. They say that they wanted to ‘protect’ me, and I believe this to some extent…

…but I’m not a fool. I was used. I was the tool they used to get to him–and in public, during a party! Ysabelle even went s’far as to say that she didn’t want to see me ‘bruised up’ or some such, after her husband did the same to her. T’say such a thing at a formal gathering, such an accusation, and what’s more imply that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself–against Zaliron?

What sets my blood to boil is that she said that I could handle myself, just a few moments before the tensions hit their peak. Then she turns around, and says something like this? That kind of ‘conduct’ only makes me that much more sure that it wasn’t about saving me at all. Right then I felt like that damned dress was a joke, the night was a joke. I am what I am, and that ain’t something that’s gonna be manipulated so bluntly.

Maybe it was the wake-up-call I needed though: if I am what I am, that sure don’t include something Zaliron could ever really want. It’d be stupid and cruel of me to pretend otherwise, whether it meant tryin’ to fool him or me or both of us.

And there is that machine. How… gods. Achates was right. Part of me is interested, but every other fiber of my being is in revolt. Rogue business ain’t exactly pretty, and I’ve never fooled myself that Warlock business’d be any better. Knowing this, and seein’ how he treats Achates, I can’t refuse to believe my own damn eyes. There’s somethin’ in him that enjoys feelin’ strong by making others feel weak, whether’r not he says he’d never use sucha machine for “fun”.

But I’d be damned more’n a thousand times over ‘fore I’d play a saint. Most of me’s very clear about leavin’ well enough alone, and letting Zaliron find someone more like him, even if it means him hatin’ me in the long run. But there’s this gods-damned nagging feeling in my gut that’s insistin’ that I’m a liar if I tell myself that I’m any less corrupt; the same part of me that would almost want to see that machine. It’s the same part that doesn’t care if I ain’t what’s best for Zaliron, that says I shouldn’t bother caring whether or not I end up hurting him or he hates me a day from now, and that I should go to him. I tell myself I can’t do that, because I’m not like that, I’m not that selfish. I’m not the kinda person that can knowingly step inside of someone else’s heart and take everything I can, without regard.

So why do I feel this aching in my bones, something crying out hungrily that ‘Like calls to like‘, and I can tell myself whatever I want, but it don’t change a damn thing?

Mazikeen stopped, and rubbed at her temples with an exhausted sigh.

I got the potions from Karios today. She was happy to oblige, in return for my protection of her business. I trust her.

I don’t know if I should wait, but I do know that I won’t. Maybe this’ll help take my mind off’ve Zaliron and that mess. I’ll go to Aysera tomorrow. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep, so I suppose I’ll just go prowling ’bout Silvermoon for a while.

Though obviously tired out of her mind, Mazikeen closed the book. For a while she sat in silence–and a serious of violent shudders overtook her, and for a second it seemed like she wanted to cry. Fighting to regain her composure, the Rogue balled her hands into fists and stood. Tossing the journal to her bed, she opened the window in her room, and slipped out–easily scaling down the wall and then dropping to the city street below.

Contracts in Dalaran

Hillsbrad again. Damn… figured I’d only be around long enough to drop off a set of ingredients that the alchemist there was needing, but then there was just so much work that needed to be done.

I– I was contracted to go to Dalaran, or its outer ruins and–

Aysera was there. Why can’t I keep it together? That feeling of being here before didn’t go away, but I thought for a second it was more’n a feeling. I was actually starting to… what… remember?  Damn it. Then some Dalaran mage had come upon us, and if it wasn’t for Aysera’s voice calling me back to my senses, I might have suffered some rather unpleasant burns.

But I won’t forget, and I can’t deny it now. I remembered something real, something concrete. In my memory it was dark, and my body hurt all over, down deep in my muscles–must’ve been sometime shortly after the Sunwell went, when even people like me were feeling the aches and pains for the loss of the magic source. I was talking with someone, and my dream comes back to me: “Do you know why I’m here?” I’m asking this person, and for some reason, they’re frightened, cringing back away from me…

There’s a viciousness in the question that scares me. I ain’t a person to shrink from violence, but the feeling in the memory is ruthless and cold.

Why don’t I remember this? What happened?

I have to know. Aysera already suspects something, I’m sure. I can’t do this alone–guess I’ll ask for her help.  I have to know why I was in Dalaran, what I was looking for.

Unwanted Interruptions

My head’s feeling much more clear after spending some time away from Hillsbrad. I traveled to a place called ‘Thousand Needles’, and the air there was wonderfully dusty and arid, unlike the too-perfect coolness of Hillsbrad.  I had to tie my mask even closer than usual, but that didn’t do much to save my eyes when a strong gust blew. And the way the Tauren have set up camps at the top of these ‘needles’, the giant rock formations way up in the sky… well, it sure is a sight.

I’ve also been spending my time battling in the Gulch and the Basin. My hard work didn’t go unnoticed–today I was able to pick up a nice new pair of boots, which I sorely needed. They’re possibly my finest piece of armor so far: this Horde sure does reward well for those that would defend it, and I ain’t got no problem with that.

However, what’s buggin’ me now as I write this…  the first meetin’ for the Silverguard was today. Aside from a couple irritating encounters with a human, things seemed to be going nicely, when this gorram mage decided to step in. Never seen the elf in my life. She was standin’ around for a while, which didn’t really bother me none–after all, Silverguard business ain’t naturally the dishonest type, and if citizens wanna be onlookers, let them gaze on at the might and power of the arm that would defend ‘em, right?

Then, then she decides to start some trouble. Creating that mage-fire around her arms. I didn’t wanna go disruptin’ the meeting, so I walked around the back of the crowd and made my way to her. Politely, ever so politely, whispered to her that she could sit tight or I’d be happy to escort her out. She told me something like, “Sit back and watch the show”. What is that supposed t’mean? Course, I wasn’t gonna settle for someone making any kind of show out of one of the Silverlord’s meetings. Told her I’d drag her out if necessary.

 Then she said something a might curious. Something like, one, I wouldn’t be able to be draggin’ her out and two…

The second part I don’t even want to write down. I know it’d be safe here, but  it just don’t feel right. Ain’t my secret to confide in writing, in a magic book or not–when I talked with Arathael about it later, he told me not to tell anyone, save Alkaiser.

 I’ll let it burn inside of me, for now, suppose.

What I do know is that I certainly wouldn’t mind meetin’ our little Mage friend for a chat in the darkest stretch of Murder Row. But no, that ain’t acceptable now. I’m part of this Silverguard–don’t just gotta be responsible for my own actions, but how they reflect back on everyone else. Beatin’ her within an inch of her life probably wouldn’t please anyone, let alone the Silverlord. Don’t mean I couldn’t always just give her a good scare, though…

Other news is, Rasar’s left. Or rather, Alkaiser forced him out. Can’t say I disagree overmuch with the decision. Rasar seemed like he had a damn good mind, came from some good experience. I’m not one to judge, either, but it did always seem like maybe he wasn’t in the right place. He asked me to give Aysera his regards, and that ain’t a promise I’ll be forgettin’ any time soon.

 I’ve got a headache now, probably from dealin’ with that Mage. Don’t want to go to sleep angry. Maybe I’ll take a walk somewhere.