Confrontations in the Drag

I could kill Kaste.

We were talkin’ when Verrin showed up. Kaste left when I told him too… but kept within earshot.

We argued. Everytime I got close ’nuff to Verrin to get a good hold on him, he’d back away. Durgan was in control for the most part, and as angry as Durgan makes me… I can turn that anger into somethin’ useful. He said that… he said that he told Verrin ’bout me.

Verrin will know not to trust him, right? At least, not to… well, he’ll know that I had my reasons for what I’ve done. He has to know that. Killing Durgan hadn’t been ’bout just… just wantin’ to hurt someone, anyone–or at least if it had been, then he wasn’t exactly a bad choice–right?

No. I ain’t gonna feel guilty for what I did. I’m done with that. If Verrin wants to ask after it, when he’s got his own mind back… then I’ll tell him ’bout it. Can’t worry ’bout it now.

Tythis talked for a while, and I think I lost some’ve my temper. It’s strange, but it’s harder to keep myself from edgin’ closer to disaster when I’m speakin’ with him. I guess ’cause he ain’t part’ve my past–and ’cause he’s a lot smarter than Durgan, for sure. Makes me more nervous than the Dalaran trash.

Kaste came back, wanted to help.

Gods, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry ’bout any’ve it. Kaste… insulted Verrin’s pants, of all things.  I love Kaste. I want him to be with me on this. I want someone there to say stupid things and act like it’s nothin’ more’n a playground fight, but who’s got the spine to fight even if it’s a lot more dangerous than that.

I said some hurtful things to Kaste. I was angry. I still am angry. I made him promise to keep out’ve it, and somehow I’m still lettin’ him find a way in. Told him I didn’t want to see him again till all’ve this mess was sorted out.  He chased after Verrin, but Verrin got away.

I think Chrysalis might be in trouble. She told me that I couldn’t blame myself for not bein’ everywhere at once, but- it’s just- I’m playin’ defense, and it don’t suit me, and I think that shows. I’m tired of havin’ to response, of bein’ the one that’s gotta work on someone else’s terms. All the same, I’ve got to wait, and wait, and wait. Got to let things line up. I can’t mess anythin’ up by rushin’ headlong in a situation that I ain’t gonna be able to control.

Something Durgan said was right, though. I hurt my friends. The people I’m s’posed to care ’bout, who love me, I end up hurtin’ them, whether I mean to or not. I shouldn’t let nothin’ he says affect me, but…

But if it’s true, then I’m bein’ selfish if I think that I should be with Kaste. Gods… tellin’ him he can’t protect me, ’cause I’m ‘fraid he’ll end up gettin’ hurt in the process? It stings somethin’ awful to be a hypocrite, but if the alternative is seein’ him… get hurt…

I hurt the people I care ’bout.

Somethings wrong with me.

The Nature of Hypocrisy

Just got finishd talkin’ with Chrysalis. She… killed Verrin. I had her word that she wouldn’t, but by accident, she did. I was furious for ’bout a second: “How can you accidently kill someone-”, I had been startin’ to rage, but…

Heh.

At the last meetin’ I spoke up for opening the Guards doors to every race of the Horde–for wantin’ people to qualify on what they’d done with the life given to ‘em, not what they were born as. I mean, either way it won’t bother me too much, though I do think that if we open past Sin’dorei, we need to be openin’ to everyone. S’only acceptable.

Ysabelle… well, I think she thinks that I only feel the way I do ’cause’ve Kaste, and that ain’t the reason. The Silverlord said somethin’ similar. Is that what it seems like, then? That I’m under a spell’ve Kaste’s, or somethin’? That we’re in love? Ugh.

We did… go on a date, though. Not a romantic date. A friendly date… with the objective of killin’ a certain Forsaken that had mind-controlled Kaste and sicced him on me like an attack dog. I…

I killed Kaste. It was a stupid accident.

I told Chrysalis that tonight. She’s the first one outside’ve Kaste that knows. She thought I’d condemn her for killin’ Verrin, and all I wanted to let her know that that I had no place judgin’ her. I killed a man I love. She killed Verrin. She broke an oath. I nearly broke myself. She could bring him back. I… I was left stunned, dazed… couldn’t call him back from the Nether on my own.

S’funny, how you think you’ll be upset to hear somethin’, until you realize that you’ve been in a similar spot.

So, I guess it is true. I do love Kaste. He sent me a letter, a while back, sayin’ the same–that he loves me. None’ve this is in the romantic way, though, ‘course. But I’d die for him. I’d die rather than hurt him. I want to see him happy. Bein’ with him makes me feel happy, like I can forget ’bout all’ve the weight that just bein’ in the Guard puts on my shoulders. He doesn’t expect nothin’ of me.

I love him like a brother, I s’pose. I mean, ‘course, I’ve never had any siblings. But like a brother… just a much taller, bluer one. One more time for the record, we ain’t together.

Verrin told me that he still loved me. Even after takin’ time and thinking ’bout he, he said that even knowin’ my darker side, that he loved me all the more. He’s offerin’ me unconditional acceptance, and I guess there’s a part’ve me that wants to run headlong into that and hide there. He asked me if I thought I could ever love him the same.

I… well, I don’t know. I make a point’ve not thinkin’ when I probably should. What I do know, is that right now I don’t want to fall for anyone. I know I’ve tended to talk big ’bout falling in love–that if it happened, it happened, if it didn’t, it didn’t–but now I just wanna avoid it. It’s too messy.

What doesn’t kill you…

Roughly three pages are completely filled with what seems to be the same phrase, over and over again. The letters are disjointed, and standard punctuation and spacing appears to be used very infrequently. In one of the more legible cases, the phrase reads as: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Eventually, more coherent writing emerges.

Or maybe that’s just what people gotta tell themselves, so they can feel like they’re movin’ forward ’stead of in circles all the time. I don’t feel stronger. I just feel kind’ve… broken.

I hate this, I hate all’ve this.

Events are cowards. Can’t ever fight alone.

Mazikeen sits in the corner of a small inn room, exhausted and slumped in her chair. The journal is open on her lap, and it seems to take a great force of will for her to move the quill tip across the pages. A little further off a figure sleeps fitfully on the bed, tossing and mumbling.

It started a few nights ago. Alkaiser said he wanted to speak with Zaliron, and I s’pose I just figured it’d be a few harsh words. Guilt ain’t anything new to me, but I should’ve done something. My luck though, interfering then would’ve just made the situation worse.

He didn’t show up at his house that night, and I guess I didn’t think much of it. I know what it’s like to have business that runs over-long. The next day I found a note in my mail from Verrin, the new mage, askin’ me to meet him. It was as vague as that, and curiosity ain’t something that can be easily denied.

He wants me to teach him how to fight dirty. I don’t know what to make of him, only that something ’bout him makes me feel uncomfortable–not because he don’t understand what I am, but because he does. I… well, to make short of it, ’cause it ain’t my primary concern right now, I said yes.

A voice rose from the corner–murmuring something incoherent about demons and fear. Mazikeen roughly brushed a tear from the corner of her eyes, which fell and smudged the ink on the paper.

I can’t believe what they did to him. It ain’t right, you can’t… Gods. I talked to Alkaiser even, and I’ve never imagined myself as someone to do anything like the sort (I might not be the most ardent follower, but I try to keep my peace, ’specially under leaders).

A leader doesn’t break someone that pledges their life to him–or allow a second-in-command like Arathael to do it. It’s… it’s pathetic and wrong and the worst kind’ve betrayal. And I know what it looks like–I go to Alkaiser and he assumes that it’s just ’cause me and Zaliron take our nights together. I ain’t stupid. I know that Zaliron is arrogant, and I know it’s gotta be fixed.

But they didn’t do that. He’s… he can’t even go near demons. He’s been staying in an inn.

Damn them both.

Damn myself for not being more forceful when I talked to Alkaiser. I shouldn’t've settled for what he thought were rational words. He made a mistake. Nobody ever deserves to be hurt like that by someone they’re s’posed to trust. My faith in the leadership of the Guard suffered s’first blow, and I guess for that it stings even more.

I got Zaliron to come out here to Farstrider Retreat, away from Silvermoon. Fetched a few pillows and robes for him, tryin’ to help him get comfortable. Looked like something had ripped through the house, and his demons weren’t happy that I didn’t leave ‘em with any answers. I ain’t much’ve one for conversing with demons, and the only thing I could tell ‘em was to wait some more. And at least get the damned door back on its hinges.

I want to protect Zaliron, and I want to see him better, but I’m sore over some of Alkaiser’s words. He told me that I was a good influence on Zaliron, and I wanted to spit something hard and mean back in his face, but I was too busy cowering and being ’sensible’. I wish people weren’t so damned sure that I’m a good person–well, I mean, it ain’t my job to fix anyone. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t bear that responisibility.

‘Sides, why in the Nether should it be MY job, or ANYone’s job, to fix the messes of our humble, righteous leaders?

And now? Now I’m angry. All I can do is sit and seethe while the rest’ve the Guard take their digs at Zaliron, and if I speak he looks weaker, or I look over-protective.

Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants to say to the Nether with ‘em all, and the next one with a snide comment about Zaliron will get their tongue skewered to the roof of their mouth.

I want to see him strong again.

I will see him strong again. The rest’ve ‘em can choke on dynamite. I’d even be so kind as to light the fuse.

Mazikeen sighs, the momentary rush of anger fading and leaving her with less energy than before. She closes the journal, tosses it back into a bag near her feet. Looking around, it is still very dark inside of the room, save for a few small candles near the bed (she didn’t want Zaliron to wake up in darkness in the middle of the night)–it won’t be morning for a few more hours.

And, from her seat, she knows they will be long hours. Thinking hours. She leans her head back to the wall behind the chair, and watches over the troubled Warlock.

She does not sleep.

The Drag, Concussions, and Ice Deflectors

I was on my way through Orgrimmar earlier tonight when I came across the body of another Sin’dorei lying on the ground. She was sprawled out in the Drag, not too far before where I woulda turned to restock my poisons. I didn’t know what to think–well, I could tell she wasn’t dead, mostly because that’s a habit you get when you’ve seen enough corpses, but I didn’t know if it was just some woman stone drunk, or if she was hurt.

Turns out it was the latter.

Also turns out that she weren’t a stranger: the woman’s name is Cable, and I knew her from the deliveries from House Esteri. I didn’t realize this till I’d already seen and felt the blood on her, but I guess it wouldn’t've changed things anyhow. I couldn’t leave no one bleedin’ to death in the middle of a city street.

Mazikeen realizes that she doesn’t actually know how to feel about that last statement–doesn’t know whether or not it’s actually true. For safety’s sake, she crosses it out.

I bandaged her up, checked her eyes. Pretty sure she had a concussion, so I did what I needed to. Had to smash up one’ve my ice deflectors (a nifty device that engineering has granted me skill with) to get at the frost oil inside. Worked out better than I had planned: froze a strip’ve wool solid in seconds! I wrapped that up a bit in some more cloth, and I think it helped keep the swelling down.

Her arm was pretty banged up, even more’n the rest’ve her body. When she was coherent again, she told me that it’d been a Tauren that’d done a number on her. I believe that much’ve it, though I’m sure she was trying to downplay any provokin’ that might’ve been done on her part. I don’t know enough ’bout any of it to make no conclusions, but none of it sits well with me.

When I got her to her feet, we went up to the local Orgrimmar doctor. She weren’t none too happy to be treated by an Orc, but that’s her own problem–I ain’t gonna coddle no one’s prejudice, ’specially when it’s impractical. After all, when all was said and done, the Orc fixed her up a good one. She’ll be able to hold a sword again, at least.

I s’pose I’ll send her something to help make her feel better. I sent Achates some tea a while back, and that seemed to help him with his cold. Maybe it’ll do something for Miss Cable.

Mostly though, I’m expectin’ her to turn around and bite the hand that helped her. I won’t take it none too personally, of course. I guess if I was from a fancy House that maybe I’d resent being helped by one’ve the lower, workin’ folk. All I know is that I did my duty as a Blood Elf, and as a member of the Silverguard.

Dunno. Maybe it just felt good to be helping instead of hurting for a time.

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.

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.