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.

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.

Do You Know Why I’m Here?

The writing at first seems larger than normal, more neat–almost showy. It looks that special care has been given to the lettering, as well as the gramatical structure of the sentences (a contrast to the general laxness of old entries). However, it seems that the author has struck out the writing, though the words are still legible.

I’ve progressed a shocking amount in the last few days. I’ve learned how to mix poisons to coat my blades, and I’ve also taken up engineering as a profession. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Hillsbrad, and it’s a quaint place if it weren’t for all of the humans and dwarves.

The script becomes smaller, almost jagged: more difficult to read, as if written in a frantic haste.

I need to be away from Hillbrad, don’t think I can spend even one more night there. It ain’t an ugly place, but something ’bout it just makes my insides hurt. I keep feelin’ like I’ve been here ‘fore, but there’s no way I could’ve. I’m not even a century old, and only maybe ventured s’far as Lordaeron to see my father before the plague hit there. Even those trips I barely remember, I was so young.

So why… why do I walk these roads like I’ve been here before? Why does everything seem so damned familiar?

In the early hours of the morning when I sleep, I have dreams that leave me to wake in a cold sweat. I can never remember what I’ve been dreaming–only that it’s an angry dream, and my mouth tastes bitter and metallic, like’ve been chewing on dirty bullets. Something always feels like its pullin’ me by my gut, pushing me somewhere abouts north–it’s a feeling that only comes on me in the moments where I’m still half-sleeping, and only in Hillsbrad.

I know what’s to the north–never been there (no, no I have never been there, I can’t have, that wouldn’t make sense) but I know that somewhere north is where the Dalaran mages stood against the Scourge. I know my father spent his time there before the Third War, though what he did I haven’t the slightest.

I won’t go there though. I won’t indulge this… whatever this is. I have not been here before. I have not been to Dalaran, and I know it only s’far as what I may’ve seen of its troops in passing in Silverpine.

Last night I had one of those dreams again. This time… I remembered a bit more. Right before I woke up I heard, “Do you know why I’m here?” and for this life of me, I can’t get those words out of my head. Just thinking ’bout it makes my stomach turn. Was my own voice, too, asking. Do you know why I’m here. And in that second… in that second it hadn’t been like dreamin’ but like rememberin’.

I can’t stay my nights here any more. I’ll look for work in the next continent; anything to get away from this feeling. And then the dreams will stop.

Just let ‘em stop.