Post by Xelas Stormfeather on Aug 29, 2007 22:42:13 GMT -5
I suppose the time has come to pen the recollections of my life, such as they are. I have been a part of <The Indelibles> for many months, and rejoice in the many friends I have found here. It is often said that burdens shared lighten the toil. I am not entirely certain of this wisdom, however, so I have been reluctant to pass around those memories that weigh against my spirit. I would rather my friends smile, for it is then I am most inclined to smile, myself. Yet, so many of you have sought answers to questions I've ignored in whole or in part over these weeks that I will reveal at least some of them here in my journals.
Mount Hyjal (~9,000 ago to ~2,000 ago)
Where to begin? I suppose the simplest is the point of origin common to virtually all living beings in Azeroth: I was born. More specifically, I was born, a prisoner, some nine-thousand years back, at Mount Hyjal. I know this sounds strange, and in truth I was not a prisoner in the strictest sense. However, my mother, Shen'thal Feathermoon, was a Watcher, guarding the Barrow Deeps there. Lendas Swiftwater, my father, was a Druid of the Claw, who slept in those same barrows for almost my whole life. I have only vague recollections of him, though I recall him fondly enough. His visits came fewer and fewer as the years wore on and he stopped awakening on his own, altogether. 'Furion woke him thousands of years later to help battle the Burning Legion in the Third war, but he returned to The Dream shortly after that.
Growing up, I saw very little of the skies overhead for the most formative years of my life. I spent decade-upon-decade in childish ignorance, thinking nothing unusual of being the rare (if not only) child among the stern warrior-women and Califax who kept vigil all those long centuries. It was supposed to be an honor, or so I had heard. And yet, when I had been finally sent to the surface to live with my father's family, I began to question this. I was all but ignored by my mother's kin. It was only much later that I understood that even the most powerful and devout Priestesses of Elune could harbor tremendous jealousy and suspicion in otherwise spotless hearts.
Thus, I bore the stigma of being an unacknowledged son of a man who had never, ever touched my mother. And so it was that jealousy prevailed over truth and reason. My mother lived for thousands of years, out of sight, commanded to keep The Betrayer in his prison, and thus condemning her to share that prison with him. This she did, faithfully, until the Burning Legion returned -- whereupon she was all but slain by those who had imprisoned her in the first place.
I don't think I shall ever forgive Tyrande for that.
As it was, though, I was nowhere near during the Third War. Perhaps had I been, things would have turned out very differently. (Though more likely, I would have died there as one of the many Watchers slain by Tyrande. So perhaps only different for myself) Once I had grown enough to travel on my own, I left Mount Hyjal and all of the Kal'dorei lands far behind me. Kalimdor was Tyrande's charge, and I wanted nothing more of her nor my aunt, who was so quick to judge ill of my mother -- this even before the betrayal of the Watchers crystallized my anger into something close to hatred.
So, I crossed the sea to the Eastern Kingdoms in search of my Quel'dorei cousins, eager to leave behind my Kal'dorei kinsmen. But not without a final dig at Tyrande and Shandris -- I changed my name from Swiftfeather to Stormfeather, claiming the heritage for which Tyrande had wrongfully punished my mother and myself those many years. At the time, I had considered it a bridge burnt. But war, like politics, often makes for strange bedfellows. Tyrande and my aunt eventually set aside their feud with me. While I doubt I will ever win their love -- nor in truth, do I much care to -- the hostility of Darnassus has mellowed, and I find myself welcomed there by anyone not closely tied to the Sisters of Elune. Still, I have cast my lot with the humans and Quel'dorei and see nothing appealing in returning to my Kal'dorei homeland more than is necessary, or to visit with my mother, whom I try to persuade to come with me to Stormwind. She refuses, still, but I always ask when I see her.
I think, though, this is enough of a start for my journal. I shall pen more, as time and parchment allows.
To you, Gentle Reader, I pray the Light go with you.
Savandan Stormfeather
Initiate of the Church of the Light
Stormwind
((TBC))
Mount Hyjal (~9,000 ago to ~2,000 ago)
Where to begin? I suppose the simplest is the point of origin common to virtually all living beings in Azeroth: I was born. More specifically, I was born, a prisoner, some nine-thousand years back, at Mount Hyjal. I know this sounds strange, and in truth I was not a prisoner in the strictest sense. However, my mother, Shen'thal Feathermoon, was a Watcher, guarding the Barrow Deeps there. Lendas Swiftwater, my father, was a Druid of the Claw, who slept in those same barrows for almost my whole life. I have only vague recollections of him, though I recall him fondly enough. His visits came fewer and fewer as the years wore on and he stopped awakening on his own, altogether. 'Furion woke him thousands of years later to help battle the Burning Legion in the Third war, but he returned to The Dream shortly after that.
Growing up, I saw very little of the skies overhead for the most formative years of my life. I spent decade-upon-decade in childish ignorance, thinking nothing unusual of being the rare (if not only) child among the stern warrior-women and Califax who kept vigil all those long centuries. It was supposed to be an honor, or so I had heard. And yet, when I had been finally sent to the surface to live with my father's family, I began to question this. I was all but ignored by my mother's kin. It was only much later that I understood that even the most powerful and devout Priestesses of Elune could harbor tremendous jealousy and suspicion in otherwise spotless hearts.
Thus, I bore the stigma of being an unacknowledged son of a man who had never, ever touched my mother. And so it was that jealousy prevailed over truth and reason. My mother lived for thousands of years, out of sight, commanded to keep The Betrayer in his prison, and thus condemning her to share that prison with him. This she did, faithfully, until the Burning Legion returned -- whereupon she was all but slain by those who had imprisoned her in the first place.
I don't think I shall ever forgive Tyrande for that.
As it was, though, I was nowhere near during the Third War. Perhaps had I been, things would have turned out very differently. (Though more likely, I would have died there as one of the many Watchers slain by Tyrande. So perhaps only different for myself) Once I had grown enough to travel on my own, I left Mount Hyjal and all of the Kal'dorei lands far behind me. Kalimdor was Tyrande's charge, and I wanted nothing more of her nor my aunt, who was so quick to judge ill of my mother -- this even before the betrayal of the Watchers crystallized my anger into something close to hatred.
So, I crossed the sea to the Eastern Kingdoms in search of my Quel'dorei cousins, eager to leave behind my Kal'dorei kinsmen. But not without a final dig at Tyrande and Shandris -- I changed my name from Swiftfeather to Stormfeather, claiming the heritage for which Tyrande had wrongfully punished my mother and myself those many years. At the time, I had considered it a bridge burnt. But war, like politics, often makes for strange bedfellows. Tyrande and my aunt eventually set aside their feud with me. While I doubt I will ever win their love -- nor in truth, do I much care to -- the hostility of Darnassus has mellowed, and I find myself welcomed there by anyone not closely tied to the Sisters of Elune. Still, I have cast my lot with the humans and Quel'dorei and see nothing appealing in returning to my Kal'dorei homeland more than is necessary, or to visit with my mother, whom I try to persuade to come with me to Stormwind. She refuses, still, but I always ask when I see her.
I think, though, this is enough of a start for my journal. I shall pen more, as time and parchment allows.
To you, Gentle Reader, I pray the Light go with you.
Savandan Stormfeather
Initiate of the Church of the Light
Stormwind
((TBC))
