Post by Sarania on Apr 20, 2008 2:30:47 GMT -5
*As you walk through the guild hall, you notice a woman asleep in a chair. On the table before her, a small book lies open to the middle, and appears to be filled with handwriting. Hers, you assume. Out of curiosity, you pick up the book and start to read. And so it begins...*
I do not regret anything I've done, or, for that matter, anything I haven't done. I have made mistakes, yet I have come to accept them. Now here I sit, in Ethel Rethor, Desolace, of all the awful places, and decide to write my story, in part for myself, and in part for the family I lost, the friends I let go of, and the children I will never have.
I don't remember much of being a child. I doubt if I ever was a child in my own mind. I remember my mother, Mirena. She was beautiful, and we traveled everywhere together. All I remember is traveling. She was a rogue, and from what I imagine, a skilled one. I remember being eleven years old, and my mother leaving me. I was different. A Warlock. She left me in the care of one of the most frightening men I had ever seen, and I was terrified. Nowhere near as terrified as I would become in the following years. From that day, I trained as a Warlock. I read shelves and shelves of books, cast so many small spells (a spell for everything, I thought), and followed orders exactly as they were given to me by Master Rakzuel. It is strange now to remember how I felt about him then. The first time I got to do a real mission under our true Master, Lord Magtheridon, I was seventeen. I didn't know it that night, but it would change my life in a worse way than I could have imagined.
We left to start our journey at dusk, Rakzuel and I. I had finally convinced him to bring me along for a mission, and he reluctantly agreed. Luckily, the place where the Orcs were camped was not far from where we were staying in those months. The plan was to wait until the early hours of the next morning, and quietly assassinate their leader once they were all asleep. Well, all of them save for the guards, but we could have handled the guards. So important he seemed at the time... Somehow (and I do believe Magtheridon betrayed us) the Orc patrols were alerted, and came at us like one angry beast, that I never could have imagined fighting on my own. I turned to my side, to ask Master Rakzuel what to do, but he was gone. I watched him run, Orcs right behind him, until they gave up. I stood there; their disgusting, groping, Orc hands holding me still, watching my teacher, and the man I had grown to love, leave me to die. In that moment, I decided that I would forever be independent, that I would never love again, or trust again, and that if I ever saw Rakzuel, I would kill him on sight.
*A bit frustrated, you notice that the next few pages are missing, and the words you can make out on the remaining bits send shivers down your spine. Despite the absence of what seems to be a vital part of this young woman’s past, you continue to read, picking up on the next full page.*
I had him there, after two years of torture, right below my blade. As I looked him in the eye, even seeing the evil continue to grow there, I could not bring myself to kill him. I knew at that moment that it was compassion that would come to be my greatest weakness. For who knows how many have died at this hand since I let him live? The next three years of my life were devoted to my studies. I was determined to become the most powerful Warlock I could become, and I had my target in plain sight. Rakzuel. I was angry, vengeful, and callous. Then I made the first friend I ever had, in my life. His name was Jerode. He was on the run from the Scarlet Crusade. He had been born into slavery, and the second I saw him, I knew that my goal had changed. I helped him as best I could, finding caves in Westfall and basements in Stormwind to try and hide in. He was quite a lovely person, and made me realize that if I could not kill an Orc lord, I certainly could not kill my great teacher. My heart shifted into a peaceful state, and I was content. The last I saw of Jerode was in Duskwood. I do not know what's become of him, and truth be told, I am too much of a coward to search; for I am afraid what I may learn will be too great a pain to bear these days.
Why my life never slows for long, I may never know. However, as soon as I had decided to make my home in Goldshire, Elwynn, and started a lovely business tailoring garments for dear friends and neighbors, who should come to pass before my eyes but Arch-Warlock Rakzuel. It took everything I had not to return to being a teenager and giggle with delight at the sight of him on his Xorothian Dreadsteed. We spoke for near an hour before he recognized me, but once he did, he offered me a place in his guild, the Indelibles. My allegiance will forever lie with them, and should I ever go back on that word, may I be forever condemned. I have never felt more at home than I feel here, and I have never met a more loyal, trustworthy group of people in my travels of Azeroth.
I have not been in the Indelibles for very long, but since I have, I have advanced my studies further than I thought could be done in such a short time. Though, studies aside, more interesting things have happened to me here than anywhere before. I had a spell of blindness, which is perhaps why I am so eager to write, suddenly. It is an ordeal I would rather not discuss, save for one thing, which has made all the difference in my life between then and now. Kotaiso.
*Noticing the young woman begin to stir, you flip the book back to what you hope is that page you found it on, and place it back on the table. I will be back for the rest later, you think. I will be back for the rest later.*
I do not regret anything I've done, or, for that matter, anything I haven't done. I have made mistakes, yet I have come to accept them. Now here I sit, in Ethel Rethor, Desolace, of all the awful places, and decide to write my story, in part for myself, and in part for the family I lost, the friends I let go of, and the children I will never have.
I don't remember much of being a child. I doubt if I ever was a child in my own mind. I remember my mother, Mirena. She was beautiful, and we traveled everywhere together. All I remember is traveling. She was a rogue, and from what I imagine, a skilled one. I remember being eleven years old, and my mother leaving me. I was different. A Warlock. She left me in the care of one of the most frightening men I had ever seen, and I was terrified. Nowhere near as terrified as I would become in the following years. From that day, I trained as a Warlock. I read shelves and shelves of books, cast so many small spells (a spell for everything, I thought), and followed orders exactly as they were given to me by Master Rakzuel. It is strange now to remember how I felt about him then. The first time I got to do a real mission under our true Master, Lord Magtheridon, I was seventeen. I didn't know it that night, but it would change my life in a worse way than I could have imagined.
We left to start our journey at dusk, Rakzuel and I. I had finally convinced him to bring me along for a mission, and he reluctantly agreed. Luckily, the place where the Orcs were camped was not far from where we were staying in those months. The plan was to wait until the early hours of the next morning, and quietly assassinate their leader once they were all asleep. Well, all of them save for the guards, but we could have handled the guards. So important he seemed at the time... Somehow (and I do believe Magtheridon betrayed us) the Orc patrols were alerted, and came at us like one angry beast, that I never could have imagined fighting on my own. I turned to my side, to ask Master Rakzuel what to do, but he was gone. I watched him run, Orcs right behind him, until they gave up. I stood there; their disgusting, groping, Orc hands holding me still, watching my teacher, and the man I had grown to love, leave me to die. In that moment, I decided that I would forever be independent, that I would never love again, or trust again, and that if I ever saw Rakzuel, I would kill him on sight.
*A bit frustrated, you notice that the next few pages are missing, and the words you can make out on the remaining bits send shivers down your spine. Despite the absence of what seems to be a vital part of this young woman’s past, you continue to read, picking up on the next full page.*
I had him there, after two years of torture, right below my blade. As I looked him in the eye, even seeing the evil continue to grow there, I could not bring myself to kill him. I knew at that moment that it was compassion that would come to be my greatest weakness. For who knows how many have died at this hand since I let him live? The next three years of my life were devoted to my studies. I was determined to become the most powerful Warlock I could become, and I had my target in plain sight. Rakzuel. I was angry, vengeful, and callous. Then I made the first friend I ever had, in my life. His name was Jerode. He was on the run from the Scarlet Crusade. He had been born into slavery, and the second I saw him, I knew that my goal had changed. I helped him as best I could, finding caves in Westfall and basements in Stormwind to try and hide in. He was quite a lovely person, and made me realize that if I could not kill an Orc lord, I certainly could not kill my great teacher. My heart shifted into a peaceful state, and I was content. The last I saw of Jerode was in Duskwood. I do not know what's become of him, and truth be told, I am too much of a coward to search; for I am afraid what I may learn will be too great a pain to bear these days.
Why my life never slows for long, I may never know. However, as soon as I had decided to make my home in Goldshire, Elwynn, and started a lovely business tailoring garments for dear friends and neighbors, who should come to pass before my eyes but Arch-Warlock Rakzuel. It took everything I had not to return to being a teenager and giggle with delight at the sight of him on his Xorothian Dreadsteed. We spoke for near an hour before he recognized me, but once he did, he offered me a place in his guild, the Indelibles. My allegiance will forever lie with them, and should I ever go back on that word, may I be forever condemned. I have never felt more at home than I feel here, and I have never met a more loyal, trustworthy group of people in my travels of Azeroth.
I have not been in the Indelibles for very long, but since I have, I have advanced my studies further than I thought could be done in such a short time. Though, studies aside, more interesting things have happened to me here than anywhere before. I had a spell of blindness, which is perhaps why I am so eager to write, suddenly. It is an ordeal I would rather not discuss, save for one thing, which has made all the difference in my life between then and now. Kotaiso.
*Noticing the young woman begin to stir, you flip the book back to what you hope is that page you found it on, and place it back on the table. I will be back for the rest later, you think. I will be back for the rest later.*