28th Day of Summer
People have been talking in taverns. Travellers walk in with torment in their eyes and they speak of things I wish I'd never overheard. They've seen things I don't dare to imagine, and yet the images haunt my dreams.
They're here, they say. The Legion. Dark shapes in the sky, sickly green glows, and an unmistakably evil hum in the air.
I can feel it myself. There is truth to what they say.
I look around and see other sin'dorei with the same quiet terror in their eyes. They can feel it, too. Our affinity for magic has weakened us before it; we can feel it and we can't escape it. We cannot stick our fingers in our ears, we cannot squeeze our eyes shut tight; we are followed by it in our every waking moment...
How many will be driven to madness by this? And are the kaldorei suffering the same way?
There is a trio of mages sat at a table not far from me. They're usually loud and boisterous - happy people. But this evening, they're silent. I wonder if they can sense it, too.
And I wonder what the warlocks must be feeling. Do they fear the voluntary arrival of the demons they've subjugated for so long for their own ends? Or do they welcome it?
I know that I am a hypocrite to think so - my people turned to fel magic in an hour of need, and it taints even my blood - but I cannot help a disgust towards the practice, and though I wish I could hesitate lumping them all in together, to reach so very deeply into the cesspool of fel magic for strength rather than need...I cannot fathom it.
I can only hope that, somehow, there are a few among the warlocks who will not succumb to the pull of the fel magic, that they will not sell their souls entirely, and that they will be key in holding the Burning Legion at bay.
Because, no matter what the majority of this and every other tavern might say, the Burning Legion is here.
-- Atherya Sunleaf