Sunday, 14 August 2016

Entry 5 - Elvenkind

31st Day of Summer

   Despite the increasingly hostile atmosphere, I've found myself coming into the The Wyvern's Tail more eagerly these past two days, driven by a need for news - no, more than a need, a hunger. Some masochistic part of me cannot bear to be away, that I might miss something vital. It's not that I find comfort in the bottom of a tankard - not entirely, anyway - but that I find some comfort in what I don't hear.
   But I never expected...this. An interest; a fascination.
   A hope.
   Elves - sin'dorei and kal'dorei alike - have been seen leaping in and fighting the demons back with unnatural agility. They wield twin glaives, it's said, and for some the glow of their eyes is green. Not unnusual for sin'dorei, of course, but for those with skin of lavender and indigo, all of which are tattooed, such a thing shouldn't be.
   And every time a story rises of a single elf's unlikely victory over a tidal wave of demons, one word always stands out: 'Betrayer'.
   Every single one of these impossible elves are said to resemble Illidan himself to some degree or another.
   And it is for this that I find myself eagerly eavesdropping this evening.
   They haven't raised a hand against the Horde nor the Alliance, huge battalions of which both fight valiantly to hold the demons back, but they're not filling them in on the secrets to their success, either. They seem to be a third faction, a mix of two elves who should have been at odds with one another joined instead by a bloodlust, a hatred so deep it's said to manifest itself and grow stronger with every demon they fell.
   But where did they come from? And where did they learn this skill? These questions seem to be on everyone's lips...but I find myself almost curious enough to go and see them for myself.
   I was in Northrend, I fought back the rogue Scourge and the last loyal stragglers of Arthas's reign - and I hold no shame in admitting that I have never felt so alive as I did when I plunged my axe into those wretched things - and I came out of that alive. Better than alive, in fact. I was taught to fight.
   But...the Scourge and the Burning Legion are not on par with one another. Mindless, shuffling undead. The art of deception and subtlty was not in the nature of most of them.
   But the demons, they are clever. I've seen the intelligence even in the eyes of cackling imps as they blast comically miniature fireballs at beetles. In fact, I'm convinced that that very stupidity is an act. And it's for that that I would not be so quick to presume I could stand against them.

   And yet so many are still trying to do so. The paladin of the Argent branches, who took me in and guided me in the hostile north; the Siame-Quashi who the Warchief has sent out to protect the people of Kalimdor rather than keep himself alone safe; the druids of the Cenarion Circle who fight for the land itself, and these elves with features, drive and agility akin to the Betrayer.
   In short, all of the warriors of the Horde, the Alliance, and everything that has formed to bridge them over the decades. They're all doing so, with what powers and strengths they have individually honed.
   Why can I not do the same?

   Even as I write that, a second voice chimes in my mind with a simple truth: they have all been trained in their arts and practices. I have received a few months of tuition and a year or so of practise, killing mindless monsters.
   I would die within moments.

-- Atherya Sunleaf              

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