I've been with the Servitors for a few months now and what had been hope for a sanctuary has turned into discomfort. Of course, it's a military group. I'd never hoped for a life of pacifism and comfort. I just wanted to be with people who want to serve and protect those who can not defend themselves. The very stereotypical good guys. Something different from the shady business SI:7 has to do, or the other groups I'd been a part of.
I know what the Servitors have done during the Siege of Orgrimar, but it's best if I act clueless about the fact for now. I don't want them running any background checks on me, it REALLY is bad enough that the witch is with them.
God, the witch. Why is she here and why is she putting on that ridiculous accent? I am absolutely sure she's recognized me as I have her, but we seem to be keeping each other a mutual secret for now. I am slipping, too. Thankfully Etharion was too worried about his own well being to notice that I don't even know enough Darnassian to speak it. I could only understand the gist of what he was saying to me. And the jokes, the attitude. I feel more transparent each passing day.
When I first approached the Wildhammer Keep and little Davvi lead me to meet Etharion, I had hoped his men would be as straightforward as he is. I was very, very mistaken. We appear to be a bunch of weirdos trying to make the best of what we have and help others. I suppose that's why I feel like they are my strange, dysfunctional family.
A family that I've failed, like the last one. When I saw him just sitting there, mocking us.. I wanted to prove myself. This time, I would fit in. I would be valuable and keep the others from getting in harms way. This time, I felt I could really save them.
I could not. I failed, and miserably at that. I would be happy with my lost eye if I could manage to gather my strength and strike him down, but that thing got to him first. All I could do was to stab his inert corpse of a body. Only about as functional as my role in the Servitors.
Every time there's true danger about, I fail to step up and prove myself. I was the one that volunteered to seek Needler in the first place, just to prove my worth. All that lead to nothing but the loss of an eye. Now I am even weaker.
Roiya is an incredible wielder of shadows. Davvi can blow up a barn with an arm if she wishes to. Sandaal is an expert hunter that has survived the worst of Outland. So many skilled fighters around me and all I can do is to run around and try to stab things with my daggers. My skills in assassination and cheap, dirty murder will not save anyone in the thick of it.
I refuse to lose my friends - my family again. I will find a way.
Roiya is wise and ancient. If she has not seen through my veil, she will soon - when I speak to her. I fear she's the only one to whom I can speak with about my next step.
Before I even had the chance to be alone with Roiya, Jo blurted out my past with the Defias and I had to explain everything to Sandy and Roiya. Surprisingly, neither seem to care. Makes me wonder if they know about Jo and her past, which is considerably shadier than my activities with the Defias. I've also learned a bit about out previous commander, which only made me appreciate our current one more.
Speaking of Etharion, Sandy let slip something about his hands. He's a hunter, he needs delicate hands and a strong wrist (must be how he landed that good looking worgen, ha, I kill me). I'm a bit worried about his career as a hunter. I wonder if he'll take a more tactical leader type approach where he acts throughout his advisors. I did enjoy having him out in the field with us.
When I opened up to Roiya, she seemed surprised but not entirely shocked. In fact, she herself said she's seen similar events throughout the centuries. As I hoped, Roiya's age and her interest in the spiritual world had taken her places and shown her strange things. She can indeed see souls and she has now looked into mine. We do not have much of an idea about what has happened, but she thinks someone who dabbles with the Emerald Dream, a druid, will be able to assist me. We will see.
She seems to have misunderstood my need for power for a need to be whole, however. I worry - If we find a way to .. fix me, what will it do? Will it remove half of me? Will it kick it out? Will it be ME who is exorcised or .. I am not even sure who I am. Is my consciousness an amalgam at this point, after so many years, and will it just vanish if I attempt to fix myself? I'm scared, perhaps I should have just left this be.
About my need to prove myself, and be more useful.. not much has happened. Sandy offered to train together and Roiya suggested I work on some ranged attacks. Perhaps it's a start.
I have a strange suspicion that we were listened to during our private conversation, however. Marii happened to just.. appear a while after our conversation was done. She's small and quiet, and to be fair I do not trust her not to eavesdrop. I have no idea what she would do with the information if she wished to, but it makes me uncomfortable that my privacy was - Hang on, is that her there? What's she doing in The Pig?
*The last bit of the text is written in a hurry, almost a scribble*
Oh so much has happened today. Not to Servitors as a whole, but to me.
First of all, good news to me, my eye is back! Well, it will be. Roiya's .. student? I am not sure, someone who calls her Auntie (heh) helped me out on her request. I should really thank our guild mommy for assisting me with this. Strange enough, I'd been walking around with a piece of the black needle buried in my eye for the last three days. Thankfully, Needler is dead and could not utilize this. I would hate to slit Etharion's throat in his sleep.
Oh, speaking of, he seems to be up and awake again. Not quite on his feet but doing well. A bit too well, perhaps. He seems .. a lot less concerned with the fact that he's gotten the city bombed. When he said that it was his fault and that he had BAITED The Needler into attacking us.. To be honest, I was - am, disappointed. I'd thought he was better than just throwing us all and everyone around us into harms way. Now I can not help but think the two guards died because of him, the poor dwarf lady suffered mind control, and all the injured from the city.. I am confused. Up until now, he had maintained an image as a good leader and an honest, sincere man in my mind but now, he's just.. he's just a man. I understand he's trying to help and had good intentions but now I see that he has his flaws. What was that? Overconfidence? Underestimating his enemy? Perhaps a strange disregard for.. our lives? For his own?
M is up to some weird shit I can not even comprehend. She probably thinks I've seen too much, hell, she tried to pay me off not to tell Sandy and Roiya but I don't even know what I would tell them. I'll just leave her be, she's a grown up despite her size. If she wants to get involved in shady business, she is free to. I just hope she remembers that she is representing the rest of us Servitors.
There's talk of a gate of souls and The Unnamed trying to eat every soul ever or.. oh for the love of. I am terrified of getting near that thing. What if it rips my soul right off my chest?
Perhaps I should just stay at the keep and watch over Etharion, make sure he doesn't invite Sargeras for a dinner to poison him or something.
- Today's journal page is very short and the writing is worse than usual, as if he's written it while walking or standing-
Uneventful day, I was not going to write anything for the day until I just found Davvi in Cathredal Square, grabbed her and put her in between half a dozen gnomes who were all yelling at each other just to see what would happen.
He opened the wooden door and carefully checked his surroundings to see if anyone was following him. He had made sure to take the most undesirable route to his old little house that he possibly could, retracing his own steps, going through the canals and the thick jungle. He had evaded the guards, avoided the sight of treants and even walked knee deep in the canals of the city, but he was finally home, safe.
He dropped his sack of loot on the floor and quickly closed the door behind him. As soon as he took two steps into the house, a sudden scream stopped him, chilling his blood. He knew this scream and what was to come.
"Just WHAT are you doing, young man?!" his mother yelled. The old lady still had quite a voice to her. After all, it's difficult to tell our age since The Tree fell. "Take off those SHITTY boots right now!"
Frovelos looked down on his boots, which were indeed covered in mud and whatnot from the dense forest outside. The rain had been hitting the island for the last few days and had covered the landscape in sloppy mud.
"I am sorry, mother - but look!" He was so excited! He quickly got down on his knees, opening up the sack he had brought in. The sack was filled with silverware, plates, even a few coins he had managed to steal off of the tables in The Pig and Whistle. "Look, mother! If I can fence these, I am sure I c- " his words were cut short when he saw his mothers face. Her eyes filled with sorrow and regret, she quickly sat down and covered her face with her hands.
"Why must you do this to me?" she whimpered. "Your father would be so disappointed in me, the way I raised you.." His father had died years ago, before he was ever born, on the sands of Silithus. So many of our kin had fallen there.
He got off his knee, walking towards his mother, leaving muddy footprints. He lightly brushed a hand against her gray hair and looked down on her wrinkled, aging face before wrapping his arms around her, pressing her against his chest.
"I am sorry, mother. I .. I have to do this, to take care of us. To keep our house and our dignity.. I am sorry."
He remembered the small house in a back alley he used to live in. He remembered the perpetual night. He remembered running through the paved streets. Looking up to the wise, kind druids. The footmen coming back from their fight with the orcish horde. His little toy bear. His little toy rifle.
The smell of pie.
The smell of rain.
His house, built inside a tree.
His father, who died when Stormwind fell.
His father, who fought against the Slithid.
His father, who died when Stormwind fell.
Frovelos woke up in cold sweat. His hands reflexively searching for his flask before his eyes even open. He unscrewed the flask and took a few large sips, to kill the confusion and fear.
I'm convinced to actually look into my past now. Roiya suggested walking the Emerald Dream, a more spiritual connection but from the sound of it, the dream sounds more like a nightmare waiting to happen. I trust Roiya, but I do not trust that she does not overestimate my mental capability to fight back against metaphysical horrors.
Visiting Hyjal during the invasion, through the caverns of time was another option. A horrible one at that. Whatever has killed me twice can and will kill me again. I do not want to risk that unless I find a way to remotely view the past, or take a bunch of very capable Servitors with me. Maybe even that one Death Knight. He seemed like a strong one. Then again, there is absolutely no reason for any one of them to risk themselves, not that I would want them to.
The only option left for me is to journey into Hyjal, present day. Explore Kalimdor a bit, see if I remember anything. See someone I know, a corpse I recognize, a place I had been in or a tombstone I want to mourn. We'll see.
Again, I refuse to go alone. My emotional state will be shaky and there's a chance I'll lose my mind, or Light forbid, my very soul. Roiya has decided to come with me or send her niece along and I am sure lil' Mindspanner would be happy to accompany me. They are the two that share my secret and are close enough to me to follow me across the ocean. Close enough to me to bring me back if I lose my shit and run off to the mountains.
The question is, how do we explain this to the Commander?
"Oh, we just decided to take a few days off, we are all so stressed because of the at-"
Alright, diary journal, it's been a long time so let's get this over with.
Let's see. I did go to Hyjal with Roiya and M. It was a good choice to bring them along of all the Servitors. M is no stranger to the circumstances and Roiya is wise and open minded. Either way.. other than some details I am not comfortable writing down or thinking about, we appear to have found my own body. We will need to give it a proper burial at some point. Perhaps that will be some sort of a closure. I hope.
New members. Lots of them. My initial reason to avoid trying to climb the ranks was that I felt the Servitors needed someone to take over the dirty work. However, Etharion seems to disagree as he actually called me over to his office to encourage me in this direction. Perhaps he is right, if we can create a division that will handle the more subtle and.. dishonorable deeds we have to do, then I can feel at home there.
We have almost 40 active members now and it's honestly difficult to keep track of them.
Roiya has given me her tabard, today. She passed it on to me and voiced her.. trust and faith within me. Saying I was surprised and moved is an understatement. Somehow, I feel closer to her than any other Servitor.
Since I'm now in line for promotion, I'm excited to see what Etharion will ask of me. I hope it'll be something I can put my skills to work, and perhaps something fun!
I've been sleeping a lot better, too.. I don't even take the potion M gave me anymore. I've also significantly reduced the amount of alcohol in my life. Still I dream, however. Every night, I just dream of .. pitch black. Deep, dark black. It's peaceful in a way, and better than the nightmares and the confusion.
On one hand, we did not lose anyone. No one even got injured, really. Not physically.
On the other, we've failed to save the hostages, nor have we slain the Iron Knuckles leader.
Orcs. Fucking orcs. Of course they killed the hostages before we even got there. They were never even meant to be hostages. Why would they care? Scum of the earth. I thought the burning rage in me had dimmed but now I find the embers bursting in flames again. Commander and some others seem to show some remorse about killing the shits that were in the cave. I personally believe it to be the only salvageable part of the mission. At least we've removed thirty something wastes of air from this world.
I need to calm down before I lose my temper and do something that would dishonor the Servitors.
Oh what else.. Izzy gored someone in the chest. That was hot. I then had to sort of choke her to alter her voice and she in turn rubbed her horn against my face. Healthy friendships.
The farseer is.. incredibly powerful. He's effortlessly summoned up a storm. I'm not sure, but he seems older and more powerful than Izarre, or most of us really.
There were a lot of Servitors in action and they all seem pretty capable. I'm glad.
I wonder who will contact the University about the loss of life they've suffered?
I have some time to write now, whether I like it or not.
Jo and Zekaar, the farseer, are lost. After the mission, I saw them fly off to attempt harassing Bloodeye or something. I had considered leaving with them, but I chose to try and speak with the others. They were, and still are, for some bloody reason shaken by the events of the previous mission.
Whatever. Those damned orcs were not about to worry about them.
The fishermen told me they saw them crash towards the East, into Uldum. The mountains block my way, so this means I need to trek through the desert.
I may have acted carelessly. Jo is a dear friend of mine and I've rushed out of the keep in blind rage when I got the news. I do not care about this being my promotion task, or it being a mission at all.
I will find them. And if they are hurt, I will slaughter every single one of those orc pigs.
For now, I have to wait for this sandstorm to blow over. Spending some time in some ruins, under my tarp.
The man lied down in a dark room, his one still-bright eye the only source of light. The shadows twitched and shifted at the edge of his sights, every harmless object now the vessel for some nightmare projected on the walls. Like a child trying to hide from monsters, he pulled the blanket over himself despite the heat of summer.
"You're better than this."
He knew that much. He'd been out there, fighting demons and the undying. Despite having to visit the infirmary quite often due to his injuries, he was still hell of a fighter.
"I can not swing a sword at this problem." He spoke softly. "I tried."
"You do not need them. You are strong enough to survive the coming storm. You always have been a survivor. Hide under their bodies, just like in Pandaria, and live to fight another day."
Frovelos pulled the blanket off his head with anger and rose up on the bed, ready to yell back an argument to defend his swordbrothers and sisters, his family. The only family he has left. He stops as a faint glimmer of sanity sparks to life in his mind, realizing he's staring at his sword. A blade that was very recently confirmed to be devoid of any life but his own, forged with his blood.
The elf cursed himself, reached over to open a drawer by the bedside and pull out a small, dusty journal. He flipped open a random page and started writing.
They thought it was neat and interesting. Becoming an elf, even if for a short time thanks to the paradoxical powers of the Caverns of Time. They don't know better, of course. To wake up in an alien body, see new colors, feel new sensations.. to damn near lose your mind. To look down to your hands and see someone elses. To stare at a mirror and never recognize this person looking back at you, with their own past and memories stuck somewhere in your mind.
To feel their lips touch everyone we love, for our lips have long rotten.
Every time I touch someone I love, I fear I am violating them with the body of a stranger. I let people and opportunities pass me by - ignore it when they ask why I refuse to find anyone.
None of them would understand. No one would want to.
There's that voice again, clawing at my mind. I can not speak of it, for I have given enough reason not to be trusted. First taken over by fel, getting kidnapped due to recklessness, then attacking a superior during a mission.
She did not deserve to die there.
I'm training with Izzy.. every day. It's tiring, but I am learning as much as I can about the demon nature and how to slay them. Some of it sounds familiar, like it echoes against something in my mind, rest of it new.
It's in vain. She lusts for death. She'll find it soon.
I want to keep the voices away, they happen when I'm alone. They know things. I focus on my patrols, the training, even the fucking latrine duty. I don't want to make the others worry. I don't want my family to fear me, exile me.
They were never your family.
Enough! They ARE my family. They've protected me - they LOVE me! At.. at least some of them, and that is enough for me!
Then you will watch them burn. As the fire r-
Who are you!? Is it me? Am I being driven mad? Has someone slipped dusted Saronite in my meal - or is this Misafir? Perhaps Roiya left something open in my mindscape? Maybe even my sword - but why would.. Are you my sword? Misafir - have you come to torment me? Who are you?
Frovelos was having another sleepless night. Filled with concern for Ah'lam, whose family may have passed. Filled with worry about the health of his companions and how these recent events would change their perception of him. Filled with fear that there might be another demon lurking within the keep walls to swipe him away, perhaps this time slice his throat, cut him into pieces and burn him in the forge.
He would lock the door, but he does so every night. It did not quite help the last time.
He lied down, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling to the dim light of his gas lamp. He listened, expecting to hear whispers of his failures and fears. Something about why it was him, perhaps, that the demon chose to steal away. Why was it him that he chose to imitate? Was it because the others trusted him, or was it because he was the easiest to? A weak mind, something easy to read and gather information from. Perhaps it knew that this would reduce his morale even further, or cause his sword brethren to shun him.
But nothing happened. There were no taunts, no raging arguments with himself, nothing bringing up painful old scars. It was so quiet, he could almost hear the other few Servitors wander around the Keep late at night, looking for their own demons to slay.
"Shit." he mumbled to himself. "Guess it really was him."
This is.. what, the third day of the Legion invasion? Four? I can not properly keep track of days holed up here in the Keep.
We're still in lockdown, not that it did us much good. Earlier tonight they drilled their way inside the keep and I was not even fighting condition to stand against them. If I was, maybe
Two of my dearest friends, Izzy and Ah'lam both lost limbs in combat.. two of our stronger combatants, too. My leg just.. won't work. It'll probably take months of training it to be able to walk and fight on it, if not at least a year. I do not have the luxury of rest or wait, I have to get back to fighting condition. I'll ask Seda to make something for my leg.. if she needs to cut it off first, so be it. I'll be damned if I see my family hurt again in my absence.
I saw my father after the exp
I've been having strange dreams ab
I see the battered, wounded Servitors. I see that they're all scared, for the thousands that are under us, for our children and families here in the keep and for the rest of Azeroth. Half of us are missing. M, Avo, Bromm, Jo, Quin, Sky, Cere.. there's almost too many to write down here. I can only hope they're still alive. Somehow. The King is dead, along with a large part of the Alliance forces that responded first. Ashenvale too, may have fallen. I may not have grown up there, but I have memories of it from Misafir - playing under the shade of the trees and fantasizing about great Kal'dorei heroes.
I can understand Misafir a little, now. I can see how seeing your loved ones hurt, your world ablaze can push you. Through all these things I perceive, I feel not much sorrow. I feel hate.
I hate the Legion. I hate everything they stand for. I feel like I could do anything to stop them, to hurt them. I could sacrifice anything to put a stop to it. I threw my life away trying to stop that cannon from destroying the Keep, from killing Wildhammer helping us or my friends. How different is it to throw your life away to become a Demon Hunter, and fight against the enemy of all creation? I can understand why he wanted to come back so far - to take back a body that was by all means, rightfully his.
If I see him her again - considering we don't attempt to murder one another on sight - I might try talking to him.
Light, if we'll ever need them, it's now.
*written with a different pen, at the bottom of the page*
Frovelos took a sip from his flask, not even quite sure what's in there anymore. He was sitting on the walls of the dwarven fort they were taking refuge in, his crutch leaning next to his runeblade.
"I would never act on it, of course. I wanted to. She was young - probably as young as I am, in elf years - she was bold, excitable, fun.. I related to her. I can not, though.. I've tried. I don't feel like me, this body is not me. Not that anyone would choose me, anyway. Not over some.. billion year old majestic mountain of a man that can wave a hand to make the stars cry for her. I hated him for it.. then I realized how happy she is. She would be safe with him, he could protect her.. he could keep her alive and get her through this war."
His eyes fixed on the green horizon, Frovelos took another sip, then handed the flask to the woman next to him. "What a load of shit. None of us could do a damn fucking thing."
"We've all lost much. This is why we have become what we are. We take that pain, and forge it into strength - into action others would fear to take."
"I know, I should have... I should have gone through with it. Maybe I co-"
"You would die. You were dying. They've tried for days. You have to realize becoming one of us.. it twists your soul. It's not simply a physical improvement. Your soul would simply not accept what we pushed on it. You are not Kal'dorei. You will never be one of us. I'm glad your friends arrived when they did - would be quite the waste of a fit, able fighter."
The woman took a long sip of the flask, handing it back to Frovelos. "I should go, the sun will rise soon. Some of your friends would strike me at first sight."
"How do I get stronger? How do I avenge them?"
The woman hopped off the wall and picked up her swords, strapping them on her back. "Ask the Priestess. She's clearly the one most experienced in vengeance - and killing. I envy you greatly for being so close to her. She must have seen something within you."
"What will you do now?"
The woman took a few steps away, her sightless gaze scanning the distance for creatures of fel.
"Avenge my own loved ones lost. My own village razed. My own brothers and sisters slain, flayed, tortured, twisted. I have a lot to avenge." She took a quick look at Frovelos, and smiled. "You will join me, in time."
Frovelos gripped his red and yellow scarf, a finger tracing the lion pattern Masana carefully crafted for him. "I will find a way."
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