Grim Views

Memoirs - My Story, to Whom it may Concern

Daala - December 29, 2005

A worn journal of dragonhide, a human tongue nailed to the cover.
Daala’s journal; the first page is a preface.

I have recently come into possession of this notebook, and
suppose it is appropriate for the dictation of my story. While I
cannot find much that is remarkable in it, I understand that, to
glean more of the histories of my compatriots, manners dictate
that I should offer some information in return. And so, here it
is.

Suppose I ought to start from the start. In most beginnings, this
would be my birth, a brief touching upon the backgrounds of my
parents, and such pleasant matters. I am denied that option, but
I’ll do my best.

My name is Daala. I lack any semblance of a surname because I
lack any semblance of parental figures. Most orphans lack their
parents because they passed away, or abandoned their fledgling
child. Such is not my case. I did not have parents because I was
born to a caste that, it was felt, was undeserving of that
privilege.

It is a little-known fact that every once in awhile, a child is
born to the Sin’dorei that bears physical characteristics
identical to the Kaldorei, a sort of genetic throwback imprinting
the vividly dark colorations of the Night Elves. Though most of
the common populace amongst the High Elves has forgotten their
old brothers and sisters, a dark-skinned elf would be viewed as
tainted or unholy, in some fashion. The noble class, however,
possesses a long memory; amongst their recollections lie both
their remembrance and contempt for the druidic Kaldorei.

Children like me were taken away at birth, typically to the joy
of their mothers, and transferred to the perimeter forests of
Quel’thalas, where our kind lacked many significant settlements.
The Sin’dorei lacked the mettle to snuff out our lives at the
infantile stages, but could not bear to even tacitly acknowledge
us. Like the convicts of human detainment centers, civic
sentiment held that while we, tauntingly deemed the "Low Elves,"
were preferably ignored, we might as well do something while we
were there.

We lived in a rather large farmstead, the "Tranquil Way of Life"
Settlement, publicly declared as a meditative garden for the
Sunstrider dynasty, and thus off-limits. We Low Elves were
divided into various areas depending upon our age. There was no
semblance of law and order barring the prevention of the flinging
of feces, for we younglings. The stages of blossoming childhood
were very hard; we were effectively granted self-government, and
the more ruthless amongst us took control. There were deaths,
though I was not amongst them. As a babe, I managed to twist the
child-kings about with a gilded tongue, largely distancing myself
from the carnage. That is not to say that I was in any way
squeamish. I merely recognized the fact that my talents did not
lean towards smashing skulls with rocks. I’ll speak more of that
later; I merely intend to marginally introduce the Tranquil Way
of Life; elaborations will come in due time.

What of the Sin’dorei overseers, assigned over our portion of the
shadowy farmstead? Those bitter men and women, as was true
throughout the entire Tranquil Way of Life, were only present to
ensure that our kind did not escape containment and thus create a
scandal or an uproar. Whatever went on within containment was
quite out of their concern. It was not designed to be a savage
garden, breeding ruthless predators (though that is precisely
what it evolved into), but rather an empty void, out of sync with
the rest of the world.

I was a juvenile, rapidly approaching the conclusion of my
sojourn amongst the children’s division, when two simultaneous
occurrences made ripples. First, the ghosts of the advent of
pubescence; I did not yet have breasts, persay, but rather the
slightest of swells, barely larger than a few combined mosquito
bites. Second, I attracted the attentions of Kari, one of the
overseers.

It was quite common knowledge that amongst our watchers were
sexual deviants ranging from all manner of bizarre fetishes.
Nobody would volunteer for such a job but those with a sadistic
inclination, I suspect. We were brought up in an environment
extremely conducive, to that, and the concepts of ravishing a
child that could not yet walk, throttling a partner during
lovemaking, painting our bodies ivory and having us lay in ice
for a time, to simulate the look and feel of a corpse...none
disturbed me in the slightest. They were acknowledged as
perfectly natural, and I was no different than any of the other
Low Elves, in this regard.

But Kari...I knew that what Kari did was not right, not natural.
The closer he came to extinguishing my life, the more aroused he
became. My tiny womanhood ruptured and bled many a time; the same
with miscellaneous orifices. Usually, he used his "sword," but on
those special occasions, he would use a true blade. A pregnancy
was terribly feared; when a warden impregnates a Low Elf woman,
her baby is eviscerated, and she is left to live, if she can;
they do not desire another of us, especially not from their own
seed. Fortunately, I avoided this fate. I shall not delve deeper
into Kari’s tortures, for they are uncomfortable to recollect and
traverse into the realm of poor taste. One last event deserves
mention, however, for it was the one and only time that our
Sin’dorei wardens ever came to my aid.

I was nearing the ripening of womanhood at the time of this
debacle, and for the first time, I attempted to ward off Kari’s
advances. He grew more angry than usual, and accused me of laying
with another man. He told me that I was his property, and that to
avoid confusion, I must be properly branded. He cut my left
breast clean off, carved a small indention into the bloody mass
of my chest, and used the hole for his entry. After his seed was
inside of me, he then gouged out one of my kidneys; a trophy, he
told me.

To this day I am amazed that I did not immediately die of shock,
let alone pass out. The noises attracted the attention of other
supervisors; that in itself is remarkable, for screams weren’t
out of place. Immediately, they threw Kari away, and rushed me to
their personal medical ward.

My breast was successfully re-attached, though nothing could be
done for my kidney. To this moment, I can feel a small, hollow
cavity in my chest where he ravished me. I was not supposed to
move for several days; the very first moment when I was without
supervision, a scant few days later, I stumbled from the sick
ward’s cot to the Sin’dorei’s tiny brig, used upon those ever so
rare actions when disciplinary action was taken against one of
their agents. Kari was within; I had a scalpel from the infirmary
with me, and used the linens from his tiny bed to bind his limbs
and gag his mouth. Before silencing his screams, I cut his tongue
out. Then, his eyes, his ears, and his stalk. I killed him by
shoving the blade up his anus until I could no longer see the
handle.

When I returned to the makeshift hospital, I made no effort to
conceal my tiny slip of a blood-drenched body. I was warned that
the leader of the Tranquil Way of Life, Lieutenant Kirtar, was on
his way to see me. Soon, he arrived. I shall not go into much
detail of him at this moment, but I should mention his eyes. So
terribly quiet, magnanimous and bearing an intense sadness. Were
he a cat, he could charm a baby bird from its nest. He asked me
why I had killed Kari. I told him that while he deserved it,
"deserved" had nothing to do with it. I wanted to send a message
to all the men like him, that I was out of their reach. He stared
at me for what seemed like a long time with those haunting pools
of radiance, and I nonchalantly matched his gaze. I felt terribly
hollow, and not particularly concerned with the very real
possibility of death. Finally, he said nothing, nodded slightly,
and left.

Since Kari’s attentions, I have been unable to lay with a man. I
am no stranger to fornication; quite the contrary. But every time
I’ve tried, with any male, I feel that hole in my chest. Small
loss; it takes a woman to know a woman’s body.

Enough of Kari. I return to a previous concept, that of our lives
amongst the child's division. When I arrived at the Tranquil Way
of Life, three factions scrabbled for dominance of our rag-tag
group; though they enjoyed the pretense of monarchy and the royal
courts, they were little more than rabbles and press-gangs, led
by the most vicious little shrew that cared to take the reins.
More of them later.

Fresh into the division, I was approached by a shyster named
Sieg. He'd been there for a month, and the experience had puffed
up his chest considerably. He wasted no time. If I remember
correctly, his first words were something on the lines of "Hey.
Want to be a concubine? Good status, lots of friends. I can set
it up for you. My fee is twenty acorns. What's a concubine?
Nothing to get worked up over, don't wrinkle that little brow of
yours about it, or you'll blow your chance. Mordin controls the
strawberry fields. Good pickings, in season. But he's not doing
so well. Better go with Owein or Tychus. Just tell them Sieg sent
you. Don't forget the twenty acorns. Just pay me within the
week."

I should elabourate. First, of the acorns; part of the system the
Low Elf younglings had cooked up, piece by piece, over the years
involved the use of acorns as currency. Not that there was much
to buy. Only territory, and protection, really. The latter could
be purchased away by a rival at a heartbeat, and the
first...well, money's a thin shield against a spear. Second,
Sieg. The dreadful little sycophant made his niche by
ingratiating himself amongst all three of the Child Kings, and
trying to scam every little fool that trapeized about the
settlement. Those same fools typically died at the hands of our
peers, due to some confusion or mis-handling of a bloody affair.
As for Sieg, he was more skilled than I give him credit for.
Slippery as an eel; he prospered at the settlement.

Little did I know at the time that the Child Kings, each enjoying
the onset of manhood, collected naive girls to test their
newfound abilities upon. I would have become such a concubine, if
I did not meet one, first. Her name was Quori; a wispy, petite
lass of my age. To all appearances, a breeze would knock her
over. It would only be later that I learned of her surprising
tenacity. She belonged to Tychus; he was rough, and her first
experience with a man was marred by this. One of Tychus' boys had
her pinned behind a clump of bushes, claiming that his boss had
given him permission to take her. She resisted as best as she
could, but the brat was bigger, older, stronger, and had a
positional advantage. I broke a willow branch, as thick as my
little tiny, infantile thumb, over his head. Then another. It was
terribly strange; I've never been particularly strong, but I
killed that little bastard with those two blows. The sight of her
laying there...something unspoken reached to an unseen part of
me, I suppose. She threw her arms about my waist; tears streamed
down her dusty face, but she made not a sound, not even a cringe.
She just stared at his crumpled body, for awhile, before burying
her head in my stomach.

At that very moment, I fell in love with her. I know that it was
love, not lust, because I was still a ways away from womanhood.
It could have been nothing but love. I whored myself away to the
older boys, not as a concubine, but a free-lance, painstakingly
acquring as many acorns as I could get my little hands on. It an
agonizingly long time, but I finally had enough. Would've come
sooner, but Tychus was vexed that I killed one of his boys. I had
to pay him a quite considerable sum, to keep him from
blacklisting me. After I'd managed that, I was beginning to
unbearably ache from lack of her when I had enough money to buy
Quori away from him.

This might seem selfless; I assure you, it was not. Certainly, a
portion of me yearned for her to be free from the cruel bondage
of sexual slavehood. But that life isn't that bad, truly. Much
worse at the Tranquil Way of Life. No, I wanted her free, not
only so that I could taste her again, like when we made love that
first night behind the bushes, not three feet from the broken
bodied rapist, but because by that time, Kari had clutched me. I
knew that she would be the dreamcatcher to ward away the
nightmarish after-effects of his attentions. She was.

Wars between the Child Kings ebbed and flowed; there were
peaceful, and unpeaceful times. Careful diplomacy kept Quori and
I out of the mess; we had our own little world together. To say
that nothing could touch us would be a lie; Kari...and also, she
had her own predator amongst the wardens, though not as bad as
mine. Hers was more esoteric and bizzare, rather than sadistic
and brutal.

It was a terrible existance, in hindsight. But at the time, it
was all that either of us knew. For all we knew, every child in
the world lived in such a way. For all we knew, many lived worse.
But we were happy, those moments when it was just me and her.
Truly, does anything else matter?

I should note that Alys reminds me unmistakably of Quori. She
remembers little of her life; a hopeful part of me prays that
Alys and Quori are one and the same, and she just forgot. Wishful
thinking, but there isn't anything wrong with that.

As time passed, I found that Quori was borne to nobility, but her
mother couldn't stand the sight of her. I cannot remember her
house, but it's trivial, anyways. She would grow to protect me as
much as I'd protected her, that first night. On the rare
instances when trouble came our way, a snapped wrist or two was
all that it took to resolve the situation. Something in her
managed to keep the settlement's horrors at bay. I didn't know
what that essence was, but I suspect that it was what I craved,
the same aura that had first drawn me to her; as we lay together,
entwined in the embrace of lovers, I felt that I drew upon that
essence.

I have previously made mention of the fact that we were organized
into different age groups; reaching one's teenage years was not a
universal milestone, and it was a proud day that I'd proven
myself in this regard. After the childhood stage, we were deemed
exploitable by our venerated government, and sub-divided into two
teams. Those leaning towards the subtle arts of investigation and
infiltration were sent out of the compound, scouring through
strange or inhospitable places to acquire artifacts of some
enigmatic lore. These individuals, nicknamed "ferrets" by my
kind, were trained to recognize whether or not any given item
might have any worth, regardless of the fact that they couldn't
possibly conceive why the objects were special in the slightest
way. The second faction, nicknamed "crows," were the scholars,
set to analyze, research, compare, and archive all sorts of data,
based on the tangible artifacts and the verbal testimony of their
assigned partner.

Naturally, the autonomous nature of ferrets held that they could
escape at their convenience, by simply not returning. This
consideration was held seriously amongst our wardens. That was
why each ferret was forcibly exposed to a viciously addictive
drug named luhix, until an appetite for the stuff raged in their
hearts. Should a ferret disappear, he would cut off his supply of
the drug.

Our overseers took great pleasure in reminding the ferrets that
none had ever managed to stave off the addiction for long.

Naturally, I was a crow, and my assigned ferret was that shifty
little dodger, Sieg. Quori was also a ferret; it took little
convincing, given my penchant for "persuasion," to get Sieg off
of my hands and replace him with Quori. The wardens didn't give a
damn, but nobody expected that they would.

We were allowed to pick our own target locales, provided they
were safely away from Quel'thalas. I should make a note that at
this time, though a few aged Sin'dorei could remember Kalimdor,
the continent was all but unknown; more importantly, Kalimdor was
completely unknown to any soul with a boat. So, Quori's exploits
were restricted to the east. I suggested that we should focus our
energies on the nature of our immortality, and what might happen
if we should lose it. My half of that was to pore over every
Sunwell text I might find; her half was to seek out an
alternative source.

Two years passed. A footnote; I should remind the reader that
during all this time, that bastard Kari was still having a merry
old time with me. Quori continued to be my only shelter, as I've
previously spoken.

I finally stumbled upon a few brown, dirt-encrusted,
water-sundered scraps of scraps of parchment. Something about the
Highborne abandoning the blood-traitors. But when they left, they
took with them some of the waters of the Well of Eternity, a
source of immortal magicks. It took some doing, but I traced the
passage of the enigmatic Highborne until I realized that they
were the first Sin'dorei, and that their waters became the
Sunwell. At the time, I had no inkling as to the identity of the
blood-traitors; even if they had been spelled out,
"K-A-L-D-O-R-E-I," it wouldn't have meant a thing to me. As far
as I knew, I was there because I was polluted, and intrinsically
inferior, not because I had the flesh of a Night Elf.

Quori did much more than pleasure me over those years; she was
just as tireless, sifting through the sands of places where men
feared to walk. She found one alternative method to immortality,
one technique to sate a potential withdrawal, and many
fascinating, though still a bit insubstantial, prospective leads
to both. I shall not make mention of those leads, at this time,
for they remain too speculative. Many of my journies since my
liberation from Ner'zhul have concerned following up on these
trails. The alternative was found in the Orcish Death Knights.
Through meticulous, terribly cautious observation, Quori deduced
that these spectres would never pass on by natural means, and
that their minds remained quite intact. So, Necromancy, the first
route. At the time, it wasn't widely believed that one might
raise a corpse with an intact mind, memory, personality. As for a
way to abate the addiction, throughout her journies I theorized
that, to compensate for the lack of a constantly flowing source
like the Sunwell, one must acquire a more potent means. The
increased intensity should endure long enough to make a static
source un-necessary. Quori had brought me some toys, previously
held by Orcish warlocks; I found that the attunement of these
artifacts would prove suitable for our purposes. Quori focused
her efforts, then, upon all manner of fel relics, and it was at
that time that I acquired much of my personal insight upon that
art I now so cherish.

Many other teams found a competitive fuel, but few shared our
parameters or our goals; amongst our few rivals were the brothers
Philar and Pholar. Worthy adversaries; they seemed to possess a
sort of telepathy, often communication with one another without
speaking a word. Perhaps it was merely the stress of sharing such
a harrowing life that pressured them into shining like diamonds.
Unlike Quori and I, they had begun their sorties focusing on
diabolical nuances, so we were at a distinct disadvantage.
Nevertheless, Quori and I shared a collective passion, a zeal
that would drive us to bridging much of that gap before our time
at the Tranquil Way of Life came to a halt. We never did overtake
them, but nothing else was expected, with a two-year delay.

The time: Quori and I still zealously toil to surpass Philar and
Pholar, a colder pair I've never seen. One night, Kari goes too
far, and I nearly die. This is all old news. However, it is now
appropriate to delve into further detail upon Lieutenant Kirtar.

The leader of the Tranquil Way of Life didn't seem like his
subordinates. I suspect that something singed his soul, his
thirst for survival, and he became little more than a featureless
marionette, jerking his own strings about to no plan in
particular. Personally, I doubt that "Lieutenant" was an actual
title, but rather a nick-name. No, he had a military presence,
but also that hollowed, burnt-out presence that no soldier would
have without immediately pursuing retirement. I think he did not
maintain order because he could care less. No, that's not
right...I think that he permitted anarchy because he was consumed
in matters more important to him. But for some reason, he took
notice of my lowly self.

After I killed Kari, he kept his eye on me. That was nothing
unusual; I had thought he was trying to decide whether or not he
should execute me, or if he was trying to keep me on my toes. A
month passed, in this fashion. I do not know what he saw that
inspired him, but one day, I found a chess board on my bed, and a
note in a scratchy scrawl I'd later discover to be Kirtar's. The
note held no more than instructions; no messages, no sentiments,
no clues as to the sender. But I knew it was him. I could still
feel the slant of his eyes, upon me. The board smelled like him.
But I lacked any semblance of a reason to resent him past his
authoritative position.

I began to play. Sometimes, when our ferrets are gone, we crows
finish with our workload and had nothing more to do. It was in
those times, and even some times when I should've been working,
that I played. I did not bother trying to play in privacy; Kirtar
had given me the board for a reason, and it wouldn't be to
imagine me playing it. Though I must sound immodest, I was good;
very good. A month and a few weeks passed, and Kirtar called upon
me yet again.

If we met in his office...well, I cannot think the words to
finish that thought. The walls were bare. There was a desk, but I
suspect it was empty. Completely devoid of any personal, or
impersonal, touches. Not even a Sunstrider crest. He said nothing
as I entered, did not look up to acknowledge me. Just scribbled
on some report.

...scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch
scratch...

The quill was incessant. Terribly irritating, but I gave no sign
of it. Just presented a cool exterior. Several minutes passed,
and he pushed the report aside, reaching for a folder wrought
from some sort of leather. Within the dossier was a
quintessentially thorough briefing upon some officer that,
naturally, I did not recognize. She must have been important;
each and every one of her battles was archived, painstaking
analysis of her tactical maneuvers, even a psychological profile.
In short, everything necessary for to know the slightest modicrum
of a human being from the military aspect.

I closed the folder, and looked up expectantly. His words were
something like..."Lieutenant-Marshall Sylvanas Windrunner. One of
our rising stars. You're to breathe that dossier, lass. If you
return to me unable to recite it word for word, including the
words that are unwritten, you'll be judged for Kari."

That was that. I breathed the dossier. Soon, I was able to recite
it, word for word. Including the words that were unwritten.
Though I couldn't glean any purpose behind it, I found the
tactical studies to be magnificently interesting. I felt that,
with the conclusion of my studies, I'd become privy to an insight
into the psyche of this woman, an insight accessible to none but
a very select few. It was a thrilling prospect.

I returned to Kirtar, but he requested no recitation. Instead, he
briefed me upon a game. I do not remember the rules,
unfortunately, but I do remember that it was a tactical
simulation. I was given the command of thirty Low Elves of
Kirtar's choosing for the game; they were already trained,
apparently. I asked him why I could not allow me to pick my men,
to train them in my own fashion. He curtly replied that generals
do not choose their armies, for the first. For the second, the
purpose of the game was not to benefit me in any way; that was
coincidental. His aim was not to create an officer out of me, why
should he waste his time, letting me train men?

I was to play against him, and his own army. At first, I objected
to this, citing that he was more experienced than I, that he had
created the game, and thus had an advantage. He rebuked me; fair
isn't in a tactician's vocabulary. Besides, he was going to be
directing troops while playing the role of Sylvanas; I wasn't the
only one that dreamt of the dossier.

Our armies met weekly. I divided my men into five platoons of
four. The first few games were massacres. Well...the first
several. But then, neither Kirtar nor I expected any more. I
predicted so many of Kirtar's maneuvers, terribly frustrated when
I could not follow up with a counter-measure simply because my
men could not yet see what I saw, or I couldn't think of a way to
get my vision across. But soon, the learning curve was overcome.
Quori came every time to watch, but she had to hold back, out of
my sight, for fear of distracting me. Eventually, the tides
turned as my troops and I became more and more intimately
acquainted. Kirtar, rather, "Sylvanas", was good, very good. But
she was still prone to errors of routine and habits of
psychology, and I exploited both. When I saw the slightest chink,
I scrabbled at it, tore away until it was wide enough to sunder
the enemy. Interestingly, Kirtar did not attempt to adapt his
strategy; he wouldn't use the same tactic twice in a row, but it
rather, he seemed to scroll through options as though following a
checklist.

I forgot when it was that he divulged the point in it all. He had
deemed me naturally adept at making tactical decisions,
initially. When I met his expectations, the games were approved.
As he told me, he was playing to simulate Sylvanas to the best of
his abilities. He did not change his strategies because that
choice would be her's to make, and he wanted to see how many
different ways the weaknesses might be exploited. Observers
recruited tactical data in strenuous detail, naturally. It would
all be compiled and sent to Sylvanas for her review. Stoic Kirtar
let it slip that while this wasn't the first time such a practice
has been set into motion, it was the first time in some time. I
felt honored that I should be deemed worthy enough to help craft
and shape the techniques of an emerging military genius; that
pleasure would go a long way in paving the purging of my
conception of inherent inferiority.

It was inevitable, I suppose. Reports came that the outer
perimeter of our verdant Quel'thalas was under assault from a
redoubtable force of the living dead. On all accounts, they were
too formidable to be halted, but the young Ranger General
Windrunner was doing her damndest to stem the flow as much as
possible. Rumors held that the human prince of Lordaeron, Arthas,
had slain King Terenas, continuing his swathe of bloodletting at
the helm of the undying flood. The name didn't mean all that much
to us; most Crows knew what "Lordaeron" was, but Arthas? Terenas?
meant nothing whatsoever.

The marginal level of supervision vanished completely; the
Sin'dorei simply had more pertinent things on their minds.
Eventually, Kirtar made an official decision, despite the lack of
any prompting from Silvermoon. The Tranquil Way of Life was to be
abandoned as the territory was grudgingly surrendered. All of the
Sin'dorei were to return to Silvermoon. The Low Elves were free
to do as we pleased.

They left in a convoy, the overseers; I was one of the few of my
bretheren more interested in seeing them off then squabbling over
the scraps of the settlement's remnants. An interesting
observation; to all appearances, Lieutenant Kirtar was not
amongst the exodus. Was something holding him back from
Silvermoon? That is not to imply that he remained at the Tranquil
Way of Life; he was unheard from within an hour of his decision
to cut all authoritative ties to the place. It was more support
for my theory that he was somehow disgraced from the capitol's
esteem.

Surprisingly, many of the more savage of our number stayed
behind. Small-minded fools that couldn't conceive every meaning
of the word "tsunami." Perhaps they thought that the Scourge
would pass them by like the eye of the storm. Maybe they even
believed that they could hold the territory. I did not wait to
find out. As soon as Kirtar made his announcement, Quori and I
had packed our bags; few personal effects, but many research
materials. Before the sun set, we were in the thick of the
vivacious forests, truly free for the first time in both of our
lives. But before this idyllic reality was accomplished, there
was a final hurdle to face.

Without a healthy supply of luhix, my beloved would've suffered
agonizing remissions; potentially fatal in such dangerous
circumstances. It didn't take long at all for the Sin'dorei to
abandon their posts to pack. A few of our more intelligent
bretheren, including Quori and I, took advantage of our one and
only chance to break into the luhix stores. It was a true fire
sale; we even managed to grab a handful of seeds. Poor Raniel had
to be incapacitated, though. He was the first to the room, and
took the instructions for the planting and cultivation of the
drug. That simply wouldn't do. I'm not sure whether or not Quori
hit him hard enough to slay the poor knave, but if he got back
up, it was long after our departure.

WIth the drug, Quori's fiendish shackles to the settlement were
finally severed. As we set foot outside the Tranquil Way of Life,
I picked up a long lathe from the ground, tossing it into the
air. When it landed, we walked in the direction it indicated.
There were many signs of devastation; mostly strip-milling of the
forests, likely to fuel the Scourge's demand for lumber. As the
signs of danger continuously escalated, we agreed that our
possessions would not be safe on our persons. Every memento that
Quori and I had of one another, barring a matching tattoo upon
our right hips, as well as our prolific and exhaustingly detailed
findings were buried in the forests of Quel'thalas, at a location
I shall not divulge in this text, where they remain to this day.

As we wandered through our ruined country, unsure if we might
stumble upon the Ranger Corps or the teeming masses of walking
corpses at any moment, it was not an uncommon event to pass by
massive mounds of rotting Elven flesh, bodies piled up by their
grim executioners. I think that it was from one such pile that
Quori became very ill. We tried to keep on, but soon it was
apparent that she could not responsibly walk.

Two days after settling down in a smouldering farmstead, I was in
the woods, searching for medicinal herbs when a ghoulish
reconnaisance party, likely deployed to find new nodes of
untapped lumber, and their necromantic overseer were upon me. I'm
not sure what inspired the knobbly old man to merely snuff out my
life, rather than stand by as the ghouls ripped my arms from my
sockets, but I was raised relatively intact. I haven't any
inkling, what happened to Quori.

When I tried to run away from her position was that horrifying
moment when I realized that my limbs were no longer my own, when
the thought occurred to me that that strange sense of a head many
sizes too large for my brain might actually mean something. It
did not take long to realize that I was dead, and a fresh body
for the Scourge's masses.

They blackened the verdant forests. Well enough, I suppose...it
was war, and such is its nature...but we were not like the
humans...strange that he should decide to make an example of we
High Elves of Quel'thalas, rather than his old comrades and
siblings. Perhaps the vivacious vitality permeating the foliage
stirred some contentious feelings in his tainted
flesh...reasoning is irrelevant. Quel'thalas is dead, now.

I remember very little of this time as a faceless
infantrywoman...it was not that I was not aware, quite the
painful opposite...I was desperately, vilely aware of my actions,
even more aware of my utter lack of authority over them. No, I
remember little because I did my best to shut out my
consciousness; I recall being surprised, the first time, at how
easy it was. Ner'zhul made me dance like some marionette, my will
was totally irrelevant, so I simply cut out the middlewoman.

They blackened the verdant forests. Well enough, I suppose...it
was war, and such is its nature...but we were not like the
humans...strange that he should decide to make an example of we
High Elves of Quel'thalas, rather than his old comrades and
siblings. Perhaps the vivacious vitality permeating the foliage
stirred some contentious feelings in his tainted
flesh...reasoning is irrelevant. Quel'thalas is dead, now.

But even that would've been forgivable...I am told that some of
my former brothers and sisters live yet, tapping a darker source
to quench the thirst that the Butcher brought upon them, the
undying thirst of arcane addiction, unsated when the Sunwell was
corrupted. But that bastard Arthas has denied me my deathright!

The women of my forsaken race were raised as a great spectral
visage of their former beauty, granted terrible, magnificent
voices with which to hound the living. The Banshees...I was
denied my due to be raised as one of they...instead, some
cockroach, faceless Necromancer brought me back as mindless
cannon fodder...a skeleton, like a cripple or a human...

I remember very little of this time as a faceless
infantrywoman...it was not that I was not aware, quite the
painful opposite...I was desperately, vilely aware of my actions,
even more aware of my utter lack of authority over them. No, I
remember little because I did my best to shut out my
consciousness; I recall being surprised, the first time, at how
easy it was. Ner'zhul made me dance like some marionette, my will
was totally irrelevant, so I simply cut out the middlewoman.

I do remember my first battle, though, when we were slaughtering
an outlying Elvish farm. I do not remember it because it was the
first battle of my life...I use the term loosely, of course...I
do not remember it because I was butchering "countrymen", I do
not remember it because I tasted raw flesh for the first time.
No, I remember it because, during the initial charge, a most
curious orb of obsidian energy emanated from my fingertips. They
were slain quickly...I mention it now because, in hindsight, it
is my scholarly opinion that that energy represents a polar
opposite to...I would say the energies of life, yet that is not
so accurate, because it is equally effective against we
rotting...let us call them energies that constitute our physical
integrity. When the two energies come into contact, they simply
nullify one another...thus, the black energy is destroyed, and
flesh and bone and muscle and sinew are destroyed....

I now know this to be a more base element of demonic magicks. I
do not know what triggered my ability to channel them, a talent I
lacked in life. Apparently, it is a very rare ability, for the
pillaging had not even reached its climax when I was whisked away
for observation. It would seem that I was one of a new breed
spontaneously erupting amongst the ranks of the Scourge...It is
my opinion that when the Sunwell was flooded with unholy
energies, there was a resulting feedback that spread amongst the
Scourge itself, randomly and rarely manifesting in we undying
soldiers in the form of the black arts...nevertheless, our
painfully meager group never received any training or refinement
for our abilities...the mental discipline required my will to be
my own. That would never, ever, be the case under the Lich King.

When the invasion of the Burning Legion was turned back at Mount
Hyjal, I was deployed to what appeared to be the ruins of
Dalaran. One of the only moments of emotional sentiment in my new
existance...the sight of so much knowledge destroyed so
carelessly drew my consciousness into a rage. That passed...I
suppose that I was there for some time; on my occaisional
sojourns into awareness, I observed the same surroundings, again
and again. Then, there was action. I did not even know it until
we were on the retreat, because that was the moment that I gained
free will. The field commanders were all dead, and it would seem
that our forces were being run down by a joint task force of
elves and some strange serpent-people...I discovered later on,
from other Forsaken that gained their liberty at the same moment,
that we were there to slay my old Prince, Kael'thas. I learned
later that Kael and his people were sentenced to death for
consorting with the Naga, condemned by the very people that had
abandoned the Sin'dorei to their sure demise. I learned to hate
humans, then.

We were amongst the first. For some strange reason, the Lich
King's influence was shattered, and the only field commanders
that might reassert control were slain by the Blood Elves, the
Naga. Our tattered group lived as refugees for some time, I
suppose. My greater personality resumed autonomy, and I was
driven to self-imposed isolation, to collect the bits and pieces
of what had happened in our world. One day, I felt that it was
time to rejoin the fold. And so, I came to Deathknell, to begin
the cultivation of those strange abilities that had surfaced in
the war.

For a time, my concerns did not stray too far from the path of
self-improvement. That was when I met a woman by the name of
Tremira, at a haunted village near the Shadowfang Keep. We found
that our objectives there co-incided, and joint arms in slaying
the diseased lycanthropes that populated the thorp. Her ruthless
cunning was impressive; I learned that she was the leader of an
organization, the Relics of the Scourge. And so, she took me into
her ranks as its newest member.

And yet...even then, not much changed in the order of things.
Tremira and I hunted together many a time, invigorating
experiences, all. I remember when she proclaimed that we must all
find a younger soul than ourselves, and bring them into our fold
as an apprentice of sorts. Immediately, my interest was drawn to
a fledgling assassin named Alys. I pursued her, sought her out,
and we immediately formed a bond. Immediately, I was drawn to her
vivacious spirit, and a bedazzling curiosity for the world and
its mysteries. I recall one occaision when I took her to Dalaran;
she peered at that veil for such a long time, wondering what
might be taking place behind the shield. That was when I realized
that I had fallen in love with her. Soon, I discovered that it
was a love returned, and we consumated it.

It was roughly one week later, and Alys was nowhere to be seen. I
was concerned, naturally, but not to the point of searching for
her. I had faith that she would return unscathed. At the same
time, Lady Tremira had also been absent, without a word, and for
a time longer than Alys. Before leaving, Tremira had honored me
with a whispered accolade; I was to lead a council of those
sharing my abilities, to direct towards the aims of the
collection of obscure demonic lore, in hopes that it might prove
useful. I forsaw a new, smaller version of the Orcish Shadow
Council, now the Jaedelnar, and the prospect was a thrilling one.
It would never come into fruition, unfortunately.

As I said, it was one week after Alys and I laid together when I
happened upon an idealogical argument in a tavern that I
frequent. A note: I stumbled upon the establishment in my early
days as a wanderer; to my astonishment, Reijek, the keeper, knew
Quori. As fate would have it, she often used the place as a base
of operations, planning her exploits while enjoying the
atmosphere. Reijek and I became fast friends; since then, he has
given me a private back-room out of the main common area, a
former wine pantry that I've converted to a cozy little nest
where I invent new drinks. But, returning to the argument...that
night, the more diplomatic factions amongst the Alliance were
throwing a cooperative celebration, the Winter's Veil Feast, and
the tavern was abuzz with conversation of it. It inspired two
members of the Grim to a minor feud concerning genocide. I
teasingly joined in, but left with a burning interest. I believe
that it was the next night that I spied a woman of some
reputation, and a member of some standing within the Grim. Her
name was Snowfeather, and she was sitting upon a bench in the
courtyard of the Undercity, a vacant, hollow glaze to her eyes.

I asked her, then, what the Grim's stance was on genocide, merely
a clarification. That insignificant question led to more and more
discussion; Snowfeather and I found that we shared much in
common, and the seeds of a great friendship were sown. She told
me that she'd continue our conversation on the morrow, and we
both returned to our beds. The next night came, and I found
myself with some time upon my hands. A contact of mine informed
me that she was travelling throughout Mulgore, so I set it upon
myself to track her down. I was close enough to touch her at
Thunder Bluff, but it was at Orgrimmar that I caught her
attention. We rode the Zeppelin to the Grom'gol outpost, and sat
upon the tall tower, gazing at a richly plump moon.

She told me of the conflict within her heart, and I learned that
much more about the woman at my side. Neither one of us really
knew why we spoke of the things that we did, to relative
strangers, no less, but we did not stop. I learned that she grew
up amongst the Wildkin of the arctic regions of Kalimdor, and
that she was setting off the next day to find her old home. I was
invited to join; naturally, I accepted. Soon, we arrived at our
destination. The owl-beasts held no recollection of their old
ward, and Snowfeather declared that she was leaving. Fortunately,
I convinced her that it was worth too much. I was fiercely
dedicated to the idea that she should find this cave; something
about the anguish in her heart resonated with the sorrow in mine,
and I knew that I'd found a kindred spirit. By soothing her
heart, mine would also prosper. We spoke at length in the small
alcove, and she resolved to spend the night, in hopes that her
nightmares might be abated in such an environment. Before she
fell to slumber's graces, she told me that she was meeting the
father of Yichimet, a bull that she had spoken of at
Stranglethorn, at the Bluff the next night, and that she'd love
it if I might join her.

When I arrived at the bonfire, I had had no idea that our purpose
was martial. It was a bit of a jolt to see so many members of the
Grim present, but I took it in stride, mentally recording
everything that took place. We were to invade Teldrassil to
acquire one of the owls, there. An orcish mercenary had been
camping there for some time, and managed to summon our lot
directly to the Kaldorei's heart. I was honored, along with the
hunter Mohan, and Snowfeather, with the task of acquiring our
objective, while the rest of our number pillaged the countryside
as a decoy. The mission was a resounding success, though
Snowfeather vanished most mysteriously. Victory was celebrated in
Elven blood, and we basked in the glory of the thing.

It was all to complete a Septa; I partook of the concoction along
with the rest of us at the bonfire. I...suffered, from the
visions. I've no wish to write of them, at this juncture. I
resolved to join the Grim; very soon, I was accepted.

I had met Madame Clys at the Bluff on that night, but we did not
speak. Our true first encounter was at Reijek's tavern, of all
places. We became fast friends, and soon moved on to more
business-like matters. Out of respect for her confidences, I
shall not divulge any of them here. I'm not sure what inspired
her to tell me some of the things that she did, on the first day
of our friendship, but I believe I took a straight bee-line into
her inner circle of trust. She still does not know if she should
place her full reliance upon me, as I'm something of an unknown
to her. I would hold no respect for her, if she did; and so my
heart sings that I'm seen as a potentially violent rabid hound.

I desired isolation again, and partook of a private expedition
around the world. That is detailed in a series of letters, found
elsewhere.

Upon my return, Clys asked me to a small meeting, where I met a
woman named Nissi. Her features were utterly obscured, and I was
naturally curious. I asked to see her face; she seemed
embarrassed, and I dropped it immediately. The next day, I met
Nissi again at Reijek's, taking the opportunity to bring out some
of my experimental drinks. A bit of a fiasco resulted, but again,
out of respect I shall keep it in my memory. Nissi and another, a
woman named Matiah, joined me in my back-room. We all knew how
the night would end, but I was called away before the reaping of
our anticipated pleasures. I learned of her resolve to abandon
all pleasures, to the aim of dedicating herself to the
destruction of the Alliance, and nothing else. I knew that this
would destroy Nissi's emotional state, and, rather drunk, I
managed to convince her to stay her hand, at least for awhile. As
such, we became lovers.

Last night, I served at Brackenwall, when that
bizarre...disturbance, resonated and halted the blood-letting. I
shall only make mention of it; enough has been said of it
elsewhere.

I must find what happened to Quori...one way or another, I feel
that I deserve some resolution from this tortured void of not
knowing. When I can return to Quel'thalas...my heart cries out to
regain what I buried, there, and to see Silvermoon for the first
time.

There is a possibility, through an associate, that I might meet
several of the Sin'dorei nobility. I relish the thought of making
them bend knee in obeisance to a Low Elf. I crave that
opportunity...

Something is consuming Snowfeather. I would help her, if I can.
She deserves some measure of solace.

Madame Danlily is somebody that I greatly desire to learn more
of, to become closer to. As it stands, she remains the greater
part of an enigma.

Madame Clys represents a more clearly-defined purpose, and her
confidence is very admirable, on the verge of bewitching. We
shall see what happens with that.

I fear that when I released consciousness as a faceless soldier
of the Lich King, particularly at the research academies where I
was studed, I missed some vital piece of insight. Nothing more
than intuition warrants this feeling.

My head has been haunted. I fear that Kari lives inside me,
somehow. Ever since the Septa, I cannot remember a single dream.
In the vision, I believe that it was Kari that wrapped me about
his finger so effortlessly.

I'm distracted...my thoughts are choppy and meager. More when I'm
better suited...