Grim Views

There's a saying back in Gilneas, to 'get gabbing or get going.

I had contacted the now newly appointed Dreadweaver, Atticus Grace, to start my Trial of Resolve. I had never been one for talking, let alone being so close to another. Feelings of anxiety feel my non-functioning stomach, a memory of 'butterflies'. I push at it, trying to build the nerve. While I feel it would be a simple matter to ask three simple questions, how to begin was to be my greatest hurdle. I could never come up with the words, a small murmur before shelling up. I needed something, a proverbial 'key to the door'.

I would find such a key in an old poster against the wall of Karazhan. They've told me, that time is distorted in and around that place. Much like that of the Timeless Isle. This old wanted poster of a man long alive, but to me, dead. One Atticus Grace. This would be my aegis to interviewing with him. Hopefully.

I tracked him to Silvermoon, home city of the 'Blood elves'. A beautiful city, its beauty second only to Gilneas City, but too bright. The sun always seems to hang just overhead through some form of elvish magics. Sir Atticus was not easy to find or track. His movements are chaotic and sporadic, much like that of a wild hare desperately trying to hide. However, I had found him, hidden away in a dark alcove, far from the touch of the sun and the breath of another body. A perfect place, so it would seem. But as I stood at the top of the spiral staircase, I felt it again. The feeling. I stood there for who knows how long, waiting. He could be gone for all I know now, but I continued to stand there. Finally, the clopping of a nearby horse brought me back to reality. Slapping at my chest plate a few times I descended. Through the shadows I saw him, sitting in the middle of a shaft of light. Perhaps he was in some sort of trance? Maybe I should come back, I thought. No, I must go through with this. I pulled out my poster and hesitantly approached. I tried to, what do they call it, 'break the ice' by asking a simple question, "What was he doing there?" Perchance, this would be easier than I originally thought. He seemed complaisant enough. I guess it was when I let my curiosity get the better of me that things started to fall apart. I had never seen an undead as both human and their current form. To see such a thing, even through a poster, interested me. I had only ever known of how I died. Perhaps in knowing how he did, I would learn who he was. At least, that was the thought.

I handed over my aegis poster, to turn the proverbial key and it seemed to have worked. He light-heatedly laughed about me possibly coming to collect. I too shrugged off the notion, but deep in my bosom I could feel the pain. I rubbed at it to try and keep it down. I began to ask my questions, hopefully to take my mind off of it. But it didn't help, I suppose it never does. I could feel the world warp about me, and for a moment, time froze. When I came too, Sir Atticus was in my face. I had come off as soft with my words. And if my studies thus far into The Grim were correct, the soft die young. I hesitated, I would have to show him. Undoing the couplings of my chest plate and lowering it, keeping myself modestly hidden, revealing my secret and the cause of misery. As he inspected, my embarrassment would be saved by the radio. We were to be summoned to the Timeless Island as the Alliance machine was running wild. We had a job to do, and battle to be joined. I would have to wait to secure my interview. I had never been one for talking, and there's a saying back home: Get gabbing, or get going.

There is a saying back in Gilneas, Honorable people do not always perform honorably. Sometimes they cannot.

I would attempt again to get my interview with Sir Atticus. He had newly been appointed Dreadweaver under the High Inquisitor, Syreena. It- deterred me a little, to say the least. I thought I had lost my opportunity. However, time is fickle and I once again had a chance. He would be found in the Mountain of Serenity, the training ground to the Monks of Pandaria. Perhaps he wanted to be a monk? I tracked him to a cave, standing among scribes and scholars. I believe he knew I was coming, perhaps he learned of my anxiety towards others. I hesitated again, but this time I would have help. Horror, who had been with me sense the Wall fell, pushed me along. I would be angry if he weren't right. I walked in with him by my side. I stood again, in the shadow of my first interview and I was determined not to fail again.

I had no aegis this time. I would have to be on my own. I greeted him only to be questioned. My proper manner of speaking, from what I'm seeing, throws the people of the Horde off. Sir Atticus is no different it would seem. I was questioned of my nobility. I replied that I was but a simple farmer's daughter. This, in itself, seemed to strike a cord for Sir Atticus. I could almost feel a lightening in the air as he wanted to learn more about my parent's old farm. Perhaps he was a farmer in his previous life? I had heard about the uprising in the Alliance province of Westfall, where farmers turned into crooks and rogues because of the denial of aid from their king and country. Maybe he was one such farmer? Little did I know though, it was not me for whom he was waiting. It was his elvish wife, Miss Drinn.

Miss Drinn seemed to be a woman of small words, like me, but obviously a lot stronger both physically and in determination. I felt small comparatively. She was there to tell her husband some vital information and once again, my plans seemed to fail. But, I suppose I neglected the truth of Sir Atticus. Hidden beyond that entangled mesh of speech, movement, and motion lies a single straight motive. He was waiting for me, and for his wife. She was to be my interview by his design. I suppose the High Inquisitor would not elevate one on time spent in The Grim alone. I swallowed my feeling and asked her my three questions quickly before I lost my will. How did you join? Why did you join? And, what does The Grim mean to her? Sir Atticus sat in the corner, watching, listening.

Miss Drinn, again, seems to be like me in small manners. She found The Grim through word of mouth as I had. But back then, the rules were different or so I am told. She spoke of Terran Mill, a place I had only heard about from my brother as he fought in the Second War. It had become an Undead settlement sometime after his letters, I suspect. Even though it was only a decade ago, her words still made me feel very young. Almost like I was being told a story again by my elder sister. I continued to listen as she told me the power of The Grim of old, how it stood the test of time itself and the power its name carried. How, to a youngling rogue, such a thing was more than enough to make any warrior bend a knee, and more so to flock people like her to its doors. Finally, she recited an old phrase once said to her in her time. Members of The Grim were weapons to be used, weapons to do what must be done, weapons to do what others cannot and don't want to do. There is an old saying in Gilneas that my grandfather would tell me, Honorable people do not always perform honorably. Sometimes they cannot. While he was referring to Lord Crowley's retaliation to the throne, I know it is the same.
I understand a little more of where The Grim is in the world as it is now.

There is a saying in Gilneas: Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.

I would meet with Miss Lilliana for my final test and interview in this Trial of Resolve. She would meet me in Tarren Mill, where I was giving some respects to the fallen. My brother is buried there, long ago. I barely remember his face, just that he was a big, strong man; nothing like I am. She would come upon me there. I discussed a little on the subject, but from the looks on her very expressive face I left a lot to mystery.

Miss Lilliana both confuses me and makes me curious. She is happy, too happy for someone who claims to be realistic. Perhaps she is a sadist, and the constant state of war excites her? Or perhaps there is something from her past that keeps her cheerful? One day I hope to unravel that mystery, for it may help someone like me find serenity. I began like I did with Miss Drinn and asked her how she came about The Grim.

She told me of a time long ago. She, like Miss Drinn and I, seemed to have fallen into The Grim's grasp through fate alone. A friend of hers joined, and she followed suite. She told me how, at first she didn't really understand the Grim. They weren't, to her, what many people see them as. But she followed their rules and laws as any within its shadow does. She told me that as the Grim, we must do what others do not wish to do; or at least, that's what I took from it. And I told her of an old saying my grandfather once told me, "Honorable people do not always preform honorably. Sometimes they cannot." In regards to it. It opened up another question I never thought I'd ask.

"Was the attacking of Gilneas, who had no ties to the Alliance an honorable attack, or dishonorable?" As, I'm sure anyone is aware, I wasn't dead when the Wall fell. So this thought has sometimes plagued me. Would I still be alive, if Gilneas was left alone? However, I hadn't dared to ask the question to anyone. Each side had its own answer. I was on the Alliance for a time after the Wall fell. I can tell you what they would say. And I have been here within the borders of the Horde for some time as well and call tell you most of their thoughts on the matter. But, I was a little surprised at her answer: impossible. I've always been black and white, one way thinks one, the other another. But she spoke of a gray, of being on both sides as I have. I'm sure if I had the capacity to cry, I would have. No one I've met thus far has understood that. It was nice. I asked her my final question. What the Grim meant to her. She said another thing I did not expect: Family.

Family, a word that hits a sour cord for me. It makes my chest hurt, causes that wound to throb in anguish. However, it was what she saw the Grim as. While disorganized and with our own goals and means-to-ends, we are still a big family that gets things done and comes together when needed. A puzzle, scattered about with no clear connections, can form a whole picture. And that picture was Grim. Two different answers from two different people. The light and the shadow. The Yin and the Yang. The Grim is not only a weapon, but a family. I wonder where my place is in such an order. I shall leave these entries here, to be seen by those who wish to understand the gray. And for my attendant, Sir Atticus, whom hopefully these sate.

-Fortuna Quezt

Quezt,

Well done. Your Trial of Resolve be complete. I be sending you information for your Trial of Sacrifice.

- Atticus