It is on rare occasions that I turn back to journals. I
think part of it is necessarily because when I look back at my previous
entries, I sometimes grow sick at the person I was. I am ashamed of nothing, I
am proud of what it has made me, but there are things that I am now that have
changed, and I dare not return to who I was once. But I digress.
Change is indeed a fitting word for what I find myself in
the midst of now. I would speak of Myranda first, as my new daughter has
brought a relief and joy to me that has been months in the making, in some ways
is another opportunity for me to leave another light in this world in the midst
of all the darkness I bring to it. But, there is context here that requires
mentioning. So, I think I will start from the beginning and return to my
daughter where she belongs, as one of a few pillars among a pressing tide of
troubles.
Theramore is the first thing that comes to my mind, though
it is a story already forgotten in the minds of many of my comrades. The trauma
of it has left a mark on me I think, though I wasn’t a victim myself. I
remember vividly, and still feel now, the disgust that sank in the minute I
learned of that tragedy; I will say it freely here, since I doubt the Kor’kron
are going to find this any time soon; Garrosh is a monster. There is no other
word that fits the description, besides perhaps demon. Such a reckless, craven
act that leveled an entire city with no ounce of honor or remorse is something
that borders on the mentality of the Scourge or the Legion. I thought we had left the mongrels infested
with Mannoroth’s blood behind; I thought the orcs I served with were better
than this. I should remind myself that most of them are, but there are many too
who blindly follow him. Even Ashgar has his unrelenting hatred of humans, and
allowed it to cloud his judgment against an atrocity, a violation against all
the Horde stands for. The Horde does not stand for butchers and monsters, it
does not stand for devastation – that is what the Horde of Blackhand was. The
Horde is more than that now; it is about destitute or misunderstood races
banding together to survive in an increasingly dangerous world, with honor and
an unbreakable spirit. Garrosh possesses none of this, and sometimes I begin to
doubt that the orcs I call friends are so unshakable in their warrior’s honor.
But I digress again. I fear for what has become of her
people, what has become of Jaina Proudmoore. She yet lives, and this has no
doubt brought hatred into the heart of one of the people who still avowed to
peace. My brother mentioned she was now leading the Kirin Tor in Rhonin’s death
– Leorik no longer thinks it’s safe for us there, in Dalaran. He says it is a
matter of time before she retaliates against those closest and easiest to
revenge herself against; the Sunreavers and those of the Sin’dorei tentatively
welcomed back into the place where I spent most of my years in schooling. It is
pitiful – and yet that was where I felt my family was safest while I was away
to this new land. Isn’t it funny, I still trust a potential enemy more than my
Warchief and his goons? I sent them there for fear his lackeys would take
Rhiewennon and Lyric from me, and even little Lyraela, Aestiah’s daughter. It
is conscription for all of us who serve the Horde, even children to be used as
manual labor, according to our esteemed Warchief. As if mutilating children in
the process of creating war machines would give us a brighter future.
And yet, I was not able to stay there with my family and protect
them. I was required to sail for a new land, and act as the diplomat between
the Sunguard and their people. Admittedly, it eases my mind to think of that
place. It was wonderful; the people there are wonderful. They’re just the kind
of people Aryssia and the children need to be with; they’ll keep them safe for
me, and they’ll be good friends. I hear we already have a few of them in our
ranks, though I haven’t met any of them personally. I’ve spent most of my time
in Pandaria bickering with angry humans wanting to shoot me or stab me,
outraged that the various Mayors of these Pandaren villages refuse to turn
either of us away, or take sides. The Pandaren I met, though, were some of the
most generous individuals I have come across in my centuries of life. The gifts
I brought home to my family, the silk robes (I don’t have any idea what they
called it, die-mo or dim-ho or something), the new cooking utensils and toys,
all of it was freely gifted to me. They even taught me how to cook better, even
if I still can’t bake worth a damn. I
can only hope they change us all for the better, before we wipe them out in the
midst of this paltry war.
They still think this war is important too. I find that
cynically amusing. Every day that passes, we kill more people who would die to
defend their homes from real evil. Evidently people think that just by pushing
a demon lord back into a hole that solves the problem. It’s no different than
when Rhiewennon leaves the stub of the carrot he was eating under the carpet; it’s
still there, and someone’s going to trip over it or it’s going to stink up the
place until it’s taken out. The Legion will come back, and I’ll mock them all
for the time they wasted on bigotry and vengeance.
I intend to take my children, including my beautiful little
Myranda, back to Pandaria with me when I return. Even with the war around them,
they’ll be safer there. I’ve already seen to a place for them; I paid good gold
to find a plot of land in the valley there, near Half-Hill. I haven’t told Aryssia
yet, but she will already have a garden waiting for her there. I accidently let
it slip to Lyric, but I’m trusting her to be a good secret keeper for me.
She’ll love the look on her mother’s face. I have to wait until Aryssia is
capable of going again, however. As excited as I have been for Myranda, I
watched how hard carrying her was on Aryssia.
I think I need to go back, and soon. Xandras asked me just
before we left for Pandaria how I am able to keep myself in check – how to hold
my mind against the corruption that tempts me daily. I told him it was because
I have things to lose, now. I don’t think I was completely honest with him. As
much as I hate this war, I think I need it to some degree. I have to fight – I
have to get it out in the way it wants to, by destroying. I just hope I can
turn it into something useful and continue to be a Warlock that actually has a
conscience and a soul. And on that note, fuck Deyaenus for still being alive
and still being a prick. I think it’s time for dinner.
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