Shar's blog

"Voices rise, carried by wind, on the open plain..."

It is a song of Nagrand that I sing tonight, in meditation among the air spirits.  The younglings are seated in a rough circle, those few that have opened their eyes, and the incense burns quietly.  Not all breezes are lively.

"Speak to me of all you've seen, through the pale dawn, ride on, ride on..."

It is peaceful.  I am at peace, and fulfilled.  I never thought it would be this way, and tears even now fill my eyes.

"The ground is warm and underneath, the spirit calls your name.  Do not be afraid, we will listen, sing on and on and on and on..."

Ineesa is below in Exodar, smiling now, laughing, likely fetching curtains for our home.  We built it on the shore, as we said we would.

I am not a Knight, and I never will be.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven

When one thing moves, so must another.  In essence, it is that simple.  The way of this world, the way of all worlds, all the laws and the principles and the dynamics and the physics and the mysticism and the truths and the mysteries and the hidden things and dark places, everywhere, they all revolve around this one, simple truth.  When one thing moves, somewhere, so must another.

A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

In the sleep of the just, what dreams may come need never give us pause.  Whether the dreams bear us away to the shining spires of Argus, standing tall and true in the thoughts and memories of our eldest and passing from them to us, to remain incorrupt and eternal against the backdrop of dreams and hopes, whether they bear us to the rolling plains of the spirit realm, to run with the wind and listen to the wisdom of the ancestors gone before, or whether they carry us no further than the lips of our beloved, they bear us up, strengthen us and give us courage to continue.

No matter what else anyone may say about her, my Ineesa's gestures are as large and as deep as her heart is.  She was always smaller in stature than the other children, but always ready to give more, to do more, to help more.  Even now, her gestures of affection put my tiny, feebly tokens to shame.  Mind you, it's very easy to say that as I start at my gryphon's new barding, a goofy smile on my face.

The elements answer my call more readily now.  It is surprising that now, when I am the one inviting them, they flow more smoothly, more easily than before, when they dictated my movements.  Perhaps someday I will come to understand why this is, or perhaps after sun-up I will take the portal to Exodar and research it, asking the elder farseers, but I not particularly mind the quiet curiousity right now.

I am content to lay here, eyes half-open, next to her.  It is enough.

<Shar>

go away.  go away and leave me alone.  i'm a failure.  i can't stay with her.  i can't make her happy.  she's so much more than i deserve.  i deserve to just be here.  here in the gray and brown.  darkshore is fine.  i'm fine, leave me alone.

<Shar>

please just let me sleep.  i can pretend everything is fine when i'm sleeping.  everything is just fine.  we never left the marsh, we're still girls, it's just fine.  i like sleep.

<Get up, Shar>

stop tugging.  it hurts.  don't i hurt enough?

<Get up, Shar>

all right, all right, stop it

stop

pulling

me

OUT

I know how she feels now.

Theirs is the first voice I remember hearing.  Others have told me they remember father or mother, elder sister or brother, grandparent or nurse or uncle (never aunt, I wonder why) but I have none of those voices to recall.  Instead, I remember hearing a soft, insistent whisper, and being afraid.

My darling Ineesa,

so well."  The shaman scowled, resting her axe against the unconscious scout's neck.

In the first light of the day
silent, sleeping
endlessly dreaming
patiently and blissfully
never troubled.

Which of us awakens first?
Long legs, dark hair
it could be either.
Muffled squeaks as limbs are stretched,
Still, one sleeps on.

In time
she too will arise, awake
but not yet.

-First Light, attr. Shar of Draenor

Before a reflecting pool
gazing, intent
but what do I see?
A different face than I thought
looks back at me.

Angered, I break the surface
scattering light
dissolving the face.
But I cannot stop seeing
those hateful eyes.

Is this
truthfully what others see
inside me?

-Reflections, attr. Shar of Draenor

This world is wondrous indeed.  Both the worlds...no, all three of the worlds that I live in, that WE live in, are.  Mysteries abound, yet under control...mysteries of magic, of the sciences, of medicine and transportation and communication.

At the same time, though, there are some mysteries that remain.  Why do we fall in love, why do we harbor feelings deep inside, why will we act some ways and not others...and some apply elsewhere too.  For instance, there is an upper limit to how much magic...or medicine, or even technology...can heal someone.  The Light wielded by priests and vindicators alike is no better than a simple bandage in this regard.  Once that limit is reached, once all physical ills have been healed as best they can, the wounds that remain are wounds of the soul.

Even if they are expressed physically.  Even if it's a twisted back, a crippled leg.

My heart has not stopped thumping in my chest, though it has slowed enough that it no longer feels like it will break of its own joy.

"I'm sorry."

Her axes flared silver as the wind whipped off them, her right hoof scraping in a circle on the rough stone of the Path of Conquest as she spun around on her left, leaving the trace behind her as she pushed off, rising into the air only to come down hard on the back of a Hawkstrider.  An arrow pierced the rider's side, and a shield slammed him to the ground, as she wrestled the mount off its feet, throwing it into the pack of oncoming Blood Knights.  "We need more time!"  Amara had shouted back.  "We don't HAVE any more time!  The prison is just ahead!"  With a nod, she closed her eyes, summoning the spark from within and giving shape to the Call, the greater spirit responding and roaring with primal fire into the panicked elves...

"What do you mean, sorry?  Sulaa?"

"No!  NOO!"  The cry ripped from a sobbing throat as hands pounded against smooth crystal, hauled back by concerned Vindicators only to twist loose and crash against the portal again.  "We have to go back!  I have to go back!  I can't!  I can't leave!  Stop the magic, stop it, stop it, STOP IT!"  A voice raised to a piercing howl matching the whine and thrum of the great Reality Engines preparing to shift the keep through the spaces between spaces, then nothing but pain and blackness and loss...

And now I stand beneath the floating Keep, its crystalline spires defaced with lurid red-gold banners.  The circle of loss and grief has come to a full close here, on the ridge that we parted ways.  The huntress had found me in Telredor.

"Who are they?"

The bright-eyed child pointed happily across the courtyard, past the fountain.  Her caretaker smiled.  "That's Ineesa.  She'll be living with us, for now.  And you know Brother Ilaaru."

The girl shook her head.  "Not him.  Who are they?"

Matron Asella shook her head thoughtfully, running a hand over the girl's budding horns.  "I don't see anyone.  They must be here for you, not me."  Ah, the trials of being gifted with spirit-sight at a young age...most Shaman had enough trouble adjusting to the unseen world during their adulthood, and this girl had been seeing spirits since she arrived.  Fortunately, there were enough who were gifted to guide her...but it WAS hard on her caretaker, trying to explain that no, not everyone could see what she could.

I was born on this very spot.  The lagoons were my playground, the marsh-dwellers my caretakers, my watchers.  The bed in which I spent my early nights still occupies the same corner of the dormitory, the stand of glowcap I planted still grows where I left it, thick and wild after a year or more untended.

This is home.  From the first, it was here that I sought to return.  As my skills returned after the crash, as my bones knit and my muscles mended and I helped in the doings of the new world, my thoughts and dreams were always of the cool azure water lapping at my knees.  Though I found kinship among the other folk of Azeroth, I always knew that I could not remain.  The marsh is where I belong, where the spirits first spoke to me, and they yet speak to me, even after my absence.  This is where I was born, and this is where I will die.  This has been, is, and always will be home.