Szeharia's blog

Working in showbiz is a tough gig. Sometimes your boss decides she'd rather be a flower and decamps for Darnassus, and sometimes an imposter comes along masquerading as your former employer and fires you. These things happen. And when they do, a self-sufficient woman such as I really has no choice but to return to her previous line of work. For an unfortunate few this means hitting the streets when the sun goes down and half of Silvermoon (if what one reads is true) follows suit. For most of us, however, this means returning to the far less disreputable world of murder-for-hire. "By the Light!," you exclaim, "you don't mean you. . . !," to which I respond, quite matter-of-factly as not to offend your delicate moral sensibilities, that death in this city is a contractual affair, a legal matter carried out with the utmost professionalism. What they say about looks that kill is absolutely true, so it really should not surprise you that, the pictures being all about image, a lot of people employed in the industry meet what is euphemistically referred to as an untimely end. Again, these things happen.

By degrees, Szeharia Everbloom became conscious that the dreamwood and everything that dwelt therein was no less sentient than she. At first, nature sounded to her all wind and waves, as echoes stored in a shell; but in time, the world whorl unwound, and she began to understand nature's idiosyncratic way of expressing itself. Degree by sympathetic degree, Szeharia felt herself - systole, diastole, systole - growing empathetic with the natural world's natural desires until one day, shaking slumber from her spine, she sensed herself connected to something far greater than her mortal frame. Without realizing it, she had been grafted into an organic lineage branching off into vistas too vast for her mind to comprehend. The dreamwood had taken her to heart, and her heart was beating in tune with the seasons' time.

Her pulse ebbed to murmur, and she drifted back to sleep.

---

Szeharia Everbloom awoke from her lifelong slumber to find herself in a shimmering place vaguely resembling the dreams that had vexed her complacent rest. In the distance she discerned her towering heap, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, spied several figures frantically clawing their ways to the top. One poor soul, having reached the summit first, threw up her arms in ecstatic joy, only to be shoved off into the abyss by the second, who was promptly deposed by the third. Deciding that the ruthless procession was likely to continue indefinitely (for as she watched, summer turned to fall, fall to winter, winter to spring, and a year had passed in a moment), Szeharia rose and began wandering into the dreamwood at the border of which she stood.

It had occurred to Szeharia Everbloom, in her more lucid moments, that fame was not all that it had cracked up to be; that the accumulation of millions necessitated dispersing them in avalanche; that Silvermoon's festering scar was showing no signs of healing; that the sin'dorei were too busy staring at the sun to notice; and that for all the hopes and dreams and aspirations of anyone and everyone who had ever lived and were living, the world fell so far short of what it might be that, from the objective point of view, it bore a stronger resemblance to the gutter than it did the stars. But those moments of lucidity would pass, and Szeharia, groping about the glittering gutter and spying none with a heap so high as hers, was content to filch another bauble from the wreck and smile benevolently upon the ogling gropers-by.

I don't know why you insist upon these ridiculous double-word hypocorisms when perfectly sensible, succinct alternatives like "shnookums" are available. Your name demands a little bob of the head along with a pout (try saying it without and you'll see what I mean), when really the pout is excessively sufficient. Please do reconsider the viability of my suggestion. I'd hate to have to reassess the whole of our very deep and meaningful relationship in the light of a linguistic spat, but such is love where I'm concerned.

As an aside, do you remember that complete disaster of a costume party I threw a few months ago? The one when all those magically enhanced flowers suddenly and - well, not exactly unexpectedly - (let's just stick with suddenly) achieved sentience and began attacking my guests? Let's just say I do believe I've found a way to have my cake, eat it, and steal the wedding party's cake across the street too.

Scene: A grey, windowless, perfectly square room poorly illuminated by a single light hanging from the ceiling. Directly underneath, in the center of the cell, is a purely functional table at which sits SZEHARIA. In contrast to the dim austerity of the room, SZEHARIA is as highly made-up and radiant as usual, brightening the cell far more effectively than the bulb above. Before her is a cup of coffee, black, and an ashtray. From the number of extinguished cigarettes stained with lipstick, one assumes she has been sitting here for quite some time. In walks INVESTIGATOR, leisurely, with all the time in the world on his hands. INVESTIGATOR removes his fedora and bows.

Investigator: [with theatrical delight] Well, well, well. This is an opportunity I never thought I'd have. To be face to face - and a lovely face it is, I might add - with the most beautiful woman in all elvendom!

Szeharia: [ironically] Charmed, I'm sure.

The booth in the corner opposite. He too is Mandheling. He is also one of them. He is our man on the inside. He is willing to play this game because he is aware that he is expendable. Listen well.

They were born of the Sundering. Ten-thousand years ago they realized their - our - insignificance in the cosmos. They witnessed the invasion of the Legion and the demons it had culled from all of the worlds it had conquered. They saw that our world had little chance against such a swarm, even less if we forsook, as the druids wished, what few weapons we had. They knew that it was only a matter of time until the Legion returned, redoubled in strength and fury. They formed a brotherhood, the Talah do Shanril. They made a vow. They would defend this world from the Legion. They were prepared to do whatever it took.

A hooded worgen walks up beside you in Dalaran, addressing you sotto voce in your native tongue. Nothing in his manner indicates that he is mentally disturbed. He communicates the following, and vanishes with the same suddenness as he appeared.

Talah do Shanril. Nah'neen. Cirklah. The Luminous Templar. Their names are as numerous as the races of Azeroth. They are everywhere and nowhere, invisible and in plain sight. They are our mothers and fathers, the women who sell us bread and the men who look after our health. They are the keepers of ancient knowledge and the discoverers of the new. They are our poets and playwrights, our intellectuals and inventors. They are the powers that be, the true masters of our world. Not a piece moves in the great game but by their hand. Their fingerprints are upon even you.

But you know this already. You've felt their touch.

Over here. Their presence in Dalaran is strong. They are drawn to places of learning like moths to the flame.

Between the big announcement and me spending the Midsummer holiday in Stranglethorn I'm sure your heart's in a million pieces, but I really had to get out of Silvermoon for a while to plan my next move. I'm just so bored with the pictures. No one can make them like I do and I need competition to keep life interesting. Being so beautiful is a curse - it really is. I get to taking myself for granted and thinking I'm the norm (although I know I'm not) and suddenly everyone else starts looking downright hideous. One can excuse ugliness in a man as long as he's got some degree of power (be it charm, influence, or wealth), but someone really must do something about all these unsightly women. I know! I know! - they aren't really unsightly, but when I consider what they could be if they put in a little more effort or exercised their imaginations, it's very depressing. I suppose it isn't particularly gracious of me to demand so much of them but, well - to the point.

Royal Exchange, Silvermoon: In a shocking impromptu question and answer session with the press yesterday morning, silver screen sensation Szeharia Everbloom, Lady Shar'adore, disclosed that she has no intention to continue her career in the pictures. The announcement came as a surprise to all gathered, as it was further revealed that she has no plans to complete the much-anticipated Ethala lo Terro, the biopic in which she was to star as the legendary Queen Azshara. Lady Shar'adore stressed that her decision was in no way influenced by criticism over the unsuitability of the subject matter. "I continue to admire [Azshara], and think her a wonderful role model for those of us who want more out of life than a basket of fish 'n' chips - even if she was a little misguided."