Hand of the Dark Queen

A quill in one hand, and his head in the other, Zyjiin stared at the blank piece of parchment with a mind that was just as bare. He was perplexed. He had sat there for the hour past as he had tried to set his mind to the task at hand. Writing had never been his forte, but he felt that someone had to keep the record. Who better than him? He had brushed aside the thought of  hiring a minstrel or bard like so many others had done. He wanted his life recorded, not some fanciful hyperbole.

My dear Sara,

It has been a long time since last I wrote. A whole series of holidays passed much as they have done since I started my encore performance here in the land of the living. If you wish to know how they passed, simply re-read the previous letters about them…Winter Veil, New Year’s, Noblegarden, Kissyface Day…

Oh yes, I did manage to find this really nice picnic basket thingy…magic or engineered, I’m not sure, but it’s a sun umbrella with hearts on it and a picnic basket and small blanket that spring forth from a very small container. This was during Kissyface Day and I was seriously tempted not to venture out at all during this time. I had no need for clothing, and all of the romance was mildly disheartening…as I’m sure you can understand.

So I have this picnic basket. And no one to share it with but demons. It’s still really nifty, but it mocks me at times.

Hey, good ta see youse again.  You want some booze?  Me got some new stuff from Gadgetzan…here, siddown…have some.

======

I hear.  I hear what it-she call me.  I not-dominant for no-kill her.

Dat what Grimmy say to me after we left Scartaris at Shadowprey.

I think we can all agree that that was a failed experiment.  Or unqualified madness, depending on your viewpoint.

Looking back on what I wrote last, and evaluating it after a week or so of not using the polymorph wands, or drinking myself into a stupor, I have to ask myself “Habeas, what in the Nether and all that’s Unholy were you thinking?”

That was an incredibly dangerous, foolish, and potentially hurtful game I played with myself…and worse, with her.  Stupid.  Nice to see that selfishness and stupidity are still something I can fall prey too…does that make me more human than I have a right to be?

I am done with that!  Being human via those wands is not only deceitful but potentially harmful to my sanity.

And I can’t watch over my love if I’m insane, now can I?

My dear Sara,

Again the season of Hallow’s End rolls through, and we celebrate Sylvanas’ defection from the Scourge.  Fitting then, that I was freed in the same season.  I have served My Lady now for ((however much time two Earth years is according to your interpretation)), and seen many wonderful and terrible things.  It is my anniversary…or birthday…or whatever the heck it is you’d call it, and having gotten utterly smashed for weeks previously, now it’s off to a candy binge of epic proportions!

Like moth to the flame I am.  I cannot simply leave it at what it is.  No amount of walking through the marble-floored museum of admiration will slake this thirst.  No…what I need is a trip across the smoky, crowded, sweat-slicked dance floor, with our bodies grinding together, our breaths as one as we slither to the sounds, swaying and thrusting against one another, desperate to be as one, with only the watching eyes of dozens of others keeping us dressed and separate. 

No…actually I wouldn’t.

And I have been drunk now for over two weeks
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks
But I got stop wishin', got to go fishin'
Down to rock bottom again
With just a few friends…just a few friends*

Dear, Sweet Sara,

Some things never change.  The simple farmer, after all the strenuous work of bringing in the harvest, having laid in his supplies, and eyeing the bleak, cold winter slowly advancing across the land, takes a day or two to rest and enjoy the mead that he’s been fermenting in the root cellar.

Brewfest is like that...but the simple farmer becomes the entire population of the world and the mead from the root cellar is thousands of gallons of beer brewed up by the mega-giants of their trades!  It may be the best holiday ever.  But then, isn’t every holiday?

How quickly they learn!  Oh woe to be me…my student surpasses me both in herbalism and warlockery…maybe it’s because she has chosen to be a warlock and I’ve been sort of forced into the job. She’s driven, at times; I can see it in her. She’s not out to do evil…but the powerlust is there. Even I feel the stirrings of it, from time to time, so I cannot blame one who chose the path purposefully.

or I Shall Taunt You from the Graveyard While Laughing Maniacally!