(( This character will be retired indefinitely until further notice. For the sake of continuity, he still serves the Harbingers of War faithfully for the Horde, and does not hold as much contempt for the other races of the Horde in contrast to earlier times. ))

(( Sketch ))

What is a friend?

I do not think, that I've had the good fortune to know this for many a decade. I have been without company for so long, I fear that it might have been lost to the mists of time.

I ran into Aido this evening. She looked at me as if I was a visitor from the grave, and did not seem all too pleased to see me. Nothing has changed of her, since more than a year ago.

Another one whom I considered a friend, and she seemed glad to have me for she cited her own lack thereof - Darda Dawnflare - has also gone missing. It's unfortunate. Of all the populace of Azeroth, for the past few decades, I thought she was the only one I was comfortable in speaking openly with.

Too unfortunate.

Friends are difficult to find, in this day and age. One, who is a medic, I thought was getting quite amiable with me until I spoke of the Tauren off-handedly, that set off a cold spell betwixt ourselves. I have not seen her in a week. Was she that cross with me? Another healer, whom I have also met recently informed me that she was residing at the Legerdemain. The innkeeper could inform me of her whereabouts, but even the innkeep did not seem to have a clue. If she was hiding anything from me, I could not tell. Could something have gone amiss, that she was unable to address the letter?

This might be a worrying trend: every individual I attempt to befriend either spurns me like a nuinsance, or disappears inexplicably. Shall I attempt to befriend my enemies? It might work, with the disappearing, based on the current rate of success.

 She did not turn up, let alone reply to the letter.

No matter. Training takes precedence.

I've managed to reach what the younglings call "Seventy-four", but it's no matter. I still have rust in my joints, and it will only be a matter of time before I return to my peak again.

The errands and assignments that the Horde can think of within their limited imaginations in Northrend are getting more and more bizzare by the day. As if appeasing long-dead troll souls was not enough, they want me to assist a slaver?! I cannot claim to be the most moralistic Sin'Dorei of this realm, but slavery is where I would rather chop my own hands off, if I had no other option but to obey that order unless I was incapable of carrying it out.

Disgusting... the Horde can be, sometimes.

Hear the forest hum
Listen to the tune
Across the field of cotton patch

You can hear the clink of chains
As the timber comes crashing down
Clanking out all the wrong
Trying to burst my seam
Against the snarling drill

There is too much that has occured on this day, for me to put into words.

I couldn't believe that the humans could have treated us as such. As crude as they may be at times, and overtly hasty, the humans I have witnessed have never had honor depart from them in such great a scale.

Apart from that... bleakness that has overtaken my heart for this day, as I attempt to digest the history that was divulged to me, I feel.... quaint.

Before this day, I would have been all too glad to be rid of any semblance of company, given the opportunity. Solace and serenity is what I value above all in this day and age. But... things are different. Now.

I am not used to this.

Only a few hours left from Dalaran. A brief respite and I should be at Dalaran by early eve.

Troublesome Northend native fauna snapping at my heels. Has impeded progress. Must find a way to deal with it. Soon.

This month is to sweep and tidy the graves of my commanding officer, and platoon. Will find proper provisions for it at Dalaran.

... for how long did I slumber? All of those memories, flowing back to me.. they weren't precisely painful, nor unwelcome. Some parts of them were, but did I feel... happier?

It was at least, a time when duty and service were rewards unto themselves. When guardians of their own Kin were not laughed at for speaking of 'service' when asked for the reason behind their... service.

Many Sin'dorei now think that service is a means to influence, fame and fortune. How and when will they learn, that all of those... in no order may be a consequence of service, and... not the other way round? 

My supplies are running low. One last round of my Forms, and I shall commence my return to Dalaran by noon.

He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Instead of the lush surroundings of the forest, he found himself entrapped by the lush trappings of the wealthy and influential. He sat himself on the immeasurably soft and numerous cushions of what the servant called a "drawing room", as he awaited the arrival of his patron.

He had his gear donned still. While it was as clean as he could manage within an hour of returning from the wilderness, its stained and rugged appearance drew upturned noses from the attendants who passed by him as he was led by an equally snobbish servant through the terraced mansion. He had no "proper" garments to speak of - his last memory of such things in his possession were laid in a footlocker long forgotten in a barracks two day's travel away, and he did not have the coin to procure another set.

Like most soldiers of his seniority, he did not enjoy his visits to the aristocrats. Most of them were made up of a very polite and verbose manner of handing out their hats for their coin for the proper maintenance of their regiments, as the provision from Quel'thalas was never sufficient. Should the regiments attempted to survive on Quel'thalas alone, every soldier would have nary five arrows to shoot with, a small, cheap dagger to defend himself with, and not even a quiver to keep his arrows.

On top of the unpleasantness of the entire affair of being a professional beggar with some semblance of martial pride, this particular patron, whilst thoroughly generous and altruistic (at least, on the surface) for the cause of safeguarding Quel'dorei territory, has had habits of propositioning that made him queasy every time she subtly broached the subject, despite his insistent but excruciatingly polite attempts to fend her off.

It was not as if she was undesirable, as demonstrated when she breezed through the heavy double doors of the room, opened by her footmen and glided to before Alsheriam, receiving his deep bow as he would to all nobility with the grace that she was inculcated with in her upbringing, and offered her ungloved hand to him - which he brushed his coarse lips against with the utmost decency he could muster without insinuating any inappropriate interest.

Being dressed in battle gear whilst meeting the Lady Mithrellas Tinuviel was a defense in itself to keep himself as visually unappeasing to her. Or at least, that was what he thought so.

"Ah, polite and proper in your manners as always, dear Captain Sha'Qelas. If only every Ranger in the realm could be as genteel as yourself!"

"If they shall be so, m'Lady, they shall be spending more of your coin in the fine art of discerning the various functions of cutlery than in the protection of our hallowed realm."

"But already, you are adept in that art, are you not?"

His face reddened faintly at the remark, for which he had no reply to.

"Sometimes, Captain Sha'Qelas, I would've mistook you for one of the Blood if you had not felt so much more at home in your soldier's garb than out of it."

A stiffening of muscles caught Alsheriam by surprise. Does she know?! It wasn't possible.

"You flatter me, m'Lady. I am but a humble guardian of our realm."

"What would we ever do, without our valiant guardians?" She fluttered her lashes almost imperceptibly over her fan, fluttering it briefly against her person and snaps it shut, revealing to the Captain her fine silk elbow-length chemise, worn under an ivory leather corset that wrapped around her waist generously with a matching, lacy petticoat.

Alsheriam was much taken aback by the consideration this aristocrat had chosen to give to him, but did not give much sign of it.

"Will this humble guardian care to join me for dinner? It's so lonesome without the Magister around, going about his affairs of the state - of the utmost importance as they are."

An automatic bow followed, "I will be honored, m'Lady."

He wondered how he was to survive this evening, probable to spend three hours enduring her verbal sparrings and the nudges underneath the tablecloth. Captain Alsheriam Sha'Qelas of the Fifth I'Thilin Rangers had a regiment to feed, arm and care for their wages.

 (( Shamelessly plagiarised from Rise Against's "Hero of War". But the original song has moved me so much as a soldier who has to grapple with the moral ambiguities of armed conflict should I have to be deployed, I thought this same context affected Alsheriam in his transition from fresh recruit, to eager soldier exultant in his first victory, to how he has gotten corrupted by his actions in the field, which he relives and regrets to this day ))

He said, “Son, Have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say
If I said that you could?
Just carry this sword, and you’ll even get paid.”
I said, “That sounds rather good.”

Black leather boots
Polished so bright
They cut off my hair but it looked alright
We marched and we sang
We all became friends
As we learned how to fight

A hero of war
Yes that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll lift this banner
To the grave if I must
Because it’s the banner that I love
And a banner that I trust

I nocked my arrow
I yelled my commands
The Orcs, they cried
And we prevailed.
We dragged their fallen
Dead, wounded or dying
From their kith and kin.

They took off their clothes
They chopped off their hands
I told them to stop
But then I joined in
 We beat them with clubs
And flogged not just once
But again and again

A hero of war
Yes that’s what I’ll be
And when I come home
They’ll be damn proud of me
I’ll lift this banner
To the grave if I must
Because it’s the banner that I love
And a banner that I trust

She walked through arrows and haze
I asked her to stop
I begged her to stay
But she pressed on
So I lifted my bow
And I fired away

The arrows soared through the smoke
And into the sand
That her blood now had soaked
She collapsed with a flag in her hand
A flag white as snow

A hero of war
Is that what they see
Just medals and scars
So damn proud of me
And I brought home that banner
Now it gathers dust
But it’s a banner that I love
It’s the only banner I trust

He said, “Son, Have you seen the world?
Well, what would you say If I said that you could?

(( This is not a dairy entry. Just a blast from the past. Probably one of his dreams. ))

They lay on their bellies.

The grunts in Orcish could be heard from a far distance. Exactly where Deliyah said they would be headed from.

He could feel the platoon tense up around him. Twigs and local flora stuck into their garments as they lay invisible from the Orcs' careless advance.

There was suddenly, a flurry of bird chirpings. "Shall we strike now?" "They're coming close!" A harsh owl hoot from him silenced them all, and a rapid bursts of robin chirps laid out his instructions. "Let them get closer. Strike on my mark."

He could see them now. Their armor foolishly pieced together from salvaged Alliance fallen. The Alliance. Yet another newfangled development to battle this Horde of aliens from another world. The Quel'dorei could vanquish them with ease. Why would his people need to suffer the vistitations of those inferior, uncultured humans, and those rowdy, drink-addled dwarves? He had no say in these affairs, and he had his assignment at hand.

This small band of Orcs managed to make piecemeal of a human task force. For all the bluster of their armsmen in their unwieldy armor, it seemed that they could not withstand the crude axes of the Orcs after all. It was up to his platoon to strike fear into their hearts, before the Orcs get further addled with delusions of glory, or whatever possession afflicted their minds.

An eagle shrieked.

Or it was supposed to sound like it.

Two dozen figures on each side of the forest track rose, loosed their arrows and sank down into the flora again as another two dozen figures behind them let forth their missiles. The Orc screening forces collapsed, made into pincushions of arrows in an instant and shock and panic spreading amongst the Orcish ranks. He could hear some of them try to maintain order. Others paying no heed and charging blindly into the woods.

Those who foolishly stomped into the thick undergrowth paid for their folly with quick and accurate arrows to their chests, going down screaming. The Orc contingent was degenerating into a disorganized mob, shoving each other in an attempt to escape.

Bannerman Alsheriam Sha'Qelas rose from his position once more, drawing his sword and led the charge from the front, exploiting the disarry in the Orcish forces. "Caela ie'lle!" Thirty other Rangers rose and followed him in succesion.

"Amin khiluva lle a' gurtha ar' thar!"

Just as Quel'dorei steel met Orcish flesh, another cry in familiar Thalassian graced the air. It was his Deliyah, with four other scouts felling the Orcs that attempted to retreat. With their ranks thinned enough, the scouts have, too, joined the charge.

The foe slain, a Brother wounded with a chop to the shoulder being tended to, it was as clean and successful an ambush that Alsheriam could ask for. Apart from the wounded Ranger and the other tending to him, thirty-three of his men and women stood in attention before him, awaiting his next orders.

Alsheriam was wiping his sword of Orc blood off the sleeve of one of the slain, grinning openly as he sheathed his blade.

"Capital work, all of you! I have never been prouder of any platoon under my tutelage!"

He had taught and drilled this platoon well. Not one of them smiled in response to his praise. Not even his Deliyah.

"Return to formation, and await my instructions. I shall relay our success to Field Marshal Sunwalker."

His Rangers and Scouts saluted. And swiftly and silently, they disappeared into the woods as Alsheriam read off the inscriptions of the scroll extracted from one of his pouches to form a minature portal to commune with his superior officer.

At times, I think this present society demands too much. Too much.

I've spent over two centuries regarding Orcs and their allies as the enemy. While I have never had any problems deciphering their spoken tongue, speaking it remains to be a purely psychological impediment.  

Yet, only two years have passed when our Kin decided to join the Horde, and some of us already treat it as if we've been with them for a millenia. The quick exuberance of the young is understandable. But it's difficult to explain that after regarding Orcs with pure hate and malice for so long, two years is not enough to eliminate all traces of suspicion and mistrust. 

This one lady, Jeria Sunfire, is a boon amongst very few of the brilliant gems in a pile of unpolished stones of the Sin'Dorei. While she certainly deserves to be addressed as a lady and treated as such, at times I find her a touch quick at hopping into conclusions, while in the middle of my explanations. Perhaps I ought to shorten my speech into a more concise manner in the future to prevent such mishaps with the younger Kin?

I have to find a way, to allow her to see from my unfortunate plateau. Two years is but a short moment to know someone, let alone the very many soldiers of the Horde. I thought I knew and loved Deliyah for five decades. But five decades were for naught when she betrayed me. Lyrahiel was a brief and somewhat amusing affair, to sate her youthful curiosities. But it was not even love.

For many a time, I thought I knew soldiers who served under me, only to discover that they were so much more. I cannot even bring myself to trust anyone, in this day and age.

Not even my own Kin.

And she asks me to know the rest of the Horde on a level far more deeper and inappropriate than professionalism? It's a thought that I promised I will not ignore and dismiss out of hand. 

I will try. It will be my way of gratitude towards Sunfire's assistance of overcoming my impediment. But I cannot guarantee instant results.

Training in this Northrend continent has gone well. I am successfully acclimatizing with this somewhat colder climate. Hopefully, my decision to keep my hair more manageable and in a more tactical color will allow me to conceal myself more effectively. So far, the enemies I have been stalking have yet to notice me. Good progress.

It's been a century since I've changed my appearance. The enemy is making the Horde look like tumbling knaves in comparison, and it was imperative for me to adapt.

Adapt. Has never been a word to be associated with my person.

This new development, however, has disturbed me to my bones. In the Great War, Death Knights were considered to be capital threats. A good Death Knight was a dead.... Death Knight. They may be dead already, but their essences had to be shattered in order to subdue them. Have both sides of that conflict now forgotten the anguish that was inflicted by the Death Knights on friend and foe alike?! It appears that the Horde, and even the Alliance are beginning to lose their hold on cognizant reasoning in endorsing and employing them? As much a threat as the Scourge poses, this measure is nothing but folly. I earnestly don't desire to participate in civilizations that employ such measures.. but do I now have a choice? I have enlisted again with the Harbingers of War with the full knowledge of being mired in circumstances that I may not find most palatable, but this may become overmuch.

To take on the opposite view, the Death Knights may be a tremendously lethal and effective weapon and tool to be utilized against this threat. But what if they are unable to be controlled? They come and go, using portals connected to the Underworld, or wherever they come and go from and.. unclean entities may follow them in tow.

.... some of my trainees were right. Mayhap I ought to hang up my bow for the last time and teach as a Master. But what may I do, as a relic of a society that pays no heed to past practices? My strategic and tactical knowledge now only exist in the history books and may never apply to this environment again, and this society has morphed so much, I am unable to comprehend the enlistees enough and lack confidence to lead any one of them effectively, if assigned to.

Already, I was judging and appraising the young officer who interviewed me for the enlistment. I ought to cease and desist, keep quiet, and let the world go past me. I enlisted to serve, and neither do I need nor deserve to take a substantial stake in its society and its people. Those I've met have seemed to take polite heed to my utterings but snigger at the relic at I am behind my back.

I'd rather be a relic than to partake overmuch in this world, lest I be corrupted.

I have to do another thousand repetitions for my quarterstaff forms. I'm out of touch.

My Orcish is atrocious. Any one of the Kin who has conversed with me in Thalassian, and then heard my Orcish will notice the stark contrast in my mastery of both tongues.

I appreciate the critical factor in the usage of the Orcish tongue in facilitating healthy relations betwixt ourselves and the rest of the Horde, but I find Orcish to be utterly distasteful, and it certainly is in not my interest to master it. I've known enough to listen for enemy activity to slay the Orcs. I don't need any more.than that.

The offers from various parties of the Kin to assist in my mastery of the Orcish tongue have been overwhelmingly heartening, however. While I'm not entirely interested in the Orcish tongue.. I have not been exceptionally adept with interpersonal relations.

Mayhap I shall learn more of both, at the same time?

The times certainly are getting more alien by the day. 

Confound it! A large concentration of High Elves still exist! The Magisters of Quel'thalas Silvermoon deceived me, claiming that small pockets of those stubbornly conforming to tradition were either dying out in droves or going mad without magical essences to sustain them.

But instead... the Quel'dorei have persisted to exist without harming themselves in Dalaran! I should have held on to discipline! But instead, I am what I am now. Sin'dorei. Even my old brethren in the Quel'dorei. Some of those who reside in Dalaran now refuse to acknowledge me when I hail them on the streets, or in the taverns.

On top of that, they managed to make an entire city! Dalaran! Fly! It's not surprising, for all the talent focused at that one location, but I had no choice! The moment I stepped into Quel'thalas, thinking that I've returned home at long last, I had to face the ultimatum of either drinking in those fel energies, or remaining their "guest" for an indefinite time.

If there is but one boon, out of all of this... I have no more need to feed like a parasite on other beings. I thought that I did not feel that hunger any longer some moons ago, but I kept on feeding until recently, just to be sure. 

Furthermore, I have no more place to call home. The regiments and the soldiers in them puzzle me, the Syndicate of Secrets, if I recall was more interested in his cult of personality than serving his people. So, that left me to write a letter requesting re-enlistment to the Harbingers of War.

I hope I'm making the right decisions now.

I should have remained Quel'dorei.

Too many moons have passed. The old soldier has forgotten when was the last time he last saw Silvermoon. Not the "new" abomination of controlled emotions and ideologies that now stands, but the safe haven of taking comfort in mingling with his own kin. 

Day by day, whilst staring at his emerald orbs of his reflection in any watering pools that he comes by during his wandering, he meditates if he made the right decision in undergoing the transformation to Sin'Dorei. While his addiction is still prevalent, and he hunts more than necessary to feed on their energies and fill his belly, it showed - outwardly at least - his fundamental acceptance of the change that he was willing to undergo, and yet spurned soon after. 

"I have done enough!", he remembered bellowing as he padded out of the gates of the old Silvermoon he yearns for. "I have done enough!", he recalled telling himself as he set foot on the scourged earth leading out of the gates of the new Silvermoon he now reviles. 

Seated atop a rock in the Lotus position whilst in his meditations, the world returned to him in a piercing, glaring revelation - a stark shift in his state of mind from dusk till beyond the break of dawn, having remained there within that period. 

"Have I done enough?", he mumbled to himself, as a finger twirled absent-mindedly around a freshly-made bowstring in one of his numerous pouches. 

Warcaller, and to whom it may concern,

I hereby tender my resignation due to irreconcilable differences and impossibility of cohesion with soldiers of the unit. It is, therefore impossible for me to carry out my duties to the best of my ability with the continuous distress of the inability to find common ground with any soldier despite efforts made to improve relations and build accord during the past season.

Your command has been impeccable and I have no complaint against it, but it has been unhealthy and distressing to always suspect that a fellow soldier may gladly place a blade between my ribs should the opportunity arise, and for others to bear ill will and continuous suspicion against my person.

May the Sun light your path in life, and grace the unit with its blessings.

So with all pleasures of life.

All things pass with the east-flowing water.

I leave you and go—when shall I return?

Let the white roe feed at will among the green crags,

Let me ride and visit the lovely mountains!

How can I stoop obsequiously and serve the mighty ones!

It stifles my soul.

Sincerely, and regards,

Alsheriam Sha'Qelas
Former 2nd Bannerman of the Fifth I'thilin Rangers

This option had been floating about for a long time, but a combination of events has led me to believe that it's better for my sanity not to live amongst others, as I've tried for this past many months. Society here is baffling to navigate and I decided not to be a part of it

Ka'len was correct. I have no moral authority to meddle in the lives of others, nor am I qualified to make judgements of character. Who was I to think I had the right to hold a scholar under my sway? Who was I to judge a child ready for a firearm? And who was I to attempt teaching Ka'len about on-field treachery should individuals be pulling the rest behind and jeopardizing  the mission?

None. I've been absent too long to know civilization, and am an alien amongst even my kin.

I, however, am not going to be as callous as my previous departures. Ka'len has a direct line of contact to me should the unit have dire need of me, and whichever pending appointments there are... I have a runner hired for arriving mail.


I feel free.

If there's anything that I hate, it's being surprised.

And I rarely am.


First things first, I began to realize that with the growing animosity we have for each other, Lux'ley was becoming a lost cause. The differences between our ways of thinking began from seeming like a brook to a massive gulf. There's nothing I can do for that any longer.

So the first unfamiliar face I saw, I approached out of random. She was the textbook young noblelady. Rebellious. Doing everything that she could to perpetuate that image; such as revealing clothes that admittedly, she could pull off looking attractive in without looking like a Parlour girl. Atop of that, she consorted with demons when she came from a family with a deeply prestigious background of fire arcana.

A completely textbook case of juvenile rebellion.

But.. there was a certain spark to her. Younglings bristling with potential always have telltale signs of it. Quick to grasp concepts, ability to see through layers between layers between layers of affairs, and undiscovered sensibility of what's best for them.

And what threw me off the most was that we apparently, shared the same family name. I never was asked much, nor asked myself about my given family name. Alsheriam Sha'Qelas. This was the name that I was given, and I never questioned its origins. But why? I've never encountered any other of my kin who share this same name, and all of a sudden a scion of this family appears to inform me that we may share the lineage of a normally exclusive, and reclusive noble family that rarely admits guests for fear of divulging its secrets.

How? Why? I may have to investigate later.

What at first was an idle walk from Silvermoon, and through Eversong woods ended at a bridge, where discussion over my age and not looking like it compared to the rest of the denizens of Silvermoon progressed to regular maintenance of one's body, to affairs of the more carnal nature.

I have to admit - my urges took precedence. I probably shouldn't have given in to her teasing either, but what's done, is done. It's been such a damnably long time since I've had myself a warm, yielding body and

What's done is done. I need to plan.