#Vathelia Irving

[thetheshadowofwestfall-blog]

Pratchett’s Journal March the 26th

Took shelter from the rain with a traveling caravan. Group makes a run through the area and trades with the local Forsaken forces on their way to Hearthglen. I haven't visited Hearthglen in a while. Think it might have been with El. Light, there's a regret. Went with the caravan to Hearthglen at least. Saw the sights. Nothing new. I don't have much I can really say about it; the town-turned-fortress has changed hands enough and seen enough bloodshed even I can feel the spirits ill-at-ease here. Anything Alurius would have left behind has been ransacked from the Scarlet Crusade. Or Scourge. Or Forsaken. Or adventurers. All of the above, most likely.

[daerenbenneth]

Queen of Swords - the most independent woman your character knows.

Vathelia Irving.

From the time he met her when she was a scant few years old at Northshire to present day, the girl has been borderline contrary. She was never the most astute during lessons, willing though she was to learn. It simply was not how she wanted to go about learning.

Even as she grew, she tended toward going about doing her best to help people in her particular fashion– regardless of what others had to say. From leaving her teachings early to go aid the relief efforts in Westfall, to running off with the Brigade eventually, to doing random work to help beleaguered people around the countryside up to the point she stumbled her way into a mercenary group; each step forward she made on her own power. Though she has seen to mellowing and grown more cooperative with people over the years since he has gotten to better know her, that much has not looked to have changed about her.

[thetheshadowofwestfall-blog]

Pratchett’s normally flowing, elegant script is replaced with something more hasty and to-the-point. There are no long, flowing lines accenting words and tying lines together. There are no embellishments in characters and linework. It’s concise and to-the-point handwriting.

Pratchett’s Journal July the 31st

I came back to Stormwind.

So much has happened since I stopped keeping a record. I do not know where I can even begin explaining it for myself.

I helped address the issue with the Ethereal forces. It was messy, explosive, and more than a bit polarizing for certain parties. But it was addressed as much as possible.

Dawnwach and Sunsheer’s efforts led us to a terrible situation with the Sandfury Witch. I dare not even describe it; but it was as close to ‘hell’ as one can get. It left everyone emotionally scarred. The fact we survived is... remarkable.

I left the Silver Hand. Not exactly in an official capacity, though I am certain it will become Missing in Action considering my current situation. I dare not even touch upon that issue in Stormwind. I am certain it will only complicate an already complex issue.

The Call of Azeroth is functioning without me. I decided to leave them to their work and not let myself get further involved; they deployed en mass to work with the Dogs and Lieutenant Durendal. I get the distinct impression he and his people will do a better job of guiding them than I could; as long as they take Daeren and Montague’s suggestions to heart in contrast to Alexander’s.

I do not know about the rest. I suspect Iggy and Afen will join The Call of Azeroth, as well as the dwarves. My band...

They will be fine. David has a keen mind for venues and haggling. Felenas is a fantastic replacement for me. Dorric and Kartast will have their best interests in mind as well, so I am not as worried as I might otherwise be.

Light, I have very rapidly turned this into a check list of loose ends.

The page is blank to the bottom, with writing continuing on the rear side.

There are two loose ends which I could not address before coming to Stormwind. Vathelia and Sarah. If I feel guilty about anything, it is about them.

Both women deserve better than myself in their lives. Vathelia, I can only hope, has found her purpose in the Light. Sarah, I fear, will never truly forgive me.

I had intended to speak with Vathelia before I ended up in Stormwind. If I were an ignorant, ungrateful bastard I would simply assume it was for the better than I had left without warning, and had not gotten in contact even after so long. And some self-pitying part of me feels that way right now. But that part of me is wrong.

I cannot say if miss Irving will be better or worse for my absence. I can only hope she is well.

Sarah is so much more complicated. What happened with her sister, Rose, will never leave me entirely. The animosity Sarah held for me, for so long, never truly seems to be dead either. ‘Damn your Light, and damn your love’ were her exact words on Draenor. My surprise at her eventually relenting was genuine, as was her honesty in staying that path. There were problems; Roses’ birthday was especially emotional for her.

I dare not even write my thoughts on Rose. To think them through, to their completion, would bring me to tears at this point. I just have to let it sit.

I have been sitting here in Stormwind, writing this, while perched over the park leading to the war memorials. Miss Rosebane is down further, out of earshot, speaking with a gentleman in more plate than I would know what to do with. The same one from last morning.

This isn’t the Stormwind I remember. At all. I either have to reinvent myself a bit to fit into this place, or embrace the fact my stability is gone and try to just keep on keeping on.

I should do something drastic.

[thetheshadowofwestfall-blog]

Willaude’s writing is concise and clean, all sharp angles and uniform characters. Black-navy ink on a new set of parchment in a new journal, it has all of the hallmarks of a student taking notes for future study.

Pratchett’s Journal December the 30th

Write from the heart.

My instructor in Dalaran may have molded and shaped me to be a cynical, depressing person. But she had moments of hope. Glimmers which I remember fondly. Sarillious Eveningdawn was hardly something to strive to be. The demon less so.

I once wrote a hyperbolic line, some five years ago now. “Her true name, the name which she used before her students and the Black Harvest, is a complicated and tiring affair to write.” I never put the entire name to pen, for to do so with a demon was to risk their ire. Names have power. They shine in the text they are put within, as a focus of ideas and feelings and thoughts. And sometimes magic, as the case is in binding.

Sarillious was once known, before the devastation of the Well of Eternity, as Saral'luaix en’Caassimolaus. Saruix for short. She spent her time, over ten-thousand years ago, prodding and poking at the kaldorei civilization in her own personal quest for power and pleasure. It was not a Legion affair; not until Azeroth caught Sargeras’ eye. Even then, Saruix kept a low profile as she consolidated power.

Consolidate she did! Ten-thousand years of manipulation and hoarding information and power led to her installing herself in Dalaran firmly during its founding! Her minions, her Daughters of Caassimolar, spread across Azeroth as well; Alla’torel, Ageasre, Andraelphaus, and Anahuum.

One is quite dead. The rest, less so. One of my first tasks I’m taking up as an adventurer.

And so I write from the heart. Their names, their master, and my own feelings. Because bringing up Saruix brings up conflicting feelings from another time and another place. Fittingly enough, as I return to Stormwind under less auspicious portents than I first had.

I last saw Saruix on civilized terms around the same time I first met Vathelia. That should be telling enough for me.

I need to find her, wherever she is. I’ve not spoken with her in years now; the pangs of guilt from the loss of contact have been ever-present in spite of everything which has changed since Draenor and the Mercenary Company.

She’s my first goal. I can find the sayaad any time. But I must seize the opportunity now that I am in Stormwind to find Vathelia. I owe it to her, for putting up with me for the time she did.