Posts Tagged ‘Lordaeron’

h1

Diary of a Forsaken: Ailia’s Story

March 27, 2009

Written by Ailia Reant

It occurs to me, somewhat belatedly, that I have begun my story in the middle. Should someone read this diary after I am gone, they would know only Reant, the Forsaken.  I was not always thus.  I was human once.

Born in a small fishing village on the outskirts of Stratholme, Ailia spent her early years playing along the banks of the Darrowmere Lake. She was six when the winds of war swept across Azeroth for a second time. When the Orcs invaded Lordaeron, her parents fought alongside the other villagers defending their homes. They were simple peasants, unskilled in the ways of war.  The blood crazed Horde slaughtered them without mercy. The child’s slight form, hidden among the bodies of the fallen, went unnoticed.

From that day on she embraced the life of a fighter, learning from any who would teach her, relentelessly pursuing the destruction of the Orc race.  Many years later, an unlikely friendship with an Orc named Skelto led to a change of heart and she turned from the path of revenge. 

She served the Alliance during the Third War, earning a name for herself as a warrior. At the conclusion of the war, she returned to Lordaeron where she fought to defend her homeland against the Scourge invasion. Eventually her efforts attracted notice from the Scourge leaders. With the help of the Argent Dawn she evaded them for many months, but the Scourge’s power grew daily and the defenders strength waned as their fallen brothers joined the ranks of the undead. It was only a matter of time before she fell into their hands. I cannot bring myself to set down the events that followed. Suffice it to say, death came as a friend.

How easy it is to summarize the events of a lifetime in a few sentences.  How difficult it is to convey the essence of that life. 

Hot-blooded and headstrong, her temper would have ushered her into an early grave had not her blade been as quick as her tongue. Living each day in the face of death, she was free of the inhibitions felt by those who hold life dear.  Reckless, her friends called her, their warnings falling on deaf ears.

It was in battle that she was most alive, every sense heightened by the blood rage that coursed through her veins.  In its grip, the world faded in a haze of fury, instinct guiding her hands, lost in the sounds of battle and the feel of her blade.

My story is in no way unique.  There are hundreds, nay thousands, who could give a similar account.   So many  men and women, unsung heroes who stood against the darkness and with their deaths bought time for others to rise.  Most are forgotten now.  Some fell never to rise.  Others, like me, were raised in death to serve the Litch King.  I have no memory of the time I spent bound to his will.  For this, I am grateful.  I have seen others of my kind who can never recover from the memories.

Ailia was not a  great hero.   She was not noble or wise and most of her valorous deeds were spurred by recklessness more than bravery.  But – she was alive.  She knew passion in the arms of a lover.  She knew joy at the laughter of a friend.  She felt the gentle carress of the breeze and savored the soft kiss of the sun on her face.  She heard music in the lonely call of the night wind sweeping across the planes of Desolace.  Reant exists now as a shadow of the woman who once was.  Living, but never truly alive.

Unable to accept this existance, some Forsaken pine away, lost to the world in their grief.  That will not be my fate.  Ailia is gone, but Reant remains. I am stronger now than ever I was in life.  No longer do I require rest or nourishment.  No longer do I fear death or pain. No longer are my days numbered by the beat of my heart and the air in my lungs. I am content to wait.  Patient. Vigilant. My hour of  vengance will come.

Advertisements