Tag: blood knight order x 5

The letter to Ashideena was perhaps longer than she had anticipated. Written on good quality paper, the handwriting was terrible — but legible. As if the author had taken great pains to try her best to make it so.

--

Five years ago, I was an assassin who was out of work due to an accident I walked into willingly. I had changed my name; most people thought I was dead, but really I was moping — trying to drown out the ghosts with any drug I could get my hands on. Unremarkable. I wouldn’t tell you this normally, but you don’t seem the type to give pity. Which is good, because I don’t want any.

Four years ago, my sister convinced me to join a paramilitary organization that served Quel’thalas’s interests. I agreed,...

(then)

Lunge, swipe, parry, counterattack—

“Again.”

The motions repeated, over and over. Eleeria felt the sweat dripping down her neck, her throat. It had been hours of the same motions, correcting her form and insisting on repetition. Again she had lunged, parried; her legs shook with overuse, stomach growling. The next repetition was sloppy as she reflected on how long ago (and long forgotten) lunch had been. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast early that morning and yet, still her father demanded more. She was on the cup of twenty years and every day seemed to test her limits. Sometimes she didn't even make it into bed before her body began to shut down, curling up in the middle of the rug on her bedroom floor and deeming it...

Eleeria folded the tabard and sat it on her bed in front of her crossed legs. Fingers caressed the loving stitching -- the red and black of the phoenix motif was brilliant, spelled against blood and wear. She still smiled at the gift Ethalarian had given her -- it was her cherished armor, worn almost every day at this point. She loved the fierce crimson, the sacrifice it stood for; she loved the way Ethalarian spoke of the Order, how impassioned he could be at times was inspiring. She sighed, pulling the fabric into her lap to brush her hand over it again.

Though Ethalarian spoke of the Order with glowing praise, it was always for what it was -- not what it is, she reminded herself idly. Now it seemed less about spearheading an era of...

Light’s Hope was..uncomfortable.

Watching Lilliana, you would never think that she must be hurting. Her face is nearly serene -- if the stares that she gets from those who do not know her (and there are many who do know her, and very well, and question not) bother her, she doesn’t show it. Instead she seems to glide through the space as if she owns it still. It dawns on me that I never asked her where she was stationed, back before she became a demon hunter. It is possible she could have been stationed here for a time; perhaps Suel’thalas, only a stone’s throw away, was near enough that this place weighed constantly on her mind. I cannot guess at what she’s thinking. She assumes I didn’t see her sadness -- as well as she tried...

There is something about all this -- these changes. So many people asking me to let the past go. Be someone you weren't, become someone new. Change, Eleeria! That seems to be the theme of the new year, if anyone counts these years any more. Change.

Ethalarian told me I don't need to look back anymore. I am not an assassin any longer. I’m a proud Knight-Initiate. Hyrall told me the same thing -- prettier words, but the same meaning. I am released from this, from my past, from all of it. I am Chosen, I’m no longer a simple assassin, I am something different. Better. A predator. But it's not that simple. I can't release myself from several hundred years of training. Not all at once -- maybe not ever. I can call myself a blood knight...