Clarene's blog

((The big conclusion of Kinza and Lorcian's trip to the Outlands was bittersweet.))

There is a little dirt path running through the Terrokar Forest, which is too large to be called a trail and too small to be a proper road. In places it is completely overgrown, with herbs and shrubbery. The tracks of wolves and warp stalkers line it, and moths have spun their cocoons overhead. Lazily it winds its way South and East, drawing ever closer to the Twisting Neather. Eventually, it turns a corner and drops away into shattered space.

It was exactly how she remembered it, but everything was different. Already the fine red dust was working its way into the joints of her armor, blown on hot gusts of air which were dry enough to make her lungs burn. Beyond the thick meaty smells drifting up from the kitchen, lay the metallic tang of fell iron, and spilled blood. It seemed so strange to climb a set of rough wooden stairs, and swing open a human sized door, which creaked from the ever present grit....

Kinza brushed one dark and across the brown paper package, listening to the crinkles for a moment. Then she slowly pealed it away to reveal the long gleaming blade. Ravager's End was so long that Kinza needed both hands to swing it.......

((I wrote this story as a combined introduction and back story for my newest character Anthea. Since she has a love of music, I decided to try something a little bit different. Hopefully it strikes a good note ;) .))

((Sometimes when Kinza's voice starts writing it goes into place that I would never ever expect.This one started innocently enough, and then struck out into deep uncharted waters >.<))

For the time being, Kaniffler has been confined to Ironforge, a small relief for me. I have had some time to train a little, and do a bit of crafting. Last night Lorcain took the tram up to visit. I never realized how badly he had been injured by that scourge, although I should probably have guessed. Lorcian is the man who dug a bullet out of his own side with a claw after I was too nervous to attempt it. However the recent injury left him confined Dalaran for weeks, and still troubles him now..........

I had a strange yet lovely supper last night. Venison seared in an open fire, until the outside was charred black, and the meat inside dripped with sweet juices. It brings back memories good and bad. There were the tense nights in the demon infested wilds, roasting talbuk steak over the flames. There was also the first beautiful night when Akayla brought me out of the Exodar. She had a fire burning, and a stag cooking upon it. That was the first night that I saw the stars of Azeroth. We lay about for hours, nibbling on the meat, and catching up on the long years that we had lost in separation. I was giddy with happiness that night, and drunk on the wine of my sudden freedom. I had to return to the ship in the morning. For I was still badly crippled at that time. However I will always remember that beautiful night for the joy that it brought through the dark.

In her mind's eye she was back on Draenor, standing over healer Janeezra. She would always remember that night, during the last stages of the war when the entire land had been overrun with demons. One of the foraging parties had stumbled across a pack of wild fell hunters. Five still breathed when the healers had reached them and none had lived out the night....

I need to be quick while writing this for my patient has begun to stir. He is the second severe casualty that I have healed in as many weeks. I had just returned late from the fairgrounds, when Dyna brought a woman named Diane to our doorstep. She had been tortured by the forsaken, bones broken, skin pealed away, one eye gouged out. I could write here of how the sight of those injuries gripped me with fear, or of how I struggled to summon the light to me. Yet I know full well that I have teased that night apart in my mind, until the last detail has been set out for display. The girl lives, she sees, she walks, she is mending, which I suppose is all that any healer can ask....

Well there is a lesson to be learned here; Basilisk blood goes right through cheap parchment. Course it goes right through skin too, even better then serpent venom I'm thinking. Others might argue. Let them. I, on the other hand, would love to have my blade coated in this......

I am not a healer.... I am the eyes of an artist, and the hands of my craft.
I am not a healer.... I am a sharp blade, and a solid shield.
I am not a healer.... I am defense of my friends, and revenge for my people.
I am not a healer.... I am twisted, and crippled beyond any use.
I am not a healer.... I am the mind of a youth, and the experience of an elder.
I am not a healer, I never was, but I do what I can, I always have.