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| - I awoke months ago. I watched the ones that called themselves Horde. I followed the orders of my Lady, Sylvanas, the reason I was a free being, the one that kept me, and others in my condition, unlike those of the Scourge. She deserves my love, my respect, my blades and my body, and she has gotten anything and everything she has requested from me. I have begun this journal, these writings, as a manner of history, as a duty, for when I am dead and gone, for when my people are dead and gone… for when my Lady lies dead, should it ever happen, though my head tells me it might be closer then I think… This is history. These are the writings of Sarias Bryant, Mercenary of Lordaeron, and Assassin of the Lady. Day 1 My blades are for hire, always. I refuse to take friends, for everyone is eventually a target. I have joined a group, led by a dead Elf. Her name is Yulenia, and the group is The Shadarim. The group has some of the goals I do, and who’s love of the Lady, is the same as mine. However, they are only a means to an end. Should I have any reason, I would turn my back on the entire group. The Lady is the only one who can truly command me, and the only who receives all the respect I can give. My current training has taken me into the Hillsbrad Foothills. I remember this place as if it was yesterday. I worked for weeks in Durnholde Keep, now a bunch of ruins, ran over by the Syndicate. A formidable group, yes, but it was easy to kill the jailers and free the two orcs they held their captured. Too easy. My knives slipped in and out of the flesh of the humans, their bodies falling in piles, silently, quickly. I moved easily through the shadows. These were the easy jobs. The ones I used to hone my skills more. I freed the last Orc, who only ran off after saying he could take care of himself on the way back to the Mill. No thank you, though I didn‘t expect one really. However, I had to keep myself from asking a very intelligent question. How does one, who can take care of themselves leaving a Syndicate Hold, get themselves captured so easily? Ignorance I suppose. Or stupidity. He’d be caught again, the weak never survived, nor do they deserve to. Slowly I crept out of the Keep, leaving the memories where they belonged, the past. Day 2 My Lady has requested I take the time to battle the Alliance in Warsong Gulch. Her wishes were quickly accepted. I was sent in, there was an Elven paladin there. I’m not sure of his name, nor of his alliances, but with a sword, he was quite skilled. We teamed up, taking out groups of the Alliance that were stupid enough to wander away from the rest. It was quite a challenge, and a rush, killing those that were weaker than I, those that deserved death for the crimes they committed against the Horde, stealing our lumber. There was always someone to watch over the weak, and though that is not me, I had no reason to not kill anyone for killing the weak. It was fun, at least. There was a dwarf paladin, a little thing, hardly worth the kill. I watched him for moments. He would leave the group and run around. It was laughable. He was weak, and deserved not to live. He was not trained, his hammer was at his side, but he could hardly carry it well enough, it was too large for him, too heavy. His armor was all disorganized, and it did not fit him well at all. The target was easy, and his death well deserved. This Dwarf needed to be taught a lesson. Learn your skills, your talents, your life, before coming into battle with murderers. I slid up behind him as he was running through the field. The rest of his party was long ahead, fighting other members of the Horde War Party. I tossed a small rock to the side, and the paladin stopped. Exactly what I wanted, too easy. My dagger slid into a hole in his armor in the small of his back. It felt fantastic to play a god. As my dagger slid out of his back, the dwarf only gasped once before he turned around, trying to hold his hammer up to slam into me. But I easily dodged, and my sword found his neck, cutting deep. His body fell to the ground, blood seeping into the grass and mud. It was quite odd, for it began to rain just then. How I loved to fight in the rain. Rain was always a challenge to fight in… I knelt down, sliding a dagger across the dwarf’s shoulder, removing a piece of skin and gulfing it down in one single bite. Delicious. Dwarves always were, strangely. Draenei were exotic.. And humans, well, most were plain, but then there were those that had a special taste. Anyways, my writings digress, back to the Gulch. I continued to watch the paladin make mistakes. He would wander off from the group, and that was the main mistake. Each time he did, I would be there to correct him. A sword to his groin, a kick to his gut, I would dash away and he would follow, my laughter ringing in the air, his dwarves curses un-assisting in his dash to kill me. He was a bit large, and he couldn’t run long at all before getting out of breathe. Eventually he would stop, attempt to call his horse to him, and I would be there again, and once more his body would fall, and once more the healers of the Alliance would bring him back. But why? Why continue this charade that he would ever be a good warrior for the Alliance? Why not understand he would only be bait, a weak link, never able to survive in this War. Finally our last flag was captured, and the soldiers of both sides retreated for the day. The dwarf paladin made a rude gesture towards me, but I only returned it with a grin and a wave, which seemed to annoy him even further. How easily it was to annoy the Alliance. I will stop writing for the night, I need to make my poisons. Day 3 They sent me to the Fields, the Alliance town hall and area. I was to murder anyone and everyone I found, and then move to the Mines and do the same. There were a few names of power I had to do away with, but they would be easy. I had gathered information prior to entering the area on where each person usually hung out at. There were farmers to kill, blacksmiths, the Magistrate in the Town Hall, and his assistant, the Clerk. They were all apparently murderers, having killed members of the Apothecary and stole from Tarren Mill. No matter, they would pay. The farmers were easy to find. Always stuck in their homes, while others do there work. Didn’t they know? Doing your own work always made you stronger. A quick knife to the back and gut killed both. The Clerk, the Magistrate. They had been harder to kill, the Magistrate was the hardest. His powers of the Arcane were incredible, for a human. But none the less, he also fell to my blade. I then gathered the writings around him, and burned the others, both had been asked of me to do. It was only when I was leaving, that a duo of Alliance entered into the Town Hall. A female Night Elf in the most weirdest of clothing. A Winterveil outfit, though one can not digress, she did bring out the outfit quite well, though it was a bit small on her. Moving on, of course. There was one other with her, a human warrior in full battle armor, and he seemed very angry, and of course, was the most formidable foe at the moment, for all the current inhabitants of the Town Hall, guards outside included, I had already murdered. And the elf was in no manner to battle with that outfit on, and she also had no weapons. It was a chance she was a druid, but even then, I would take my chances first with the warrior. He glared at me and moved in front of the Night Elf as I eyed her. I spoke in Gutterspeak that that was his first mistake, but I know he didn’t understand from the confused look on his face. My weapons were still out, and I thought how easy it would be to kill the Elf, and disappear from the warrior for ever. Leaving him to cry over his…whatever she was. I gathered the shadows around me, and disappeared from his view, the warrior yelled out in that ridiculous speech of Stormwind, and another Night Elf appeared from outside. He, in a word, was amazing. He was a true warrior of the Alliance, and it showed in each movement, stature, word. His armor was all black, adorned with skulls, and his axe looked like one he could only have gotten from a reward for killing something in the North. This was not a war I would win, and so I did not fight it. I had finished what I had been sent here for, and so my deeds were done. I exited the Town Hall, keeping the shadows around me, and once outside, I dashed across the field. None of them followed me, probably either sharing a few words, or perhaps cleaning up after me. Either way, it was none of my business. I returned to Tarren Mill and turned in the proof of my deeds, and the bag of skulls. I took my leave from the town and took a bat to the Undercity. It was there I went to my Lady and sat by her side without a word. Hours passed, and it was only then she mentioned I should head to the Ashenvale, and then Thousand Needles in Kalimdor. If my lady requested, then it must be done. I bowed, and left to gather supplies for the trip. I had only gone to Kalimdor a few times, and only visited Orgrimmar. I would need maps, food, cleaning oils for my weapons, and many poisons. No matter, it would all be worth it. I would always give my all to my Lady. (( I will continue the stories as she levels. There's another section or coming quite quickly until I get to where she is currently. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them. :-) ))
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