Shayla's Journal Entry #498

[ShaylaRose]

Entry #498: The Day I Never Knew, I Knew Would Come

As I lay down this night, tossing and turning in my bed, I cannot help but re-live those few moments, watching those very bastards that everyone had tried to force me to trust... Those bloody, vile, Undead... Those monstrosities, and defiliations of the very Circle of Life we all hold so dear to us... I saw them, with my very own eyes, turn on us, the Horde, and all life in and on Azeroth. They turned their backs to everything alive, and EVEN to some of their own undead bretheren! Out from the frost-bitten, snow-covered ledges looming over the battle between the Lich King himself, and that human, despite the titles of courage he had 'earned', stood as a coward, watching as our own Orc leader lie dying at the feet of the king of defilement, and the very epitome what is wrond and vile. What did that human do, in the face of TRUE fear? He stood, and watched, like the calves of my people, as they stood and watched in frozen terror as they watched their families, friends and homes slaughtered before them, by the merciless monsters these Alliance members call "Benevolent". I know not his name, nor do I wish to know. His death was a cowards' death.... Painfully earned, with the blood of Saurfang the Young on his feet.

Forgive me, I seem to be trailing off in my own depth of emotions... Yes, I had seen it with my own eyes... A sight that nobody wishes to see. That particular event that you have been praying to the Earthmother never happens, much less, to make you witness yourself. And yet, in the back of your mind, you know... You feel... You fear... It is coming, like the very call of death... It is catching up to you... You just never know when it shall strike! At this very moment, I witnessed, as the human spat words to Arthas, weak, empty threats, looming above, from the peaks surrounding the cavern where this horrid battle take place, those bastard, cowardly Undead struck. They came, and with them, brought wheeled carriages, with faces as hideous as each and every one of those Earthmother-Forsaken monstrosities, shaped to the front of each ballista. A bone-chilling green glow... Of all the ironies, they chose the very color of Nature, of the Earthmother, Herself, the color of life, and all that is beautiful, to be the last color you see, before you coughed, choked, bled, and literally melted to your death. The horrendous glow lit up the chilling faces of each ballista, as all stared in shock, including the "Mighty" Arthas himself. "Death to the Lich King!" was shouted, "And death to the living!" Those words rung through my ears as if a single pillar of lightning, guided by the Earthmother herself, reigned down, and struck a monastery bell, letting the ring reverbrate through me. Those words, I shall remember forever.

Barrels of who-knows-what death, toxins, and diseases were thrown from above, into the midst of the battle that had ceased to watch in disbelief. As they landed, they burst open, slaying the least fortuitous almost instantaneously. The irony, that the stronger, and tougher, were laid slower, they suffered longer as everything about their very existance was mutilated, seared through, and burned through, from both inside and out. Both the Alliance and the Horde suffered innumerable casualties on this day, even BEFORE Arthas even reared his metal-clad face. In just a matter of seconds, that toll had grown exponentially more, from the cowardice, and the vengance sought, by the Forsaken. They reigned down their hellish death onto us all, from high up in the peaks, where none they attacked could strike back.

This is the day of mourning...

This is the day that none shall ever forget.

This is the day that I grow to hate myself, wondering.... Questioning... "What if?" are the new words that repeat themselves to me as I tend to the wounds, burns, and toxins of those only semi-fortunate enough to have survived that encounter. What if I could've convinced Thrall and Cairne to remember the old ways, the old beliefs? Those that have held my people together, high and strong, since the very day of our creation? What if I could've made them remember, that NO amount of desperation in times of war can excuse the act of allowing those that defile the Circle of Life, to live... And to a much smaller extend, ally ourselves with these putrid peoples. Since the first day I began adventuring, I had known, and stayed true to my Mother's teachings, and I cannot help but feel that THAT is the very reason as to why I still live and breathe this day. Those creatures that call themselves people... Those "Forsaken" have proven, once again, that they ARE a perversion of the Circle of Life, and it only took the loss of TWO armies, the loss of friend and foe alike, to be the painful reminder.

This is the day, where one lowly, Tauren Druidess, from the nothing town of Luya, stands before the battered and beaten Horde. One eccentric and young fool stands tall, on a pillum of pain and regret. She stands tall, even for her shorter-than-average form, and knows. She knows that she was right. This entire time, she was right.... She could see it coming, and yet, was entirely helpless in stopping the fates of so very many people.

This day, she tells all of Azeroth, all of the Outlands, and even all of the ice-crested reaches of Northrend, "I told you so" Not out of spite, not out of her own personal victory, not even out of hate... But out of greif and self-loathing, knowing that if she could've just worked a little harder, and on the right people... This all could've been avoided. The Lich King could've been slain, and the healing of the Eastern Continent could've long-since begun.

"I told you so" Four syllables that run through her mind. Even though it was SHE that was right, it is also that same amount of knowledge that she held, that leads her to shame, and disgrace, as the weight of a countless number of lives and deaths weigh down upon her own shoulders.

As an Embassador of the Earthmother, I have failed. This young calf has proven that she is nothing more than just a peon, as is the rest of this doomed world, doomed to fall, to the skin-less, plague-ridden hands od the Forsaken that WE have helped. That WE have allied with. That WE have protected. And now, the Forsaken that bitten the very hand that feeds them, and with their new courage, shall be our downfall. Even the Lich King feels like just another droplet, in the ocean that is the Circle of Life, compared to the threat that the Forsaken now hold over all of our heads.

I now rest my head upon the hammock back in good old Thunder Bluff, fearing sleep, knowing that it will only be followed by nightmares, me reliving this night's events. Wish me well, Aitana. Most of my companions have fallen this day, and along with my family back at home. You are now all I have left, that is what I cling to, in life these days.