Eyesore in the Nyx Guildhall Library

[Eyesore]

mostly ooc: To the best of his memory, Eyesore joined Nyx in April of 2006. The guild leader at that time, Wakanda, had, unasked, assisted the old orc hunter with a quest, and after chatting in character for a little bit, had invited Eyesore to join Nyx. Upon accepting, Eyesore had been welcomed by all and was soon in conversation with Barefoot about her name. She was probably the first friend he made in Nyx, but thankfully not the last. Jinxa was an orc alt of hers. Few on Emerald Dream had yet to reach the level cap in those exciting days, so growth in character portrayal was often linked to new areas as they opened to exploration. Eyesore would eventually be instrumental in the guild merger that helped bring Aitana into Nyx, and is sure, when he wasn't helping Warburn on an archaeology dig, that he interviewed Asrelah in Crossroads. Then again, maybe not...it's been a long time for an old orc and memory can play tricks. Eyesore briefly left Nyx in a dispute over role-playing and was brought back home by Aitana. nnThe new forums adopted after the guild merger left much of the beginnings of both guilds, and their members, lost to easy access. So, for reasons I am not sure of, I decided to bring Eyesore's introductory posts to here. This was authored before Burning Crusade was released. So, what follows will be new to many, as many are new:nnnEyesore – May 12, 2006nnEyesore looked at the stylus, glanced at the parchment, and fretted. The library in the Nyx guildhall was silent, but the books, the books were anything but quiet. Some were subdued, speaking almost in whispers, but others muttered, or shouted. Some demanded attention, while a few, he noticed, seemed content to avoid detection. He could spend the remainder of his time on the continent here, reading, and never be lonely. So much to learn, to explore, to share. His mum's legacy; a love for learning. nnHe was surrounded by lives, or at least the stories of those lives…past, present and imagined. They spoke to him, and he knew, if he opened a book, or unrolled a scroll, he would listen. Nevertheless, he could not afford the risk, not while they were watching him, not while he was a probationer in their guild. Now his guild. What would they make of an educated Orc? nnBarefoot had asked how he got his name, and the Nyx expected an account of his origins. Simple, reasonable requests for a novice in their young guild. But not so simple for this old Orc, he reflected. His age was no secret; they could see it in his grey hair, his wrinkles, and his scars. It was his origin, his beginnings, which he dare not reveal. nnIt had been easy to tell Barefoot, and some of the others, that his mum had called him Eyesore because, she said, he was a sight for sore eyes. Those he got to know better, he would tell that his da said it was because he was hard to look at, that your eyes would hurt if you gazed at him too long. He could laugh with them at that account. What he could not tell them, what they would not laugh at, was where those words had been spoken. nnEyesore had been birthed, and had spent his early years, on the Azuremyst Isles, among the Draenei…the awesome Draenei…the dreaded Draenei…the enemy of his people, of the Horde. Just as all Draenei had not been corrupted by Kil’jaeden, there were some Orcs who had also escaped his seductions. Eyesore's family had remained loyal to their Draenei friends and had helped some escape the burnings on Draenor. They had fled together to Azeroth, to the islands northeast of Kalimidor. nnNot all had survived the journey. Eyesore could only wonder how it must have been for his mum in those early days, the only surviving Orc among the Draenei, many of whom bore a deep hatred for those who had betrayed them, who had killed so many of them, and destroyed their culture. His mum, Sh’lissa, had believed that her status as a scholar, a wise woman with peaceful ways, was all that had bought her survival. By the time his would be father, his da, was found among the wreckage of an Orc trade ship, his mum had long been relegated to a meager habitat on the northern island. She had never known which of her would be lover’s injuries had been from the wreck, and which from her neighbors, the Draenei. nnAnd when Eyesore was born, he had indeed been a sight for sore eyes. Eyes that had seen too much hate, too much scorn, too much of the Draenei. Both parents had taught him what they could. Sh’lissa what she knew of books, of history and peoples. Bartuk, the trade of a scout, and secretly, as much as he could with his broken body, the ways of a hunter, a hunter of people as well as beasts. nnEyesore had learned much from his mum and da, he reflected. He had grown strong and agile, and his da had indeed, with pride, said it hurt to look at him. Through their eyes, he had seen what he could be. The Draenei saw things differently. Eyesore’s childhood had not been easy, but it had been better than what had followed. He had become the favored target of derision of his neighbors and had had to fight his way home more than once. He had come to despise the Draenei in general, and some in particular. A few had been especially cruel, not just to him, but also to his family. nnEyesore’s increasing skill at defending himself, to say nothing of his well educated retorts to their taunts, had eventually come to be seen as a threat. His mum warned him of the mutterings she had heard when she traded in the village, and he respected her enough to take her concerns seriously. He already had enough scars to appreciate the threat. It was his da, however, that was given specific warning of the danger coming. A Draenei that his da often helped with his nets told him that some of the young men in the village believed that Eyesore represented too big of a risk. They had decided to hobble him. nnEyesore remembered his father’s frantic rush back to their hovel with the horrible news. Soon after, the Draenei came for him. He remembered what followed next as vivid images, seemingly unconnected. His da tossing him an axe from the woodpile. His mum with a butcher knife and cast iron skillet. His hound barking and growling, the hair on its back stiff and raised. His da, his father, falling before the onslaught, with a staff already bloody, and Draenei broken on the ground. nnAnd then Eyesore had howled with rage, the blood pounding in his skull, and time was no longer a series of images. Swinging his axe with all his might, he leapt into the Draenei, his hound at his side. They had counted on their numbers and were ill prepared for the fury he had unleashed upon them. Muscles hardened from chopping wood and fishing powered his axe through flesh, sinew and bone. His hound was at the throat of one man when he heard his mum’s skillet connect with a ringing thud to the head of another. Eyesore had pulled his axe from the chest of an attacker when he realized there were no Draenei left standing. Some moaned, and a few were screaming, but most were dead. His vision cleared from the blood lust and his breathing eventually slowed. nnEyesore saw his mum on the ground, cradling his da’s still body. He would never forget her screams. Nor would he forget the dispatch with which she then used her knife to silence the surviving Draenei. Afterwards, she had looked at him, so very intently, and told him that learning meant nothing if you did not have the will to apply it. She had then cleaned her knife on the jerkin of a fallen Draenei. nnThe Nyx wanted to know about his origin, his beginnings. Eyesore sat at the library table. He looked at the stylus, glanced at the parchment, and fretted. nn.nEyesore - Oct 30, 2006nnThe tomes had seemed to whisper to him when he had first visited here, now they almost taunted him with their silence. Eyesore sat with an untouched parchment before him, pondering his reluctance to write. The wars had swelled the ranks of the Nyx and promotions had come quickly, for those who had survived. He had survived, a few more scars, true, but he lived. Some of his friends had not fared so well. nnToo many lost in action, some not even accounted for. He had helped Iceyheart tame his first cat from the Badlands…where was Icey now? And Icey’s mate, Dimmples, as joyful a lass as an old Orc could ever hope to meet, what had been her fate? He scarcely dared to hope for their safe return. True, Barefoot had found her way home, and he had also feared for her. Maybe it was safe to hope. nnOld fool, he cursed silently. Nothing was safe. Too many dead, too many missing, too many orphans. Their stories belonged among the well-preserved histories that inhabited the shelves in the silent library. He wanted to document the valor of his friends, but without knowing how their stories ended, or even if they had ended, he did not know what to write. nnA scholar with a reluctance to scribe, oh how Sh’lissa would laugh if she could see him sitting so still in the candlelight. And what he would not give to again hear his mum’s laughter. They had parted too soon after Bartuk’s slaying. Letters had not reached him near often enough, and he knew his posts had not always reached her. He feared he would too soon have her life story to write. He would rather hear her laughter. nn.nBarefoot – Dec 11, 2006nnOften when she needed to figure things out, Barefoot would teleport to Moonglade to soak up the peace and quiet as she daydreamed. nnToday she felt a strong pull towards the guild library, a small place that had neglected far too long. Why hadn't she come more often to record her adventures, to preserve for posterity the magnificence of Nyx? nnIt was obvious that she wasn't the only one who had neglected the library. Dust had gathered around the scrolls. She took a deep breath to pull out the smells of the last visitors. All she could make out was the faint odor of her old friend Eyesore, who she had not seen in far too long... but a smile crossed her mouth as she thought of their first meeting, in the dismal marsh of Dustwallow. nnWhen she sat down to write she froze up. The stories just wouldn't come. Instead, she spent hours reading over the old scrolls that had been left before, refreshing her memory on old friends, some of whom she knew she'd never see again. nn"I'll be back soon," she promised no one in particular. "Maybe I'll even convince some friends to come too."nn.nEyesore - Jan 4, 2007nnEyesore lit the candles in the library, then closed the solid wooden door. He thought of his other visits, and his reasons for leaving no contributions of his own. If it were known that he were educated, it would not be long before the curiosity of a well-educated Orc attracted the attention of the wrong people. His mum's safety very likely resided in his silence, perhaps even his own. That his family had lived with the Draenei would be all that mattered. Few Orc would take time for the details. nnYet, two callings competed with his caution. Warburn had with uncanny insight scoped out his ability with words and was insisting on his assistance with research into the lore regarding Lady Nyx. As if he had to insist. Eyesore longed to turn his back on war and dedicate himself to research. And to learn more about the actual, the historical, Lady Nyx...that would be especially interesting. It could even contribute to his standing in the guild. Umbral Champion was a tempting status. nnAnd dangerous, due to the attention it would attract. He had to think about more than his own status. nnAnd he had to think about Jinxa. She had become as a sister to Eyesore, and they had even discussed the ritual of adult adoption. Now, reports were that Jinxa had been lost in battle. She had reportedly died saving the lives of her companions during an ambush, but when the magics had cleared, not even her body remained. nnHer story belonged in the annuals of the guildhall library. It belonged in this room. She belonged in this room. Eyesore slammed his fist against the library table in frustration and grief. He had the skill to assist Warburn and to tell Jinxa's story. And his use of that skill could imperil others. He licked the blood from his knuckles, then sat in a chair, thinking. He missed Jinxa, he missed his sister.

[Aitana]

(( Thank you very much, Eyesore, for bringing this over to these forums. And, yes, Eyesore was one of the key players instrumental in bringing The Twilight Umbrage into Nyx. ))

[Eyesore]

((As you know, Aitana, very few remain from those days. I've been bumping around in the old archives a little lately, and it was sobering, and sad, to read accounts by those no longer with us. It is almost like ageing in the real world...the longer you live, the more there are to miss. Eyesore's lament for Jinxa had occurred following Barefoot's first departure, and though she returned, for awhile, most who have left must be listed as missing in action. Know that I am glad that you and some others remain. You make a difference.))