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Azeroth Voices - InsolentWolf
So.... it's prolly all my fault, but what the hey. I can blame ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laciudad too. Thus, I present to you approximately weekly posts of ficbits and such! The main thing I'm going for is a wee bit of a project I can't seem to pull myself away from: Azeroth Voices. Mainly, this means ponderings and such from my (many... many many) characters in WoW. Why? Because I'm like that. I shall prolly have to do speshul icons and everything. But not yet, thankfully. For the first bit o' oddness, I shall begin with InsolentWolf, a hunter back from the days... when... wow, I really had NO idea what I was doing. Woof.
When I was young, my mother told me stories. The one I always liked was about a soul, separated at some unknown point for unspecified reasons. It was born into two bodies, which went about their lives with an eerie connection.
When she was in a good mood, these stories were about True Loves and soul mates, destined to find each other someday and live as close a life as one soul in two bodies could.
When she was in a foul mood, the two lived lives intertwined to create opponents of a bizarre nature, pulled together and eternally opposing each other, usually leading to a mutual death and understanding in the final moments of how this was not only inevitable, but somehow right.
I think one of the strongest lessons I took from my mother was how to be bitter. I can't speak – nor would I want to! - of how or why she was that way, but the roots of my dissatisfaction go as deep as Teldrassil itself.
I am not a very good kaldorei.
I suppose if Mother were a “worse” kaldorei, she would have smacked me a lot when I was young. I suppose the disdainful looks left a stronger impression, but as I said, I am not a good kaldorei. The younger races fit me better, with their curiosity, their directness and vibrancy, their... lack of reserve.
I remember telling my mother I had walked buffeted by winter winds – I, who had always lived in the ever-summer of Teldrassil. The scolding, the scorn she applied! To lie-! Why, everyone wanted the honor – a difficult and often hard honor, but honor nonetheless – of being twain-souled, but to lie about that was shameful indeed!
The hubris! The insolence!
I never again told her of the wonders. A madhouse of a city that was about innovation. A peoples that bounced rather than walked. Gears.... always gears.
Gnomeregan.
laciudad too. Thus, I present to you approximately weekly posts of ficbits and such! The main thing I'm going for is a wee bit of a project I can't seem to pull myself away from: Azeroth Voices. Mainly, this means ponderings and such from my (many... many many) characters in WoW. Why? Because I'm like that. I shall prolly have to do speshul icons and everything. But not yet, thankfully. For the first bit o' oddness, I shall begin with InsolentWolf, a hunter back from the days... when... wow, I really had NO idea what I was doing. Woof.When I was young, my mother told me stories. The one I always liked was about a soul, separated at some unknown point for unspecified reasons. It was born into two bodies, which went about their lives with an eerie connection.
When she was in a good mood, these stories were about True Loves and soul mates, destined to find each other someday and live as close a life as one soul in two bodies could.
When she was in a foul mood, the two lived lives intertwined to create opponents of a bizarre nature, pulled together and eternally opposing each other, usually leading to a mutual death and understanding in the final moments of how this was not only inevitable, but somehow right.
I think one of the strongest lessons I took from my mother was how to be bitter. I can't speak – nor would I want to! - of how or why she was that way, but the roots of my dissatisfaction go as deep as Teldrassil itself.
I am not a very good kaldorei.
I suppose if Mother were a “worse” kaldorei, she would have smacked me a lot when I was young. I suppose the disdainful looks left a stronger impression, but as I said, I am not a good kaldorei. The younger races fit me better, with their curiosity, their directness and vibrancy, their... lack of reserve.
I remember telling my mother I had walked buffeted by winter winds – I, who had always lived in the ever-summer of Teldrassil. The scolding, the scorn she applied! To lie-! Why, everyone wanted the honor – a difficult and often hard honor, but honor nonetheless – of being twain-souled, but to lie about that was shameful indeed!
The hubris! The insolence!
I never again told her of the wonders. A madhouse of a city that was about innovation. A peoples that bounced rather than walked. Gears.... always gears.
Gnomeregan.
no subject
Teldrassil is the home of night elves, who in their language are called the "kaldorei". Everything else is either so far self explanatory or entirely my creation.