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Azeroth Voices - InsolentWolf
Jun. 1st, 2008 01:55 pmSo.... 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.
