Road goes ever on
Breathe… relax.. flex.. let the music be your guide.. let it move you ..throw off all constraints that prevent you from feeling the music as it should be.
Those were the lessons I was taught by my teacher while growing up in Dalaran..I had been born to this ,, thrived on it where silence only bound me. I was told I was born under a very lucky star but I can’t see how being orphaned twice in my young life was considered as being lucky..sure I was fortunate that my adoptive parents Hrima and Evarion Danelorn found me when I was orphaned after my first adoptive parents died during an attack upon our home in Lordaeron.. as to my birthparents..I don’t really know. I was told by the Matron that a woman dropped me off when I was six monthes old,and was adopted shortly after by a human couple from Lordaeron.
I don’t really remember them .. I was so small.. I don’t remember being out in the street… lost,calling out for them ,and being found by Hrima Danelorn , a Quel’Dorei ranger who had been serving under Sylvannas Windrunner before she became the Banshee Queen. He became my father not long after.. he and his wife raised and loved me as their own. My mother Evarion , was a magistrate,and I thought her the most beautiful woman ever,and wanted to be like her when I grew up. From her , I learned to be lady, taking lessons in comportment, etiquette, and social graces. I was also given an education but music was what captured me,and I was taught to play the violin from a young age. However ,I was expected to learn the formal style of music, never really allowed to experiment on my own… it wasn’t until mother took me to Lordaeron that I saw Dwarves for the first time..I was fascinated.
I met a young dwarven girl , she couldn’t have been more than sixteen.. you could have knocked me over with a feather when she told she was sixty years old, and gently picked my jaw up off the floor. We became the best of friends after that ; she taught me much about her culture, though I had trouble trying to follow her when she started speaking Dwarvish out of habit. I soon began learning it after much trial and error. What really changed my life was the music.. the Dwarves were very exuberant when it came to their culture.. proud, clannish sort, they had a style of music that was much like them.. boisterous, exuberant. The sound of the fiddle fascinated me,and I yearned to learn this style ..especially since I learned the instrument was very much like the violin. Thanks to my parents , I was given lessons in Harp, pipes,and Violin..unfortunately I just didn’t have the voice to match. Ah well.. such is life.
Unfortunately war has this habit of rearing it’s ugly head.. people can not leave well enough alone..and war broke out; my parents took me back to Quel’thalas where they thought I would be safe. For a time I was sheltered from the horrors of war, until it came to my doorstep in form of Arthas. He had lead his army of the Undead to the gates of Quel’ thelas ,barely pausing at the blockade made by the rangers who tried to stem the tide of the Scourge but fell in it’s wake,raised by Arthas to walk again..my father..was one of them.When news came that Sylvannas had fallen to the Lich King..a cry of horror and despair swept over the city.People frantically barred their doors,and sought refuge from the oncoming tide..soldiers, of all classes amassed at the gates to stop the undead army before it swept through the city. They failed …the Scourge cut through the defenders..leaving carnage and devastation in it’s wake as the massive throng swept through the city like locusts. After draining the power of the Sunwell from it , Arthas withdrew from Quel’thalas .When he left, the grim survivors slowly crept out of their homes..bewildered and lost..we learned later that the human kingdom refused to come to our aide when we called to them for help. It was a bitter blow ; an unexpected betrayal by those we thought our allies. It was hard to pick up the pieces of a shattered life but we did,, and we survived… I grew up , my illusions of the world ripped apart by reality,,, I learned to hate..and I learned to hunt.The only constant was the music..
As I put bow to strings, I close my eyes and remember all of the people who have guided me , their memories still strong in my mind,and my heart. My mother said to me Never forget the fallen, and I don’t . My music reminds me of all I have lost,and all that I have gained. We are all in the eternal circle of life and death.. forget your misery and your woe.. put aside your grief and hate..embrace life and relish joy for I call you all out to dance.
” One dream ,One soul,
One prize ,one goal
One golden glance ,
of what would be….”
A Kind of Magic – Queen
A city has its own kind of song,and if you listen really close, you can hear it..the sound is unique , individual as the people that reside in it. It slumbers like a great cat under the mid day heat, coming alive at night like a hunter,its song changing like it’s moods.As I travelled from city to city plying my trade as a hunter and leatherworker, I would find myself climbing the summit of buildings and rooftops at night to listen to the nightwind,and hear the sounds of the denizens that oft crept out after the sun went down. NIght was often time for important business , of dark ,dangerous transactions..where the peddling of flesh,and narcotics was the norm. It was such a night that I was concieved.all those long years past.. amid the squalor, the tawdry trappings of false security, result of a careless coupling of one of the whores that plied her trade on Murder Row,and a nobleman, looking for escape from his demanding wife,and spoiled children.
From what I have been told, the woman who bore me,had some magic.. enough to keep her looking young,instead of haggard and worn,like so many who practiced her trade..she was a prostitute; she may have called herself a Courtesan,but a whore is a whore despite all the pretty names one may apply to that particular trade. I suppose I was lucky.. she cared enough about me not to raise me into becoming what she was.. That was her only kindness I suppose….her last was telling me ,who my sire was… before she died. She caught syphillus from one of her clients,and it killed her in the end. In a way, I’m thankful.. it helped open the door to a past I had always wondered about; now I can close that door forever.. I may have been of her blood but she was not my mother, nor the man who sired me ,my father.. they are nothing but strangers..my parents are Hrima,and Evarion Danelorn… I am Brekke Danelora, but I commonly go by Danu,or Dani.
While others wield magic like weapons, to hurt or to heal,, I find magic in the simple pull of the bowstring.. listen to the arrow sing as it flies through the air, and without fail find its mark in the target. Many years went into honing the weapon ,making it a part of me.. like my fiddle, it sings for me . I don’t need magic to make me strong ; at least not the kind that my people have depended on so long for survival..My father taught me how to survive without it.. before the power of the Sunwell was taken from us. I became strong,whereas my people became ravaged by their addictions.. they exchanged one form of addiction for another. Bloodthistle was a common addiction, and Silvermoon was filled with parlors where the patrons did nothing but smoke Bloodthistle all day. It was just part of the song that made Silvermoon so unique; she was a survivor, like her people.The darkness and decay of the underworld was like the bassoon, deep and ominous, yet it had its place, like the glittering spires,and the brightly coloured flags. I was born here,and probably will die here as well , when my time has come to leave this world. As it should be..
I don’t know what it is about men; especially those of my own race.. the moment they discover you don’t have a protective male relative ,they suddenly develop eight hands,and are all over you like dirt on a pig. For some unafathomable reason, they figure they are safe to do whatever they please without worrying about the consequences.. well I have news for those overamorous degenerates,my daddy didn’t raise any fools,and I have developed a well tuned nose for bs. I think that little fact saved me more times than I cared to count.. if there are gentlemen, they are far and few.
Some people would say, that I have no room to be particular, especially being adopted, but that’s no excuse,. it’s just something they use to make themselves feel superior. Yes, I may be adopted but my parents loved me ,and raised me as their own,and taught me to defend myself against all forms of attack, be it from four legged predators or two. My father often warned me about men ,who made a habit of seducing young helpless girls,and told me what to watch for. It’s a lesson I’m eternally grateful for…however I wish my father had not died all those years ago. I can take care of myself; but I worry about my mother who has never really gotten past the loss of my father.. he was our world but being young and resilient I was able to pick myself up and move on..whereas my mother has never really recovered.Lately it seems that there are some who are targetting her for their own nefarious ends. Despite her mature age, she is still beaufiful,and youthful looking,and people often mistaken us for sisters instead of mother and daughter.My father had left her a sizable fortune which in itself is a tempting lure for those ,who would seek her hand, to get their hands on it. It may sound selfish on my part ,but I know my mother; she still waits in the parlour for my father to come in; and often tells me she has spoken with him… I will not forsake her to the wolves. I have tried to make it home each night so she’s not alone but she’s not really. She has a body guard that watches over her,and makes sure she’s safe. It was the only way I could feel comfortable about leaving for any extended amount of time.
I know she worries about me being alone but I’m not really.. I have Lament,with me.. she’s my little guardian angel.Often she has mentioned some of the young men I had grown up with ,and asks why I don’t consider them for marriage. I hate to break to her that those same young men,are currently the bane of my existence; with their not so obvious attempts at trying to lure me into their beds,and sly remarks that because I was adopted I wasn’t worth considering for marriage,and was only good for one thing; being someone’s mistress.. NOT bloody likely..the last one who made that proposition is still picking his teeth off the ground. Even if I do want to get into a relationship, I don’t have time to..and frankly not with the fops that frequent Silvermoon. I suppose Silvermoon, is not exactly the best place to be looking for a serious relationship. However if and that is a pretty big IF, I do get involved with someone, I expect him to treat me with respect; of an equal not a subordinate or a submissive. If they want a submissive they can get a dog instead..I don’t do submissive!
Anyhow Lament is yapping at the door wanting out,and I need to get my butt in gear,and get back to work. I still have some committments to fulfull and they won’t get done if I’m here on my hindend.
Orgrimmar was dusty, busy .. its citizens moving around like ants among the busy thoroughfares that made up Orgrimmar’s busy streets. Hawkers called out their wares,and the sounds of patrons and merchants alike wafted up to the higher levels where business of another sort took place. Wind riders, perched on their posts, waitingto carry passengers away to distant locations while the large dirigibles were docked by the upper pillars of Ogrimmar , awaiting and disembarking passengers who had made the long tiring trips across the sea to places like Tirisfal Glades, Warsong Hold,and Booty Bay.
A single female Sindorei leaned against the elevator shelter watching quietly as the windriders lifted off and then slowly meandered across the bridge, her pack banging against her hip, after she had slung it over her back.A dainty silver fox trotted beside her, ever so often stopping to sniff various objects before trailing after her mistress,whose silver mane matched that of her pet.Finding a spot that wasn’t too busy, the young lady pulled out a well cared for case out of her pack,and opening it up , retrieved a finely crafted fiddle. She tucked the instrument under her chin,and taking out the bow, drew it across the strings, emitting a low flat tone from the fiddle. Frowning softly ,she quickly adjusted a few knobs,and then tried again. This time the sound of the fiddle sweetly singing brought a smile to her face,and she began warming up with a few slow tunes before sprinting into a few rousing jigs and reels. It wasn’t long before her music drew a crowd of people , who had been intrigued by the strains of fiddle music reaching them,and followed the sound.
When she had stopped,the thunderous sound of clapping brought her out of her reverie,and she smiled thanking them . IT had been a long while since she played for an appreciative audience. Her tutors turned their noses up at her playing, admonishing her for playing such rubbish as they called it, prefering the more classical works to the rustic sounds of the fiddle.She stopped going when one of her tutors threatened to destroy her fiddle , if she did not stop playing. It had been the last straw as far as her father was concerned. He liked her fiddle playing ,and encouraged her to keep playing even without the music lessons.After he died, she stopped playing ..unable to play without thinking of her father.. the fiddle was his final gift to her before he died in battle, brought to her from Lordaeron. It was years before she took it up again, and began playing again.
Taking a look at the assembled crowd, she put the bow to the strings,and began to play a wild reel, that had the crowd clapping along in time, and watching at the corner of her eye, she noted a few started dancing along to the music.She increased the tempo,which also encouraged them to dance faster as well. For that short moment , she forgot where she was.. it was just her ,the music,and the audience,as she played for them , giving them a small moment of peace where they could forget their cares,forget that there was a war going on,and just enjoy the day for what it was.
It was late afternoon ,almost evening before she was able to put the bow down,and stop playing.Her hand ached but it was a good kind of ache. If she was able to bring a little moment of happiness to others than the pain was worth it. Putting the fiddle back in its case,she closed it with a soft click then placed it back in her pack. Calling to her pet, the pair left the upper level down one of the elevators to an inn where she would grab them some food,and perhaps lodging for the night.
Theramore was gone… the portside city, that had been the one haven for the Alliance entering Kalimdor from the Eastern Kingdoms now a smouldering pile of ash, It’s presence is now marked by a hole in the middle of the city, the inhabitants either vaporized or turned to crystal. It was the beginning of the end. The muted rumblings of horror,shock,and disbelief mixed with the first twinges of fear that curled in the hearts of the Horde. She heard it in the whispered accent ridden voices of the Trolls, the disbelieving rumbling voices of the Tauren.. this was not an honorable battle .. it was an abomination.. Garrosh had gone too far. They had been at war with the Alliance but until now the level of aggression had been met with equal force. The Alliance had attacked and razed Camp Taurajo,but lost Gilneas,as well as parts of their former holdings in Kalimdor.
When Danelora first heard of the attack on Theramore ,she had been in Silvermoon visiting friends when there was a loud roar from out on the streets.When she ran out to investigate , she could see a huge throng of people in the square ,shouting, some cheering, others white faced,and grim. The Horde had destroyed Theramore,with a mana bomb.. killing many of their military leaders. To some it was a great victory,and she was horrified to learn that some of the magistrate had contributed to the manufacture of the mana bomb. Hadn’t they learned from Draenor?! Now that Garrosh had wiped out a part of the Alliance forces in Kalimdor, what was going to stop him? Who was going to stop him? What was going to stop him from turning on his allies,and using the bomb on them? ! The more she thought about ,the colder she got.. was there no place left? Would he go so far as to attack neutral factions as well?
She stood on the outskirts of what remained of Theramore,her mind unable to accept what her eyes were showing her.; she could only imagine how those sensitive enough to hear the spirits ,would feel .. the horror, fear,and agony ,would overwhelm them and possibly drive them mad.Though she had no love for the Alliance.. no one …not even they deserved this fate.There was nothing but death,and devastation..With a sigh she pulled out her fiddle and began to play a slow sorrowful tune, paying her last respects to a city and to the people that died within. She played for those lost while taking the city before the bomb fell.
After the last note faded away into the coming twilight, she lowered her fiddle ,letting the tears fall freely.. whether they were for the people,for the Horde, or for herself ,she wasn’t sure..but it will be the last. Putting her fiddle away, she turned and left the ruined city ,mounting her horse,and rode down the highway back to the Crossroads to perhaps drink herself to unconsiousness if she was lucky.
Sitting by the river bank, Danelora watched as her little fox Lament, leaped and cavorted about, chasing butterflies and doing her best to capture them. After leaving Theramore’s ruin, she needed something to take her mind off of the devastation,and made her way along the river edge before she found a spot to rest . After taking a quick bath in the cool waters, washing the trail dust off,and refreshing both body and spirit ,she sat and watched as her pet pranced about happily, bouncing as she hunted for prairie dogs that made their burrows in the earth. Chewing idly on a piece of grass, the pale blonde elf kept a watchful eye out on their surroundings, her bow ever ready.
Life in the Barrens was harsh and unforgiving,but in its own way peaceful.Those who lived on the savannah, were hardy folk , who populated the dry arid plains for over a millenia,but lately facing threat of genocide at the hands of the Alliance. The skirmishes between Horde and Alliance had been going for decades and if Garrosh continued his mad rampage, there would be nothing left. In order to fuel his warmachine, he greedily fixed his eyes on the resources around them, determined to strip the land bare in order to further his own agenda.
Pulling her knees up to her chest ,and wrapping her arms about them, she tossed the blade of grass aside ,and pondered the dilemma presented to her.There was no where to go , no place to hide. the war was everywhere.. you couldn’t escape it. Neutral territory was threatened as well ,her last trip to Dalaran was tense feeling the cold distrusting eyes of the high elves upon her , the icy blue eyes boring into her back . Most cases she enjoyed Dalaran but now she couldn’t wait to leave, the uneasy feeling of something bad was about to go down gripping her heart.
For now ,she made herself scarce..rarely venturing into the city, only entering to sell her wares,which seemed to be garnering more cash than usual. She was careful about over hunting, moving constantly to avoid wiping out total packs ; something she had learned from her father.It kept her on the road but she didn’t mind it all . Cities made her edgy, and she couldn’t wait to leave once her business was done; but she was tired .. the constant watching and sleeping with one eye open did little to sweeten her temper,and often she found herself delivering scathing remarks to those who raised her ire.
Her next stop was Thunderbluff, the tauren stronghold and the only city that did not give her hives like most. It was one of the very few places that she found peace in , the surrounding land a balm to her weary soul. Rising to her feet, she gave a whistle to Lament, who lifted her head ,perking her ears at her mistresses call,and daintily trotted over . Danelora scratched behind the foxe’s ears, recieving a lick in response, before she walked over to the hobbled raptor, Rubbing it’s nose, she gracefully swung herself up,and mounted the sleek reptile, patting him gently on the neck. The raptor swung his head over ,and butted her leg with his nose before springing into a lope, it’s gait a rocking motion that swung his passenger gently from side to side. Soon the odd trio was travelling down the road to Thunderbluff beneath the clear blue sky.
I knew it was only a matter of time before war would raise it’s ugly head again while i tried so hard to forget about it. I was playing my fiddle for the young calves who toddled and played , keeping them from getting underfoot while their parents went about their business, when a contingent of Kor’kron soldiers came to Thunderbluff ,seeking the new Chief Baine Bloodhoof. It didn’t take a genious to figure what they were here for; new recruits for the endless war raging between the Alliance and Horde. One saw me playing for the calves and fixed me with a sneer before growling out ” You bloodelf , what are you doing here?” Putting my bow to fiddle , I continued to play ,trying to keep the calves distracted before replying to the orc. ” What does it look like I’m doing ? not that it’s any of your business ”
The orc snapped out , not wanting to lose face in front of his comrades ” Shouldn’t you be out fighting the Alliance pigs , like the rest of us , or do you think you are better than us , and hide behind the walls like the cowards your race are.” he sneered , puffing his chest out ,as his comrades laughed . There was a hush, as I stopped playing , and lowered my fiddle before fixing the orc with a cold glare. ” I suppose you know all about cowards.. after it was your Warchief that ordered a bomb to fall on Theramore robbing you of your right to honor and glory..wouldn’t you consider that as an act of a coward?! My people are being used as nothing more than cannon fodder, until there is nothing left. So don’t talk to me about how my people are cowards. They are twice the warriors than you can ever hope to be.” I knew I shouldn’t have added that little dig in but I’m sick of the constant comparisons . I have nothing against the orcs, alot of them have been very honorable , and just but there will always be the loud mouthed self entitled jerks that live to make everyone’s lives miserable. Course , I can’t say that my own people are much better but one has to at least have some pride in one’s own race even if I do want to bang my head against the wall the majority of the time.
I must have struck a nerve but before they had a chance to retaliate , their commanding officer, returned from his talk ,and ordered his men to move out. If looks could kill I would be have been struck down on the spot. I would have to watch my step, when I ‘m out and about, it wouldn’t surprise me if one of them decided that I was more trouble than I was worth ,and have some one come and slit my throat.Since the Wrathgate incident. Garrosh has made it clear that no race was strong enough to defend Orgrimmar except for the Orcs and the Tauren. They had kicked out the trolls, and relegated the goblins to the slums,even our presence there was minor, Garrosh considered us a weaker race but did not hesitate to call on the Regent Lord for more troops when he wanted something. We lost so many good people in Northrend, and Garrosh will think nothing of tossing more lives away if it meant he would get what he wanted.. currently being Pandera. I have seen the Panderan people about Silvermoon , and about the world. Amiable people with a love for drink , food and a good time, they can be the fiercest of warriors if threatened. They know what is worth fighting for, and if food ,drink and having a good time was a priority ,then it would be a much better place..
When the Kor’kron left , I put my fiddle under my chin ,and began to play again to break the silence that filled Thunderbluff and help the Tauren relax once more.There were more important things to worry about than some stupid war, a war that I was trying so hard to forget..
After the last few encounters with men lately, I’ve come to understand why women tend to gravitate to each other romantically… Because most men don’t have a friggen clue! When a woman tells you no after a particularly bad pickup line, take the hint and take a hike! I mean really ,,, what part of no , don’t you understand?!!
The ones that really irritate me, are the pretty boys who think that no woman can resist how pretty they are…seriously boys, you need to try harder.You maybe cute but you’re not that cute, and a woman is looking for a man ,who actually uses the brain in his head not his pants.So pouting ,and acting all sensitive is only going to make us run the other way. Crying over a broken nail, or a split end, is really not going to win a woman over, unless she’s just as shallow.
I suppose I’m asking too much when I say I’m looking for a man who actually has a brain in his head, the strength ,and courage to protect me, a libido to make my head spin, and compassionate enough to be concerned about how I’m feeling more than running with his friends at the drop of a hat.Wouldn’t hurt if he’s extremely easy on the eyes.. hey ?! a girl can hope, can’t she?!