All My Mistakes

Midday
Two days from Venture Bay

   There is a part of me that watches helplessly as I pass each day in a haze that never lifts nor lightens. It is a distant and faint voice, encouraging me not to yield to my darker thoughts and desires. The voice is clearly mine, and it tugs on my heart to do what I know is right, to let go of the past and look towards a future that is undoubtedly brighter. The closer voice, the voice that I hear more clearly with each breath, beckons me to move ever forward, to embrace the fog of my mind and submit to the darkness that lies waiting. Moments of clarity offer me a glimpse of the extreme in which I now go to in order to see her one last time. I do not care for those moments. I will do what must be done.

   I blame the dragon. Had I not saved him from certain death, then I would be blissfully unaware of the type of power that the Bronze dragons wield. Now because of him I am now driven like a mad man chasing his damnable tale to find out if what he says is true. Can there be a chance for me to see Mireya, or perhaps a chance for me to save her from her death, and in turn save me from this numbness filled life? I am willing to risk anything and everything to find out how well this dragon tells the truth.

   Light save the dragon should I discover I have been sent on a fool’s errand, and curse the Titan who thought that talking dragons were a good idea.

-Eirnin Admheil


Late Evening
Ratchet

   We have pulled into port in Ratchet. I have no love for the goblin race, and this town, if it qualifies as such, is teeming with Horde. I have been warned that Humans do not fare well this close to Orgrimmar, and as such I have elected to stay on board and help maintain security.

   There is little to write about since the last I penned a note. The days and nights pass without much action. A few times we were attacked by Naga, but they were quickly dispatched. The remains of the Naga are being used by the ship’s cook as ingredients to his ever expanding list of edible foods. I suppose out here on the sea nothing can go to waste. However that does not make them more palatable. The taste is akin to something like harden lard. It is thick and chewy, and for the most part tasteless. Heavy spices and ale are required to choke the slop down, both of which were running in short supply till we laid anchor.

   The sailors on board have taken to calling me a name. I can only imagine that it is meant to insult me by reminding me that I have only one good eye. As if there was a chance that I might accidently forget my injury. It matters not though. Let them talk, I care not what the rabble of this ship think of me. I will not do it justice by repeating it in these letters, however. Should this journey be my last, I wish not to be remembered by such a crude word.

Despite their name calling and lack of general respect the sailors seemed a bit surprised by my prowess with a blade. A few times out of the corner of my eye I saw them stare as I rushed into a fight. Truth be told I enjoy the rush of battle; it is still one of the few things that move me internally. My blood rushes, my heart pounds, and for the brief moments it lasts I am elated to have such control over something. The first hint of my blade slicing through my enemy’s skin sends my battle rage over the edge, and each strike afterwards is done in hopes of recreating that sensation. Such has my life been reduced to.

   The night grows ever longer and I must sleep if I am to stand watch. I am relieved to know that the captain says that we will pull anchor tomorrow morning, heading south along the coast past Theramore, and past the Alliance ships that patrol those waters. We should reach Steamweedle Port within the week, and that is where my real journey begins.

-Eirnin Admheil





((OOC)) This is it hopefully, the story that finally puts an end to Ein’s long bout with guilt and self pity. After all…no one likes an Emo Pally. I will also take this chance to settle the question that has been on everyone’s mind, “Why doesn’t Eirnin heal?” .  I can’t really tell how involved this story is going to be. So please bare with me. I have had several scenes playing in my head for several weeks now and I figured it was time to put them to ink. Please let me know what you think so far. Peace, and there will be more to come.
   

((I'm finally catching up on reading the forums.  Question...has Eirnin always been blind in one eye and I just missed that little tidbit of info?  Or is that a recent injury?  And it would be awesome to see the completion of the "emo pally" story and finally know why the "character" doesn't heal, hehe.  We all know you're just not that kind of pally *grins*))

Just before dawn
Outside Steamweedle Port

Finally land is within view! I have been on the waters for far too long. How one survives the restless waves for long stretches of time is beyond my comprehension. I have but one wish now, and that is to set foot on solid ground. The ship lurches from one side and to another and at every angle imaginable. I feel my innards move as well, and rarely are the moving in the same direction as the rest of my body.  Though I have kept my food down it only came with great fortitude and determination. The captain assures me that we will lay anchor in a few hours time. Unfortunately, we must first be granted permission by the Goblins, which cannot come soon enough.

After these many weeks to sea, I have come to a conclusion. I have toyed with the idea of keeping this journal as I cross the deserts of Tanaris. What I will do with these writing when my journey ends, is still up in the air. Perhaps I will pass them on to the Tower to be stored in their ever expanding library. Should I be successful in my endeavors the young Acolytes and Blackwards will look at these bound pages full of thoughts with reverence and respect. Should I fail...then they will shake their heads as they pass by this book and whisper warnings to their friends.
 
My mind constantly drifts to daydreams of what could have been. Instead, I am left to face the harshness of this world alone and without guidance. I do not wish to go unremembered. I have lost my wife, and we bore no children, I have no siblings and no mother or father to speak of. I fear that should I die, I will die in obscurity. It is my hope that these pages will at least keep my deeds alive. I do not expect the world to stop upon hearing of my demise. Though I hope that there are those who will take pause, and remember what I was.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Eirnin stepped off the long makeshift plank that extended from the bow of the ship to the dock below.  He immediately knelt down and grab and handful of dirt with his hands and gave a blessing of thanks to the Light for keeping him safe. The Goblins who raced around him getting ready for the loading and unloading of cargo stared oddly at the young Paladin. Those who stood behind him waiting to get off the boat look at him with annoyance. He stood up and nodded and the Goblins, and apologized to those waiting behind him. He walked towards what he guessed was the center of the small port. He would need supplies and information. The Goblins would have plenty of both, so long as the gold was good.

He eventually came to a small Inn just on the outskirts of the port. He ducked quickly inside careful not to bump his head on the door frame. Inside the light was dim, and the temperature had dropped drastically. If he had not felt so awkward mentioning it out loud, he would have told the closest goblin that it felt downright chilly inside the Inn. He made his way to the bar, and ordered some of the local ale. Eirnin knew full well that the Goblin’s are known for many things, ale however is not one of those things. He had heard stories of lifelong drunks who would sooner go sober then sip a drop of the goblin ale. He also knew that the Goblins who brewed the bitter and stale ale were extremely sensitive about such criticisms. So naturally the easiest way to make a Goblin your friend was to sample his beer.

The Goblin agreed cheerfully to fetch Eirnin a glass, and ran quickly to the barrel that was tapped.  He poured the Paladin a tall glass of the non-frothing brew and returned hurriedly to Eirnin and set the glass down in front of him eyeing the Paladin eagerly. Eirnin nodded thankfully at the Goblin and with skill that that would make a dwarf blush with envy, he chugged the warm, flat, and stale brew without so much as a grimace of dissatisfaction. The Goblin grinned widely showing his broken yellow teeth and his diseased gums. He cocked his head to one side and spoke. “You want more?”  Eirnin could not speak, but he nodded yes and smiled as best he could. This routine repeated twice more before Eirnin had to politely decline another glass. The Goblin appeared to be a little disappointed, but his expression brightened when he was handed a few dozen silvers.

With his head buzzing from the ale, Eirnin attempted to garner some information from the barkeep. He placed several more coins on the countertop, some of them gold. He smiled at the Goblin and spoke as clearly as he could.

“I believe the expression is…Time is money, friend.”





((So hopefully this won't confuse anyone, but this story will go back and forth from Eirnin writing in his journal, to acutally story telling on my part. It seemed to clumsy and daunting to do it all one way, so this will hopefully keep things a bit fresh and interesting. BTW Cat, the book that Ein gave you at the meeting. This is what it contains. For IC reasons when you read it, it should be read as nothing but journal entries. Though Cat won't know every detail about his journey she'll know enough to give her a hold on Ein's personality. And should she turn his journal into the Tower, then anyone who is interested can bring up any part of this story Icly to Ein. So in a sense, once this story concludes, it's an open RP for anyone who is interested in rping with Ein. Peace, and they'll be more to come.))

(( Cat is most certainly going to not waste this opportunity and read the journal from cover to cover before she even thinks about turning it over to the tower library   ))

Twilight
Roughly one week outside Steamweedle Port

   How I have managed to survive this long in this Light forsaken landscape is a miracle. Several times have I been nearly dead from thirst only to stumble upon a small oasis with it plentiful shade and clear drinking water. After much need restoration I set out again on my journey only to find myself turned around by the monotonous scenery that is the dry desert. I fear that the Light no longer looks down on me, I am out of water, and should I not find some soon I will be left with no choice but to find my own rest place next to the bones that lay scattered on the ground beneath my feet.  Still I must press on. My death would be no worse than my life.

_________________________


Early morning
Two Days later

   I am out of water. I doubt I will survive another day beneath the burning heat of the desert sun. I do not regret my choice. I accept my fate, where ever it may take me. At last I will come to know peace. I only regret that I could not hold onto it during my life. For those of you, who can recall my name; do so fondly and with a smile. Peace be with you all.

_________________________

Eirnin pens one last note on the worn leather bound book. A note to whoever finds his corpse and his belongings. Satisfied with his work, he carefully tucks the book into his packs and wearily stands up and looks out into the desert as the morning sun begins it's relentless assualt. He smiles weakly at death. Eirnin walks a few hundred yards proudly even as the sun's heat bears down on him. Step after step he sinks deeper into the sand. Instead of foot prints he leaves behind long carved out grooves in the sand where his feet have dragged.

The sun pummels Eirnin’s back. The weight finally becomes too much to bear. He stumbles briefly and then slowly he sinks to his knees, exhausted.

“Mireya, my love, I will be with you at last!”

Eirnin toppled face first onto the desert floor. The hot sand only burned for a moment, and then the darkness took hold.


___________________________

The bronze scaly hands are anything but gentle as the grab hold of the mostly dead human’s leg. Holding him by the ankle they examine him thoroughly. After much chatter back and forth between three distinct voices it is agreed that the human should be taken back to the master’s Lair. Unceremoniously Eirnin is slung onto the back of one of the large Dragonkin. His packs and supplies are picked up by the other two, and with an ease that comes from beasts accustomed to the harsh terrain, the three move effortlessly through the sand and heat, heading back towards their home.




((OOC)) Alright so this one is a bit short but I wanted to move the story along. I've never been terribly good with filling in the middle bits of a story. Hope you enjoy, and I'll get start on the next parts real soon. Those should go much smoother I've had them planned out in my head for some time. Peace.

((Yay!  I was wondering when you were updating again, I was anxiously awaiting more   ))

Eirnin eventually awakens to find himself in a small, cool, dark room. The few candles that are lit do little to chase back the shadows, but with his head pounding he is thankful for the dimness. He rubs his throat and tries to cough. It’s a dry hacking cough, a side effect of lack of drinking water. He tests his voice. He can barely make a sound, what sounds manage to pass his lips are barely audible. He tries to swallow what saliva he can manage to wet his throat. Again he tries to speak, but to no avail. He has no voice. He stands up shakily, walking slowly testing each foot step with caution. Once he regained a strong hold on his balance he stretches out his arms and chest in an effort loosen the tighten muscles. He slowly clenches his fists insuring that his grip is sturdy.

He looks around the room trying to spot his equipment. His eyes have not yet adjusted to the dim light and he is left to fumble through the corners of the room to see if his packs are nearby. He finds them, and does a quick inventory. His sword is missing as is his shield; much to his surprise his packs contain fresh fruits and bread, as well as several flasks containing cool crystal water. Whoever brought him here doesn’t want a fight, and since there’s fresh food and water, he can only assume that his captors are at least someone civilized. He eagerly snatches up a flask and guzzles the contents down quickly and greedily. He wipes his mouth and again, tests his voice, and still no words pass his lips.

A lone figure takes a few steps out of the shadows to stand behind the Paladin.

Eirnin picks up his packs and heads for where he thinks the door will be. He only takes a few steps before he notices the stranger standing in front of him.  Startled Eirnin makes a great effort to look calm and unmoved, though he quite sure that calm and unmoved was not the expression that passed his face. An elf stood in front of him. No, not an Elf…an Elf with horns. Eirnin shook his head hoping that it was just a trick of the lights. He opened his eyes back up and stared at two horns on top of the Elf’s head.  Eirnin shoulders slumped and his head hung down. Surely he had been duped. The water in the flask must have been drugged or worse, magiked. He was seeing things that didn’t exist. He wondered now when the pink Taurens would show up and begin reciting Gnomish poetry. He dropped his packs and stared at the the horned elf.  After all this…this was how he would die, killed by a fictitious creature.

The horned elf stood their silently for several minutes staring at the Paladin before speaking.

“You cannot speak can you?”

Eirnin shakes his head.

“Then you will be able to listen and not argue. You are in the domain of the Bronze Dragonflight. You are not a welcomed guest. We brought you here so that you would not be feed for the desert buzzards. You are awake, in good health, and you have food and water. It’s time for you to leave.”

Eirnin shakes his head.

The horned elf continues.

“We know why you are here Eirnin Admheil of Southshore. You were wrong to seek us out, but that fault does not lie with you, it lies with the drake that you saved. We will spare you life, but you will leave and forget you were ever here.”

Eirnin shakes his head, and through his cracked and dried throat he pushes out a few words.

“Please…I…have not come…this far to go back…”

Expressionless the horned elf responds.
 
“We are not in the business of helping humans absolve themselves from their guilt. You will do as you are told, or you will die. The choice is yours.”

Eirnin struggles with more words.

“Not guilt…emptiness…never ends. Like an ocean….never moving…endless in all directions. Mireya…my Mireya…I need to see her. I…am lost…I have nothing else….I have no form…I am void.”

Eirnin reaches for the arm of the horned elf and grasps tightly. Pleadingly he stares.

“Please…I…beg you. Just…for…a moment.”

The horned elf begins to mumble words of magic. The hair on the backs of Eirnin’s neck stands up. Eirnin slumps down to the ground. His pleads unanswered. Perhaps death will be quiet and still, peaceful and serene like the Abbey at Northsire.

It was not a spell meant to kill the Paladin. Though he was unsure as to why, the horned elf was moved by the plight of the human. He had no fondness for their kind, but one of their most annoying attributes, their stubbornness, could also be one of their greatest. He spoke the words of the spell that would transport Eirnin back to his wife. He would not have the second chance to be with his wife, but he would see her one last time, and with this would bring a knowledge that would give the human the spark that would ignite his soul again.