Alexandros Mograine took over my body for a little while, so he could write me a message, and I was horrified, but some of this guilt has gone away completely. For my mother, for Lirath, and even my dad who I haven't spoken to in years except for a birthday letter. I thought I was in complete control, but this isn't the first time this has happened, but it's been so long since then. I escaped Tempest Keep because of him, he took complete control and when I came back I was in Shattrath City with my dad. My dad said I didn't say anything but, "Let's go." And "Were leaving.", and I just killed the things that were in our way. The runes I get on my body were glowing brightly though. Later I asked him if I was able to summon the Ashbringer like I did when I fought the undead Alexandros Mograine. He said no, I only had a pickaxe, and I didn't sleep even though he did.
Tempest Keep was a hazardous environment filled with demons that wanted to work you to death and outside was even worse. My dad could only protect me so many times from the demons, I heard what they did to him, they beat him bloody, until one day he just let them beat me too. We were supposed to dig through the tunnels, and if we found gems we got to go to a place above the tunnels where we could feed our hunger with the mana faucets. If we didn't make enough progress the lash of the whip would motivate us.
I was a noble in Silvermoon, I had seen this type of treatment on the Sunwell Isle before, and thought slaves were slaves. They were weak because they didn't have magic.
They didn't hit us all the time unless we stopped. A few people gave me their gems, so I could feed my mana hunger and I slowly watched them change. For me it's my eye's, I lose colors, and then I can't see at all, and I definitely can't work a pickaxe, but me at the time, young and so cute, people helped me. Caring people gave me their gems and we tunneled very deep, cave ins were uncommon but usually one or two people would end up killed or injured when it did happen, but gasses were very common. If someone passed out from breathing in too much gas we might have moved to another location, but the caring people always died first.
If anyone stood up to a demon, they would receive lashes for half the day and that sound still sends a chill down my spine. A pain that is not real but feels real, that's why they didn't need to hit us.
The change from elf to Wretched is hunger, weakness, irritability, and trouble breathing. Sometimes there are feelings of numbness, deafness, or blindness. Runes will show up sometimes, but they show up for a lot of reasons. They could show up if you had too much mana in one sitting or not enough for the past week, but in those tunnels, it was because you had fought through the first symptoms of mana starvation. The runes can itch, or they can burn, and there is no guarantee that they will go away if you do feed the hunger. They need to be treated like an open wound or infection. Then it turns into a green crystalized growth that protrudes out of the skin and picking at it will spread the infection. I have been told that it doesn't hurt as much as when the runes first start showing up. It needs to be cut off and treated with an herb or a healing tonic and bandages, and for the most part it will leave an ugly scar.
Then the irreversible hair and teeth loss, a weakened back that makes it impossible to stand up straight. But a Wretched can absorb large sums of mana in a quick amount of time when they don't have teeth. The digestive system becomes shot and from that point on you will only be able to sustain yourself with mana. Then finally the mind goes, if it didn't go before all that. That is a Wretched.
It was hard to keep friends when things like this kept happening. When I was eleven people stopped thinking I was cute. I stole, definitely didn't share, and if I saw a reason to rat someone out to the demons I took it.
I missed food so much most of the time when I was there, but when I looked outside at the endless storms, I knew nothing could grow in that constant night of floating rocks we were on.
Frequently we would take in no mana sources for three days at a time and many times groups of elves would kill each other for gems or a Wretched would lose his mind and start killing random people and demons. Sometimes a group of elves and Wretched would kill a demon task master and start a revolution on Kael'Thas's well fed soldiers. Because most of the Blood Elves were magicless and starving, they usually lost. There was one time I remember them winning and coming back with arcane crystals to feed from, we were happy at one point, but well-armed soldiers came into the caves and snuffed out the revolution. Those that couldn't fight were forced to watch as Kael'Thas's soldiers tore apart our beds, mana faucets, and crystals that we had tried to keep hidden, powerless to protest.
It was the same in every other cave in Tempest Keep, well fed soldiers working off the backs of slaves, and we were used to it.
I had runes on my body most of the time. Having to watch the kindhearted fall and the greedy and heartless survive and thrive, over and over again. For us it was just the way life was.
When I was 13 and after that revolution of starving elves and Wretched, Blood Elf soldiers had to see that the task in the mines were getting done before Illidan could send more of his demons to supervise the ones that were left. I noticed that I was catching the eyes of a few of the soldiers there as I worked.
I was offered to take a "job" at the Black Temple in the Den of Mortal Delights as a servant and I went to my father. I had no idea how far his mind had gone, he just stared blankly, "You should go. I can't protect you." He whispered.
I held on to him, "Dad, we came here together for a better life. We escaped Silvermoon and have been through so much, I won't leave without you."
He just looked blankly as he was recalling the thought, "That was a long time ago." He looked down, "You should go. I can't protect you."
He just repeated that over and over, nothing I said could get through to him. When we first got there, he stood up for me, but he was beaten down by demons, but I never thought that he was broken. I had never seen any runes on his body, so I just assumed that he was okay, but I also assumed that he was right. We had seen so many people die, one of us leaving was a good thing. So, I accepted it.
At 13 years old I remembered being taken into one of the Blood Elf commanders tents. He had food on the tables and mana sources for the people that could fight or use combative magic. I didn't really understand all the double entendres all those blood elf males were saying, of hard womanly training, and working on my hands and knees, or anything most of those soldiers were saying as they looked at me like I was something to eat.
They tried to grab me, and I ran, and I think I should have expected it. I mean what did I expect from a place called the Den of Mortal Delights. After everything Kael'Thas soldiers had done to us, why did I expect a random act of kindness? It was just a daydream of a naive mind.
Four of them caught me on the dirt, pinned me down right there, tore off my tethered shirt, and put a blade to my throat. I looked away and cried but I had the same blank look on my face that my father had. I was trying not to feel anything, I had to accept that this was just the way things were.
They tried to force themselves on me, and they didn't. I don't remember anything after that, I must have lost four or five days of time, because he was there to protect me. Even after my father's mind and will broke apart like a cheap vase, Alexandros Mograine was there. He took me and my father to Shattrath City, from there I joined the Horde, and I was so proud of that fearless war machine of brave and savage individuals that were coming to Outland. I never felt Alexandros after that though, running around doing this job and that job, meeting people and friends, killing the arrogant Alliance that betrayed our people, I loved it. After being in those caves and seeing all of what Azeroth had to offer, it felt so good. Instead of waiting and enduring, I now fought for what I wanted, but my father on the other hand couldn't leave the cave. He drank to try to forget, to make himself feel better, he gave me every excuse instead of taking his sword and fighting to right the wrongs.
It felt like I was in a dream. The Horde was a gathering of extremely different people, cultures, and history. And the Alliance was a collection of so called elite, stuck on outdated beliefs, and exclusivity. Thrall, our warchief, his level of kindness, patience, and tolerance, was something I truly admire about him. As long as you were willing to fight for the good cause, you had a place in his Horde, and it was miraculous the way we fought. A miracle, that's what the Horde was to me, and through hard work and will to free my people I made myself one of Thrall's top paladins.
When it was time to raid the Black Temple, I did it for our Horde, but I remember when it was time to go into the infamous and unsavory Den of Mortal Delights and I saw what Illidan was doing to satisfy his urges. The harems of women, each one weak, with the same blank faces like the ones I saw in caves, their eyes were vacant and lifeless, filled with fear.
I felt a chill run down my spine as rage and hatred welled up inside me, and I was overcome with disgust, because what I saw in them, what could have been me. I killed every one of those women and I knew that the Light wouldn't agree, they didn't even attack me, but at the time I felt it was an act of mercy. In my eyes from all the suffering he caused me and my people he didn't deserve to live, but things didn't change. I was just exhausted, I thought if I cut off the head the rest of the body would fall as well. When I went back into those caves and my people were replaced with the Broken Draenei, I wanted to go into those caves and say, "Illidan is dead, we can go home now."
I thought at least I can help someone from these cursed places. I broke their chains and killed their demonic taskmasters, but they attacked me. I had to defend myself.
No, that's a lie.
I could have run, I was filled with the same rage as before when I entered the Den of Mortal Delights, but I couldn't tell myself that it was the right thing to do this time. I wanted to burn that place, so I could forget, I wanted to kill all those women in the den because I wanted to forget, so that all this would just be a bad nightmare. I had gotten my miracle but what about everyone else, the task seemed too big and the thought of trying to liberate every single slave exhausted me. At 15 I did what I could for the Horde, for the Scryers, that was the gathering of blood elves in Shattrath City, and the Shattered Sun Offensive, two factions that resided there that finally came together as one. The thought of doing what my father was doing and throwing myself into a bottle to forget and to move on was something that was beginning to have an appeal. However, for better or for worse. The Lich King Arthas started his small-scale attacks and I became razor focused again, I knew and wanted to be an extremely dangerous tool, motivated by revenge. I knew that task wasn't too big for me, if anything it felt like what I was made to do, but I didn't get to do it.
I am a paladin, I don't have my powers right now, but I think Alexandros Mograine is more a part of me then I'd like to think. Lachance may have squirted me into my mother but that message only confirmed that Mograine has been more of a father to me then Lachance ever was. I love you too and thank you for protecting me over the years.
I'm feeling a lot better now and I think I should be able to start my ranger training tomorrow. Wish me luck.
(Lines from the Berserk anime)