Post by Sorcha'Rei on Dec 19, 2005 3:44:38 GMT -5
I spent most of my youth and young adulthood working in a leather studio in Darnassus. I had come there from a small hamlet in Ashenvale at a young age, in response to a call I felt to work leather, to take the skins of living beings and craft them into beautiful and useful items. When we hunted together, my father always told me that if we had to take the life of a living creature, we owed it the dignity of having all parts of its body used, and nothing discarded. Beyond that, I had come to believe that care and creativity in the use of leather honored the source of the leather far more than commoditized goods.
Therefore, I made my way to the new capital to take up my place as an apprentice in the studio of the most gifted leathermaker I could find. With the arrogance of youth, it never crossed my mind that the Master of such a studio would judge me, perhaps with more cause and perception than I would judge him. Luckily, I seemed to amuse him, and he put me immediately to work.
Darnassus, I have since learned, is quiet for an Alliance city, almost sleepy, but to me, fresh from the countryside, it seemed a teeming metropolis. I found that I had to use Common more than Darnassian, there were so many outlanders there. And I was fascinated by them all. I used to wander the city, seeking out strangers and making conversation, trying to learn as much as I could about what was like to be someone else, from elsewhere.
As the seasons passed, I grew in my skill, and progressed through the training offered by my Master. One day, when I was working on a small commission that had been entrusted to me, a paladin entered the studio, seeking someone to repair the leather bindings on his armor. I did not normally work on plate, but I felt drawn to do this work. He, of course, valued his armor almost as much as he valued his life, so he sat down to watch me work, and we fell to talking. He had a great deal of armor, so we spent many days in conversation, as I carefully removed and replaced the bindings, straps, and lacings on his gear. By the time the work was done, he had colonized my heart.
I assumed that I was simply a starry-eyed provincial Night Elf, infatuated with an experienced, exotic adventurer, whose stories caught my imagination. I believed this would pass. On what I thought was our last afternoon together, as I handed him his refurbished Lightforge gear, he suggested we go on a picnic to celebrate the end of my work. In a daze of delight, I followed him to a secluded glade on the outside of Teldrassil, where he laid out a luncheon at my feet and drew me down to sit under a tree and enjoy a meal with him. As we ate, he grew more and more quiet, until finally he asked me a question.
"Sorcha," he said. "Do Night Elves have stories of the kind of love that sneaks up on you, that takes you unawares, that by the time you notice it exists, has consumed you, that bonds you to your loved one forever?"
"Tyrande and Malfurion," I whispered.
"Yes," he said, reaching for my hand. "Exactly."
We had three years together, glorious years where we spent the winters holed up together in Darnassus, needing no one else. Years he spent adventuring in the other seasons, following the road the Light laid out for him. I stayed at home, and honed my crafting skills, writing him letters, and waiting for his letters, too. He sent me long letters and short notes, and wherever he went, he found me samples of unusual and beautiful leather goods. Without knowing it, he was planting a seed of wanderlust in me that had not been there before, or maybe he was just uncovering a deeply hidden part of myself.
I loved him. I do love him. I always will. There can never be anyone else for me; after all these years, I know this. But at the end of our third winter together, we faced each other across an unbridgeable chasm. He stands on a plain of Light, committed to following it, to eradicaating from the world all that opposes the Light. It shines from him, so brightly that it is sometimes unbearable to look at his face. Sunder him from the Light and you destroy him, and all he means to the world. Ask him to compromise his commitment to the Light, and you ask him to be less than he is.
I cannot follow him to that shining place, for I am a soul of Balance. I believe that Light needs Shadow, and Shadow needs Light. I believe that seeking to eradicate one or the other is to seek to destroy the world. He cannot live in my Balanced world, seeing my embrace of the Other, my desire to see Light and Shadow in balance, as the worst kind of betrayal, the precursor to doom.
We both know this, we both understand, with our minds, that both paths have value. And our hearts are forever one. But our lives? They don't fit together. What we love most about each other, the source of his glory and my integrity, in the end drove us apart. So he left, and I thought I would die from the pain of it, though I had sent him away.
The thing about Eternal Love is that you can learn to live with the aching empty places. As I began to recover from the stunning blow of his departure, I realized he had gifted -- or cursed -- me with two things. First, the wanderlust, now full-blown, as I recognized my desire to see all the things he had told me about. And second, the knowledge that if I were to pay such a terrible price for the sake of Balance, I also needed to dedicate my life to pursuing it, something I could not do in a leatherworking studio.
The day I passed my final examinations, my Master offered me a place as a colleague in his studio, and I burst into tears. He knew, of course. He sent me to talk to the druids of the Cenarion Circle, who immediately accepted me for training. As I packed to leave for Aldrassil to begin my newest training, my Master said to me, "The world needs you. It needs all of you. Your skills, your heart, and your sorrow. Walk in Balance, Sorcha, and eventually you will find your destiny. It is not here. What has happened to you thus far in your life is only the prologue to your story."
Therefore, I made my way to the new capital to take up my place as an apprentice in the studio of the most gifted leathermaker I could find. With the arrogance of youth, it never crossed my mind that the Master of such a studio would judge me, perhaps with more cause and perception than I would judge him. Luckily, I seemed to amuse him, and he put me immediately to work.
Darnassus, I have since learned, is quiet for an Alliance city, almost sleepy, but to me, fresh from the countryside, it seemed a teeming metropolis. I found that I had to use Common more than Darnassian, there were so many outlanders there. And I was fascinated by them all. I used to wander the city, seeking out strangers and making conversation, trying to learn as much as I could about what was like to be someone else, from elsewhere.
As the seasons passed, I grew in my skill, and progressed through the training offered by my Master. One day, when I was working on a small commission that had been entrusted to me, a paladin entered the studio, seeking someone to repair the leather bindings on his armor. I did not normally work on plate, but I felt drawn to do this work. He, of course, valued his armor almost as much as he valued his life, so he sat down to watch me work, and we fell to talking. He had a great deal of armor, so we spent many days in conversation, as I carefully removed and replaced the bindings, straps, and lacings on his gear. By the time the work was done, he had colonized my heart.
I assumed that I was simply a starry-eyed provincial Night Elf, infatuated with an experienced, exotic adventurer, whose stories caught my imagination. I believed this would pass. On what I thought was our last afternoon together, as I handed him his refurbished Lightforge gear, he suggested we go on a picnic to celebrate the end of my work. In a daze of delight, I followed him to a secluded glade on the outside of Teldrassil, where he laid out a luncheon at my feet and drew me down to sit under a tree and enjoy a meal with him. As we ate, he grew more and more quiet, until finally he asked me a question.
"Sorcha," he said. "Do Night Elves have stories of the kind of love that sneaks up on you, that takes you unawares, that by the time you notice it exists, has consumed you, that bonds you to your loved one forever?"
"Tyrande and Malfurion," I whispered.
"Yes," he said, reaching for my hand. "Exactly."
We had three years together, glorious years where we spent the winters holed up together in Darnassus, needing no one else. Years he spent adventuring in the other seasons, following the road the Light laid out for him. I stayed at home, and honed my crafting skills, writing him letters, and waiting for his letters, too. He sent me long letters and short notes, and wherever he went, he found me samples of unusual and beautiful leather goods. Without knowing it, he was planting a seed of wanderlust in me that had not been there before, or maybe he was just uncovering a deeply hidden part of myself.
I loved him. I do love him. I always will. There can never be anyone else for me; after all these years, I know this. But at the end of our third winter together, we faced each other across an unbridgeable chasm. He stands on a plain of Light, committed to following it, to eradicaating from the world all that opposes the Light. It shines from him, so brightly that it is sometimes unbearable to look at his face. Sunder him from the Light and you destroy him, and all he means to the world. Ask him to compromise his commitment to the Light, and you ask him to be less than he is.
I cannot follow him to that shining place, for I am a soul of Balance. I believe that Light needs Shadow, and Shadow needs Light. I believe that seeking to eradicate one or the other is to seek to destroy the world. He cannot live in my Balanced world, seeing my embrace of the Other, my desire to see Light and Shadow in balance, as the worst kind of betrayal, the precursor to doom.
We both know this, we both understand, with our minds, that both paths have value. And our hearts are forever one. But our lives? They don't fit together. What we love most about each other, the source of his glory and my integrity, in the end drove us apart. So he left, and I thought I would die from the pain of it, though I had sent him away.
The thing about Eternal Love is that you can learn to live with the aching empty places. As I began to recover from the stunning blow of his departure, I realized he had gifted -- or cursed -- me with two things. First, the wanderlust, now full-blown, as I recognized my desire to see all the things he had told me about. And second, the knowledge that if I were to pay such a terrible price for the sake of Balance, I also needed to dedicate my life to pursuing it, something I could not do in a leatherworking studio.
The day I passed my final examinations, my Master offered me a place as a colleague in his studio, and I burst into tears. He knew, of course. He sent me to talk to the druids of the Cenarion Circle, who immediately accepted me for training. As I packed to leave for Aldrassil to begin my newest training, my Master said to me, "The world needs you. It needs all of you. Your skills, your heart, and your sorrow. Walk in Balance, Sorcha, and eventually you will find your destiny. It is not here. What has happened to you thus far in your life is only the prologue to your story."
