Journal page 4

We were lost in the grayness that had clung to us like a shroud of despair. The air was wet and thick. No wind had come to swell the sails and steer us away from this incarnation of loneliness.

--The rest of this page had been very messily torn from the journal--

Journal page 3

The years following my father’s death lead me to drift.

Like a discarded message in a bottle tossed to the sea, I felt that there was something important for me to accomplish or say. But hell if I knew what it was.

Without the North Hare I had no boat. I felt as a man lost at sea when I was on land and felt at home when I was on the waves. I thought I would never sail again and so I despaired.

I wandered from town to town, gambling, hustling, and drug trafficking, and working in menial day-labor jobs.

I did a lot of things for many years that most elves are not want to do. I worked with my hands for years for little or no money. I stole, drank, and slept on pavement. I even worked in the coal mines for some time. I grew hard and strong inside and out. This made me an outsider. An elf but not an elf. I had more in common with the humans, orcs, goblins, and dwarves then I did with my own people. I worked alongside them and grew a commonality and respect for them. However this only distanced and alienated me more from my own people.

I felt myself go numb with longing to be away, but I knew that no matter which direction I ran it was only deepening me further in the cage. I was trapped upon land and had learned to adjust to this reality. I felt that the only freedom that truly existed was one where there was salt spray on the air and the endless mystery of the sea beneath me.

Looking back, I saw that period of my life as a series of gray. It was the mist, uncertainty, purgatory and of mourning. I was mourning the ship, my father, and myself. I was wandering in a sullen daze from place to place, moment to moment, season to season, and phase to phase.

Around me the world was crumbling but like a phoenix, new powers had come to rise. I had all but avoided being drafted into the war. The Alliance was forming and Thrall has been appointed the figure head to the Horde. I avoided most of the political ramifications that the war was causing, however it was beginning to seep into even the lowest caste of the world.

I recall heading north in the Eastern Kingdoms in search of work. Either to find new towns in which I could hustle money from unsuspecting locals from a shooting contests I’d arrange. (I was nearly good enough to call myself a sharp-shooter in those days) or to find contracting work laying brick, mortar, or even digging holes. Whatever they needed.

I did not have a problem in the beginning with races outside of my own--but this only distanced me further from the other Sin’dorei. I was not elitist. Who was I to throw stones? Though eventually my feelings on the Alliance would change.
Initially I traveled to New Stormwind as I had heard they were rebuilding. I was mistaken for a high elf and used this to my advantage. My people, the Sin’dorei, were being courted by Thrall.
Had I been open about being a Sin’dorei, I likely would not have found a job. Under the guise of a high elf, they set me to work laying brick. I was making a decent wage. I spent most of it drinking, but then again most contractors in the worker encampment were heavy drinkers. The little I managed to save I bought myself a decent fishing pole.

Those were good weeks for me. I spent a honest day working hard in the sun. My skin tanned a nut brown and I grew stronger by the day. I felt a flutter of pride and hope, thinking that my time of living like a walking dead man was over. I even thought I could possibly find someone and settle down in New Stormwind. I’d live as a high elf amongst the Alliance in the city I helped build.

One many of the workers and I ended the day as we often did in the local pub. I had become pretty good friends with a cluster of actual high elves. One could even say we were brothers after so much time working together. We were pretty drunk by the time we were seriously considering a suggestion to steal a merchant ship and sail it around the world. At first it was just drunk talk, however the following night it was mentioned again.

By the time the plan was settled, it was agreed upon to just steal the ship for a night or two and return it in the same condition-- no harm done.
We justified it by saying it was just to relax and have fun. After all, we worked hard for months for little pay and no benefits. Some of the other workers had even revolted against the King due to unfair working conditions. We weren’t one of them. We were just there to earn our keep but felt that stealing a ship for a short while was something we deserved. We had planned it out to the smallest detail. We set aside plenty of non perishable foods, a few fireworks for fun, and enough booze to get an army drunk.

A few of us were going to take the guards out to a night of drinking. Another group of us (ones who had little to lose) set out on open crime sprees to keep the rest of the Stormwind army occupied. Those that remained were going to steal the ship by the blackest night when the moon was new. We was planning on picking up the crew at an agreed upon location at another time.

The plan went off without a hitch. I was only too eager to be on a ship again. In the back of my mind I fantasized either killing or dumping off the crew to take the boat as my own. Or I could adopt them to be proper sailors and they would call me captain. We would sail around the world, only pirating when we really needed to, and live as free men doing and going where we pleased.

The first night we all got so drunk we were not sure if it was the alcohol or the lack of our sea legs that made the world tumble and toss.
The second night was quiet as we were all hung over and getting used to the workings of out new vessel.
The third night we set port to a nearby small town and scoured the city for beautiful local women. We found a few, and I had a memorable night in the creamy pale arms of a brunette.

The fourth night had a different feel all together. The moon was a blood red and oozed along the horizon. After she had risen to a decent height on the bruised sky, a fog had set in. I stood on the bow and saw it rolling in like a gray cloth curtain.
I knew something was palpable in the air. I don’t believe in luck, not really, but the sea has it’s own code and set of rules. Whatever was coming… was coming to destroy and our ship was in it’s way.

Journal page 2

Kiaphus’ log

I was once told that when a sailor died he goes to a place similar to what the Kal’dorei call the “Emerald Dream.” They used to tell this tale about how wonderful this place was, though it was not exactly the Emerald Dream because it was real. They said there were flowers that were big as bears and whose nectar was like fine wine.
The first time I had heard of these stories I was at a pub down south. I was still a youth but no longer a child. I had drunk until my head swam and the vivid viridian greens of the story seemed all the more real.
“And every fruit is edible. Nothin’ is poison.” One sailor said. He claimed he had seen it once when his ship was boarded by pirates and they had shot him three times. I didn’t believe a word of it but he told a good story, all the same.
“And then there is women, too.” He said with all the heaviness and seriousness a good mead gives to a drunk.
“Loads of beautiful women of every shape, color, and creed.”
“And still! None o’ them would go near you!”
“Yeah, no matter what-- color or creed-- she is a no is still a bloody NO!”
The room exploded into braying laughter and the drunk story teller waved his hand dismissively.
“It’s true though! I’ve seen it! A wondrous land jes fer sailors. A sailors paradise.”

The room lulled and the men had gone into their own knots and clusters of conversation. I was too drunk myself to talk to no one, so I slumped over alone at my booth. My eyes barely opened and my head was dropped on the table. Just as I felt the warm embrace of sleep swim over me to carry me away on exhausted currents-- I was jolted awake by a stinging slap on my back followed my a jovial voice.

“You’re Rowenthil’s boy, aren’t ya?!”
The thundering voice painfully drummed in my head. Every inch of my being wanted only to sleep . My eyes only saw a hazy image of the room and a rotund man as if it were a heat mirage. I was weighed down by the stupor of alcohol. I could barely understand what he was asking… something about my father and…
And then he sat down at my booth across from me. I raised my head and felt the cold kiss of drool on my chin that I hadn’t previously noticed was pooling around my cheek.

“You Rowen’s kid, aren’t you? Shame what happened…”
I attempted to fix my gaze on him, though I had severe vertigo and thought that I may either fall out of my booth or vomit all over it from the effort.

“Bloody storm that was! … And it was such a beautiful boat…! What was she, 150, 160 years old? He did some good modification on it, o’ course.” The man seemed to also be drunk, but was the kind of drunk where he felt hearing his own voice was better entertainment then a good fight or just passing out. He seemed more or less oblivious to the fact that I could barely take in a word, however the more he droned on the more sober I was becoming. Eventually he had to stop and breathe, which was where I stepped in.
“Just… who’re you?”
I reckon I may have said.
“Oh! Jes an old friend of yer father’s. Blimey, I thought I introduced myself. I’m Dantola Quell’nalia. Captain of the “Rich Sea Blood.” He held out his thick dirty hand and we shook.
I remember noticing him properly then. In the dim bar light he seemed squatter and fuller then most elves. His eyes were rounder and his pointed ears shorter. I remember telling myself, “he’s half human,” and being bothered by that, as if it were a foul odor. Then I remember asking, “Why does it matter?”
“You knew my father long?” I asked in a scratchy, weary voice.
“We go back some.” he answered aloofly and shifted uneasily in his seat. I don’t ever remember meeting a human then. The captain was the closest thing I had ever come to seeing one in the flesh until the Alliance formed some years later. But I had heard about humans. Back then they sounded like they was nothing but hairy short apes with an appetite of destroying natural things to replace them with cheap artificial copies of them. So when I was sitting across the half-human, listening to him talk with actual formed words I was slightly both amazed and disgusted like seeing a freak show.
“I remember when yer father acquired his ship from his father. When Rowen said he was going to do some big modifications on an beautiful antique like that we all thought he was mad…” He sighed, “But then, yer father was always a practical man. In the end, I think he made the right choice. He would have gone broke trying to fish with the old girl like she was before he made it into a proper fishing vessel.”
I sat in silence staring at him. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to the half-human. What could I say? I wished he would have left, but then as I imagined him getting up and walked away I wanted to grab his wrist and sit him back down and have him tell me everything he remembered about my father.
As the waitress passed he ordered another drink for the both of us. He paid for mine.
“He believed those stories, you know. He was the one who told them to me. It seemed kinda odd. I never pegged him to be someone who believed in superstitions or gods or nothing. Or if he did, I didn’t think he woulda cared on what they think o’ him. But he did.”
“He told me you gotta kill a rabbit before you set sail, and hang him by the neck off the bow. Makes the sea serpents happy, the blood spills down in the water as you sail, makes them happy and leave you alone.” I said, easing some as the mead was set down in front of me.
“Yeah?” the captain said as he tipped his own back. “He told me that the Spirit Healer meets you at the gates of the Garden, the Garden a good sailor goes to when he moves on. He said she whispers all the secrets of life and death as you walk in.”
I shook my head.
“He never told me that.” I said sourly. I felt his round human eyes staring me down, appraising me. He paused and licked his dry lips before he continued.
“So what happened?” he asked.
I also paused and looked away. I took a strong hit off my booze to drink the sweet liquid courage.
“The sea was like gray coal glass when we set out. The sky was just a mirror of it. … Father was,” I paused rubbing my forehead as the memory of it played like film in my mind. “He was quiet the whole voyage and never said a word. I wonder if he knew? The first week out was like that. I felt like he was a walking ghost. The second week out it seemed like the sea was alive. We caught more fish then we ever did, but there was a funny smell to it. Like we was seeing so many fish because they were running away and we was just caught in the wake. Then, the third week, it came.

It happened slow, like a migraine. The wind picked up really bad, and Father stayed calm the whole time, jes yelling at me to tell me what to do. Then I heard rumbles out in the distance, like a god clearing his throat. The waves started to gurgle with irritation. One came down on us as if it was a turquoise building toppling down. It had to be forever high…”

I paused and felt like the whole room was listening to me and everyone had stopped to hold their breaths…

“I knew I was dead. When the sun come up, there was nothing but splinters of gray wood all over the place, lost pieces of a puzzle. And dad was gone. I was lucky I was found and scooped up a day or so later by a passing fisherman. He didn’t believe what happened, he said there was no storm. But there was, and the North Hare was gone. And so was--”

“The Garden.” he captain interjected, knowing I needn’t say more. “He was just gone to the Garden, and met by the Spirit Healer.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. I only imagined flowers the size of bears and my father drinking the nectar of a massive red blossom. A paradise, I thought. Just for sailors.

Kia's Journal page 1

We set sail on the wettest day I could ever bring to mind. The sky was the same gray as an old nail. It was quiet out. We could tell the town was more then ready to be rid of us. Instead of pouring into the street with joy, the mood was just as morose as the weather.

The North Hare was our ship. She was waiting for us to board, like a mother waiting for her child to come home. She was a small boat. Just as I always do, before we left I tied a dead rabbit from the mast for luck.
I’d been sailing with my daddy all my life. He taught me all I knew about the sea. He told me all of the secrets he knew, which in truth was merely a drop in the vast and endless sea.
He told me what it meant when the sky bled on the horizon. He told me what it meant when the sea takes an odd green instead of a pearly blue. He told me to kill a rabbit before each journey and hang it off the bow to please the gods.
My father was a fisherman. He was a damn good one at that. In addition to catching fish well, he also caught both the admiration and disdain for the little town we came from. He supplied the best fish at the highest quantities and sold it for the lowest prices. Along with his excellent fish my father brought the city endless exasperation from his drunken tirades. He’d been arrested a few times, but that never stopped him.
I can say fairly that there was no in-between with my father. The good times was really good, the bad times was really bad. The only consistency was I never gave up on him and always loved him.
It happened more then once that he gave me a black eye. I don’t want to sound like I held that against him or make anybody think that I had a bad childhood. But I can attest for a few times where I’d wake up in the morning and get ready for school. My father had been up all night drinking and for one reason or another he decided that he didn’t like something I said or did, or sometimes didn’t do.
On one particularly bad occasion I came to school with a pretty bad shiner. The older kids wanted to know how I got it… so I lied and said I been in a fight with some notoriously big kid from another school. They didn’t believe me, so they beat me up real good to show me not to lie.
That incident thought me two things. One, I never lied a day in my life after. Two, I dropped out of school, realizing it weren’t for me. I learned to read, write, and my numbers, and decided that was all I needed.
My father didn’t mind at all. In fact, I think a part of him was relieved. He needed another set of hands, and in the past few years he knew he was slowing down some.
We set out for six months of the year at a time. We typically set sail the last day of summer, and don’t come back till the first day of spring. I remember it well because it was a grim day and the city was ready to toss us out like old garbage. My father was just released from a few days in the city jail for causing a riot.
Was a funny story on how that came about, maybe I’ll tell that story another time. To give you a short upshot of it all, my father was considered a strange man by most people’s accounts. We had lived on the outskirts of Quel’Thalas and rumors had been flying in the major city that other elves were using something called the Well of Eternity to stave off the ongoing feud with the trolls. I didn’t have an opinion on this one way or the other, but my father believed that using any form of arcane magic was bad. He got really drunk and stirred up the town with his ranting and raving. They tossed him in the drunk tank till he both sobered up and simmered down.
So when we set sail, the I could feel a nearly tangible sense of relief from the city. It was going to be a long trip, and one where only I came home.