On a bench in the library of Northshire Abbey sits a lone figure, quiet and reserved, as though darkness itself had chosen him as champion. His left hand is wrapped with a linen bandage; he is still bleeding from his palm. On the bench to his right is a small bottle filled to the top with his blood. In his right hand is a simple bone, flattened at one end and sharpened along that edge; dipping the end of the bone in his blood, he writes in a tattered and worn tome. The tome itself is not large, bound in thick leather it has gold-gilding on the edge of its pages. The words he pens are in a language unknown to Azeroth. His hair is long and dark, and braided over each shoulder; he has a neatly trimmed moustache and beard that are the same color as his hair; there is a circular scar on his left cheek that looks like the wound has never properly healed; on a finger of his left hand is a ring made of dark green stone with peridot laced through it like veins through flesh. Those few that notice him shrink away as though they had found their deepest horrors made real.In the low light and this imposed solitude, the shadowy figure writes.
Day One: Northshire Abbey, Elywnn Forest.
I am Sorba the Cursed; I bid thee good day.
Again, once again, I find myself in a foreign land amongst foreign peoples, and I am confounded by my presence here. I have seen many places and eras; Dereth pre and post cataclysm; Norrath in its two major pinnacles; the far reaches of the universe through the Second Gate of Eve; the shining jewel of Earth, though her luster is rapidly fading; Earths twin sister, Gor; and now, from the belly of the beast I am spat up upon the shores of Azeroth.
I awoke to a tradesman, heavy and balding, poking at my chest with his polearm, scowling at me with tones of distrust and defense. Had I not been awakened, Im certain he meant to strip me of what little I wore and leave me to whatever passes for death in this realm. From where I had been spat, I landed muddy and disheveled alongside a fence bordering a cobblestone road. Perhaps others had stopped, perhaps the tradesman was the first; who can say for my consciousness was not with me. As it was, he grunted when I woke and quickly returned to his cart. There was no other word from him or offer of assistance; it is a small matter.
When the tradesman was a short distance from me, I stood and inhaled deeply. The air in this world was thick and heady, as though there had been a terrible sundering and a recovery. It reminded me much of home. As the tradesman made his was down the road, I followed at a safe distance. I meant the fellow no harm and only wished to see where the road went; perhaps I could find a place to clean up and set about learning this new world and its ways. If that fellow I had followed was any indication of the friendliness and camaraderie to be found here, it is just as well I have always found life that is to say my Curse - returning me to solitude. Come who and what may, my boots will again trod ground alone; lo there, my Curse doth carry me on.
The tradesman entered through a well guarded but open portcullis in a thickly built wall. I had a small measure of concern; if faces or vouchers were required for passage, I would not be allowed entry at the worst, the well armored guards would introduce me to the thing that is death here. There was no challenge though I was looked upon with scorn; whether my Curse had already preceded me or my appearance offended as such I cannot be certain.
I looked around as I walked towards a building at which the road seemed to end; this place had the feeling of relative safety to it. The surrounding fields and light woods appeared to be overrun with wolves and creatures I had no vocabulary to describe; but they did not attack with abandon. The creatures later introduced as kobolds were hunched over little vermin with candles waxed to the flats of their heads. Though they spoke brokenly, one could clearly understand they were fanatically devoted to their candles. I was making my way towards the building, the church, when I was hailed by a nearby guard.
The guard told me I was in no condition to enter the Abbey (the church-like building I had been approaching) and that I should clean up. He tossed me a sack of clothes and pointed over his shoulder, directing me to a small creek behind the building. Finding a secluded spot in an elbow of the creek, I washed the mud and other ichors from my flesh and hair; it was quite a relief to be clean once again. Bathed, braided, and clothed as the guard had provided, I drew near again to return his sack.
Taking the sack, he tossed some food in the bottom, something he called a hearthstone, and a small red-ribboned gift before handing it back to me. He then asked me what method of combat I preferred.
Cautiously, I responded, I have done most anything one can imagine and can wield most any weapon; however I am most at home with a sword.
The guard smiled and nodded. He scribbled something on a small chit and directed me to the tradesman that had set up his cart not far from the guards post. He also bade me seek a fellow in the Abbey that apparently had some trouble with the kobolds in the area. I thanked him and he smiled, Welcome to Northshire Abbey, stranger.
Turning towards the tradesman, I read his written words; I was to be given a small shield and sword at the expense of the Abbey. I was uncomfortable receiving such gifts so soon in this new land; one never knows what price comes with accepting a strangers hospitality.
The price was charged quickly enough. When I found the fellow in the Abbey with whom I was to speak, he bade me go into the wood and slay a number of the kobolds he was having difficulty containing. Thricely he sent me into that wood, and also a mine, to cull the kobolds from their packs. Along the way, I found another tradesman willing to offer thin leather bracers in exchange for meat from the free ranging wolves. I did for both as asked.
In this manner, speaking to guards and common folk who seemed to have no end to their demands, I began to learn my station in this world, and the way of this new life. They call me warrior; they send me to slay; they reward me my slaying. I know now the name denizens call this world and have an inkling that it is not as big as they believe not in comparison to what lay beyond mortal eyes; what lay beyond the fields of darkness and dread; that place from where I have come to once again try and escape my Curse.
In times and worlds passed, there have been those drawn to me, my Curse seeing to their affections and loyalties so that when the moment was perfect, my trust and faith in them would be betrayed. Though I have a febrile mark upon my left cheek and a ring of the peridot stone on my left hand, I am certain none of these here have yet heard of me. For this small measure of grace, I am grateful.
I know it is a sham, however, this grace. That received now will be used to rend my soul, again to sunder my heart and leave me broken, torn to shreds. There will be men seeking my loyalty only to use the covenant to betray and belittle me once more; there will be women that beg my attentions only to laughingly turn from me once having them; it is the nature of my Curse, part and parcel for the reason I can never find death; why I can never find peace; why I can never find love; why I can never find anything - but hatred and rejection, distain and desolation, sorrow and shame. Indeed my refrain; my strength has perished and so has my hope been slain.
And this Journal continues in another life in another world. Though I have no sight regarding what lay down this path, I have understanding that history will repeat itself given the proper time and circumstance, my Curse holding sway even here. Betrayals inevitable; loves earned and then shunned for the affections of my enemies inevitable. So it has been and so it shall be again. I only wonder for the price and how often I will this time be required to pay.
And my Curse ….
