Sat 6th Apr 2024 10:57

Poisoning the Well

by Sunwalker of An'she Het'heru Silvermane

Almost as soon as I arrived in Orgrimmar I found Rory and not long after Qiao came upon us with an invitation from Tazzi to go down to the Echo Isles. It was some manner of beach party and I did not come prepared. I spoke with Tazzi briefly on arrival, the goblin seemingly has more ideas and 'feelers' out concerning Rory's predicament with the Syndicate. She wanted to let me know and would report to me accordingly if she found anything worthwhile.
 
Then I spoke with Artimir for a time, even if him being shirtless was mildly distracting. Rory had made a joke earlier in Orgrimmar that I had "Resting Bitch Face" -- It made me wonder if that was truly how I came across to people. Even in jests there is oftentimes a grain of truth. And if that was the kind of perception that was being made of me, then I should likely take steps to correct it. Artimir reassured me that I have a kind face, none at all off-putting. He then said a few things to make me laugh and told me that I was pretty much stuck with him. I debated that by throwing him into the sea. He left not long after that to find a change of clothing.
 
The rest of the time I spent there was in Qiao's company. She is a good, steadfast friend with much in the way of insight to share. We spoke further on Rory's troubles, his acceptance of his death, our want for his life. As it always does, the conversation drove me to tears. No matter where I go I cannot escape it. Escape them. Escape HER. It is as if Elizaveta poisons every aspect of my life more and more with each passing day. There is no conversation that is spared from her, no meeting, no gathering, no moment of joy that isn't also shadowed by Her machinations.
 
I had to leave. The others were laughing, going off in pairs, finding joy and pleasure in each other in their company. I could not. My worries are too deep, my concerns constant, even my dreams are haunted by what-ifs and nightmares of what may come to pass. The only thing I have to look forward to are Story Circle nights. For a few hours, then, I can sit in camaraderie and listen to the tales being told, enjoy them. Forget.
 
I returned to Orgrimmar. I needed a drink. I needed twenty drinks, really. What I did not expect to find was Sorvitsune, half-drunk and drinking stuff that smelled as foul as it probably tasted. They were filthy and sitting on the floor of the Wyvern's Tail. I do not know that I have ever seen them this low. I tried to get them to open up to me, to talk about what it was that made them so afraid, so reluctant to invest in others, or allow others to invest in them beyond what was surface-level. They were so down on themselves, so apologetic, so miserable -- it was hard to see them thus. As always, I wanted to do nothing more than help them. Uplift them. Perhaps I will ask Artimir to talk to them. He specializes in mental trauma, perhaps there is something he can do for them.
 
In the end, hey wanted to earn their forgiveness, so I offered them a chance for that by helping as a distraction during the Gala. They were uncertain, but they also ended up agreeing in the end. I do not know if this is the right thing to ask of them. I am not sure I know which way is right, which way is wrong, or which way leads to Certain Doom anymore.