Response: 3/25 Tavern Night Attendees:

[Darren Tereos]

The towering sight of Thunder Bluff, bathed in radiant sunlight might inspire awe in those taking the time to gaze upon the capital city of Tauren of Kalimdor. Rising above any of the surrounding mountains, the series of mesas and plateaus reached toward the sky. Most residents found a sense of calmness from the warming sunlight and gentle winds that swept across Thunder Bluff. However, little noticed by most inhabitants were the Pools of Vision, caves dug into the sides of the city. Within these tunnels, the Forsaken could be found, conducting arcane studies and alchemical experiments. A combination of whispered magics and acrid odors combined to give the place an otherworldly field, at odds with the harmony with nature harbored by the rest of the city. One Forsaken amidst the group of undead had little to do with either alchemy or magic; he sat quietly with a tattered linen cloth spread on the cold rocks and a quill in hand, ink well sitting to the side. Dayari had initially made his way to the Pools shortly after sunrise, as a way of staying free of the sunlight that rained down upon Thunder Bluff. It wasn't that the sunlight caused him any pain, it was just unbearably bright. He sat, not moving, for long enough to qualify him as similar to the rocks in that regard, he then started writing.

He called me “brother.” He's Not-Scourge, so we have that in common. But, he is also not my brother. I had brothers in arms, united toward a common goal. We marched, days at a time, the sounds of armor and steel echoing through conquered lands.

Pausing, Dayari mumbled to himself, “No, that wasn't right. That's not something that happened; it was something different.” He drew a single stroke through the last two sentences and resumed writing.

I had brothers once, we worked together to repel the Orcs and Trolls. Soldiers didn't much care for us and that was fine: we got to mostly stay in safe territories and got to sleep at night. They were long days in the sun. Lots of us died. I died later though. Then I came back. I don't think I have brothers now. I don't work in the sun, anyway. But there are others, the Steadfast people. I found them because Angellis, my friend, found them. He's a friend, not a brother. But then I stayed. I didn't wander anymore. These people have fought with me, like an army. But many voices, not just one.

From a nearby pool, sparks began to shoot upward. A Forsaken hovering close-by stared as he recorded notes on a tablet. The grim smile on his maggot-eaten face shared no joy, but just the determination to see his work completed. Dayari paused, watching the spectacle absently twirling his quill in its inkwell. The sparks slowly stilled to a quiet bubbling. Dayari remained staring in the general direction, lost somewhere else inside his head. Some time later, he pulled his quill free from the ink and scribed words on the cloth before him.

There was someone else who talked about many voices. Said some of them wanted him to gather together a brotherhood. He called it Steadfast. So I call it Steadfast. He gave it to me. But, it's not mine. I think it's supposed to be everyone's. Even the Orcs and Trolls. I'm not afraid of them anymore; there are things that are worse than them. That's one reason why I think it's good to have “brothers,” even though they're not my brothers. There are worse things.