A Letter to Josrial Sunspear, in Anger
( @josrialsunspear , a lovely roll of parchment wrapped in a ribbon with a wax seal depicting a grotesquely-detailed penis appears in Josrial’s mailbox. There is no question as to its origin–Julian Sunrest has the gayest handwriting in Silvermoon, given his ability as a scribe.)
Brother,
It has been perhaps a week since you so callously threw me from your graces, and I will not bore you with the details of how this has taken its toll.
So, here is your letter, brother, as you would have liked to receive it.
___________________
The Confessor and I arrived late to the throng of thousands, humans mixed with elves mixed with orcs mixed with draenei, as they stood before the Dark Portal in rigid anticipation. The rumors, it seemed, were coming to pass, and I squinted through the haze of red dust and the sweat of the eager men pressing forward before us in an attempt to see any face that I knew.
There were none, not this far back, but there was no hope that we might find our way through the miles of battle-ready crowd to find those we might fight beside. Amdiren was nervous and not ready to admit it–after all, there were plenty of those in the crowd who would see something like him, someone like that dismembered in a moment of bloodthirsty passion. So, I put myself between him and the rest, and we waited.
I wondered what the wait must be like at the front, wondered if it was the same wait that I once experienced as my body ached to pitch forward and drive itself against the good Prince Arthas’ dread castle in Icecrown. Would men become Champions there that day, as I did in the frozen north?
I did not think to question the surge of the crowd as it began, as the unthinkable poured through the portal, and my only thought was to protect the Confessor as we pressed in from the back.
___________________
We didn’t think we would see the portal fall. The murmur of the crowd, the fear as our only tie to the world to which we belonged crashed down in the distance, spurred a violence in my chest that I do not wish to feel again.
We were stuck, and I knew no one but the Confessor around me. We were told to run, heard it screamed over the thousands of faces and bodies lying underfoot, so I grabbed him and we ran. I didn’t see you. I expected you were dead, as were so many that were trampled beneath our feet as we fled into enveloping darkness as night settled over Draenor.
We couldn’t go back, so we pressed forward. Our numbers dwindled, the further we went–some succumbed to their wounds, some made camp when they thought they had escaped the eyes of the hunters–but we did not stop.
Soon, it was only Amdiren and I and the land before us. I dared not let my thoughts stray back home–Solarine would give birth soon, and I would never see my daughter, because surely I would die there, and how long would it take to build a new portal? Would I even survive long enough to hear about it?
The Confessor took me by the hand and steadied my heart.
___________________
When the Spires of Arak rose high before us, I was so tired and hungry as to be fully unimpressed. My strength was waning–we did not know what was safe to eat on Draenor, and I had made the mistake twice of sampling the roughage. I recognized some creatures and made quick work of them, but moving so much, living in a very primal way, I was dropping weight and utterly exhausted even when I did eat.
The Light was of little comfort, but still I made my prayers and my confessions. I think Amdiren must have worried, in spite of the general air of distaste he had about him. I threw myself into his protection, devoting myself entirely to it, because I would have died had he flagged. We had no map, no plan, and had encountered no one by virtue of how truly lost we were.
Into the Spires we went, for we knew no better or worse. The climb was brutal, but to stop was to die there, and so we did not. We came into contact with the Arakkoa and with the Adherents of Rukhmar, and we hid from the latter as best we could–after all, the Shadow is a great heresy to the Adherents, and we would have surely been slaughtered.
Still, we worked to show the Outcasts the Balance, and to those Adherents which we happened across with less violent tendencies, and I believe we were met with some great success. In helping them find this common goal of a balanced scale, I think we did some greater good for the Arakkoa.
Ah, but it was time-consuming.
___________________
When we heard that portals had been opened back home, courtesy some adventurers who had come to our part of the dark forests and were very surprised to find us there, there was some hesitation in coming back. Surely I was now a father, and we were consumed by our work in the Spires; I admit, I did not want to return home for fear of what might await me there. I had no real concept of how long we’d been gone, but it was Amdiren who urged me to reconsider. We could, after all, always come back, but we needed to check on Solarine and see if you had made it out alive, as well as tend to some other business while we had the opportunity.
So, we came home, and it was Lari’da who greeted us with open arms. You were alive, she said, but away; the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow was on the move again, and we attended a sermon conducted by a new preacher (dreadful and generally shit, to be honest). Solarine wished to never see me again, clearly, and my daughter was terrified of me.
Everyone was alive, everyone was well, and as far as we could tell, everything was better if we weren’t in it.
So, we left again.
___________________
Rumors of doomsayers and demons reached even us, eventually, and so we have returned again.
And to what?
This?
I’d tell you to eat my entire asshole, Sunspear, but you don’t deserve the pleasure. Your men, your friends, knew well enough we were alive and well; if you’re so angry for lack of news, take it out on them.
You didn’t write, either. I came home to a mailbox full of bank statements and nothing else. So save your hypocrisy for someone who doesn’t know you any better, and grow the fuck up.
Hope you liked the seal, I got it in your likeness.
Shakes
It appears as if Josrial has covered his dick in ink and slapped it against the parchment before mailing it back.
