(( Reposting from my guild website so I can finish it here. ))
The history of my people is a long and tragic affair. Much of what was recorded was lost under the boots of the hideous orc war-machine on Draenor. Through countless centuries my people fled the Burning Legion. Fled two who had once been our leaders, yet who sold their souls, and the souls of their people, into slavery in exchange for power. Only Velen and those few who would hear him and follow him escaped the same fate, yet a burning grudge against us continued to feed Kil’Jaeden. He pursued us for longer than many of the races upon this world could comprehend.
It was on Draenor, a beautiful world we dared to hope we could call home, that he found the willing – nay, eager- instruments of our destruction. The orcs.
I wish to tell some of the tale so that it will not be lost like so much of our history already has. Sometimes the words flow into my mind easily, screaming for release. Yet other times my heart is so full with sorrow and pain, the words cannot bear to take form. I feel almost as if the tale must be told, if only to bring some sense in knowing that not all is lost. Not yet.
The Archivists of my people work diligently to record our history. There is much to tell and those who remember it all, so few. Only Velen remains from the original exodus from Argus. The first flight from the man’ari that our elegant and gifted race would become. So many more were lost in the slaughter on Draenor. Our cities were destroyed, our beloved temples, defiled. Even our treasured Ata’mal crystals, all that we had remaining from our lives on Argus, were stolen from us.
The orcs sought not just to kill us, but to humiliate us, to defile us, to destroy everything sacred and precious to us. They hunted us with less respect than they would give animals. In our time there, not once did we bring them harm. We traded fairly with them, aided lost youths or injured hunters when needed. Even I remember quietly delivering healing potions to the nearby clan when a fever swept through them. Though we were not close, my people and the orcs, neither were we their enemy.
Velen says I must not let bitterness consume me. That I must learn to live on, to understand and to forgive. He is the wisest, the most respected, the most beloved of my people. I try to live by his example, to heed his words. I am an Anchorite, a spiritual guide for my people, yet no matter how hard I try, bitterness, hatred, even fear, still linger in my heart.
I suppose if I am to tell the tale correctly I should begin rather than ramble on. Unlike the tales the Arcivists will record, this is not a general, sweeping history of my people. Rather, I will focus on the view from my own perspective. I fear in the history that the Arcivists record, we will lose sight of the fact that my race is made up of individuals. Each glorious and unique in their own way.
I think it important that any who read this understand that we are Draenei, the Exiled Ones. No longer are we Eredar. We cast that aside when we chose goodness and freedom over slavery and power. Each Draenei has their own tale to tell. I pray that all can be heard and remembered so that one day, should the Burning Legion and Kil’Jaeden succeed in destroying us all, something of us will remain.
I was not yet born when my people fled Argus. Sometimes, Velen will still speak of it. His face grows quietly sorrowful and his ancient eyes fight back tears as he speaks of a beautiful world, tranquil, at peace and inharmony with itself. The Eredar were a curious people, but a gentle one. They worked with the forces of the world to create great wonders, to heal ills, to reach inner peace. Though he does not say such aloud, I can see in his face, and hear in the words he will not speak, how much the betrayal of Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde pain him still. He knows our history must be remembered that we do not fall into such a terrible trap ever again. I can see, though, he bears a great burden as the only one that remembers. If he could, I believe he would let it go forever.
Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde thought of Velen and his followers as the betrayers. Yet it was they who betrayed our people. They who sold us into darkness for power. They bargained with the being, Sargeras, to become his lieutenants. They gave our entire race and world over to him to become the most powerful members of his terrible army. Man’ari. There is no word that translates directly. It means to become something hideous, unnatural, something so terribly twisted as to be beyond comprehension. This is what they turned the Eredar into.
Man’ari. Even the word leaves a vile taste in ones mouth. That Kil’Jaeden and Archimonde were so blind as to not see that was what our people would become frightens me. Two of our leaders, entrusted with the welfare of all our people, gave it up so easily like trinkets. If not for Velen’s wisdom, his gift of sight, we all would be such.
I once heard tales from the elders among us. Those that, while they did not remember the original escape from Argus, were the ones charged with remembering our history and passing it along. They speak in awestruck tones about the great display of light rushing to save our people, the few who would become Draenei, from the advancing onslaught of the terrible, blood-thirsty man’ari. They speak of how the first sight of the great vessel brought to save us by the blessed Naaru, K’ure, brought first fear, then a great relief of joy as they realilzed they would be swept away to safety. There was sorrow for the loss of Argus, but there was nothing to be done. Sargeras’ forces would devour it, strip it of all life, destroy it before anything could be done to save it.
K’ure, the Naaru that came to save us in our darkest hour, the being of Light, taught us of its ways. My people embraced it, celebrated the Naaru’s wisdom, beauty, goodness. He taught us well its mysteries and we were eager students. I am one of our Anchorites. What others of this world would call a Priestess. I help teach our young, heal our sick, and guide our people on the path of Light.
It was on Draenor that I began my training as a Priestess. It was there that my history began.
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