Missives to Silvermoon

Dearest Brother--

Salutations from Outland! I am presently ensconced in a Sindorei outpost here, Falcon Watch, after having arrived a few weeks ago. 

While I understand that many of our brethren look down upon our fellow members of The Horde, I must say that I have grown fond of them over our time together in Azeroth. The behavior of several of our fellow Sindorei in the face of the reality of Outland can be disheartening at times.

Consider those who have come on a pilgrimage to Outland, hoping to find the Promised Land. 

Many of our fellows are ill-equipped and ill-suited for the rigors of this arid land, as I have found pilgrims in poor condition and suffering from all sorts of maladies here at Falcon Watch, and all the while more and more arrive daily. 

Would that I could provide aid, but the best a Magistrix can do is try to make the passage to Falcon Watch easier by clearing the road of some of these native inhabitants.

I hate to say it, given our precarious position in Eversong, but many people are better off not coming to this place. Given the choice between demons and undead, the undead are a far more manageable problem.

What I am mostly disappointed in is that our abandonment by the Alliance is coloring our thinking.

The roads are fairly clear, save for this monstrous infernal machine called the Fel Reaver roaming the area, but because we do not trust the Alliance we do not use that road, much to the danger of our people. 

 

Instead, the path to Falcon Watch is paved through territory claimed by so-called Fel Orcs. These Orcs, unlike our fellows in The Horde, are totally in thrall to the demons. The Frostwolves in charge of the primary Horde outpost, Thrallmar, have been dismayed by these Fel Orcs who have not thrown off their yoke from their oppressors. Even more worrisome is that when I was sent into the ramparts of their main outpost, Hellfire Citadel, I discovered that they swear their allegiance to Illidan, not the Burning Legion. If they have thrown their lot in with Illidan, and they are infused with demonic power, what does that say about our own Kael'thas Sunstrider? I find it difficult to ascertain our Prince's designs here, because consorting with the same beings our ancestors fought in the War of the Ancients would be unthinkable, but here we are.

And nobody at Falcon Watch seems to want to confront the disturbing implications of this. 

I have been performing my duty as a Dawnweaver, following in the steps of our ancestors, and engaging the demons at every opportunity. As they refused to bow to them, neither shall I. 

 

However, I have been less than thrilled by the gear handed out to the personnel here at Falcon Watch and at Thrallmar.

There is a goblin at Thrallmar who seems to take a particular delight in tormenting me. This creature provided me with some replacement pants, which he assured me were stitched trousers, after my own were burned setting fire to some Fel Orc cannons. 

THEY WERE NOT STITCHED TROUSERS.

 

Oh, I am absolutely certain you would find them quite fetching on that innkeeper you are "chatting up", but out here they are a total embarrassment. Me, a Dawnweaver, wearing clothing meant for a boudoir, fighting the Burning Legion!

 

I assure you that I would fight the Scourge naked and to my last breath if I had to, but this is an unthinkable breach in protocol. 

I was totally embarrassed when I presented
myself to the Ranger Captain of Falcon Watch.
I'll get that goblin if it's the last thing I do.

 

I do have the honor of bearing important news from the front. 

I was sent forth to engage a Fel Orc assassin camping out on the road to Falcon Watch, lying in wait to ambush our people, but when I arrived I found him already dead with an axe buried in his back. The design was quite primitive, but also quite effective. When I returned to Commander Nazgrel with the axe, he became all excited, exclaiming "Have we found them?" He then sent me forth to a shaman, who provided me with a totem to use at the site of the assassin's demise. The totem called forth an ancestral wolf spirit, who led me up into the hills.

There, I found Orcs.

Not Fel Orcs, or even Frostwolves, but Orcs who followed the ancient ways. Uncorrupted by the Legion.

The only reason I survived this encounter was due to the presence of the wolf spirit. Here, my knowledge of the Orcish language came to the forefront, as these Mag'har, as they call themselves, were extremely distrustful at my story. They knew of the Warchief's father, yet found it hard to believe that the clans who followed Thrall had thrown off their demonic yoke and lived peacefully in Azeroth. They provided me a missive to send back to Orgrimmar, and when I returned to Thrallmar with the letter, Nazgrel selected me for the honor of presenting it to the Warchief. 

Our parents would have been so proud if they were alive today to see it.

And our Warchief was overcome by the news that some of his people had survived without succumbing to the Burning Legion.

Thrall's advisor, Eitrigg, talked our Warchief out of abandoning his post for Outland, counseling caution as our enemies would take advantage of his absence. Eitrigg and Saurfang both have a good head on their shoulders, and they temper Thrall's enthusiasm with wisdom. 

Still, it was wonderful day to represent our people in this manner, Quintalan. 

 

When I returned to the Mag'har with Thrall's response, they provided me a fine reward, fitting for a Magistrix.

Be well, and I await your reply. Please make with all haste to join me here, as our people are desperately in need of a guiding light that you can provide.

Your loving sister, 

Nevelanthana