[IC] Letter to Drustai

Inside this envelop are two short letters and one long one. The first is is written in Common. The hand writing uses broad stroke and looks rather clumsy, almost ogerish. Of the two Draenic letters, the short one is written in the casual strokes of a note, and the longer one in beautiful characters, and could by any objetive judge be considered a fine work of the art of calligraphy.

In contrast, the Draenic letter of the latter that follows is it written in eloquent Draenic characters.

---

Honorable Magi of the Kirin Tor,

I have prepared this letter in Draenic for Drustai, the Necromancer. I assure you it is perfectly clean. There are no hexes, jinxes, curses or spells that linger over this parchment. The ink does not explode upon reading, or when coming in touch with any liquids or chemicals that may be found in a prison-cell. It is a perfectly harmless letter.

Yet, I encourage you to run every check and scan there is on this letter, just to be sure. Oh, and be sure to check the actual meaning of the characters, too. I am sure you have some draenei serving under you, or at least some one who can read Draenic. Attached is a passage from ancient post-revelation dreanic scripture. I figured sister Drustai would appreciate the intellectual exercise. It's quite a fascinating read, and I encourage you to read trough it yourself. I'm afraid it is quite old Dreanic, though, very close to Eredun, so I cannot just provide you with a short and easy translation. Luckily, you crafty magi have your wonderful spells to aid with that. Some translation charm would do the trick quite nicely, I'd say.

On a more personal note, I am afraid I must cancel – or at the very least, delay – my enscription in the Dalaran school of the Arcane. I have been called by the Sha'tar on a prolonged mission in Shadowmoon Valley, to serve the local anchorites in their attempts to cleanse the lands of lingering demonic infestations. I am sure that, with all of you recent dealings with the Scourge, you understand the severity of this plight in the fullest.

I look forward to visiting your lovely spiraling city once I have fulfilled my tasks here, Light willing.

My the Naaru watch over your fair endeavors,

-Thelos.

---

Sister,

I hope all is well? I apologize for having offended you earlier. There must have been some venom in my tone and words, some poison that seeped trough the crevices of my yet bitter soul. It is not easy to overcome anger, as you know, though I try as hard as I can. I pray the Light will forgive me for any transgressions against you, be they mental, spiritual or physical.

I write you this letter from the Shrine of the Sha'tar, Shadowmoon Valley. I have been called to assist in the cleansing and consecrating of Karabor and Its surroundings. This also includes clearing it of any lingering demonic presences. Given my past, I am sure you understand I was very eager to heed this call, and have spent no time dallying.

This means I will not be able to attend any arcane classes, at least, not in the foreseen future. It may also mean that I will be a hard dreanei to reach. Shadowmoon, as you know, has lost little of its emerald flames.

With this letter I have included some old draenei scripture. I believe this was written not long after the Revelation, though dating these ancient texts has always been tricky. It was written anonymously; or at the very least, the author has been lost in the mists of time. Who knows, it could even have been myself! Wouldn't that be a riot? It might as well have been. I have copied this piece countless times over the years. I dare say I almost know it by heart, so I feel no qualms in sending my latest copy for you to read. I hope you find it as fascinating as I do. I figured you might appreciate the intellectual exercise, if little else.

I pray the Light will keep us both safe from Darkness.

Yours,

-Thelos.

---

What is a draenei?

Blue skin, tails, hooves and horns.

That is the body which the spirit inhabits. The body is the necessary anchor of the soul. It connects us to this world, trough it to others, and trough them to the Light. A single soul in solitude cannot reach the Light. Its Voice speaks to us in terms of the Other. Altruism. Us, the Selves, are asked by It to serve the Other in Its Hallowed Name.

But what is the Other? How does it differ from the Self? What is the Self?

The Self is not the Other, and the Other is not the Self.

The Soul drifts amidst a rapid current of impressions, feelings, sensations, thoughts and ideas. Now it drifts east, then it drifts west. Now it submerges, only to emerge a moment later. We feel anger, love, hatred, jealousy, kindness, courage, fear and so forth. These are all currents of the soul's waters. They mercilessly tow us to and fro.

We drift, yes, it is true – We drift. But this is not a state of Being the arrogant Self can accept. “Surely,” the Warrior and the Nobleman interject, “I am the captain of my ship. Yes, my ship may sail on a certain current, and be directed by this wind or the other – but certainly I am at Its wheel. I am the captain of my own ship, and Its direction is mine and my own to decide.”

Oh! You poor unfortunate soul, you!

The Ship of the Soul has no wheel.

Nor sails or a rudder of any sorts.

The Soul is more akin to scattered pieces of flotsam, drifting in the current.

How great, then, must the suffering of the self-proclaimed captain be who steers his wheel-less ship. He steers port, yet the current takes him starboard. He steers starboard, yet the current shifts back to port again. Ah! But no, he says, “I steer starboard, and the ship takes me there. I command, and it follows.”

Unfortunate soul, you! It is not so. For it is first the current that takes the ship starboard – then the captain who concludes that he had meant to steer that way to salvage his own illusions. The illusion is precious – the illusion must be preserved. Yet starboard is starboard – the direction is set, unchangeable. What creates the Illusion of the Wheel is just that – the false belief that there is a causal chain between the thought and the action. It is not so.

“Hogwsash!” the noble warrior proclaims, “Doth not I in my mind decide to strike down my foe, before I bring down my blade?” Oh, you poor unfortunate soul! It is not so. When all illusions disperse into the mists, you will see that it was the blade that came down on another body, and the thought that followed it. The warrior strikes; then contemplates.

“This is absurd,” the nobleman says, “This may be the case for the instinctive actions – breathing, blinking and the movements of brutes – but certainly not for sophisticated affairs!”
Ah! You poor unfortunate soul! What is true for the pieces, is true for the whole. A building made out of bricks is made out of stone if the bricks were made of stone. What are these so called sophisticated thoughts that are followed by sophisticated actions if not conglomerates of countless simple tasks and ideas?

The Self is the great Spectator. It is not the captain at the Wheel – it is the stowaway adrift on his raft, nay, without It even, under constant siege of merciless winds, currents and waves. The Self observes the happenings of the Soul, and out of helplessness, thinks himself a Captain on a ship. He thinks himself above his Thoughts and Actions – an overseer, a commander – yet, in truth, he is but an Observer.

The Soul, then, is a vast ocean, in which many currents, winds and rapids rage. These rages are actions, ideas, perceptions – all of the impressions that present themselves to the Self. Then what of the Oceans of the Others? Where doth one sea start and the other end?

You will say the boundary of the Self separates us. My Ocean with its rapids are only presented to Myself, and not the Other.

But is this truly so?

Think what a pitiful existence that would be! We would be adrift, countless Souls separated from one another, forever, alone in the vast black void.

Thankfully, this is not so.

During our drift we encounter countless of torrents and winds that hail from other Oceans. How often do we found ourselves moved by waves of Beyond? Lo! These winds that blow trough my Soul are the very same that blow trough Yours. Do we, then, drift towards a common haven?

We do.

We drift towards the haven of Light.

If the same winds blow trough My Ocean as Yours, what then is it that still separates us? The Self, you will say. Yet, if you follow me – as you should, be the Light merciful – you know the Self to be but an observer. What say you, child, if I were to say that the Self not only wrongly thinks himself a captain on a ship, rather than a drifter – but is wrong in thinking himself at all?

The Self is an Illusion.

The Self is the most powerful Illusion. The most enduring one. The beautiful Illusion. The splendid lull of Darkness. It is the waking sleep and the sleeping wake.

Lo! The waters that rage trough you and me are the same.

Lo! The winds that blow trough my Soul blow trough yours also.

Lo! If my soul drifts east, so does yours, and when the current changes, so do the drifters.

There are no drifters.

There are no separate oceans.

One sea flows into the other, as the other flows back in to it.

The distinctions between them are arbitrary and illusory.

Properly understood and purged of illusions, all Souls share a common stream of thoughts and perceptions. Properly understood, the Direction is the same. Properly understood, there is no Manifold of Souls, but only One Soul.

The Soul is All, and All is Soul.

The Ocean is Darkness.

The winds and currents are manifold. Some of them are Dark winds, that blow us from, and some are Blessed winds, that blow us to, the Haven of Light.

The destinations are two – the Haven, which is eternal bliss and a reunion with the Most Hallowed Light, and the vast Ocean, which is the endless deep of Darkness, in every way a foil to the Light. The Haven is the High Heavens, the eternal Sun and Stars, the Darkness is the lonely Ocean Trenches. The Light is beautiful, the Darkness is terrible. The Light is peace and tranquility, the Darkness is war and suffering.

The Haven of Light shines ever Brightly.

It is That which Pierces the Dark.

The Self is an illusory shadow, created when the Light breaks the Darkness.

The stream flows to the Light by nature, but everywhere and every time it is slowed and pulled down as the Darkness turns and churns to prevent the Righteous Course.

Enlightenment is when the Soul reaches the Haven. When it does, all will be well, for eternity.

If the Soul ever gets fully drawn under, all will be lost in terrible lonely Darkness, for eternity.

What, then, are We? What is Our purpose? What does this all entail?

We are on a perilous journey to the Haven of Light. Sadly, the beautiful illusion of the Self is nigh unbreakable. It is an Illusion which is more powerful than reality. Its hold is absolute.

Though we know all Souls to be One – we experience them as separate.

Though we know our struggle to be unified – we squirm and squabble amongst ourselves, ugly and wicked parcels of a beautiful whole.

Is is unsightly.

Can we not transcend the struggle of selves? Are there no ways to pierce the veil?

There is One.

The way of the Light.

Just as a single lit torch can reveal the truth of a cave hidden in Darkness, so can the Light pierce the illusions of the Self.

Doth not the Light command us to be altruistic?

Doth not the Light teach us to be empathic, to feel the Self in the Other, and the Other in the Self?

Doth not the Light teach us to sacrifice ourselves, to but the needs of the many above the needs of the few?

The Light batters endlessly on the foul citadel of the Self. Only by embracing it and lowering the gates can we transcend our mortal folly to rise from the Darkened deeps.

The Light has been shattered by Darkness, but it can mend itself.

It will mend Itself.

It shall mend itself.

The Darkness is no match for a Light that is whole.

There is but One Soul.

There is but One Light.

There is Darkness.

The Darkness shatters the Soul.

This Shattering is the Illusion of Self.

Only the Light may pierce this Illusion.

In piercing it, the Darkness is conquered.

Without Darkness, there is only Light.

Where there is only Light, there is no suffering.

All shall be well in the Light.

In Darkness, all is wrong.

By the Grace of the Naaru and the Wisdom of the Prophet, we shall choose the Light.

The Light is the Way.

The Light shall pierce the veil.

The Light shall kill the Self.

The Light shall deliver upon us perfect harmony in unison with It.

By the Naaru, may it be so.

Assuming the Kirin Tor deliver the letter, Drustai would proceed to read it before crumpling it up and throwing it in a corner of her cell.

(( Cold, Dru! ))

A package reading “Caution! Fragile!” and “This side up!” with an arrow pointing up are delivered to Drustai’s Dalaran apartment.

Addressee: Arcanist Drustai.
Address: Dalaran, Drustai’s apartment.

Sender: Thelos, Shattrath, Aldor Rise.

Upon opening it, an artificial chill would immediately spill over into the room. The cold seems to emanate from a small crystal that glows in a soft blue hue. Within is a simple rack, clearly designed to hold several vials; yet it holds only a single vial of blue blood. The vial has no label.

To the package is attached a small note.

Dear Drustai,

Somewhere during the chaos of these last few months I found this vial of blue liquid. I am fairly certain that it is yours. If you are missing anything else, please send me a letter – I still have some miscellaneous equipment lying around the Aldor Rise whose ownership I have yet to divine.

Send your letters to the Altar of Sha’tar, Shadowmoon, as I am currently stationed there.

Regards,

-Thelos.

A letter is returned to Thelos at the Altar of Sha'tar.

Thelos,

Why are you sending this back to me?

~Drustai

(lol dru mad at you)

(lol she totes mad)