Penance: Chapter 1 - Doubt

The streets had changed. The smell had altered. The noises were different. Orgrimmar had finally left the depression of the siege, or so it seemed. Peace had brought harmony, and along with it the regularity the valleys had once known. Beggars did not litter ‘every’ street and the air of lethargy and nervous anticipation among the populace had gone. All in all, it was a favourable thing.

And to think but a year ago these streets ran red with blood.

Devilstep mused, as he began his walk along the Drag. Behind him the sun had near set over the valley of wisdom. The Tauren tents disappeared as the curve of the drag brought the traders shops into sight. During the siege this part of the city was a mess of barricades, debris and carnage. Body’s had been left to rot as both, nay, all three sides had no time or opportunity to collect the dead thanks to the brutal urban warfare. The smell of death and decay had been washed away, but the memories had not. Passers-by had given firm nods, while small groups huddled and laughed outside of taverns. Merriment and contentment, this was unexpected.

Why does everyone seem to have forgotten it all so easily?

The thought had struck him as he entered the city and lingered in the back of his mind since. How could they all have moved on, forgetting so readily and yet he still trudged through it like a minefield. Perhaps they all simply put on brave faces, going about their business with worry and despair buried deep. Perhaps it really was all a facade, and like him they all lived in doubt.

But we must not. I must not. You have made your choices, during the siege and in the dark... live with them.

What other choice was there? He continued his walk at a leisurely pace, his thick woollen cowl covering his face. Though his vision was not impaired it was at least ensured that those who may hold a grudge or some disdain would not know who he was. His grey robes and bare feet marked him out as nothing in particular, hardly a grand disguise but worked for its simplicity. The lack of a sword at his side felt odd though. But he’d not need armament where he was going.

Pay heed to the task. Perhaps it won’t change your mind or how you feel about it all, but it is what the others asked for.

Though Wolfheart had seemed unsure of her choice of task at first, Duskstalker did not. They had both arrived at the same conclusion perhaps, though likely for very different reasons. His punishment had been his disgrace, again, and his redemption it seemed had been set down on a road he had little option but to walk. This task he could of argued against, or debated but in the end he already knew he’d feel no different at its completion, or more likely it would only jar memories from that dark place he did not want to visit in his head.

Their attempts at forcing remorse are short sighted and likely only to lead to despair... or anguish.

He would not doubt what he did. To doubt his choice was to cast himself back into the void, spirits only know how many more would have died...

He grumbled, lifting his gaze. At last his destination had come into view. The run down walls and damaged roof did much to hide the importance of the place, the merry laughter that echoed from inside that doorway made it homely. Though the impatient frown of a pacing matron indicated he was late, rather than what he anticipated to be early. Taking care of dozens of orphans had a timetable it seemed...

Spirits give me strength...