Diary of a Rogue (4)

Part IV:

Rassa sat in the darkened room of the Inn and closed his good eye. He began reading the writing. Luckily it was written in the common tongue:

I hereby begin this diary some many years after the events herein occurred. My name is Samlyn Tailor. I am a blood elf raised by humans in the town of Southshore in the territory of the Alterac Mountains. Yes, I realize that this may seem strange to some who have never heard of me but I assure you this account is true.

My first memories involve humans and I did not come to meet my kindred race until later in life and very much against my will. I did, however, share their racial vanity and to some extent still do. I have done much growing in the past 20 years. When one causes a war one tends to grow whether they wish to or not. Now, I know this war is probably in the far past to those reading about it’s beginnings now but I assure you it was all to real to those of us caught in the middle.

The war did not start with the flash of a sword or a drop of poison in some king’s cup. Nor did it start with a border clash or some treasure stolen. The war that covered Azeroth started with something as simple as one childhood friend playing a practical joke on another childhood friend. Had the childhood friends not been frightened of getting in trouble they might have stopped the war. Luckily, in this war the great leader’s and their followers would not be slain. The greatest casualty would be pride.