Simon Ashlock (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
paladingus) wrote2016-08-19 09:01 pm
paladingus) wrote2016-08-19 09:01 pm
Legion Invasions
After everything he's done for this place, Simon thinks, Gryan Stoutmantle owes him a drink.
It's an uncharitable enough thought that he's going to have to mention it in confession, and he regrets it as soon as it crosses his mind, but at a time like this, it's a defense mechanism. If he focuses on all the things he hates about the Light-forsaken shithole that is Westfall, all those traumatic memories of mages in Moonbrook flinging fireballs at him and rabid coyotes worrying at his ankles, maybe he won't feel quite so sick when he watches the Saldeans' roof burning with felfire and thinks about all the times they took him in and fed him when they had nothing.
He feels guilty enough for his selfishness and insensitivity even before an orc rides by with her axe drawn, beheading a blightstalker as readily as if it were Durotar under attack. His hand is glowing with righteous judgment before he can stop himself, before his mind registers that she's here to help, and so, it seems, is half the population of Razor Hill.
Now they show up, he thinks, and watch the bastards turn and run and leave us to die again as soon as something big appears, and he adds that, too, to the list of sins to beg absolution for. If the Horde can set aside partisan tensions to defend Westfall from the Legion, what excuse does he have to waste time seething instead of doing the same?
He rides hard for Sentinel Hill, hammer drawn. If he has to choose between smiting the demons or the undead, the demons win out. Just for today.
It's an uncharitable enough thought that he's going to have to mention it in confession, and he regrets it as soon as it crosses his mind, but at a time like this, it's a defense mechanism. If he focuses on all the things he hates about the Light-forsaken shithole that is Westfall, all those traumatic memories of mages in Moonbrook flinging fireballs at him and rabid coyotes worrying at his ankles, maybe he won't feel quite so sick when he watches the Saldeans' roof burning with felfire and thinks about all the times they took him in and fed him when they had nothing.
He feels guilty enough for his selfishness and insensitivity even before an orc rides by with her axe drawn, beheading a blightstalker as readily as if it were Durotar under attack. His hand is glowing with righteous judgment before he can stop himself, before his mind registers that she's here to help, and so, it seems, is half the population of Razor Hill.
Now they show up, he thinks, and watch the bastards turn and run and leave us to die again as soon as something big appears, and he adds that, too, to the list of sins to beg absolution for. If the Horde can set aside partisan tensions to defend Westfall from the Legion, what excuse does he have to waste time seething instead of doing the same?
He rides hard for Sentinel Hill, hammer drawn. If he has to choose between smiting the demons or the undead, the demons win out. Just for today.