(World of Warcraft) A Tale Begun

Sielic

Sielic sat in the Church of Holy Light in Stormwind, head bowed and hood up, in deep meditation.  His frame was bent, slumped under the weight he bore.  He wore simple robes that clung to an emaciated frame, his body ravaged by lack of sleep, food, and an excess of alcohol.  He had not been kind to himself in the years since the loss of Tyrilyna and his villainous actions of the past.  He had been mended and made whole, but the guilt, grief, and regret weighed heavily upon the man’s soul.  

—–

He self-isolated and lived a very solitary life, largely.  He made a few, feeble attempts to reclaim his life, his livelihood, and to combat threats that had been posed by the Demonic Burning Legion.  His recovery had been temporary, his efforts to bury the past were not enough and it resurfaced time and again, driving him to flee.  He became a regular at every bar in Old Town, and eventually nearly every bar in the city when they started to catch on to him.  He heard rumours of Kul Tiras, the Templars journeyed forward, but Sielic remained behind.  He was in no shape to contribute to any efforts at peacekeeping, warmongering, or anything between.  He remained in his drink, day in and day out.  His weapons were either rusted or turned over to be melted down as he no longer trusted his hand.  

It was this sorry state that Sielic was in when contacted by the Brotherhood of the Light in the Church.  Some of the fellow patrons at a few of the bars he had been drinking at had contacted them, worried for this disheveled, depressed man.  The Priests were polite, kind, and gracious.  They asked if he needed food, or new clothing, or water.  If his home was being maintained, if he needed any help.  It was well intentioned, but ultimately served to do nothing but drive him further into isolation.  He stayed in, sometimes never leaving his bed.  His anger battled his sorrow, his regrets screamed in his mind.  The shadows that always had remained in his being thrived, and a deep darkness threatened to consume him.  It was then that a moment of clarity struck, a moment of rationale that he grasped for as a man drowning grasps for a floating log.  His hands found purchase and he dragged himself from the bog in his mind, if only temporarily.  He found himself energized, motivated.  He dressed himself in robes and traveled to the Church to meditate.  

—–

Months had passed, and somehow Sielic made it a habit to visit the Church.  He mostly meditated, but also spoke to counselors and priests, trained to talk through his troubles with him.  The Light was not a cure for what ailed him, but he found it possible to manage his difficulties.  It was not easy, but slowly he formed new habits.  The days turned to weeks, then months.  He learned from the counselors that he would not likely be cured, that he had been through a traumatic ordeal, and that he would need to be diligent, disciplined in his life to continue living.  He learned much about surviving and thriving.  He still visited the bars, but only for a few drinks, no longer to drown his misery in a haze.  His body began a long road of recovery, muscles redeveloping and a healthy shape slowly emerging.  

He finally looked hale and stable, a man renewed, though still seeking a purpose in life.  He arrived home one day to a letter which read, 

To Whom It May Concern,

In Service,
Jacob Moore
Alliance Clerk of Court