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Warcraft Short Story – Loathing Heritage

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Creeper of the Soul – Link

 

 

Antoran Wastes

War has always brought the worst. Pestilence, famine and, as a reward for one’s endurance and determination, death to themselves or the enemies.
This, however, is not a tale like any other. It was the beginning of a finale, of a war that had lasted for millenniums across the Great Dark Beyond and countless of other realms. Twisted and fowl creatures, lead by a fallen Titan who sought nothing but the end of all things. A perfect being who concluded, in his infinite wisdom, that the only way to purify the universe from the maddening corruptive tendencies of the Void Lords.. was to purge all life before life itself were to be manipulated by the tendrils of deception.

Truly, the hypocrisy of the Legion knew no limits. Countless worlds had been drained and served as fuel for the Fel rituals that the demons practiced. Instead of being influenced by the whispers of the unknown counterparts of the Light, entire races and planets were instead tortured by horned devils.
Felhounds gnawed on the bones of the wizards. Sayaad preyed upon the feeble minded. Inquisitors formed dark pacts with the betrayers. Nathrezim lead and spied entire nations by the use of the most convincing ruses.
Yet, what plagued the Draenei for more than twenty millennia were the Man’ari. The true demonic Eredar who served Sargeras, the right hand tacticians and leaders of countless demons. A fractured crown, two out of three pieces offered their lives to the Dark Titan. The one piece that remained, the origins of the Draenei Eredar under the leadership of the Prophet. Each piece of the crown had been brought to the Vindicaar, Velen being the only leader of the Eredar that were uncorrupted. The Crown of the Triumvirate had been assembled, bringing the Army of the Light and their allies back to the front line of their invasion on Argus after the countless scavenging tasks on Mac’aree.

A lightforged vessel stood in the skies of Antoran Wastes, a beacon of hope and the final stand against the Burning Crusade. To finally bring an end to an old threat that had plagued the universe.

Physically recovered, mentally scarred. A broken heart that became frail after the constant reminder of a nightmare that had been lived not so long ago. The Arcanist stood, not fearing to encounter those who she betrayed in secrecy. Somehow, with the attention that she had finally harvested by a few, she was able to obtain certain knowledge. Isratael knew she wouldn’t cross with a Nomad of Tureem. A little mana ray informed her that such specific group had gone missing for quite some time. She felt no contempt for their fate, reminding herself that they had used and abandoned her when she collapsed. Yet she lamented that they did not heard of someone named Ytaaru. Nonetheless, she endured and hoped. Despise the fragments of a former self, there was a minor Light that had not been engulfed in darkness. Perhaps such shard protected her during her captivity. A faith that not even the Ethereal was able to reach and manipulate, thus the transaction that he sought. If that candle in her soul were to cease on such dire event, her destiny would had been sealed.

Given the Pilgrim’s exposure, she could no longer escape from the burden of being part of something greater than her own inner turmoil. Told to accompany a group of broken known as the Krokul, to supervise their attempt to infiltrate one of the many dimmed and damped fel riddled caverns; she had no other choice but to clop her way to a Light Beacon. For the first time, the Enchantress stood on the rugged terrain of Argus. Though she once walked on Mac’aree, this land was not preserved. It hosted Antorus, the hallowed capital of the Burning Legion. Felfire rained from the skies, Felbats dove to snatch the Lightforged from the ground. Demonic artillery, twisted metals and pools of fel-lava that spawned hundreds of imps from the womb of much larger motherly abominations.

A war that the Pilgrim did not wanted to partake. A call of duty that she had once avoided, an heavy burden that she could not handle. Yet, to find her brother, she had to brave her fears. She began to wonder if her decision was worth it. Yet those doubts brought her much more pain, doubts that she refused to accept. Instead, she had a desire. Pure as that desire was, it was the only true outcome that she envisioned. She did not lied to herself, underestimating the odds of survival for herself or her brother. Instead her mind was like a web of opportunities and calculated outcomes. To avoid the unwanted, to pursue the path that lead to happiness. Every step counted, every spell meant something, her tongue was a sword to be used wisely. Riddles upon riddles, her sense of safety on one self and the events to come lied on her ability to anticipate and feel that she was in control of her own fate; not allowing it to control her against her preferable destination.
Yet, could she truly predict the future?

 

 

Loathing Heritage

 

The broken Eredar, familiar to such crumbling world, were aware of the unlikely odds in surviving a demonic onslaught directly. Instead, cunning as they were, the group of eight Krokul brought Isratael to the rivers of fel-lava. Plenty of fissures made it possible for the Legion to turn a blind eye to the fel corrupted basilisks that inhabited them. The mutated carnivorous creatures fought for their survival by devouring one another. At times, if their overlords were kind enough to torture a mortal, the wild life feasted on fleshly treats.
As obvious at it may be, the group kept themselves close to the edges of the narrowed rivers. A spell deployed by the Krokul that hid the group in the shadows as they moved together. Step by step, not to alert the beasts who were ecstatic by the numerous Felbats and hopeless warriors from both sides that felt by accident or thrown to their demise. While the Broken were used to such sight, the Draenei couldn’t help but feel sorrow and disgust for the gore she had seen. In her mind, she questioned the fate of Draenor. Did it also hosted such twisted carnivorous infected rivers of bright green, dark rock and crimson strokes of spilled blood?

Fissure by fissure, they distanced themselves from the narrow path of death to an even more confined crack on the cliffs that provided a platform for storming Mo’arg fiends. On a line, they felt the jagged terrain on their back and palms. Even though the Broken were far more burly than the Pilgrim, the stone still abraded her dark skin. Biting her lower lip, she gazed upwards at the dim cracks, shadows blocking the light. Ash felt down, the sound of blades clashing. The agonizing slash of an axe piercing throw the tissue, ichor dripping from above, landing on top of a dark silky cowl. She could not bear to look, despise her own countless executions upon others.
Something was different, war never changes. Yet the beholder of such emotions still had to recover from the past.

Silence loomed alongside the infiltrators. They had a mission, organized as they were. Explorers on a labyrinth of cracks, challenging fate itself against the odds of survival and true destination. Yet there they were, now in a cavern. Nowhere to hide, they drew their blades and began to mutter their spells. Arcane summoned and steamed from the mana Isratael carried on her garments, enclasped in shards and crystals that clinked in harmony against the golden metals. The Serpent Eyes of a staff that were used as a beacon to unleashed a barrage of missiles aimed at the felhounds that were eagerer to draw upon the Arcanist. Blades carved from bones, wielded by the mysterious Broken Assassins, brought but a mere fragment of their vengeance upon the remaining demons. A Shaman commanded the weakened earthen elements from an dying plane of existence, shaking the caverns for their own benefit to cripple their foes.

 

Once the group reached the far end of the dastardly cavern, where broken cages were hanged on the ceiling with long chains made of empyrium; a Jailer absorbed the souls of the war prisoners frenetically. The large hulking demon knew that a group of assassins was approaching, deciding to foil their plans before the inevitable demise. Hundreds of souls were locked on a cage that they carried behind the back, forever swirling in pain as they saw their corpses being tossed to yet another pool of fel-lava one by one.
Though the demon grinned with arrogance once they saw the perpetrators, they carried on with the foul ritual. Four mortals were chained, devoid of will to live after the horrors they had suffered. One stood at the center of a crude fel rune, a hand approaching the face of a male Blood Elf. But before the soul could be separated from the body, two of the assassins stepped to the Shadow realm just to immediately back stab in a blink. The bones carved deep within the thick hunch of the red maniac who began to chuckle as they felt to the ground. Yet the very last breath was only drawn when the Shaman begged for the elements to stab the Jailer with a wide sharp rocky spike that was cut from the stone on the roof.

Squirting, the tormentor was no more. The magical bounds breaking from the four lucky survivors. Two of those were female Draenei while another was a red blooded Highmountain Tauren, besides the Blood Elf himself that gasped for air. Unfortunately, the blood elf did not survived the ritual for his body became quite drained from life. An anorexic corpse that luckily passed away without becoming victim to a crueler fate. Such is the consequence of fel magic, which life itself is the main reagent.
The large built Tauren took hold of the cage that contained hundreds of souls. The enchantment that kept the souls within weakened by the demise of the fiend, crushed by the humanoid bovine when he decided to throw it against the cavernous walls. Guiding the souls, the Shaman brought peace to the dead with a mere wave of his withered staff.

 

Though the journey back to the Vindicaar proved to be more difficult, the three victims were brought to safety. A task that was considered a success, for the Tauren was part of an order known as the Unseen Path. The bound between the Army of the Light and the mysterious order only strengthened after such display of kindness. Yet they mourned for the death of the few Draenei and Hunters from the order that were sacrificed for the greater good.

Despise the triumph, Isratael did not felt that she belonged. Part of her was glad that she had saved a few more lives. Yet again, her focus was on herself and her personal goals. Noticing the distant approach from the Pilgrim, the two suviving Draenei came to her. Besides the obligatory well mannered words of appreciation, one of them recognized the Arcanist. Perhaps in the past, both had a closer connection that meant more to the survivor than to Isratael herself.
Taking the opportunity, the Pilgrim asked for the whereabouts of her brother. Once again, she was met with ignorance on the subject. As always, when one wasn’t aware, she also began to ask for the location of the Illusionist named Mesoora. But unlike previous attempts, the two draenei knew her. They were once her apprentices, saddened to hear that she never fought alongside them on Argus.
Widening her gaze, surprised by such revelation, anger at one self was hidden under the bruised skin. Was her travel to Argus pointless to begin with? She turned her back at the two, who grew some concerned over the Enchantress’ behavior. She marched to a lonesome corner of the vessel, questions came to mind. Confusion flooded her judgement. Yet frustration prevailed at the top.

 

If Mesoora never came to Argus, did her brother never traveled there as well? A question that she could not ignore, since the answer was most likely positive.
Was her suffering in vain? Did she gained anything from the skirmishes she joined, from the nightmare she had witnessed? From the sacrifices she made and the betrayal conducted behind the preying eyes of an Lightforged army?
Emotions overwhelmed her, from the atrocities she committed to reach just as far as she had. The words not spoken, for the decisions she made. She began to imagine what others would had thought about her, given that she no longer could justify herself.

All.. in vain.

 

Thoughts came to her mind after the tears were finally contained. Sniveling, she decided to forfeit her search. Like the Draenei on the Vindicaar, the Nomads that she aided and betrayed, the Pandaren that she heavily judged.. she began to understand.

Pain comes from the past. Actions and words spoken, with the hope of tidying the shards of a former life, end in frustration and torment for the meek. One becomes desperate the more they fail, ending in hypocrisy for the goals are greater than integrity to one’s morality. The devastating realization of one’s struggle to survive in such bleakness, a dystopian self fulfilling prophecy. Hatred, frustration; pebbles being born from withered trees.
Life is not what we desire what could had been. But what we desire to be with the possibilities given in the present. Held close to heart the short comings of life, a lesson rather than a bitter end to one’s future.

A lesson that she had forgotten, given the events she had suffered since the death of her warmth.

 

Upon self reflecting on her path, she approached the nearest Lightforged Draenei. From there, Isratael was guided to the very same portal that brought her to the Vindicaar. A portal that transported her to the Exodar, to Azuremyst Isles.

Again, she welcomed Azeroth. No longer was her goal to find her brother or the Illusionist. If fate allowed, they would meet once again.

The Pilgrim only desired to forget. To travel once again…
…and so she did.

 

Déjà vu

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Creeper of the Soul

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim – Link

 

 

Creeper of the Soul

The perfect house. Adorned in beauty, inviting for the individual. The dream, lounging for thousands of years upon the soul of a once meek Draenei.
She saw, materialized in her sub-conscious. A vivid and convincing room, with those that she desired the most. Such warmth and harmony, never had this been so clear! In Shadowmoon Valley, a modest house where vines and wooden fences protected a magnificent back yard from the preying beast and critters that desired to feast upon others’ allure. Purple light coming from perfectly cut enchanted Taladite crystals that levitated on top of ivory pillars.
On the main hall, the one that presented such yard behind transparent glimmering layers of cloth embroidered in gem chips that reached the ground like tail quill feathers of a peacock; a wooden dining table with silver lining white cloth. The cherry on top, a table chandelier that held candles for those extra cold nights. A floral scent that traveled alongside the brown wooden walls that made a defining contrast with the stellar white stone floor. A bookcase, containing an impressive collection of tales and spell books of old! On one of the walls, a Crystalline fireplace that did not drew the attention away from a smaller sample of a white clefthoof’s pelt resting on the floor. Lastly, a wide yet thin wooden drawer that held the silver cutlery and other necessary utensils for a delightful meal; a rich variety of fruits on a colorful bowl that rested on top of such furniture.

But what made the house desirable was not the beauty in the eyes of the beholder, but the youthful warmth of those that were but no longer could. The Pilgrim’s parents, sharing the wisdom of the Prophet with the children that never came to be. The passionate dialogue from a red-blooded lover of reason, talking to the willful sibling. Other familiar faces came and went, hospitality in the house of the fabled Enchantress, Isratael.
.. Yet, it wasn’t a dream.

The wind blew harshly against the neck, cloth wrapping around it delicately. It was too late! With a snap, she felt on the ground painfully.
A flash, she hadn’t died, where were the others? Something was wrong and she called for her warmth. The long breathtaking wait between each clop from the hooves that never came, a crystal shard pierced through the heart.
A flash, she hadn’t died, her father was there now. She pleaded, the house was haunted! He widened his eyes in disbelief, now victim of the fire that grew right underneath his hooves. She couldn’t save him.
A flash, her father wasn’t there, did he perish? She ran outside the house and found herself in the backyard. There was someone there, a friendly orc that attended the flowers with much pleasure. Her tusks pointing upwards, curling a smile that she wasn’t aware. Was she aware of what was happening at all? The vines came to life, wrapping the Draenei when she least expected. Gasping for air, her last breath gave birth to another flash.
Again inside the main hall, the orc wasn’t there. The children that never came to be were screaming, falling one by one from the enchanted army of cutlery. The bowl of fruit was her shield of righteous. She survived, at what cost?
Flash, she was alone with her new acquaintance, paranoia. Paranoia became her greatest ally, her senses enhanced. For a time nothing came, until it did and she felt.
Flash, the corpse of her mother on top of the pelt.
Flash, she died with her brother.
Flash, the orc was there once again, but so was death.
Flash, blood. Flash, a survivor to tell. Flash, a tale of decay.

The nightmare of a house that never came to be. There was no way to wake up from such a dread, a prison of the past and long-lived yearnings. A constant reminder that, no matter how much one believes they will reach a state of ecstasy, life is anything but merciful. It will chortle in your misery. A chortle that felt real.

Laughter came from the tunnel of light that wittingly came. She stretched her arm to reach it. And from light came darkness, from darkness a blur and a voice that became clear.

 

 

Argus

 

She was in Argus for quite some time, such became obvious to Isratael once again. She had fallen victim to the whispers that surrounded the Seat of Triumvirate, Mac’aree; on yet another mission with a group of Draenei Nomads that she had grown acquainted with.
A verbal contract she had made once again but, unlike the one made with mercenaries and traders, it was one with the only desire to find her own brother. Nomads who constantly enforced her the same mindset she had grown to abhor. Trapped in a past, never releasing the grip from something that was long gone. Echoes, demons and spirits of the past; a reminder of a former home that no longer was but a burning fel rock. She detested Argus with a passion the moment she stepped on Mac’aree, even though it did not share the same cursed landscape from the world bellow. A floating rock, a lost piece of a puzzle that once made Argus the home planet of the Draenei more than twenty five thousand years ago. Isratael was born long after the lost, she had no attachment to such adulterated planet. It was only a planet that she had heard from her parents and much older acquaintances of the past.

However, she was a victim once again at that point in time. The whispers had reached to her, everything became hazy. She had just awakened from a deep slumber, or perhaps from a mind controlling spell. Shadows talked, yet she could not listen. It was still dark, but she was awake at last. Her mind was clearing up and she had begun to feel cold and a hunger she hadn’t felt in a long time. She tried to move, but her body was not her slave yet. It did not move under her command, not even a finger could be raised. Her head was not her own either, but she felt her skin touching upon a rugged surface. It hurt her, but she could not yell or whimper. A chill came from her spine for creeping dark tendrils traveled from her back and reached for her frown. These tendrils had her under control, under their command.

 

A chuckle came from afar, making the shadows flee. Her mind became clearer, her gaze limpid, and she could finally realize that she was inside a dim scavenged Draenei house. And the shadows were Krokul melded in Void. She tried to move once again, to speak.. to no avail. Yet her senses allowed her to realize that she had been stripped from her cloth, bearing her undergarments. Dirt and bruises covered her dark violet skin. The dark tendrils that preyed on her spine and skull were exactly what she had seen and understood, the body that sat on the floor and leaned against the wall was not her own to order, but to only feel. Fortunately for her, the master had no desire for their new puppet.

A fine subject.” said the voice that came closer, forming a shadow on the entrance. Tall yet slender, sharp shoulders and male on first sight. It was the voice that mocked in her dreams, yet the one that also brought her conscious back. Isratael’s own emotions felt distant however, despise the predicament she was experiencing. Such is the Void. Yet her eyes turned, not under her desire to do so. They looked at herself, at her own flesh.
The shadow came closer, growing bigger. When approaching the door frame, her body raised from the ground immediately. Her movements were rigid and reckless for her own well being, for she felt her bones cracking. Yet her body stood, slightly hunched. Her dark purple hair, though not long, waved in front of her gaze, greased. How long had she been in such a state of affairs?
The shadow.. was of an unknown Ethereal “Good, I can feel your presence. Your mind hasn’t been consumed.

He clasped his hands, or what appeared to be hands. The wrappings gave much to desire after all. He continued to speak to her with a tone that no longer mocked, but one of a diplomat “Your conscious mind is still alive. Appreciate that, Draenei. I have no desire to see a creature like you suffer..” he paused, only to wave a hand in front of a frown that was not her own.
From that wave, the tendrils that crawled on her back vanished to nothingness. And from that nothingness came a familiar vessel that was now hers to order and to feel. Suddenly finding herself being in control of her own self, she collapsed on the ground fully conscious. The pain that she felt on her body, it made her scream as loud as she could. The agony that she felt from the hunger, the bruises and pain from a former slave owner who carelessly treated her mortal vessel quite savagely. And from the pain, tears. The Ethereal waited patiently, giving a much more needed moment for the Enchantress to recover from the shock.

 

A moment had finally passed, raising herself quite pitifully. She clumsily stumbled closer to a wall, resting both palms on it. She had grown accustomed to her own body once again, yet there were questions unanswered. She turned to face the Ethereal, her back relying on the crumbling wall behind her. “I do apologize for your attire, Draenei. Your.. tattered drapes held impressive properties that were necessary for this transaction.” finally spoke the Ethereal once again, his hands behind his back with a rather straight posture.
.. W-Where am I? Who are you and.. why.. should I trust you?” mustered Isratael behind a harsh breathing pattern and vulnerable silhouette.
You haven’t left Mac’aree. I am your savior and you may feel free to not trust me.
I.. don’t trust your kind.
You don’t have a choice, regardless. Listen to my proposal or I shall send you back to the Void.

Threatened, the Draenei muttered a few words of wisdom. Yet, to her own dismay, the Ethereal raised a single finger that pointed close to where a humanoid would usually have their lips bloom. She had been silenced, which surprised her. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you, fleshling. Remain civil and I shall provide with your belongings.” retorted the Ethereal, lowering his finger slowly. She felt her voice cords belonging to her once again, gasping.
Now that you are aware of your plight; I choose you out of those acquaintances of yours because I found that you were the most promising of subjects.” he continued with his negotiation.
T-the weakest, you mean..” lamented the Draenei.
There were others with weaker connection to the Light, fleshling. No, I choose you because you have something that I desire. And you desire something as well.
Walking closer to the Ethereal, she kept a much more reliable stance. One of her hands wandered behind her back in search for any tendril, growing some paranoia over the Void. But no, that Ethereal was aware of something already. Of her true goal on Argus or perhaps the dream she had.
Ytaaru.. is it?” he suggested, to incite more than a mere reaction. Which obviously she did, a trembling hand reached for her own mouth to cover her shock to hear such a name from an Ethereal. A clop back, she almost felt. A faint humorous snicker from the Ethereal, in jest “The things one can learn from another’s nightmares. I could hear your voice from afar, Draenei. You seek a familiar face, yet I do not know who and where this Ytaaru is.

 

Silence settled between the two oddities. The Pilgrim was growing restless from the mystery surrounding her torturer. A frustrated sigh from the Draenei herself broke the abnormality “Be quick, Ethereal. I starve. I.. know your people are oblivious to such realities but know that I may collapse soon if I do not eat..

Very well, fleshling. I’m aware of the nature of a certain mana crystal that you had. That crystal comes from this planet. I wish to know where. I’m sure that you are also aware the implications of not providing me with such information.
I.. should had guessed. You desire something that isn’t yours already. If I do, you’ll set me free?
I’ll do more than just that. I’ll provide what remains of your inventory. Including that particular unflattering staff.

The pilgrim blinked, turning her attention at her own physique. A reminder of the price she would had to pay for not complying with the demands of the Ethereal. If she were to accept the proposal however, she would be betraying the Nomads and, of consequence, her people. Her stare once again settled on the mystical appearance of the Ethereal that hid himself on poorly enchanted wrappings and uninspiring dark yet sharp shoulder pads made of cloth. Yet, in her hunger, she felt certain repulsion for those that abandoned her that day. She began to remember that, during the conflict, she had fallen behind while the other Draenei walked without much of a glance to her struggle. She had but one question to the Ethereal that awaited nothing but the answer he desired from her “How long has it been since the day you have manipulated me?
To which he answered “Nearly two weeks. No one came searching for you, Draenei.
Then I’ll accept your proposal. They must surely believe that I’m one with the Light by now..” she lamented, turning her gaze away from the dealer. She knew the consequences of her decision, yet it was one for her own survival and made ever so lightly given the blindness of her own hunger.
It is settled, Draenei. Surely, a mutually beneficial transaction. Just as I foresaw.

 

The Pilgrim began to provide the information to the mysterious Ethereal. In return, the Ethereal ordered two Voidscarred Krokuls to bring the Draenei her own values, to which they done so. Unlike what her oppressor had lead her to believe, her garments were mostly intact. The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim was once again hers to wield. The Ethereal was made aware where she had gained a particular mana crystal. He did not require more than the information provided. It belonged to an Autarch of her kind, from a lineage of magi that she knew so little to begin with. A Draenei that has lived four times over the age and wisdom of this Arcanist. Ancient vaults that held secrets and power, perhaps even subtle traps and curses. He did not fear the challenge itself, for he had allowed the Void to have control over his judgement.

The Enchantress was permitted to walk away from the crumbling ruins, to which she did without much more of a whimper to the few Ethereal she saw on her path back to the Vindicaar. Her mind, though freed from the influences of the Void, it was not fully sane. She only desired a meal, aloof clops on the ground and supported by her staff along the excruciating walk. She could not bear to fully grasp what she had done that day.

On the Vindicaar, the Lightforged were quick to attend to her wounds. There was no sign of any Nomad of Tureem. Long breaths, she closed her eyes and rested for a few days. She had enough time to contemplate about the consequences over and over. Yet no one knew what she had done, a secret that she kept hidden from those around her. On that moment, her only desire was to face her own brother. Perhaps he was on the region known as Antoran Wastes, or so she believed given that was the location the Vindicaar was brought to during her recovery.
Ytaaru…

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link

 

 

Dun Morogh

A darkened cloud, carried by the wind. To purify the soul, it must weep and not be forgotten in the skies. Never ignored. The tears, toxic, causing a temporary illness. Yet a river is seen, it must be fed and be given a flow without drying. Without it, all that is natural perishes with time. But so is the cycle of life that brings a storm on the horizon and tears apart what is close to us. Life is but a cycle of destruction and light that teaches us half truths. Not because it hides, but because life is the greatest poet. Like children of the night, embracing the dim nature of the womb. Laughter is what we seek at the end.
But all need to be born. Again and again. Can mortals truly reach the promise land? Ignorance is bliss, life will tear you apart. Wake up, forge your heart before darkness consumes you.

Life begins anew in familiar lands. The womb of a matriarch from Khaz Modan, Kharanos. It has been a year since the demonic invasion had begun. Though the united force of the Dwarven clans and individuals has made this specific town safe from harm; sorrow still lingers in the eyes of the beholder. The enthusiasm from the Gnomes, a race that has endured martyrs from their betrayer, truly the candles in bleakness.
The hum of metal, cling. The strength of a hammer, clack. A clattering hymn of rebirth to one of the most well known towns in Dun Morogh. Heavily guarded, even the mountain kings have to step down from their hills to inspire their people and make sure darkness doesn’t slither.

Again, Summer resides. The snowy mountains, resisting the heat for most part. Corn snow, wet at times, snow squalls aren’t uncommon. Still, it allows the meek to wander without too much concern of freezing to death or sickly. A Draenei pilgrim, by the name of Isratael, finds herself in this town afresh. She knew what to expect, relieved to see the outcome of the local labor. A few familiar faces, reminding her of a choice she had made. One that has cost her dearly. A pain that she felt within her heart, part of her regretted her choice. Yet the face of a few of the locals that recognized her. Those who used to carry bandages, scars. They now smiled, their eyes could not hide! The cheeks, hid underneath layers of musk that tell a tale. A stoutly appearance, protected by long braided beards. There was something charming and endearing when witnessing a Dwarven male genuinely smile. “Was this the right decision”, the Draenei thought to herself through mutters.

After leaving a golden vale of sorrow, to experience the death of an outcast by the hands of their enemies; she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the lone Mogu. Truly, blind hatred. She expected much more from the Pandaren, after being in their continent for a while. The tales and their philosophy, hospitality, their cuisine! If there is someone on Azeroth that one could trust to make the wisest of choices, it must be a Pandaren. Yet what the Draenei saw was hypocrisy. It betrayed her, tricked her. Toyed with her weakened soul. Her hope, to abandon her previous life and to be reborn anew, to walk a new path along the people of Azeroth. Her family was shattered, most pieces were broken while others were left to wander.
Is such faint desire truly fiction from the mind of a troubled wayfarer? Was it fate, to be a shadow of a former vessel that didn’t beat so violently within the embrace of an ivory palace? Pause, the beat skipped, what is this feeling? It is empty, yet also everything that one feels. Pouring in so vapidly. No, not vapid. It’s intense! Is it too late for the Draenei to scream? To beg? Her mouth hastened, yet it was too late. A weak sigh was all that was transpired from yet another moment of despair. The culmination of a being that has lived for over ten millennia. The same sound one hears from the whispers coming from the most ancient of fauna, a sough.

 

 

The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim

 

The Hammerstone family.

Again Isratael had decided to visit them. Haze shrouds the path of faith, lacking direction. In haze, Isratael could only think of an elderly matriarch, Jagda Hammerstone. A Jewelcrafter that she had met, in a family of diggers and a few metalsmiths. After the bulk of the Legion’s army upon this world, the family took the opportunity to enlarge their foundry in the extremity of the town. Their family name was known for their explorer, Galthorm Hammerstone, not for their prospectors and crafters. They had to compete with more prevalent names in their society.

 

After trudging on top of the recently built stone paths that connected the town with prosperity in mind, her hoof had clopped on the foundry. A familiar sound to some of the family members, turning their heads to see the Draenei that had saved them. As she expected, much like the very few commoners that recognized her, their grin lighten up more than the flames that rested on the furnace. It is as if a hero was walking among them. She could not bare to look at them in the eyes, forcing a smile that was buried in the shade cast by her lilac embroidered silky cowl. A gift from another friend of hers, a fabled Pandaren Jewelcrafter from the Greenstone Village, Jade Forest.

Brought to the matriarch, blissfully preparing a feast for her loved ones, with the aid of her grandchildren on the comfort of their own house; the family allowed a moment’s rest from the two. Of course, as tradition demanded, Jagda had brought the pilgrim to the silence that only the death could bring. It was still an afternoon, never completely in solitude. The sun provided enough warmth to make the Draenei finally unveil her hair. She had allowed it to grow, though it yet had to reach her shoulders. It no longer carried the fragrance that was familiar to those that knew her a few years back. Rather, it was sweeter. A contrast to an expression that carried melancholy. If anything, it burden the matriarch to see such a noble creature to be saddened.

Lass..?” the dwarf questioned. She was not expecting to see her friend and champion mourn after what happened. Little did the Dwarven widow knew about the death of Isratael’s father. A planned omission from the Arcanist that did not desire to tell of her sacrifice when she had reluctantly decided to stay in Kharanos. It wasn’t that day either that the Draenei would decide to tell this Dwarven friend about it. Instead, the pain within was finally released after another skip from a dying beat. Though the graveyard did not contain a single tombstone of her fallen loved ones, she felt on her knees and wept. Toxic tear drops in the soft snow, an illness that was contagious even to the Dwarf. The elderly kept her close, no words needed to be told, not this time.

 

Once the canals began to dry, Jadga held the silky cloth in her hands. Soft, delicate and of fine quality. She shared her opinion on it, trying to cheer the pilgrim. It matched her silver garments and purple cloth. A proper armor for a lone traveler, adorned with enchanted azure shards and gems that produced their own melody, an Arcanic aura that gave them a peculiar reflection of reality itself. Yet not even such flattery cheered this Draenei. The darkness started to creep on the Dwarven’s heart, but she resisted. She spoke, afflicted “Isratael.. it pains me t’see ya’ like this! Is this how ancient legends feel when they have lived lon’enough an’ have suffered from fate?

Are you asking if.. if it is a curse to live long just as I have?” the Draenei finally spoke. Her speech slow, weightless. Almost carried by the wind and lost to the ages.

The dwarf knew what those words meant. A Dwarf would never live long enough to experience the wisdom and a wide range of shortcomings throughout life like a Draenei would. Not even an elf could. How many generations of Dwarves has Isratael outlived for? Perhaps most Draenei are older than the entire legacy of the Dwarves as a race! A Dwarf could never fully understand a Draenei. “I.. am because I don’know..” her voice trembled, realizing she was facing an ancient creature that knew much more about life itself than her entire race.

“I ask the same question now and then.. and not even I know. I do not know if I should envy you or..” she paused. She knew that her trail of thoughts would lead to unnecessary drivel.

“Then why have ya’came here? Why are ya’not with yer’ people, pilgrim? We’re more mortal than ya’..” the Dwarf argued, perhaps in desperation in face of a deep desire to assist her friend. The sturdiness of her kind being heavily rooted within her wrinkling facade. Hiding a much more dire truth, a truth that she found to be guilty of as well. Quickly she took a step back and apologized for her outburst.

Yet a truth that Isratael was familiar with. One that was too late to avoid and to reach out with her own voice “To mourn..

 

 

The sky had turned orange, a few shades from the Dark Beyond covering a clear sky. Fully exposed was still Argus, a reminder of the demonic influence of the Burning Legion upon Azeroth. Both widows talked to one another, the venom already tainting the graves of those who are no longer among them. If the dead could hear and speak, the secrets they would tell of every orphan that had bled their soul! Yet the dead, like silent escorts to one’s sentiment, can no longer be adulterated.

 

Both returned to the matriarch’s house, surrounded by the blissful warmth of one’s crib. Deep down, the Draenei felt envy on that moment, for this is what the Draenei truly desired for herself and the warmth that she dearly missed. Another crack on her vessel, a silent one at that. Still, she could not help but set aside her bitterness for now and delight herself in the company of those who only wished to please her. Isn’t that all that matters?

However, when the meal had been prepared and joyfully feasted upon, Isratael was later met with a proposal from one of the crafters of the family. Some of the members of this family wanted to offer the Draenei a gift, an artifact to be crafted by Dwarven hands. After all, the Hammerstone family had a foundry and a tale to tell for countless of generations to come.

The tale of the Virtuous Pilgrim. A tavern tale that was brewing within town, of one of the many saviors of Kharanos:

It tells of a powerful Archmage that traveled the Great Dark Beyond, that predicted the arrival of the Legion which craved to enslave Azeroth and spread darkness upon the mountains of Khaz Modan. That three powerful fel twisted six horned rams were to take over the three thrones. That among the heroes of Kharanos, a Pilgrim, as docile and innocent as a sheep, stood against the demonic rams and their army of wolves. Despise the appearance, the pilgrim sheep stared directly to the soulless, adorned in blue velvet to signify their alignment with the Alliance. The wisdom that the sheep carried made the wolves eat the very snow that their own paws carried. Truly, the determination of a wizard from the Dark Beyond.

Isratael, despise the looming darkened tar that had yet to be purified from all the muck accounted from ten thousand years of pleasures taken away; couldn’t help but find some amusement in the method used to describe the events that took place one year ago. For the Hammerstone family, it meant their life, which Isratael agreed to accept the reward from it.

 

On the following days, a peculiar staff was crafted. Carrying the head of a sheep, bathed in gold. Gems adorned the stone wool, giving a feeling of royalty. And from the spoils of Pandaria, brought from the travels in Pandaria, two serpent eyes symbolized the wisdom that the Pilgrim Sheep carried in their vision. Blue cloth formed a bound between a wizard and the Alliance. Enchanted, to serve as a focus to one’s evocation of the Arcane. And from a staff, new golden attires were forged and blue cloth was sewed by the hands of a tailor among the family. The silk that the Draenei carried was painted in dark and blue shades, embroidered details preserved yet turned into gold.

And thus the artifact known as the Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim came to exist, to be held by one of the Saviors of Kharanos, the Lost Sheep from the Dark Beyond.

 

Eager to be reunited with her brother, to explain what she had given in exchange for the life of their father, Isratael was determined to find him and Mesoora. To finally drain the impurity of her heart on one last family reunion and to forge a new life on Azeroth. Never to look back in grief. For Azeroth itself, as a whole, was her Valley of Eternal Blossoms. To Argus she went. But the question remains, is Azeroth really the promise land she desires? Or did the light provided to her spoke in half truths?

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link

 

 

Valley of Eternal Blossoms

In the heart of Pandaria, the Valley of Eternal Blossoms is the center of both Mogu and Pandaren culture.
Sealed for millennia, it has reopened its doors to outsiders. Ancient relics and myths of old are found in the ruins of former vaults and golden palace. Mogu Emperors ruled the land of Pandaria while living a luxurious life in the land that was once home of the Jinyu. After the Mogu were driven out, this vale was sealed by the August Celestials and protected by a few chosen Pandaren under the banner of the Golden Lotus.
The rivers that flow in Pandaria originate from its sacred pools. A golden land where the Titans themselves created and experimented with life on Azeroth, much like Un’Goro Crater in Kalimdor and Sholazar Basin in Northrend. Pure, crystal clear, these waters are able to heal and cleanse certain wounds that not even the Light is capable of. A power that has resulted on the demise of this once beautiful landscape by the hands of a tyrant warchief.
Once an eternal blossoming land, a land of sorrow. Yet there is hope, now that the land has been cleansed from the Sha. A vale being rebuilt and healed, blessed by the last emperor of Pandaria.

Isratael, a Draenei pilgrim, was informed of a possible contract. In Dawn’s Blossom, an innkeeper informed her of a human who required her services. Perhaps one that learned of her trading skills. One that was aware that it was her that was involved with the infusion of Arcane into the weapons and ammo that belonged to the warriors of a group known as the Fallen Leaf, which were used to confront a local dispute between the Pandaren and a fractured shadow of what was once a mighty Mogu army.

With the aid of a Jinyu, Isratael was brought to the Valley of Eternal Blossoms. A new bound was celebrated between herself and a group of traders and mercenaries. Yet the shadow cast by Argus made the encounter with the Silver Serpents ever more excruciating than it should.

 

 

Stranded on a river of leaves

 

A landscape that still held scars from a devastating event, the golden landscape yet to fully bloom. The eternal presence of a bigger treat than a mere race war between two kinds of rulers, such was the apathy in general ever embraced by a few that were hired to investigate an already crumbling force of animated stone brutes.
The Pandaren obviously fear their former Slave Masters. The tale of their soul bending shadow magic raising certain curiosity, perhaps providing some distraction from her inner turmoils. Yet one cannot forget the past, nor the dread of one’s single living family member championing a greater legion. Despise being shunned by a single Draenei platoon, it was not Isratael’s desire to suffer yet another personal loss in her life.

 

Amidst a group of mercenaries, she was asked to get involved once again on yet another skirmish against a group of Mogu. Given her verbal contract with the Silver Serpents, they and the Fallen Leaf ventured to the Guo-Lai Halls.
For the Draenei, this task was accepted without any form of grace or true motivation. Coins were never a source of happiness for her, for she still holds a generous amount after centuries of serving as an Evoker in the Genedar. On Draenor, she aided the Artificers as an assistant. Though not an engineer, her Arcane knowledge provided some necessary and quite rewarding experiences. It was with them that she had also perfected her enchantments. With them, she found warmth. A warmth that she dearly misses to this day.

 

Within the Halls, after crossing a series of lethal traps, Isratael marveled the embroidered golden walls on which dust has hardly taken away the magnificence of the architects behind their creation. But her enthusiasm, which had subsided her jaded stare, quickly turned into a louring gasp. Japed by fate once again, a lone demon freely stumbled upon the group while it was assaulting the source of the local Mogu’s desire to protect. Truly a test for Isratael’s patience, which she had failed.

Pointing her staff at the imp, ready to bring the creature back to whatever Imp Mother it crawled out of, she was not in the mood for mercy towards a foul stench without a known master. With no summoner in sight to keep the demon contained and chained to mortals’ desires, with Argus quite near Azeroth, during such a crisis of universal scale with a full threatening demonic invasion. The Draenei was not taking any risks. However, it was one of the Pandaren that averted the demise. The leader of the Fallen Leaf nonetheless! Perplexed by the way the warrior shown some mercy to the lone demon, Isratael had no choice but to recognize that the demon did belonged to someone within their group that wasn’t present. As such, it was of her peers’ interest if the demon was not to be slain.

Of course, hypocrisy is no stranger to even the most serene of races.

 

Once the group was to return to a local village, after a successful campaign, on their way to the outside ruins; a hymn echoed in the walls like a smoothing balm on one’s soul. It taunted the fiend with a melody that it could not endure. A prayer that healed, coming from a Mogu that stood tall in front of the exit. A challenge to one’s preconception that these warmongering brutes dwell with shadow magic, to bend spirits for their own twisted creations.

No, this Mogu chanted and invoked the Light into the Halls. Was it an enemy if it was recovering their wounds? A Human cursed to become a Worgen, provoked by the Scythe of Elune, asked the same question. But instead of clinging to his humanity, he allowed himself to be blinded by his loyalty to his own leader. Against the Draenei’s pled, the Worgen silenced the chanter. And thus the Light ceased to come from an unexpected source.

Surrounded by mercenaries who were wounded and broken, none questioned the action that the cursed human took. No one questioned their leader, who had shown mercy to a foul lonesome demon. Yet, without a thought, without much of a charade to understand the last Mogu that stood and did not fought back.. no compassion was given for the fallen defiant of its own kind. No other.. than the Draenei who stood behind, after scowling the humanoid mercenary worg that felt little remorse for what he had done. Still, with hope that the Mogu could still be saved, the Draenei placed her hand on the mortal wound to bring it back to life. Using the gift bestowed to her people by the Naaru, it was already too late. Even thought the Light reached the wound and closed it, the soul had already departed from the Mogu’s rough body.

 

Mercy for the foul demons, that have enslaved thousands of worlds across the Dark Beyond. Merciless for an insignificant race of brute conquerors that only reside on a single continent on a much wider planet. The priority of a mercenary, where the coin lies. Abstracting one’s consciousness, an individual’s morals are those of a soldier that follows the voice of a dictator. A dictator believes in their own set of morals and laws, the others are expected to follow without questioning. For a mercenary, questioning means to lose a meal or two. To provide less for themselves and maybe for their own family. Selfish in nature, they would bring an end to an innocent’s future if they were paid enough to do so.

A mercenary cannot be trusted. Leaves that float in the air, drifted by the unpredictable wind and falling on the streams of eternal golden bliss that never come to an end; the water cycle on which the river is the journey and the deep blue ocean is the finale that is easily forgotten. The question remains, is Isratael a Lotus in this metaphor?

 

 

The actions that took place within the Guo-Lai Halls were not easily dismissed. This was, after all, one of the first opportunities to cooperate with two distinct groups of traders and mercenaries. The hypocrisy was too much to handle, as much as the unwillingness of her peers to question these events. Reminded by the tales and sorrow that her most memorable acquaintance expressed to her in the Jade Forest, of those who enslaved her people, her actions were based on generosity at first. But after being formally shunned by Mesoora a few weeks beforehand, her goodwill was fading. The looming feeling of loneliness and detachment from those around her, perhaps fogged by the apparent need to accept any group that took interest in her.
Yet, when it was the opportunity for this new group of acquaintances, that she very much desired to be part of in hope that she would had a new lot to call family; to listen to her plead.. they did not listen.

A selfish myopic group. One that she, after a week of isolation within the inn of Mystfall Village, had come to the conclusion that they were not worthy.

 

Her pilgrimage continues.
However, not without leaving a note to the innkeeper of the Mystfall Village, resembling the same level of professionalism on which was used by the Silver Serpent to contact her. With it, she also trusted the innkeeper with two pairs of beautifully crafted cherry-tree wooden chopsticks, that held a familiar large perfectly cut yellow Topaz gem on one of the tips of each stick. Lastly, two black leather bracelets which contain a grey Hematite each.

 

Trusting that the note will be delivered to her former employers, together with the items, it reads:

 

There is a valley where dreamers sleep,

Where flowers bloom and willows weep,

Where loamy earth springs life anew,

And waters sparkle, clear and blue,

Where every hearth brings peaceful ease,

And beauty sings on every breeze.

 

Here the Sacred Pools spring pure

Here, seek any who desire cure

Holy, nature, powers divine,

Turn death to life, death to life.

 

Signed,

Isratael

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link

 

 

Azure’s Hope Garrison

Somewhere near Azure Watch, in the Azuremist Isles, a Garrison had been built in a former town made for the refugee’s of the Shattering.

The Human made stone walls, held with the lumber from the wildest and unexplored areas of the isles. A certain chemistry between the might of the Alliance and the kindness and protection of the Draenei. A strong bound between those who made the isles their home and the ancient alien race. These few humans, orphans and widows of the Eastern Kingdom, did not return to their homeland. Without a family, they have rooted themselves in their improvised town within the isles. And during the invasion of the Legion upon this world, this small garrison was built by humans to preserve themselves and aid the Draenei in these troublesome times.

The tales of a vessel, a Draenei ship, have been echoed across the isles. The Vindicaar, an instrument of retribution that will provide a path to the destruction of the Burning Legion within Argus itself. Now that Argus has been brought closer to Azeroth than ever, the Draenei and some members of the Alliance are preparing themselves for one last sacrifice for the greater good!

 

Soon, it shall be Azeroth, with their prophetic Army of the Light, who will invade the demonic home planet. For the Draenei, this is more than the destruction of these devils. Argus was, after all, their former home. Most of the Eredar became known as Man’ari, once they sold their own race to the Burning Legion. The Eredar, who did not fall for the whispers of the Dark Titan became known as the Draenei.

Isratael, a traveling Draenei Enchantress and Jewelcrafter, which her pilgrimage had brought her to Pandaria and the Jade Forest; saw Argus being brought closer to Azeroth.

Without knowing what that green fel riddled monstrosity in the skies was, for she was not born in Argus; she could only deduce that it was a planet or illusion created or conquered by the Legion. Fear came to her, knowing that war had just begun and that this current demonic wave was not going to be tamed, despise the number of fiends being contained mostly within the Broken Isles.

Even so, given that emotion controlled her voice and actions, she was the one that contacted her brother this time. With haste, her brother answered the call and brought her to a familiar town. This is where she lived briefly before she began her pilgrimage, aiding the Human refugees. With the assistance of a much more powerful and talented mage, Isratael crossed the portal and arrived to Azure’s Hope.

 

 

Judgement Day

 

Upon arrival, on the other side of the Portal, Isratael was able to travel between continents and opposite hemisphere in a mere step. Once surrounded by Jade and tall trees, within a Pandaren town known as Dawn Blossom; where most of the people were confused, weeping and questioning their sanity upon the discovery of a green flaming celestial body.. now she was within a Human made barracks. A wide room, perhaps too empty. On the wooden walls, shields and weapons adorned the war room.

 

She gazed around her, trying to understand where she was. Soon, she felt a gentle touch upon her shoulderpad. A familiar Draenei, much taller than her and perhaps just as tall as her own brother. Her skin light, a contrast to Isratael’s own dark purple skin. Her hair long, a talented Illusionist that radiated beauty and subtly. Her name was Mesoora, a Draenei that has lived for nearly twenty millennia. An example to many aspiring magicians. A motherly figure to the abandoned orphans, one that grew to love Isratael’s brother and has a soft spot for Isratael herself.

“Good evening, Isratael. It has been a while.” spoke Messora, kindly gesturing Isratael to turn and face her. Unsure if Isratael wanted to be hugged or kissed, she merely smiled in grace. The grand Illusionist appeared calm, despise the celestial body looming in the sky and bringing dread to Azeroth. Perhaps that is what an Illusionist is, someone that knows how to hide, to conceal and to be courteous. That stroke a nerve, Isratael was always skeptical of her brother’s new lover.

“Greetings.. Mesoora.” stared Isratael, her expression still reflecting her confusion and now an envious seed on her heart that bloomed a cynical eye. “Where’s Ytaaru. He.. spoke to me. He answered my call.”

 

Mesoora blinked, a sigh escaped through her turquoise lips. From within her silver embroidered long sleeve, she revealed the very same enchanted aquamarine crystal that Isratael had left behind a few years ago to her family. “I apologize for the deception..”

“Where is he, Mesoora? We haven’t talked since..”

“You never answered his call to arms.” bluntly interrupted Mesoora. She tilted her head upwards, exposing some self perceiving superiority over Isratael. Perhaps, from this Illusionist’s perspective, she was Isratael’s mother. She felt in a position that she could discipline her daughter. Unfortunately for Mesoora, Isratael did not felt such bound. Instead, Mesoora appeared pretentious at best. Snob at worst.

But such emotions were overshadowed by the fact that the Illusionist was right. Isratael never answered the call to arms, given to her when she was in Kharanos, Dun Morogh.

 

On the day that the Legion began their invasion upon Azeroth, Isratael declined her brother’s call to protect their own father in the Azuremyst Isle. A continent away, Isratael remained with the dwarves. To protect Jagda Hammerstone’s family. A gesture to a new friend, to a new bound that meant so much for Isratael. A figure she could learn from, a dwarf widow who adored her family. One that still lives.. unlike Isratael’s father which died two days after the call by the fangs of a felhound.

A funeral Isratael was prohibited to attend, a farewell that was never given to the Draenei that stood next to her when she had lost her own husband. Another crack on her vase, slowly turning into stone. Like venom, dulling the senses and paralyzing our emotions until there is nothing left but a husk of someone which was once kind and filled with life.

Isratael stood silent, blaming herself for choosing to protect the Dwarves rather than her own family. Her tired gaze lowering, not even a murmur came from her side.

 

To break this silence, Mesoora lowered herself to Isratael’s height. A kiss on her forehead, perhaps a sympathetic one. Her fingertips massaged Isratael’s cheek, expecting a tear to roll.  A tear that never arrived. The Illusionist felt intimidated by such, narrowing her vision “Why didn’t you came? Why do you believe that, now with Argus standing in front of Azeroth, to be the opportunity to repair a broken bridge?”

“A-Argus?!” Isratael shouted, surprised by such revelation. She took a few steps back, away from Mesoora’s grasp and embrace. Her hand resting upon her chest, shocked. “How?!”

“I.. don’t know. And it is none of your business! You have abandoned your kind, your family. You.. have grown cold.” Mesoora expressed, perhaps with more sadness carried in her tone than what she had expected. The fact that Isratael did not break into tears just a few moments ago still loomed her judgement. “You.. have no family here. I am all that Ytaaru has.”

Isratael was unable to contain her emotions any longer, feeling the pressure from the judge, from a Draenei that only met her three times in her entire life. “W-Who are you to judge me? You only have been with my brother for nearly two years. Your opinions are worthless compared to the millennia that I’ve spent with him! Where is Ytaaru?!”

 

In anger, the otherwise noble Illusionist throw the enchanted aquamarine crystal to the floor, crushing it to shards with her bare hoof. A sudden swift of mood that surprised even the doubting sister of the vindicator. “Begone! You have made us suffer long enough.. I’ll not allow you to wither the light within Ytaaru with your constant doubts and fears! I wanted to see some humility..”

Under Isratael’s hooves, unknown to her given the volatile nature of Mesoora, the Illusionist was preparing a telemancy spell. She continued to howl, to shame the younger mage “You do not belong in our army. Nothing but a wretched, preying on other people’s emotions and good intentions.. and when you no longer need them, you no longer care.”

 

The enchantress could not speak, for she did not knew what to say. Her eyes were widened, now the tears could be seen. Isratael understood that Mesoora was genuine in her words, vulnerable to the criticism of her own character. Deep down, Isratael doubted herself and began to consider Mesoora’s words. Perhaps.. the illusionist was right. Perhaps Isratael has always been the demon that haunted their family for quite some time. Responsible for the death of her own husband, her father. Maybe the death of her own mother.

Maybe Isratael needed to stay away from Ytaaru. But before Isratael could bring her thoughts to sound, Mesoora already had activated the spell that brought Isratael to the center of the Jade Forest.

“I’m..” Isratael paused, realizing quickly that she was no longer in front of Mesoora.

 

 

Though the Draenei tried to reach for her own aquamarine crystal, the rune bound to the gift to her family had disappeared.  She had lost contact with her family that day, abandoned in Pandaria like an orphan. A widow. An outcast. Broken.. yet the light remained in her.

A pilgrim, alone in a foreign land. Aimlessly, a daring sign in the skies to remind her what she had learned. Yet, the example of the elderly dwarf gave her comfort. Could it be that her place was among those from this world rather than her own kind? Did she still had a family?

 

For some reason, those questions slowly began to no longer matter.

Ytaaru will have the family that he deserves, with Mesoora.. or so Isratael started to believe while she tried to find Dawn’s Blossom once again. And from there, her pilgrimage continued, leading her to a vale that had lost its glory. A new tale being brewed among traders and mercenaries.

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link

 

 

Dun Morogh

The mountainous snowy peaks of Dun Morogh, known for the Khaz Mountains. The center of Dwarven and Gnomish culture and ingenuity. Ironforge and Gnomeregan are the capitals that have hosted thousands of explorers, thinkers and skilled crafters from the Alliance. Most inventions are brought to live in this region, built from the very same minerals that are dug deep from the quarries within the mountains.

Both the Bronzebeard Dwarves and Gnomes have been allies with one another for centuries. Now with the Dwarven clans united; the region is only threatened by the Troggs and Wendigo buried deep underground, the Frostmane Trolls that wish to control the elements and wild life with their voodoo and, lastly, Thermaplugg and his army of leper gnomes that currently reside in Gnomeregan.

With the recent invasion of the Burning Legion upon Azeroth, this region has been one of the most affected by the demonic crusade, excluding the Broken Isles. Though most has been dealt with, this story is a reminder of the events that have unraveled during the peak of this tainted avalanche of death.

Isratael, a traveling Draenei Enchantress and Jewelcrafter, who had been on her pilgrimage for more than two years at the time; was in the Dwarven town of Kharanos. The search for rare minerals and gems lead her to this town. Though her goal was to trade in Ironforge, she had heard of a fabled Dwarven miner and archaeologist that was visiting his homeland. His knowledge of this world was vast and, perhaps, he could provide her with some knowledge.

 

 

A brother’s Call to Arms

 

Galthorm Hammerstone, member of the Explorer’s League. A fine middle aged archaeologist from the town of Kharanos, from a humble miner family background. His curriculum vast, gaining some notoriety in his excavations in Uldaman and, more importantly, Ulduar! In recent years however, he has been digging for artifacts with his guild once again in the Badlands. Denied with the opportunity to venture into a savage unknown land on another parallel timeline given his age, his life became more stable and tame.

In these last few weeks, word has spread that his latest expedition was over and, once again, he returned to his hometown to share the tales and discoveries he had made about the ruins underneath the earth. With a ram packed with gifts and prospected minerals, he was ready to sell the leftovers of his excavation as well to those that desired. Isratael was one of them.

 

The archaeologist had made himself comfortable in his family’s house. With his vast number of cousins and uncles, he did not lacked company! However, at certain days, he was open for business in his family’s foundry. Given Galthorm’s fame, his family has been able to afford having their own modest forge and to craft their own metals out of the ore. In fact, one of Galthorm’s aunts was a Jewelcrafter, who worked alongside other Metalsmiths. Her name was Jagda Hammerstone. This was the dwarf that Isratael approached.

Jagda gladly accepted Isratael’s plead, entertainment by the thought that she would be spending time with someone that is from a race that is much more ancient than her own. In return Jagda only asked to be rewarded by the tales and knowledge that were unique to a Draenei. Of the worlds she had seen, visited. Her own techniques, as a jewelcrafter.

And so Isratael stayed, for nearly two weeks. Working alongside an elderly dwarf, creating rings and necklaces from precious and semi-precious stones. The two formed a bond rather quickly, sharing the grief of losing their spouse. In fact, Jagda’s spouse was an Earthen Ring Shaman, a Wildhammer Dwarf. Given her spouse’s connection with the Earthen Elements and her own Hammerstone lineage, she had decided to become a Jewelcrafter. In memory of her past relationship with a sturdy fool who had given his life to protect the World Pillar, in Deepholm.

 

 

In one of those cold evenings, after a day’s work, Jagda invited Isratael for a brief walk. The elderly widow still had strength in her legs, creating an healthy habit of walking around town during the night in order to not fall ill and inactive. Most of the populace was still awake, despise the cold. After all, it was still summer and the locals are used to much harsher temperatures that are brought in during winter.

Wearing a wolf’s fur-lined leather coat, Isratael accompanied the dwarf. They walked together to a more secluded area of the town, the outskirts. And in the outskirts, Isratael found herself in a small graveyard. This was not the first time Isratael was invited to visit this particular graveyard.

I had lost hope.” said the elderly Dwarf with her comforting Dwarven accent, gazing at the tombstone that paid homage to the death of her spouse. Though she looked older than the Draenei next to her, it was Isratael who had lived for a few millennia… compared to the nearly two hundred from the dwarf. “But I’ve survived, haven’t I? I never would have guessed that, at this age, I coul’ find an’ befriend a foreign like ye’.

We are survivors, Jagda..” muttered the Draenei with a shiver, the shadows and chill of the night reaching to her knees. Like a spirit, the cold trespassed the holy grounds of one’s undergarments. In Isratael’s mind, she wondered how the Dwarves managed to survive on these mountains for all these years. Her coat was within her grasp, wrapping her dark purple skin tightly.

.. Yet ya’fear the dead?” Jagda questioned, adjusting Isratael’s coat from behind. Unlike the Draenei; most Dwarves, including Jagda, were wearing their summer short sleeved clothing and leather.

I do not. But I do fear a broken heart. There is so much that one can take before their heart turns to stone!” whimpered Isratael, deciding to turn her gaze at the moist soil underneath her hooves. “A heart that has turned into stone cannot allow the Light to penetrate its core.

“My, aren’t ya’ a scholar? Isn’t ya’ kind gifted? What’s this talk abou’ losing ya’ faith?”

 

The gift of the Naaru, a gift to the Draenei from a race of angelic beings made of pure Light. A gift that allows the Draenei to never forget about their past as people, as uncorrupted Eredar exiles who did not fall for the diabolical temptations of the Burning Legion. The Draenei have every reason to be proud of their gift, to be part of the prophetic vision of an army that will stand against the fel corrupted, the Army of the Light.

Isratael, despise the memories that torment her, is aware of this. “You’re right.. Jagda. And what faith do you have?

I have faith that my family will live, that’ll learn from my mistakes. That they’ll take care of me the same way I do to them. That everyday I get up t’prepare our dinin’ table, with their favorite brew.. that they’ll learn what love truly means. So that they, too, can find someone that loves them jus’as much as me!” answered Jagda. Though there was uncertainty in her words, with certain hesitation.. she was able to bring her answer to a rather satisfying conclusion that brought a faint resemblance of a smile on her dry lips.

The words chosen by the elder brought a grin to Isratael’s face. Despise the shrouding mists of doubt clouding her thoughts, to the point of making her indevout; her love for her father still shined brightly. But so did the dread of losing yet another family member “You remind me of my father.. I aspire to be like you one day. Able to move on, bring hope to others.

Ya’ can never move on from such a burden, lass.. but ya’ can teach others how to survive and not’ta be swallowed with grief.

 

Grief.

As the evening turned into darkness and most of the Dwarves walked to their own houses, so did Isratael followed the Dwarven matriarch. This was not the first time Isratael heard these words. The speech and life lessons from the experienced. The voices from those who had suffered, they too have lost and continue to wither with the passage of time. Life is like an orchestra that has a climax, accompanied by the lyrics of a poet who is constantly improvising yet ends up repeating the same chorus over and over when in doubt. And we, the audience, desire to yield the baton and make the orchestra our own. Yet, like fools who never learn from history, we keep falling for the inevitable pits made by our own worst fears, like a self fulfilling prophecy. And thus the chorus repeats and the audience griefs.

Is it us who truly hold the baton? Or is it our nature that compromises our destiny?

 

 

It was during that night that Isratael had received a dire message from her brother, while she slept on the floor on top of a white furred bear rug and surrounded by a few small cushions. Her staff, enchanted and containing a complex set of elaborate arcanic runes that held a perfectly designed Aquamarine crystal, beamed with an aura that only she could recognize. Her family was trying to contact her.

Given that she was asleep, she took her time to take hold of the crystal from her staff. Activating the runes, a voice could be heard from within. It was her brother, Ytaaru.

 

Ytaaru is much older than her. Before her, Ytaaru had other siblings which, from Isratael’s perspective, were half-siblings from their mother’s side. Ytaaru was her only brother and her relationship with her half-siblings has always been scarce. Some of them had long died while others remained. As far as Isratael was concerned, she is aware that there’s at least two of them that decided to abandon the Light and choke themselves with the tainted blood of the Legion’s corruption.

He is a zealot, a fearful paladin. A vindicator, member of the Hand of Argus. His intimidating silhouette makes him a wall and a blazing protector of the Light. Truly a judge that delivers retribution to those who fail to prove their alignment with the vision of the Prophet. Goal driven, his faith is strong and he’ll stop at nothing to fulfill the prophecy that’ll save countless of worlds and realms from the twisted claws of fiends.

 

The voice from within the crystal spoke with authority:

Isratael, it’s Ytaaru, your brother. I’m sending this message to you, hoping that you’ll heed my call…

… the legion, they have invaded this world! They have already arrived to the isles. Remember your people, our people, the vision.

Do not abandon us, Isratael. Forget your pilgrimage and join us! In the light, we are one.. always remember that.

Protect our father. Do not fail the Prophet, do not fail me!

I can ask one of our mages to create a portal for you to come, since you cannot. Tell me where you are, I’ll make sure they’ll do so!

… I’m counting on you… sister!

 

Shocked by the news, Isratael gently placed the crystal on the rug with a trembling hand. Clenching one of the smaller pillows, tears prudently erupted on the room she was in by herself. Using the very same cheap pillow to weep, her worst fears came to reality. She wasn’t ready to face death, yet another war. Perhaps another great lost?

Many questions came to mind while she suffered. If the Burning Legion started to invade Azeroth once again, would this mean that the demons were to invade Dun Morogh? If so, should she stay and aid the Dwarves? What of her father? Why would the demons invade this world now? If she warned the Dwarves of Kharanos, would they believe and prepare themselves for the invasion? Would this town be spared? Was she to die in this town herself among the Dwarves? What of Exodar, her people?

 

Doubt shrouded her judgement and she could not think of an answer to her questions. Grasping her staff, placing the crystal on its rightful place, she walked outside the Hammerstone’s house without making a noise. The night sky was clear and there was yet to be a sign of a demonic invasion. Without a coat, she shivered yet she was blinded by her emotions. She needed some time to think, to consider. To ponder. Would her people, her family.. forgive her if she were to stay and protect the Hammerstone family? Would her family be dead once the invasion was over?

The snow on her hooves, on her knees, wet, ever melting for the lack of a storm for nearly a week. Her palms keeping her balance, the lack of energy. The lack of will and the most important question lingering in the air “Why me?

 

A Call to Arms, yet to be answered.

 

 

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Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim

 

 

Azuremyst Isle

For centuries, the Azuremyst Isles remained mostly free from the influence of sapient settlers. The indigenous natives were left to their own devices and wars among themselves. Ruins of ancient civilizations, such as the Night Elves, can be seen on certain areas. Abandoned for millennia, for the fauna to grow and for the barbarians to pillage and defile these lands without any form of punishment.

The Night Elves abandoned these isles for thousands of years, in favor of the land closer to the continent of Kalimdor. Though very few families remained to live in solitude; Furbolgs, Murlocs and Owlbeasts were the only creatures that formed tribes that had a significant presence. That changed, when one of the most ancient sapient races arrived to Azeroth from the Great Dark Beyond. Crashing, their dimensional ship became their capital city. Exodar is the name of this ship, once part of a greater structure known as the Tempest Keep.

With the arrival of such powerful and intelligent race, the Draenei made the Azuremyst Isles their home. Joining the Alliance, they have used their knowledge of the Burning Legion to the advantage of their allies and for the safety and survival of the entire universe. Devoted followers of the Light, like shining almost immortal knights that have lived for thousands of years; their technology and unmatched knowledge of all things magical has left a message to all of those that stand in their way and the way of their Prophet: They are part of the Army of the Light.

The Draenei are survivors that have gained the favor of the Naaru, escaping the grasp of the demonic Burning Legion time and time again. Unlike the other Eredar, they have avoided the temptations and whispers from Sargeras and his minions.

 

This is the story of the Draenei, that now reside in the Azuremyst Isle. In an alien world, they have adjusted to their new environment. It hasn’t been the first time they had to travel to unknown lands. It has been more than six years since they came to Azeroth.

Isratael is one of the few Draenei that have made this far. An Arcanist mage, specialized Enchanter, who has recently taken interest in Jewelcrafting. A pilgrim, who has decided to finally broaden her horizon and learn more about this new planet and their inhabitants.

Before her pilgrimage, two years ago, she wrote a long letter addressed to her family. Placing it on her table, on one of the few settlements near Azure Watch that was specifically built to make home for the refugees of the Cataclysm. She had a cottage of her own, next to her brother’s.

Her father used to visit her once a week and she expected him to be the first one to read. This is the letter that she wrote…

 

 

A letter of a pilgrim

 

Father,

I am writing this letter to you and to our beloved ones. I am sure that you must be filled with hope now that I have finally decided to leave this cottage. However, there is no point in asking those around you about my whereabouts. I left early, before those feathered critters of this land could wake up a few of the humans that have made these islands as their new home as well. I’m sure that my dear brother Ytaaru will not even notice that I’ve left..

 

Thank you, father. For visiting me as much as you did! I am sure your heart still hasn’t recovered from the lost. Which is why you, more than anyone from our family, understand the pain of losing our “other half”. I.. didn’t want to face this new world, I didn’t want to embark on a new war. I’ve avoided it, missing the warmth of my husband’s embrace. His blood was warm and filled with hope! He made me feel loved, safe and ready to aid our armies. Without him, I felt as if the Light had abandoned me as well..

You have grown stronger since the day that we’ve lost mother in Gorgrond. I still cannot look at the Rangari without thinking of her! I am sure that you too; even more than I, since I have seen the way that you clench your fist subtly and briefly when you see one of them. But you always have been stubborn, I know since I am too. You decided to still serve them, to craft and repair their weapons and armor!

This, however, is the difference between you and I. You are not only stubborn, but you can look at a clefthoof in the eyes and face it head on, even if your tears are rolling from the pain within. I am not like that, and you know it too. I am stubborn, but I hide. Which is why Ytaaru has given up on me..

 

Ytaaru has always been special, hasn’t he? He probably never enjoyed the fact that you have spent more time with me than himself. He has been spoiled by his peers, a powerful vindicator. The Light is strong in him, his faith unbreakable. He has always been more stubborn than the both of us and he probably thinks that our tears are distracting him from his devotion. Maybe.. that is why sometimes I feel as if the Light as forsaken me. Maybe I look at him as if he’s a Naaru and I was the demon that carries the shards of the past.

He tried to aid me, I know of that. He gave me this human cottage, next to his, to force me away from Exodar and from the memories of the past. The opportunity to aid our new allies who have suffered too, who have also lost their loved ones from the claws of the one that they used to call The Destroyer. Though this dragon has been defeated, the scars are still burning in the flesh of these people.

I appreciate his attempt.. I have learned more about this world by speaking to these humans. But it did not healed me from the wound in my frail heart, Ytaaru knows that and, for that reason, has given up on me.

However, you have not. Once a week, you visit me all the way from Exodar. I have seen that they have rebuilt most of it..

 

I too need to be rebuilt anew. And you, father, have always been wise! While my brother wanted me to know I wasn’t the only one suffering the lost of a beloved and to have more faith in the Light, you wanted to grasp the shards of my past and shape my fragments into a beautiful enchanted crystal. I’m not that naive, I’ve noticed your intentions when you decided to offer me a Jeweler’s Kit. As if a hobby was going to distract me away from my thoughts.

No, father. What has given me hope was not the kit, or the refugees. It was your determination, your good intentions driven by the love you have for your children. Witnessing Exodar being rebuilt, it made me feel that it is time for me to live my life once again. That there is still time to learn, to dream and to meet new people!

 

I have decided to go on a pilgrimage. To take this Jeweler’s Kit, the one you offered me. To perfect this new skill. To form new memories, a new hope. I have heard that the races of this world are survivors as well, that they have suffered from too many wars! I want to meet them, regardless of the colors that they wear. I am sure that you understand.

Worry not, father, I have left you an enchanted aquamarine crystal bellow my pillow. Take it, it is connected to the staff that I have made together with you on your forge! Hold it firmly, press the edges gently with your thumb and pinky. A rune will be revealed and you’ll have to touch it quickly before it vanishes. Once you do, it will be bound to you. Use it whenever you feel the need to talk to me.

This is not a farewell. I will never abandon my family.. you are not alone! Whatever happens, know that you are loved, the same way that I know that you’ll always love your children.

 

Signed,

Isratael

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[English and Portuguese] HEY! Watchtower!

(I know this featured image is kinda of a mess but I really enjoyed creating it regardless!) 

(Para quem não sabe ler Inglês, a versão em Português encontra-se no final.)

 

ENGLISH

 

 

Hello everyone. Another African heat wave for this weekend, hope you are taking care of yourselves by staying fresh!

Speaking of heat, today’s topic is no other than our beloved cult, the Jehovah Witnesses! Let’s get started right away because my fingers are eager to release what’s going on in my mind and how naughty and cruel some Jehovah Witnesses have been. In short, it’s time to expose and express!

 

As some of my readers are well aware, I have been officially “disfellowshipped” for nearly a year and a half. If you are unaware of what that exactly means, I have wrote a few blog posts about it. This is not the blog post to define and reinforce expressions and aspects of my experience with this cult that I have already done so on other posts! If you somehow get confused and you don’t seem to understand what I’m going to write here.. it’s easy. Go read those other blog posts.

 

As people are also aware, despise being “disfellowshipped”, I am still allowed to live with my parents. The elders in my parents’ new congregation are aware of that and they don’t advise or pressure them to abandon me. In fact, quite the opposite! The reason is obvious. I lack the necessary income to live on my own and I’m doing my transition.. so I can’t be on my own and need to live with someone in the meantime. Plus, my parents love me too much to just.. abandon me.

Obviously, I am very grateful that they have moved to another congregation which, fortunately, have elders who are more kind and merciful. They did the right thing when they changed congregations after I was “disfellowshipped”, since the local congregation on which I and my family belonged.. is quite toxic (even for Jehovah Witnesses’ standards). That also includes most of the congregations that reunite in the same kingdom hall; who share the same petty, gossiper and judgmental mentality. In this new congregation, however, they now go to another kingdom hall entirely. And from what I’ve heard, the Jehovah Witnesses there are much nicer people. I’m quite glad and pleased to know that, I hope my parents are happier there (and from what I can tell, they are)!

 

However, there has been something that has been annoying me of late. Annoying me? Perhaps it’s best to say that I don’t remember being this annoyed over someone or some group since my teenage years and the usual school dramas! It could be because of my current “pseudo puberty”, I won’t exclude that explanation as to why there’s a certain need to expose and do something about this injustice.

 

To better explain what’s causing this anger within, it’s best to keep in mind as to what being “disfellowshipped” actually means and translates to my daily life. It means that Jehovah Witnesses can’t talk to me, that I lost every contact with them. All my friends, that are Jehovah Witnesses, are gone from my life; without a proper farewell.

Just that by itself, knowing that their reasoning for “disfellowshipping” me is quite pathetic and incredibly ignorant (I got “disfellowshipped” because I decided to transition.. basically), should be enough to make most people’s hearts turn sour and bitter. Fortunately, given that I still have my family, I got fairly used to the idea that most of those people no longer talk to me. Like I’ve said on another topic, the only people that I dearly miss from this cult.. are that one family I met in the United States. Besides that, I really don’t care that much. It’s their lost, not mine.

Some people might think this approach is quite cold and that I don’t really attach myself to every person in my life that easily. That some people are easily forgotten, that will never be missed.. even though they have been in my life for a long time. I honestly don’t attach myself to every person in my life, nor do I get bitter enough to the point of hating those who do me wrong. Hate is a strong word that I try to avoid and, even when I use it sometimes (as I did once on this blog not so long ago), it’s mostly me venting a frustration and a way to inform people that they have done (or are doing) something terrible and utterly despicable.

I don’t have time to hate people. I blandly ignore their existence (if I can) and move on with my life. So, in a way, the fact that Jehovah Witnesses are supposed to ignore my existence is, by itself, not wrong in my eyes. What is wrong is the excuse as to why they are doing so and demanding that every member of the cult to do so as well.

But, like I said, I got used to it. As long people don’t remind me of those that I really miss, I lead a “mostly normal” life and don’t think about these things at all! Why bother? I have more things to think about. My family, my (true) friends, my job, my transition, my hobbies, my future, etc..

 

 

But now I’m actually angry. I’m mad. And I’ll explain why.

It has come to my attention that these local Jehovah Witnesses, from the same kingdom hall where the local congregations reunite (as in, not my parents’ new congregation and kingdom hall), have been, bluntly put, talking shit about me and my family.

Alright, so let me get this straight:

  • You “disfellowship” me. 
  • You can’t talk to me, I can’t talk to you. Harsh but alright, if that makes you happy.. sure.
  • If I say anything “bad” or that goes against your believes, I’m an apostate. Okay.. sure.
  • But you are free to gossip and slander me and my family’s name across the globe.

Okay, now you are just pushing your luck and the boundaries of what I find acceptable or, at least, bearable!

Listen here, you cultists. I am fairly aware that you are, indeed, slandering me across the globe. I know that as a fact since people from (quite almost literally, no joke or exageration) on the other side of the world, have came to me out of nowhere, to talk to me and, among other things that we’ve talked about, they have said that they have heard things about me.. from YOU. Bad things, though they didn’t went to specifics as to what exactly or who said it.. except “the local Jehovah Witnesses“. Fortunately, these people were kind enough to warn me about it and they did say they didn’t enjoyed hearing my name being slandered like that.. which is why they’ve talked to me. How ironic, that these Jehovah Witnesses, from the other side of the globe, came to talk to me about how terrible you troublesome fools are!

I ask, is there a need to spread your poison, about me in specific, to another continent?! These people would never likely interact with me ever again anyway, given how unlikely that would be (they live on another continent, they are Jehovah Witnesses, I’m “disfellowshipped”. The odds were incredibly low). Why did they need to be tainted by your venom? Tell me, you cultists, is there a need to slander me this hard all the way to another continent with an entire opposite timezone?

 

You know why you are incredibly comfortable being this shitty? Because you believe to be justified, self righteous. That being this petty and scummy is fine when you do it, because “god is on your side”. And because you know the moment I decide to open my mouth publicly about your cult.. you are going to label me as an apostate and those slanders will become more believable to the gullible!

And you KNOW I can’t really do that at the moment, because if I do open my mouth, my family is going to be pressured by the elders to.. abandon me. Since I would be labeled as an “apostate”. And that would ruin my livelihood. You manipulative assholes!

 

By the way, what’s with this gossiping that I’ve heard about you telling each others that my family is now “less spiritual” or “spiritually weak” because they have me around the house?

Let me tell you something, my lovely local cultists. Even for Jehovah Witnesses standards, you were always terrible. Which is why, even when I was devoted to your cult, I never liked spending time with you. It’s not because I was different, or because I was spiritually weak or whatever silly thought you may have in your indoctrinated brain. It was because you (local cultists) were the most toxic pieces of flesh I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with! And I have dealt with a lot of trash in my life, including schizophrenic radical vegan feminist sociopaths!

Fortunately, my parents are mature and know better, thus ignore those slanders. They turn the other cheek. Because they are good Jehovah Witnesses. So yes, by the use of your own meaningless buzzwords and immaturity, my parents are and will always be “more spiritual” than you, local cultists. Take that as you will and get mad for all I care, because reality doesn’t care for your feelings. Also, fortunately, they are in a new congregation that appears to be “more spiritual” than yours. So what are you going to do? Spread your venom there? I would love to see you try, you cretins.

 

 

Hmm.. but you know what? You actually got me truly disturbed and upset!

No.. you crossed the line of what’s acceptable. And you crossed the line of what is tolerable. And you crossed the line of what is bearable!

You have become.. insufferable. And not many people get this.. far.

Like I’ve said earlier, I usually just ignore people’s existence when they hurt me long enough. That usually helps and makes those same people go away from my life eventually. Because they either give up or they understand that I don’t want them in my life and also step back.

But you, you are different. I thought that, when you “disfellowshipped” me, there would be silence. I no longer had to think about your existence, or to endure your negativity. To tolerate your tomfoolery. You were mostly gone and that made things easy for me to move on.

 

You just can’t get away from me, can you? You have to still influence my life one way or another, the people around me. And that’s why you’ll become relevant enough to the point that I’m thinking of biting back! Because I cannot stay idle for too long. It is incredibly difficult for people to actually get me this upset, disturbed and angry over something or someone! And.. what can I say? You reached it. You’ve done it. And I’m going to do something about it!

Do you actually believe writing these blog posts is the worst I can do? No, these blog posts provide entertainment, a way to vent my frustrations and to share my thoughts with the world. In short, this website is my public pillow. I have no shame in that, in sharing what I share. It’s incredibly liberating, in fact! It’s a diary, it’s fun to look back and read some of the things I wrote!

 

 

Oh no, dear cultists.. once I’m ready to do so, you’ll hear it from me. It may take a while.. but you’ll hear it and you are not going to like it.

I’ll wait a few months, wait for my life to become more stable. Plan ahead, cool down my anger and try to rationalize and form coherent thoughts and ideas. I don’t think this is the best time of my life to go around and expose your cult for what it truly is. But once everything is settled, I will do so.

And while you wait, make sure you clean your own house from the pedophiles you have hiding in your basement before you try to slander people whose only crime was existing and have the misfortune of having a disforia. It’s incredibly hypocritical and embarrassing..

 

 

 

PORTUGUÊS

 

Olá a todos. Outra onda de calor vinda de África para este fim de semana, espero que estejam a cuidar de vocês mesmos por se manterem frescos!

Por falar de coisas quentes, o tópico de hoje não será nada mais e nada menos que o nosso culto favorito, as Testemunhas de Jeová! Sem muitas mais introduções, iremos começar já por falar desse tópico visto que os meus dedos estão empolgados por descrever o que está a acontecer na minha mente e como algumas Testemunhas de Jeová tem sido mázinhas e cruéis. Por poucas palavras, está na altura de expor e expressar alguns problemas!

 

Como alguns dos meus followers estão bem conscientes, e fui oficialmente “desassociada” já faz quase um ano e meio. Se não souberem o que isso significa, Eu escrevi alguns blog posts que falam acerca disso. Este não é um blog post onde irei definir ou reforçar expressões e aspectos da minha experiência de vida com este culto pelo qual já o fiz noutros posts! Se ficarem confusos e não tiverem capacidade para entender o que irei descrever aqui.. é fácil. Apenas têm de ler os outros blog posts.

 

Como as pessoas também devem de saber, apesar da minha “desassociação”, eu ainda tenho permissão de viver na casa dos meus pais. Os anciãos da nova congregação dos meus pais estão bem conscientes disso e não aconselham ou pressionam eles para me abandonarem. Pelo contrário! A razão é óbvia. Eu não ganho o suficiente para viver por minha conta de forma independente e estou num processo de transição.. portanto não posso mesmo estar por minha conta e dependo de outros para viver a minha vida por enquanto. Ainda mais, os meus pais amam-me muito e nunca me iriam.. abandonar-me sem mais nem menos.

Obviamente, estou muito grata de que eles mudaram de congregação que, felizmente, tem anciãos que são muito mais amorosos e sensatos. Eles fizerem bem quando decidiram mudar de congregação logo após a minha “desassociação”, visto que a congregação local onde eu e a minha família pertencíamos.. é bastante tóxica (mesmo dentro dos padrões e expectativas das Testemunhas de Jeová). Isso também incluí muitas das congregações que se reúnem no mesmo salão do reino; que partilham o mesmo comportamento mesquinho, fofoquice e julgamenteiros. Nesta nova congregação, por outro lado, eles estão num novo salão de reino. E pelo o que eu ouvi, as Testemunhas de Jeová lá são muito mais simpáticas. Estou feliz e grata por saber disso, e espero que os meus pais sejam muito felizes lá (e pelo o que posso presenciar, eu sei que estão)!

 

No entanto, existe algo que me tem deixado indignada ultimamente. Indignada? Se calhar é melhor expressar de que eu não me lembro de alguma vez estar assim tão chateada com alguém ou grupo desde a minha adolescência e a vida escolar! Pode ser devido à minha “puberdade forçada”, não vou excluir essa hipótese de ser a razão desta vontade de expor e de querer fazer algo perante esta injustiça.

 

Para explicar melhor o que está a causar esta fúria, é melhor ter em mente o que significa estar “desassociada” e como isso se traduz na minha vida diária. Significa que as Testemunhas de Jeová não podem falar comigo, que perdi todo o contacto com elas. Todas as minhas amizades, que são Testemunhas de Jeová, já não fazem parte da minha vida; sem tempo nem mesmo para despedir deles.

Só isso por si, sabendo que o raciocínio por detrás da minha “desassociação” é bastante patético e ignorante (eu fui “desassociada” devido à minha transição.. basicamente), seria o suficiente para fazer os corações de algumas pessoas ficar amargo e desgostoso. Felizmente, visto ainda ter a minha família por perto, eu fiquei habituada a essa realidade. Como disse noutro tópico, as únicas pessoas que eu sinto mesmo falta que pertencem a este culto.. é aquela família que conheci nos Estados Unidos. Para além disso, eu não estou assim tão transtornada. Eles é que ficaram a perder, não eu.

Algumas pessoas poderão pensar que esta forma de estar na vida é bastante fria e que eu não me apego às pessoas com tanta facilidade. De que algumas pessoas são fáceis de esquecer, que nunca sentirei falta delas.. mesmo apesar de estarem na minha vida durante muito tempo. Eu sinceramente não me apego a todas as pessoas na minha vida, nem fico com rancor suficiente ao ponto de as odiar quando fazem algo de mal. O ódio é algo forte que eu tento sempre evitar e, mesmo quando uso essa palavra por vezes (como o fiz num post não muito longínquo), é mais uma forma de transbordar a minha frustração e uma forma de informar as pessoas de que elas fizeram (ou continuam a fazer) algo muito terrível ou completamente horrendo.

Eu não tenho tempo nem paciência para odiar de verdade alguma pessoa. Eu apenas ignoro a existência delas (quanto possível) e sigo em frente com a minha vida. Por isso, de certa forma, o facto das Testemunhas de Jeová terem que ignorar a minha existência não é, por si mesmo, mau no meu ponto de vista. O que é mau é a razão de estarem a fazer isso e esperarem que toda a gente do culto faço exactamente o mesmo.

Mas, como disse, eu habituei-me a essa realidade. Desde que as pessoas não me façam relembrar daquilo que sinto mesmo falta, eu consigo ter uma vida “dentro da normalidade” e nem penso muito nessas coisas! Porque razão iria eu? Tenho mais coisas que pensar e preocupar. Na minha família, nas minhas (verdadeiras) amizades, o meu trabalho, os meus passatempos, o meu futuro, etc..

 

 

Mas agora estou mesmo zangada. Estou furiosa. E irei explicar porquê.

Chegou à minha atenção de que estas Testemunhas de Jeová locais, do mesmo salão do reino onde a congregação local se reúne (por outras palavras, não na nova congregação e salão do reino onde os meus pais agora pertencem), estão, de forma directa e rude, a dizer merda acerca de mim e da minha família.

Portanto, a ver se eu percebi bem:

  • Vocês “desassociaram-me”. 
  • Vocês não podem falar comigo, eu não posso falar com vocês. Doloroso mas tudo bem, se vos faz sentir felizes.. continuem.
  • Se eu abrir a boca e falar “mal” ou dizer algo que vai contra as vossas crenças, sou apóstata. Okay.. interessante.
  • Mas vocês estão livres de criar fofoquices e de caluniar a mim e ao nome da minha família pelos cantos do mundo.

Okay, agora sim estão a abusar com a vossa sorte e os limites daquilo que eu acho aceitável ou pelo menos, suportável!

Oiçam-me bem, seus cultistas. Eu tenho consciência plena que vocês, sem dúvida, estão a caluniar-me nos cantinhos do mundo. Eu sei disso como facto absoluto porque houve pessoas que (quase literalmente de forma plena, sem exageros) vivem no outro lado do mundo, que falaram comigo do nada e, das várias coisas que falámos, eles expressaram que ouviram coisas com respeito a mim.. de VOCÊS. Coisas ruins, apesar de não me terem dito o quê e quem em específico.. excepto “as Testemunhas de Jeová na localidade”. Felizmente, estas pessoas foram simpáticas o suficiente para me avisar com respeito a isso e disseram que não gostaram nada das calúnias que foram ditas contra mim.. sendo uma das razões pelo qual falaram comigo. Que irónico, que estas Testemunhas de Jeová, do outro lado do mundo, vieram falar comigo acerca do quão horríveis e problemáticos vocês, como tolos, são!

Eu pergunto, existe mesmo necessidade de espalharem o vosso veneno, acerca de mim em específico, a um outro continente?! Estas pessoas nunca iriam interagir comigo de qualquer forma, seria muito improvável isso acontecer (eles vivem num outro continente, são Testemunhas de Jeová, estou “desassociada”. A probabilidade era minúscula). Porque razão eles precisavam ficar envenenados com o vosso veneno? Digam-me, seus cultistas de meia-leca, existe alguma necessidade de caluniar-me desta forma tão agressiva para o outro lado do mundo com um horário quase oposto ao nosso?

 

Sabem porque razão vocês sentem-se tão confortáveis apesar de serem tão repugnantes? Porque vocês acreditam que o vosso comportamento é justificável, seus hipócritas. Que serem tão mesquinhos e reles faz sentido quando são vocês a sê-lo, porque “deus está no vosso lado”. E porque sabem que, no momento que eu decidir abrir a minha boca e informar o público com respeito ao vosso culto.. vocês vão me acusar de ser apóstata e as vossas calúnias vão ser mais fáceis de serem engolidas pelos incrédulos!

E vocês SABEM que eu não posso fazer isso neste momento, porque se eu abrir a minha boca, a minha família vai ser pressionada pelos anciãos para.. me abandonarem. Porque seria acusada de “apóstata”. E isso iria arruinar a minha vida. Seus manipuladores de merda!

 

Já agora, o que é isto de estarem a dizer entre vocês de que a minha família agora é “menos espiritual” ou “fraca espiritualmente” só porque estou na casa deles?

Deixem que eu vos diga uma coisa, meus queridos cultistas locais. Mesmo dentro dos padrões de moral das Testemunhas de Jeová, vocês foram sempre terríveis. Essa é a razão porque, mesmo quando acreditava e estava zelosa no culto, eu nunca gostei de estar com vocês. Não porque era diferente, ou porque era espiritualmente fraca ou seja lá qual a razão estúpida que vocês poderão estar a pensar dentro da vossa mente doutrinada. Era porque vocês (cultistas locais) foram os pedaços de carne mais tóxicos que alguma vez tive a infelicidade de conviver! E eu já lidei com muito lixo humano na minha vida, incluindo vegans feministas radicais esquizofrênicos sóciopatas!

Felizmente, os meus pais são maturos e melhores pessoas, logo são capazes de ignorar essas calúnias. Eles viram a face a esses comportamentos. Porque são boas Testemunhas de Jeová. Portanto sim, utilizando as mesmas palavras imaturas e insignificantes que vocês mesmos usam, os meus pais são e continuarão a ser sempre “mais espirituais” que vocês, cultistas locais. Podem encarar essas palavras da forma como quiserem e ficarem zangados comigo, não me interessa. A realidade não se interessa pelos vossos sentimentos. E, felizmente, os meus pais estão numa nova congregação que aparenta ser “mais espiritual” que a vossa. O que vão fazer perante isso? Tentar espalhar o vosso veneno para lá? Gostaria de ver vocês a tentarem, seus cretinos.

 

 

Hmm.. mas sabem que mais? Vocês verdadeiramente me chatearam agora!

Não.. vocês ultrapassaram a linha do que é aceitável. Do que é tolerável. Do que é suportável!

Vocês se tornaram.. insuportáveis. E muitas pessoas não conseguem chegar a esse.. ponto.

Como disse antes, eu normalmente apenas ignoro a existência das pessoas que me maltratam durante algum tempo. Isso costuma ajudar e faz com que essas mesmas pessoas depois sigam em frente e continuem com as suas vidas longe da minha. Porque eles desistem ou compreendem que eu não as quero na minha vida e por isso também acabam por se manterem longe.

Mas vocês, vocês são diferentes. Eu pensei que, quando fosse “desassociada”, existiria silêncio. Nunca mais teria que pensar em vocês, de suportar a vossa negatividade. De tolerar as vossas criancices. Vocês estiveram bem longe e isso fez com que as coisas fossem mais fáceis para mim seguir em frente.

 

Vocês não conseguem seguir em frente sem mim, pois não? Vocês ainda conseguem influenciar a minha vida de uma maneira ou de outra, as pessoas à minha volta. E é por isso que vocês estão a se tornar relevantes o suficiente para fazerem-me pensar que vos tenho de pagar algo de volta! Porque não posso ignorar estas questões por muito tempo. É incrivelmente difícil as pessoas fazerem-me sentir tão zangada, transtornada e chateada contra uma pessoa ou algo! Mas.. o que mais posso dizer? Vocês chegaram a esse ponto. Vocês causaram isto. E eu vou fazer algo com respeito a isso!

Vocês acreditam mesmo que escrever estes posts de blog é o pior que posso fazer? Não, estes blog posts providenciam entretenimento, uma forma de fluir as frustrações que sinto e de partilhar algumas ideas com o mundo. Em poucas palavras, este site é a minha almofada pública. Eu não tenho vergonha disso, de partilhar o que partilho. É incrivelmente libertador! É um diário, é divertido olhar para trás e ler algumas coisas que escrevi antes!

 

 

Oh não, meus queridos cultistas.. assim que estiver pronta para tal, vocês vão ouvir de mim. Poderá demorar algum tempo.. mas vocês irão ouvir-me e não irão gostar do que irei dizer.

Irei esperar alguns meses, esperar que a minha vida se torne mais estável. Planear bem, ficar mais calma e tentar racionalizar e formar ideas e pensamentos mais coerentes. Eu não acho que esta seja a melhor altura da minha vida para expor ao mundo acerca do que o vosso culto realmente é. Mas assim que a minha vida ficar estável, eu irei fazer isso.

E enquanto esperam, por favor tenham a certeza de que limparam bem a vossa casa de todos os pedófilos que têm escondido dentro das vossas caves antes de tentarem caluniar as pessoas pelo qual o único crime que cometeram foi de meramente existirem e de terem uma disforia. É incrivelmente hipócrita e embaraçoso..

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Jehovah Witnesses – Just another Cult

(This is one hell of a flawed featured image. I just really want to write and not lose too much time)

 

Good afternoon, dear readers!

This blog post has the goal to explain and to bring awareness to the people that lack knowledge about this religion and has to why it is a Christian Cult. I will try to leave aside my personal grudges and biases into this post and write what I know about this very specific cult, based on my experience and from what I’ve heard of other people.

 

But before I get to write this post, recognizing that some people that read my posts are unable to understand English and that I apologize for not translating every post that I make on my website, I would like to talk openly to a few people about the last post I’ve made about my Transition.

When I wrote that post, I was aware that there are a few people that read those posts. The same way that I’m aware that some won’t, despise the fact that I know some of them are going to ask about my transition once I face them.. even though they are on my social media circles and could easily read those specific posts. After all, that’s why I share them on my Personal Facebook.. so that I don’t have to talk to everyone about everything. And that is perfectly fine, people are busy with their lives and may lack time to read such giant walls of text on the go!

However, with that specific post, I have noticed just how large and influential those posts can be to some people. After I wrote that post and shared it, there were a good number of people that talked to me in private by the use of Facebook’s Messenger. They’ve exposed their feelings to me about what I wrote and all I can say that the response has been all positive and touching!

I do feel kinda guilty however for not giving the necessary attention to every single person that approached me during this week. I work during the week and, when I’m not working, I do spend some time to maintain my appearance (I know.. I’m vain and I spend a lot of time on that but it is something that I like and need to do!). Which allows me to have 1-3 hours per day to do what I want during workdays. And usually, during those days, in general, I’m already somehow tired and, though I do still answer people and am aware of the things being said, I may not give the necessary attention and care that I know I should provide to the people that have approached me in private, worried and exposing their own problems to express their empathy. I am sorry. I am far more free and approachable on weekends though!

The people that I knew would approach me, did. The people that I didn’t expect to approach me.. didn’t (though clearly, there was an impact even to the silent ones since I’m very aware there are a few silent ones that do read my posts either way. Their subtle change of behaviors is enough to prove it). However, there were a few people that did surprised me and approached me.. including someone that I haven’t talked to for more or less 7 years. I’m very glad that this person did, though I do admit that it was very out of the blue and completely off my wildest predictions!

And yes, there were also a few of “those” that I predicted that would ignore that post and.. well, try to “support” me in their own way shortly afterwards. That was genuinely funny, but I’ve held my pride and ignored their attempt. I feel it’s time to take a stance against those type of people. I don’t need your crumbled pieces of bread, go away with dignity please? We all know your “aid” is temporary and you are going to wound me sooner or later. And right now, I can’t allow myself to be exposed to such recklessness from those who feel the need to do their “charity”. Take your “charity” to the puppies and kittens out there without a home or to those that suffered from the fire at Pedrogão Grande. You can go ahead and wave your virtue signaling there, for your cheap and instant gratification dose of “I’m helping”. Because on those cases, though you are doing so for your own egos, at least it helps someone regardless!

All in all, I do really appreciate those that did approached me in private to talk to me about what I’ve posted and shown genuine concern, exposing their own experiences as a way to show empathy. To also that one person that talked to me after all those years! To the family members that I haven’t also talked to in years. To the few local neighbors (they too read) that tried to arrange a place where we could talk and have some coffee. This is the kind of aid that I love, given by everyday people that, too, have suffered in their own way and, though the experiences aren’t similar, the feelings can be understood.. if even not relatable (because who said that you need to have the same exact experience to feel the same emotions?)! Because this is what makes me feel that I’m not that unique and special, that cannot be understood. It makes me feel.. human, like everyone else and not some special unicorn that can only empathize with other special unicorns.

It’s.. funny. How some people celebrate and make sure that everyone knows that they are different from everyone else.. and I’m here, writing in the walls, saying “why did I had to be so different and unique, why couldn’t I just had a simpler life”.

Thank you! 🙂

After that initial sidetrack, I would like to expose the reason as to why I’m writing this blog post in specific. Some people have somehow questioned me about this cult that I was born in and was part of my childhood and even early 20’s. Clearly there is some misconceptions about this cult, given that it is easily seen as just another religion. Since that most of the cult’s behavior remains hidden to those who are not part of it.

And it makes sense. The people that belong to that cult do give the overall impression that they are impeccable people. Overall nice, the model citizen that does no wrong. Saints among the crowd. No one is a saint and this cult is not just yet another Christian religion whose only quirk is that they bother you on the streets or knock on your doors to talk about the one true savior. And that their major controversy is blood transfusions.

No. This blog post is to give awareness as to why this religion is, in fact, a very well successful and large world wide CULT.

 

 

First of, let us define the word “Cult”. What is, exactly, a cult?

Many people would define a cult as a small group of religious people that isn’t large or popular enough to be considered a religion. Others hold the belief that a cult is one of those problematic religions that commit mass suicide or hold strange rituals in some abandoned distant area. Others still insist that a cult is a group of people that, stereo typically, wear the same robes, mumble the same words and lose their own self of identity.. like a hive mind that gave up on their previous lives to worship an unorthodox deity or the antagonist of the perceived Maker of the universe (bonus points if they have a creepy stare and hold candles while mumbling broken Latin).

There are other people who have a broader definition for the word “Cult”. That cult can be used in sports, politics or just about anything on which can gather enough people to form a very restrictive echochamber that demonizes the opposition and isn’t open for debate. In short, a more dangerous form of Tribalism.

For me, a Cult is (as I’ve read and find to be more precise and rational than most other definitions I’ve heard) a group of people that met the following criteria:

  • A clear and established hierarchy within the group that disregards outside influences and societal norms and rules that go against the group’s ideology;
  • Complete and total obedience to the very same hierarchy;
  • Communication and forming contacts outside of the social group is frown upon (if not punished);
  • Different opinions and ideas within the group are frown upon (if not punished);
  • Specific ranks within the hierarchy have the power to influence and supervise their members’ personal life; including their friends, families and sexual activities (and are the ones that can judge);
  • Make their members believe that everyone outside of the group is morally reprehensible and should never be fully trusted with anything;
  • Inflict paranoia and “purity tests” within their own group over everyone, including their own;
  • Ask for their members to give everything they have for the group and, if they do not comply, emotionally manipulate them to feel tremendous guilt over their lack of complete devotion;
  • Demonize every member that decides to separate themselves from the group (if not punished);
  • Teach their members to constantly monitorize and punish themselves over their own actions, words and thoughts to better fit the mindset of the group without the need of other members to do so;
  • The need to recruit more members to the group and indoctrinate their own children (while they are still young and easy to mold to the group’s best interest);
  • Inform everyone that their group is the only one that holds the truth and the only path to true happiness;
  • Everything that contradicts the group’s views is inherently wrong and evil. Researching literature or to consider information from the outside is extremely discouraged and frown upon (if not punished);
  • (Optional but also a sign) The group has a strange obsession over money and material possession;

All in all, a cult is a totalitarian delusional paranoid closed hive mind group that completely antagonizes everyone and everything outside of it. Yes, it sounds awfully crude but it can be applied not only to religion, but even politics, sports, fandom, nationality, etc.

With the criteria exposed, I’ll now present my case as to why the Jehovah Witnesses are, indeed, a successful yet extremely harmful cult.

 

 

A clear and established hierarchy within the group that disregards outside influences and societal norms and rules that go against the group’s ideology

The Jehovah Witnesses have made it clear time and time again that they are, in fact, a theocracy. As such, given that they are Christians, God (which they call Jehovah since that’s the name they have established to be the easiest yet accurate translation of YHWH) is the absolute ruler of their religion. They use their own translated version of the bible as their guide.

However, the most powerful men in this Christian cult, who are the ones that receive direct order and guidance from Jehovah, is no other than the Governing Body. As of currently, if I’m not mistaken, it is composed of seven men. These men lead the Watchtower (Watchtower Bible and Tract Society); and these lead and make all the necessary adjustments to their own cult’s ideology.

Bellow the Governing Body, you have other ranks. One rank always above the other. However, if you are an average Jehovah Witness, you’ll, at best, only have to deal with those within a congregation (a specific location where a specific group of people regularly meet in a Kingdom Hall for their meetings). From there, you have the Elders and, right bellow, the Ministerial Servants. Right bellow, you have those who are Baptized. Even bellow, those that Preach. You become a Student once you decide to study the bible with a Jehovah Witness.

When you study the bible with a Jehovah Witness, the hierarchy becomes clearer. You learn that there are those you have to respect, to listen. Because they are, though imperfect humans, chosen by God and automatically know better than you. And their knowledge, which they claim to come from God itself given that they use their own interpretation of the bible, must be obeyed.. even if it goes against the law or societal norms (Acts 5:27-32).

Clearly, the Jehovah Witnesses must respect and fully obey their hierarchy, above any form of government or status quo. However, when there is no contradiction between Watchtower’s teachings, they are told to obey Cesar (Mark 12:13-17). But once there is a contradiction, they are told to obey God at all costs.. even if that means losing their own lives (or, in other words, Watchtower’s interpretation of what is right or wrong which they say to be based on the bible).

 

Complete and total obedience to the very same hierarchy

Given that the Jehovah Witnesses believe that Watchtower (the Governing Body) are the only representatives and direct link between God’s will and humanity. Given that they are told to obey at all costs, even against any form of government or group. It is to no surprise that Watchtower does indeed expect complete and total obedience from their Witnesses.

To make things worse, if a Witness does not do so, they are punished for their actions or words. The worst penalty that Watchtower can give to a Witness is what they call “Disfellowshipping”, which means that those who have been disfellowshipped need to be shunned by every other Witness (including friends and, most of the time, even family). Witnesses must not talk to a disfellowshipped, engage with them, befriend them. Unless for business related encounters. Given that Watchtower tries to supervise most interactions that their Witnesses do and the constant paranoia among their members, shunning is immediate and almost every Witness will, without a doubt, shun the dissociate at every moment (Romans 16: 17, 18 and 1 Corinthians 5:11-13).

This form of excommunication is defended by Watchtower as an act of kindness, to keep the cult “clean from impurity” and, as an act of love, it is a punishment that the dissociate must meditate and, Watchtower hopes, will bring them back to their cult. And, thus, they are able to keep their members’ complete obedience.. even if some of their members do so with the fear that, if they do not, they too will be disfellowshipped and destroyed in Armageddon (by God’s hand).

 

Communication and forming contacts outside of the social group is frown upon (if not punished)

From the cult’s perspective, the whole world is wicked.. except for those that follow God’s word (1 John 5:19 and 1 John 2:15, 16). It is wicked, given that they believe that it is ruled by Satan (2 Corinthians 4:4). By their logic to not associate themselves with “bad associations” (1 Corinthians 15:33), it becomes clear that creating contact with those who are “worldly people” (as in, non-Jehovah Witnesses) is frowned upon.

The more obvious it becomes to the rest of the Witnesses that a member of the cult spends a large amount of time with “worldly people”, the risk of the Elders to act upon it rises and the more they will try to inflict guilt to this specific member. If they believe the member is no longer as “pure” as they were, they may be punished; by the removal of privileges and, in some cases, even disfellowshipping their cult member. All that it takes to keep control over their Witness.

To add more to the subconscious of a Witness, they may be told that it is pointless to pursue a deeper relationship with “worldly people” given that they will be destroyed in Armageddon (Psalm 92:7) either way. That it is better to invest more time in the activities and other members of the cult.

 

Different opinions and ideas within the group are frown upon (if not punished)

The hierarchy within the cult makes it clear that the only acceptable truth (knowledge) is which originates from the top. In short, only Watchtower (Governing Body) is allowed to interpret the bible and come to the conclusions or make changes to the Jehovah Witnesses’ doctrines (ideology).

Given the nature of the cult, to shun those who deviate from the cult’s teachings; it is no wonder that any opinion and idea held by one or more individuals, that is slightly different, is quite frown upon. If this opinion and idea is wildly spread, the individual(s) are labeled as Apostates (2 Peter 2: 1-3), irrational men and women that deserve to be killed in Armageddon (Jude 8-11). Obviously, these cult members are going to be disfellowshipped.

 

Specific ranks within the hierarchy have the power to influence and supervise their members’ personal life; including their friends, families and sexual activities (and are the ones that can judge)

The controlling and protective nature of this cult is evident once an individual starts to take a more active role within the local congregation. Within the congregation, the Elders and Ministerial Servants are those who serve as Watchtower’s loyal judges and helpers. Or, as they call it, shepherds (1 Peter 5:1-3).

Specifically, it is the Elders that decide and supervise all the actions of the members of their local congregation. Including their interactions with others, words, friends, family, personal life, sexual activities.. anything that is revealed to the Elders. This is done so in order to keep the cult “clean from wrongdoers” and to inflict guilt or to punish their sheep into obedience.

Within the culture of the cult, other non-elder Witnesses (which includes family members) have the duty to warn the Elders if they learn that someone is misbehaving (Leviticus 5:1 and 1 John 5:16, 17). As such, the cult is effective at keeping control over their followers and to act immediately once an individual deviates from the ideology.

 

Make their members believe that everyone outside of the group is morally reprehensible and should never be fully trusted with anything

As said earlier, the whole world is lying in the power of the wicked one (1 John 5:19). Satan controls it (2 Corinthians 4:4). “Bad associations” are to be avoided (1 Corinthians 15:33). These will be destroyed (Psalm 92:7). The world hates the Jehovah Witnesses (John 15:18, 19).

Thus, with such interpretations of the bible, the paranoia is settled and their members are told to be “apart from the world” (John 17:14). “Worldly people” are never to be fully trusted, since Witnesses are told that the “world is wicked” and hates them deep down.

 

Inflict paranoia and “purity tests” within their own group over everyone, including their own

To top it all, Jehovah Witnesses are told that there are wolves among their own (Matthew 7:15-20). And, as such, they even judge their own heavily. Fearful that, not only the world hates them.. but also there are those among them that also hate them just as much. Nothing needs to be said more.

 

Ask for their members to give everything they have for the group and, if they do not comply, emotionally manipulate them to feel tremendous guilt over their lack of complete devotion

Within the cult, their members are told to always place “God’s Kingdom” in first place, above all (Matthew 6:33). Among several aspects of one’s life; a career/job becomes secondary for, otherwise, it may get in a member’s way to reach the ultimate goal (Mark 10:17-23).

Through out a member’s life as a Witness, they are given examples of those who have given their all for “God’s Kingdom” (Watchtower), including real life cases of those who were unfortunate but still managed to attend every meeting and invested entire days of their life preaching. Biblical characters are also reminded now and then (Philippians 2:19-22).

Jehovah Witnesses are told to not compare themselves to others (Romans 14:10-12), this, by itself, does not relief the paranoia and the culture that is built around “purity” and suspicion among each others (1 John 5:16, 17). Thus both of these doctrines contradict each other, as one tells to look for the “wolves” among them and be a witness to one’s actions and words (to judge others, in short) and the other tells to not be harsh on their judgement towards their own. There is a rather thin and not a very clear line to what is deemed as being naive or too judgmental.

Given the constant pressure by the peers, a member of the cult is left with a feeling that they are not doing enough. Not perfect enough. That they haven’t sacrificed enough and aren’t, truly, placing “God’s Kingdom” first in their lives.

 

Demonize every member that decides to separate themselves from the group (if not punished)

As mentioned several times, shunning is the ultimate punishment that a Jehovah Witness can suffer. The only thing that is worst than a “disfellowshipped”, is being labeled as an apostate. An apostate, according to the cult, is someone that does not speak lightly of Watchtower’s teachings and doctrines (2 Peter 2: 1-3). These will surely be destroyed in Armageddon (Jude 8-11).

“Disfellowshipped” members and apostates are, without a doubt, demonized by the cult (Romans 16: 17, 18 and 1 Corinthians 5:11-13).

 

Teach their members to constantly monitorize and punish themselves over their own actions, words and thoughts to better fit the mindset of the group without the need of other members to do so

Witnesses are told to avoid listening and pay attention to their hearts’ desires (Proverbs 28:26) and that they, themselves, cannot rationalize and think for themselves without the constant aid and counseling from Watchtower (Jeremiah 10:23). To always renew their mind (Romans 12:2) whenever it starts doubting or deviating from the Watchtower’s teachings. To always renew their personality (Ephesians 4:22-24), based on the doctrines and teachings of the cult.

Pairing up with the constant shame that a cult member feels when they act on their supposed imperfection (Romans 6:21) and that, doing all of this will make God happy (Proverbs 27:11). The fear of being punished and shunned, losing all the social contacts within the cult (friends and family members), losing every contact because they are told not to waste time with “worldly people”.. Jehovah Witnesses are more than tormented within their own minds to always give their all and to be as perfect as possible.

It is no wonder that Jehovah Witnesses are, more than average, likely to have depression and suffer from a mental illness.

 

The need to recruit more members to the group and indoctrinate their own children (while they are still young and easy to mold to the group’s best interest)

Jehovah Witnesses are very well known to preach (Matthew 24:14 and Matthew 28:19, 20). Publishers are the ones that can officially do so.. and those do not need to be baptized to do so. If a Jehovah Witness does not preach, they are “Bloodguilt”; an expression that means that, if a Jehovah Witness does not inform or aid someone that is perceived as “wicked”, the “wicked” continues to “sin” and the Witness that did nothing is also seen as guilty in the eyes of God (Ezekiel 33:7-9).

To add more to the constant paranoia and mental pressure, Jehovah Witnesses feel the need to preach as much as they can. This includes their own children, when they are quite young (Deuteronomy 6:5-7). Watchtower doesn’t shy away from aiding Witness parents to indoctrinate their young ones (as proven here). Including mimicking popular forms of art style and storytelling to attract the attention of their children (as proven here as well). Teenagers are also part of the demographic that Watchtower takes great interest in (as proven here).

 

Inform everyone that their group is the only one that holds the truth and the only path to true happiness

Besides what has already been said, that every “worldly person” is wicked, the paranoia against every non-Witness and even among themselves, the cult members are told that being a Witness is the only path that leads to happiness (Isaiah 30:20, 21 and Psalm 37:9-11).

Matthew 7:13, 14 is one of the few biblical texts that give the hope and motivation needed for cult members to keep going on the path that Watchtower as deemed to be the only true answer to life and everlasting happiness. Watchtower, on their website, claim to be the only true religion (as seen here). And they make sure that everyone outside of the cult knows about it (Matthew 24:14 and Matthew 28:19, 20).

 

Everything that contradicts the group’s views is inherently wrong and evil. Researching literature or to consider information from the outside is extremely discouraged and frown upon (if not punished)

This is perhaps one of the major issues with Watchtower and the Jehovah Witnesses as a cult.

Jehovah Witnesses provide the information needed for their Students to learn more about the doctrines and teachings. However, the Jehovah Witnesses expect their Students to take steps and to prove themselves that they are serious about their studies. They are open, to answer every question asked by the Student. But they will ask of them to attend the meetings. And in the meetings, they are expected to be surprised and to be overwhelmed by the perceived love shared among Jehovah Witnesses (on a superficial level).

From there, the Student may be asked to consider becoming a Publisher. The Student becomes a Publisher and continues to study the teachings of the cult, while reinforcing their new believes onto their neighbors, family and friends.

It is impossible for someone to truly know and have knowledge of every teaching and doctrine that the cult has and expects everyone to comply. But the danger lies when the Publisher decides, without any perceived pressure by their peers, to Baptize. Baptism is a very important decision, for it is a lifetime contract with the cult on which they dedicate their entire lives for Watchtower. There is no way to avoid this verbal contract once it has been done and this is where the perception of the cult, to the recently Baptized, changes with time as they continue to learn more about the cult they are now required to follow until the end of time.. no matter what. Only people who have been Baptized can be officially “Disfellowshipped”. If a Publisher decides to leave the cult before baptism, in peace, they will not be shunned.

Given that it was the Publisher that decided to Baptize, everything that they do, say or think.. it is on them. Which then, from that point forward, guilt is the most defining tool used by the cult to maintain control. Because it was the Publisher that decided to Baptize, it will forever be their own fault (no matter what) if they fail to remain submissive to Watchtower.

Again, besides everything that as already been said about the cult’s belief and perception of the world (non-witnesses), there is a fear to consider or hear opposing information. Given that the cult members are treated as sheep, who are easily manipulated by a mere cough or doubt, it is no wonder that they avoid talking and engaging in debates with those who have knowledge of the cult’s doctrines and teachings beforehand. Though Witnesses are expected to preach strangers, they do so given that most people lack the nuance to what the cult actually believes and demands from their members. Those who oppose the Watchtower’s teachings, that know the details of their cult, their teachings and doctrines.. are immediately labeled as Apostates (2 Peter 2: 1-3).

It is no wonder that Watchtower, among other things, strongly discourages teenagers to pursue higher education (as proven here). To avoid listening or watching videos, articles or even blog posts just as this one. Because, in Watchtower’s eyes, I and other people are deceitful.

 

(Optional but also a sign) The group has a strange obsession over money and material possession

For a Jehovah Witness, “God’s Kingdom” is always in first place (Matthew 6:33). Pursuing a career or material possessions is quite frown upon given that they interprete those desires as not placing “God’s Kingdom” above all (Mark 10:17-23).

Though donations aren’t a requirement for their members at all, Watchtower still urges their members to give their all for “God’s Kingdom” (1 Timothy 6:17-19). Those who have gathered a fairly sized wealth are pressured by biblical text (just as Luke 21:1-4) and real people within the cult that have contributed their belongings and even entire heritages to Watchtower. Plus, Watchtower doesn’t hold back in expanding their members’ options on how to donate their possessions (as proven here and here).

Plus, oddly, they do sometimes feel the need for their members to know how much money have they spent on certain events or expenses. Further complicating the cult members’ need to always give their best no matter what which, when hearing certain values, will begin to feel the need to donate generously on their own accord.

Even more oddly is how they are told to shun those who are “Disfellowshipped” and still, when it comes to business, Jehovah Witnesses are then allowed to talk to those former members of the cult. Hmm..

 

 

IN CONCLUSION

Given that the Jehovah Witnesses provide more than enough evidence that they are, truly, a Cult; it would be unfair to compare it to the many other religious institutions who do not apply such drastic measures to keep their followers on their side and fully obedient.

 

The Jehovah Witnesses use guilt and fear, luring new members into the cult by providing them information little by little. However, the truth about the “truth” only becomes clearer further ahead when the cult member has already been Baptized and it is too late for them to leave the Cult peacefully.

Thus the Baptized Jehovah Witness is either forced to lie to themselves, to doubt themselves over their own thoughts, to be devoid of any critical thought that contradicts the teachings and doctrines from Watchtower.. or face grave punishment in the form of shunning.

The fact that they set themselves apart from the “world”, from forming meaningful contacts with others outside of the cult, to only befriend and spend time with those who believe the same; leaves the Jehovah Witnesses without any form of social life the moment they are officially “Disfellowshipped”. For some of those former cult members, it becomes an emotional blackmail that results on some of them to try their best and rejoin their former cult in tears.. because the cult holds their friends and, most of the time, even family members.

The psychological effects and traumas the cult has on their members can be.. witnessed (hee~).. even after they leave the cult. Skepticism, avoidance, perfectionism and doctrines that have been ingrained on the mind of those who were exposed quite young (such as hearing the news about a possible war, natural disasters, political swifts and so on; which may trigger the doubt that maybe Armageddon is real, despise no longer believing in it).. are just a few examples.

 

So yes, the Jehovah Witnesses are, indeed, just another CULT.

 

 

Thank you for reading this blog post, it was a bit exhausting but I’m glad that I wrote this!

After some thought; I feel that, between the many experiences I’ve already had in my life. Though I could be more active and talk about my transition more often, or about politics.. I feel that those issues have already enough coverage and attention from other better and more popular sources.

I have tried to reach several types of communities, to engage with people on the web about the topics that concern me. From all of those topics that concern me.. I feel that I should be more focused on this cult above all other topics.

 

The “Ex-JW community” (pretty much any former Jehovah Witnesses), in general, has been more open and willing to engage with the things I write and share about the cult. Including youtubers who have made a name by criticizing this cult’s activity, doctrines and teachings. Though this community is small; it is incredibly fractured into people who still believe in a god, those who don’t, those who are more thoughtful, those who are more vindictive, etc..

I’m not the type of person to talk about facts, to do a deep research into the cult’s past and activities, to debunk into detail every single word. I have my own experience with the cult and I feel that what I can offer the most to those who have suffered by Watchtower’s influence.. is to be a listener and provide the emotional support to those who are still trying to understand this (true and only) reality.

I will try to reach this community and see how things go from there~

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Dreams

(Still experimenting but I kinda like this featured image! It is almost accurate to my vision)

 

Good afternoon everyone!

Today I’ve decided to write this blog post, one about dreams. I know right? Talking about something non-political for once, it’s like a breath of fresh air!

 

Why talk about dreams? What is there to talk about? I don’t know.. it’s just an interesting topic to me and one that I would like to share a few thoughts that I believe some people might find useful or relatable. I’ll also be sharing an old returning dream of mine back when I was an (actual) teenager, and how I reacted to it at the time and what it taught me.

 

 

First of, what are dreams? It is always wise to first describe the word that we’ll be using for an entire post.

 

A dream can be several things to several people. Emotions, images, stories, fiction, solving problems, memories, desires.. the list goes on. These happen when you rest, during one’s beauty sleep. Life taught me that men and women dream differently (though that’s not really important for this post). While there are people that believe there’s a spiritual meaning behind them, that need to be interpreted; there are others that believe that these should be ignored for they are mostly made of nonsense and scraps that are being tidied in the right compartments of the psyche.

Personally, I believe they are all of those.. except the spiritual aspect. I do not believe they come from gods or spirits.. but from our own subconscious. I know, it’s obvious. It has to come from our own mind and, therefore, it has to be based on things that we must known or have seen or thought. Either consciously or subconsciously.

This is the part that I find most interesting and a few may disagree. I don’t believe most dreams hold any special meaning. However, I do believe some do hold a special meaning. The more intense a dream is and the more we are able to remember it everyday, then it is worth investigating! Even more, if it starts to repeat. If a dream makes you worried, or the emotions that you felt on the dream are carried to reality even if for just a few seconds, I believe it is time for an introspection.

However, I also do believe that only the person who dreams it can know what it means. In short, I don’t believe one should ask someone else to interpret one’s dream. The dream came from your mind, from your own thoughts. Only you hold the key to understand what those emotions, images and fiction means. A color may symbolize something that only you know, therefore there’s no way to generalize a color’s meaning in a dream. One must understand oneself to better realize what your dreams could mean to you!

 

I believe that dreams, when they repeat and are intense, can be used to better understand oneself. Our own fears, our own emotions that we may not even be aware! Or even issues in our own mind. But it’s also wise to never fully embrace and act upon one’s dreams. Because, at the end of the day, most dreams may not hold any special meaning. You can never be too sure and dreams are not evidence of anything wrong or positive about your life and mental health. It is a way for your brain to organize itself; based on the things you saw, know or feel. And most of them can be made of incoherent gibberish.

.. But, if we are confident that a dream may hold a special meaning, then I believe we should try to understand it to better understand ourselves. Not with google, or with the aid of others.. but based on our own interpretation of it. We are able to figure it out by ourselves since it came from us. We know what a certain object means, what a certain color means, what a gesture or emotion means. Because our mind is not a separate identity from ourselves. We are the mind and the subconscious holds the thoughts that we refuse to think about on our daily lives.

 

Our brains allows us to breathe without thinking, in the same way that our subconscious deals with certain emotions and thoughts that we don’t want to think about but still have to be part of our being in order to keep our sanity intact.

This is my personal opinion, of what is a dream and if they hold some value. The short answer is: Only you know if a dream is important or not and if you should use it to better understand yourself. And only you can know the meaning behind the dream. Following a literal dream is as foolish as following one’s heart, since sometimes the heart isn’t in the right place. Sometimes, however, one must understand and solve the issues that plague our subconscious. Those warnings may sometimes materialize in the form of dreams. Dreams are a mere symptom that need other real symptoms to be considered legit aspects that need attention. A dream alone without other actual real symptoms is nothing to be worried.

 

With that view on dreams that I hold, it is obvious that I, myself, had a few interesting experiences related to this topic through out my life. Though most of them are personal and private, there is one that I would love to share to whoever has been reading thus far.

 

 

This specific dream that I’ll be talking about did haunt me ever since the beginning of my own puberty. It lasted for nearly ten years. Though not everyday or even every week, it repeated often enough to be remembered even after not dreaming it for around seven years. In fact, this dream became so intense and frightening that it was one of the many things that lead me to “come out of the closet”, as they say! And it never came back since I did so, which means that the dream was associated with my condition and not being honest with myself and others.

The featured image that I used for this blog post is mostly accurate to part of that dream.. down to the colors that I remember.

First, I’ll expose the dream. Then I’ll share the interpretation of it that took me years to fully understand. Then I’ll explain what I did after realizing what it meant.

 

The dream starts in fog, white and slowly revealing the soft beige colors that would be maintained through out most of the dream. It quickly reveals a feminine figure. That figure looked closely like myself. The fog covered my vision of what was bellow my shoulders and all I could see was what was above the shoulders.

A quick note: As most dreams that I have, I very rarely dream of myself in my own eyes but in third person. Though I can act, feel and talk.. my dreams never reveal my own vision but the vision from somewhere else.. like a camera from a movie focusing on the protagonist. Though clearly I am the protagonist and I’m in full control of my own figure, emotions and thoughts.

Despise not being able to see what was underneath the fog, I knew that I was naked. I could not feel what was underneath the fog, but I could use my own hands. My own feminine figure had most of her face covered, exposing only the jaw, nose and mouth. What covered her face was not fog.. but a messy tangled web of confusion.. hair. I wanted to know if that feminine figure was really me and, conveniently, there is a cheval mirror standing in front of me. Given that I am the feminine figure in this dream, I approach it calmly, in a single step.

The mirror reveals what I already had seen. Fog bellow the shoulders and the mess that covered most of the face. This is the moment that I can see myself in first person. My curiosity lead me to use my hands and remove the hair in front of my eyes. I wanted to know if that feminine figure was really me. But dreams are bizarre and, as I try to remove the hair in front of my eyes.. it reveals that there is more hair underneath.

Confused, I keep trying. I start using both my hands and I begin to realize that I’m unable to remove the hair from my face. Underneath hair, there was more hair. I clench my teeth, the frustration starts to build in and my hand movements start to hasten as I try to force my way in hope that I have a glimpse on what’s underneath the hair.

As the frustration grows and I start to yell out the pain, the shades of beige start to get darker. Despise being unable to see my own eyes, I still was able see my hands and the reflection in front of the mirror clearly. But I was unable to see what was underneath the hair.

The colors, as they would grow darker and darker, bring an end to the dream and bring me to reality.. since I would always wake up after that dream still clinging to the frustration and haziness it brought and wondering if that figure was really me.

 

Of course, we could always ask someone for what they think this dream means. Or a specialist, or a spiritual leader. But, as I’ve mentioned earlier, dreams are born from our subconscious, from our own thoughts and feelings. Only we, ourselves, are able to figure out our own dreams. With this dream, I will give an example of what I mean by that.

In order, I’ll explain the meaning behind my dream.

 

The dream starts white. For me, it represents purity and innocence. And it also represents enlightenment. In whiteness, the several shades of beige are born and they form the dream itself. Beige is a soft color and, for me, it represents sensitivity. Since it is also a color quite close to my own skin tone, it is a familiar color. Familiar, truth, sensitive and delicate are the four words that come to mind when beige is presented to me. It also is a color that catches my attention, as something that needs special consideration. It is a warning sign that what is going to happen is very important, emotional and requires thought, delicate actions and soft spoken words.

When these colors are presented to me in such a fashion, it means that what is about to happen is of extreme importance and is life changing. So there is a sense of mystery and high expectations on what is going to happen. The fog underlines this mystery or truths that have yet to be revealed.

The feminine figure is easily identifiable as me. It shares the same mouth and nose. But the jaw line, neck thickness and shoulders seemed off. What could be described as a feminine interpretation of myself (which, nowadays, when I think about it, my brain actually figured out somehow how I would somehow look like without testosterone in the present. That is impressive.. though strange). This added more to the mystery though, clearly, given that I was starting puberty, it was the embodiment of what I wanted for myself.

The fog covers everything bellow the shoulders. Since I know that this feminine figure of myself was naked, it represents vulnerability and delicateness. And also things to reveal, hidden. There is also certain curiosity to how I look like underneath all that fog, though clearly never the focus. This represents sexuality. Since I’m unable to verify the existence of breasts and genitalia, it means that my sexual desires were unknown and yet to be revealed. Yet, again, it never seems to be the focus of this dream since I am more curious to learn about the identity of that figure has really being me or not.

The hairy mess that covered most of my face and eyes represents my negligence. It is there and messy because I’ve allowed it to be that way. It got to the point that it covered my eyes, my identity. This means that I willingly decided to ignore and conceal my identity from myself and others. A web of messy lies and dishonesty that went too far.

I was watching myself in third person, as if looking through an invisible camera that focused on the protagonist. This is the rule in most of my dreams, the default. It means that everything thus far was the norm, the status quo. There was a mirror however, nearby. And as I walk towards the mirror that represents the ability to self reflect, to indulge in introspection; the vision changes to the first person. That means that I still hold the power to find out about my own identity through some introspection.

The fact that I can still use my eyes and see clearly, despise the mirror showing that there is plenty of hair in front of them only underlines that the mess that covers the vision and judgement is nothing more than an illusion. The lies aren’t real, though I can clearly make sense of those lies by doing some introspection. It is recognizing that there is something wrong in one’s identity and that there is still hope since I had not become completely blinded by the very same lies that I’ve created to justify the facade that I used to live when I was young.

I knew that feminine figure was me but, somehow, I wanted to make sure it was really me. This means that I still didn’t had access to my true self, to my personality. That I didn’t fully knew who I was or wasn’t sure that what I thought to be me was really me. The lies that kept my true self hidden meant that I was curious.. yet afraid to be right.

My hands could be used to remove the hair in front of my eyes. It means that, deep down, I really wanted to take steps and find out if that figure was my true self. But there was more hair underneath the hair.. and that caused frustration. It means, after all, the web of lies and illusions were unable to be removed on my own. And that, on my own, even if I tried to remove the lies and understand myself more and more through the illusions that I’ve created, there would always be more lies and illusions underneath. This can only mean that, though there is a necessity to dispel to find oneself, I would still always be fearful and create more illusions and lies to keep my true identity concealed. It means that I was being an hypocrite and working against my own interests with the dishonesty I was continuously creating.

The feelings that it brought, of frustration and helplessness, is the embodiment of high Neuroticism. The dream becomes dark, teeth grinding. The darkness means the end, a conclusion. It also means to conceal, to forget. To interrupt, in this situation. It means something is interrupting my progress, to find my true self. And as I always woke up right afterwards.. it means that reality, my own daily life. That is what was stopping me from finding myself. Life itself didn’t allowed me to be who I am. The frustration is carried through reality and I’m left wondering who that figure really was.

The ironic part is not that the dream forced me to wake up. Deep down, I wanted to wake up because I couldn’t handle the frustration that the dream always brought to the surface.

 

As I grew older, the figure, too, aged at the same rate as myself in reality. And so the frustration and weariness grew alongside it. Because I was starting to become too self conscious and aware of this dream’s existence. Together with the disforia in it by itself. Though it wasn’t a dream that made me realize of my condition, it was still one of the many warning symptoms of keeping myself hidden from the public eye and keep the facade for so long until adulthood.

The dream only ceased to reappear when I decided to “come out of the closet”. Which only shows that the dream represented my denial, of who I am in my essence. It represented the emotions and the facade I had built to keep myself hidden for so long from my conscious reality and from those that I used to deal with daily. My subconscious was filled with the thoughts and emotions that I didn’t want to think or feel. And my subconscious brought that dream over and over because it was loaded with such negative feedback.

Once I’ve opened my mouth and did my own research.. my subconscious was free and became healthier with time. It no longer needed to process those specific emotions and thoughts, finally having time for other issues that also need attention.

 

 

This is why I believe that some dreams can be useful. But it is up to us to figure out if a dream is a warning sign of our own subconscious.. or just another foolish segment of nothing but gibberish nonsense.

Thank you for reading and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this blog post! Sweet dreams~

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“Diversity” is our Strength

(“Good” featured image)

 

Good afternoon boys and girls!

Today we’re getting political and quite critical. Or, as some people would call it, politically incorrect. Fortunately, those words lost all their meaning so, therefore, I feel no guilt in sharing my thoughts on a rather heated topic! “Diversity”.

 

“Diversity is our Strength”, we have heard several times. During our childhood, most of us saw an image that, in concept, is alike the one I’ve drawn as a a featured image! The world, surrounded by people of all cultures and ethnicity. Holding hands, expressing our humanity, our unity and hope for world peace.

I, myself, am used to such images and concepts. These were everywhere when I was young, specially when I was in first grade and all the way to the fourth grade. Though, personally, I see no wrong with such concept and image; I rather prefer the image of a more developed fetus within a mother’s womb surrounded by the stars of the galaxy to represent the human condition. In fact, that’s what I had drawn back in third grade when they asked all the children in my school to draw something that represented our humanity. That got me a bronze medal for my creativity back then… but enough about silly ol’me!

 

But what is “Diversity”? We see it today, people demanding a more diverse environment. Shouting, weeping, becoming emotionally unstable when current politics don’t align with their own view of the world. Spouting labels such as “racist” and “bigoted”, because a politician dared to suggest that maybe there should be more control over a country’s borders. The talk about globalization, millions of people who are pro-immigration and would be shocked if someone else isn’t keen on having fully open borders. In the name of inclusion, justice.

This is when opinions vary. But it is clear that, for some, diversity means having people of all cultures and backgrounds come together and live in peace. To be honest, that does sound great on a very superficial level. Who wouldn’t want world peace?

But.. there’s an issue with such mindset. And the issue lies within the word “Diversity” itself. Again we ask, what is “diversity?”

 

As mentioned earlier, people have grown to get used to and aspire for imagery and the symbolic meaning behind the drawing I’ve made for the featured image of today’s post. But there is something I haven’t done on that picture that I’ve drawn: They lack skin color. I’ve done so on purpose though, for some, the meaning behind diversity is having people with different skin colors. For others it is having people of several religious faiths holding hands. And there are others that see diversity in having people of “all genders” (we’ve been through this but, for the sake of keeping on topic, here’s my view on Non-Binary, for those interested), with all types of body shapes and fashion styles.

So, again, I ask. What is “Diversity”? Though everyone seems to have an answer to that nowadays, I will give my outright opinion and say that I disagree with most people’s view on what that word even means and criticize those who believe that “Diversity” means having a cereal bowl filled with colorful pieces of mere grain and sugar.

 

What exactly is “Diverse” in having people of all skin colors in the same room? Besides the superficial and outlook visual appearance being, admittedly, diverse, is it really.. “Diverse”? To assume that people with different skin colors than our own are.. different, with unrelated life experiences than our own that could never be understood by anyone of a different ethnicity; isn’t it a gross exaggeration and a way to stereotype people based on the color of their skin? To assume that someone with a different skin color could never relate to someone that doesn’t share their own skin color.. isn’t this bigotry in itself? To categorize people based on their appearance and to conclude that, in order to have a rich and diverse environment, you would need different skin colors in the same room; isn’t this racism?

Of course, some would say that this isn’t racism and being colorblind is racism. Again, we can conclude that words have lost all their meaning and that their meanings have changed depending on someone’s ideology. But, for some, having a room with people with black skin, brown skin, white skin and with Asian ethnicity equally represented is, by itself, the true answer to a fulfilling rich and diverse culture.. and that gives strength.

I strongly disagree, since I’m colorblind and I don’t believe a color gives you unique abilities, intelligence or personality. We live in the real world, not in a fictitious Rainbow Brite/Power Ranger parallel universe.

 

How exactly does having all religions gathered in the same room gives society strength? Besides some of them wanting to kill each others because they believe they should be the only true religion in this world; how exactly can you have all religions in the same room and expect one to be shielded from criticism while the others are worthy of scrutiny? How is it fair and non-hypocritical that one seeks diversity in religion yet the very same religions that are protected as “minorities” seek to criminalize those who think differently than they do? In short, how is defending individuals that seek to eliminate the very same “Diversity” you seek.. “Diverse”?

Of course, some would say that criticizing a religion is fine as long it is not a very specific one of their liking. But if you criticize one or two religions who are deemed as “minority” is, in fact, bigotry against the people that follow that religion.

I strongly disagree, since we are talking about ideology. Every ideology deserves criticism and every ideology is different from one another. Some ideas deserve more attention and more scrutiny, because of the things they do in the name of what they follow. To believe that certain religions should be shielded from such is incredibly patronizing and against an equal society. In short, it’s unfair and illogical, it does not bring the “Diversity” you seek.. but more hatred.

 

How exactly is a room filled the same amount of men and women.. equal? Besides mathematics being on point with that sort of mentality, how is one’s genitals and gender identity synonymous of a diverse and a contribution to a diverse environment? How is it fair to say what a man and a woman can do and shouldn’t go? How is that not stereotyping people while claiming that society is the one that manufactured gender itself (despise biology pointing otherwise)? One should be consistent with their views if one wishes to redefine the very core of humanity.

Of course, some would say that I’m sexist and transphobic for not caring for one’s genitals or gender identity. Unfortunately for them, I’m a woman. A transsexual woman. So that would mean that I hate myself, that I’ve internalized some type of bigotry. I’m sorry, I’m not that easily manipulated by schizophrenic sociopaths drunken by their own ideology. I’m a cult survivor, I got my vaccine against those. Though I guess you could blame me for being bigoted against Non-Binary, since I am still waiting for the evidence that such exists (how can you be bigoted against something that doesn’t exist?).

However, again, I strongly disagree. Gender stereotypes are the worst and I’ve felt the pressure of some individuals trying to impose me either male or female tropes down my throat, since I pass as a biological female in society and I was born biologically male. Not everyone is a stereotypical female or male. Tomboys and feminine men exist after all and that shows than men and women are capable of relating with each others in many ways. Being a man or a woman (or an attack helicopter) doesn’t make you unique and diverse. It makes you superficial and dull, that lacks personality. If anything, statistical equality and collectivism is oppressive towards individuals with potential and incredibly patronizing for the “minorities” in the room that are told that they can’t achieve greatness because the room is bigoted towards them.

 

 

Once again we ask, what is “Diversity”? Close your eyes and imagine the following: (wait, don’t actually close your eyes.. else you won’t be able to read!)

You are in a room. In this room, there is a White Atheist Man, a Black Muslim Woman, a Latino Christian Transsexual Male and an Eastern Asian Buddhist Non-Binary Woman. They are happy with the “Diversity” in their room, equally represented by the tokenism present by mere four individuals.

Ignoring the strong possibility of the Atheist criticizing the Muslim for pointing that her faith would never allow the Non-Binary Woman to be in that room with them.. Or the Christian pointing out the flaws of Islam and the Atheist calling the Christian an hypocrite while the Buddhist claims that both the Christian and the Atheist are Islamophobic.. Or the Black Woman and Non-Binary Woman criticizing the White Man for being there (while the Transsexual Man strangely remains silent since he doesn’t want to get involved in this argument)..

Yes, ignoring that all of those things could happen, they somehow manage to stay sane and alive in the same room; in peace.

 

But peace breaks the moment a chair breaks. The four look at each other, wondering who will fix it.

The Black Muslim Woman shrugs lightly and says that she won’t do it, because asking her to do so would be considered racist, because of slavery.

The Latino Christian Transsexual Male looks at the Eastern Asian Buddhist Non-Binary Woman, as if questioning if she’s the one that’s going to fix the chair and break the gender roles imposed by society that women are incapable of such tasks. But she shrugs, because she isn’t a carpenter.

Both men look at each other. It seems it is up to either one. The Eastern Asian Buddhist Non-Binary Woman comes in defense of the Latino Christian Transsexual Male and informs everyone that the Transsexual is, in fact, oppressed and to stop oppressing him with such tasks and gender roles. The Transsexual Male strangely, again, remains quiet.. since he’s lazy and thanks his god (in secrecy) that someone just got him away from such a dull task.

 

The White Atheist Man seems to be the center of attention. He is a White “Cisgendered” Male. An Atheist, opressor of the religious present in that room. This is an opportunity for him to prove that he’s not bigoted, that he doesn’t want to enslave the Black Woman. That he doesn’t discriminate against the Non-Binary and Transsexual. That he respects all faiths.

He walks towards the chair, to try his luck. Unfortunately, he doesn’t do a good job and the chair remains even more broken. The White Atheist Man apologizes and asks if he can invite his friend to come over and fix the chair for free. The four are unable (or unwilling) to fix the chair.. there needs to be one more person on that room.

The Eastern Asian Buddhist Non-Binary Woman asks the White Atheist Man what race, religion and gender is his friend. He says that it is another White Atheist Man. The other three disagree and ask if he has someone that is a Woman or Non-Binary at least. Or at least someone that isn’t White. The White Atheist Man shakes his head, he’s not an individual with many friends after all.

 

Where is the “Diversity”? Who will fix that chair, despise the four being, superficially, different from each others?

It seems they are not that “Diverse” after all. Despise their skin color, gender and religion.. none of them is prolific enough to fix a chair. And since they cannot allow another White Atheist Man to walk inside the room in order to keep the balance.. the chair remains broken, ugly and useless.

 

 

Is this the Diversity you seek? Let’s imagine something different.

Imagine the same room, the same broken chair. But, in this room, there is a Scientist, an Athlete, a Carpenter and an Artist. They talk among themselves and it is obvious that the Carpenter is going to be the one fixing this chair. Carpenter does so, with the aid of the strong Athlete. The Artist remains close, giving advises on how to make the chair look more appeasing to the eye. The Scientist remains afar, perhaps planning on what to do with that chair once it is fixed.

The Carpenter fixed the chair, the Athlete was the helper. Not only did they fix that chair, but they made it prettier thanks to the suggestions given by the Artist. The Scientist, on the other hand, thought it would be a good idea to use that chair themselves in order to sit on their desk and write an hypothesis about one of their new theories.

.. It seems these individuals worked better together. Their skills and traits were diverse and, not only did they work together, but they also made more than just fixing a chair.

 

This is Diversity that gives strength. If we had four Carpenters, the chair would be fixed and nothing more. If we had four Athletes or four Artists or four Scientists, the chair wouldn’t be fixed. But these four, together? The chair was fixed and even more!

And you may ask yourself if it is possible that these four individuals also could had different skin colors.. or gender.. or religion.. from each others. Oh, it is! Completely! But, as you can see, those aspects did not matter at the end. What you are after.. is not Diversity. But a false sense of… “Diversity”.

 

 

 

Thank you for reading this blog post. I’ve enjoyed writing this one!

I’ll see you next time, dear reader~

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The blur of Reality & Online

(Basic featured image is basic)

 

Good afternoon!

It has been a while since I’ve wrote on this blog. I know I know..

Either way, here we are. Another post, one that will sound more like a short incoherent ramble about the future of my online pseudonym!

First, I would like to quote a former post I’ve made on this blog.

“I should know better by now, as someone of my own age, to not behave this carelessly online on my public accounts. I should had kept myself to drawing and sharing stories. Again, that was the original idea when I created the pseudonym “SapphyDe90”. To focus on art, to be genuine yet kind. I guess the “art” and “kindness” got lost somewhere, leaving only the brutal honesty to the public. Unfiltered.. for most part. Lax. Perhaps naive, which is something that goes against what I am in reality.. though it is true that I can act quite childish. Personally, I don’t mind being childish on some aspects, as long I’m mature where it actually matters.”

“More and more I’ve thought to myself what to do with this pseudonym. I’ve been less motivated to draw as time passes by. Yet I’ve been felling the pressure to express my creativity somehow. It pains me that, at the age of 26 (nearly 27), I’m here thinking about what I want to do when “I grow up”. In this case, what type of artist I want to be. Again. I thought I had that set on stone, I was doing well with my art style. My stories and universes were, in my humble biased opinion, well developed and it’s a shame I never shared not even a single one to a wider audience, in a more complete sense! But, alas, people know that I’m changing. It’s a long process, that I’m quite enjoying the results that have been surprising me. But this is not the post to talk about my transition..”

Ignoring the rambling about art, given that it is something that will take some time and patience from my part to do so.. (my daily life does not allow me to fully dedicate myself to do some soul searching and find myself again as an artist) it is clear that, ever since I’ve started my transition, my online presence has changed drastically. And, to be honest, so has my real presence in the real world.. obviously.

 

Some of you are aware of my blue haired cartoon character, an alter ego which goal was to serve as an online persona and a way to humanize my own personality that was locked away in my subconscious. The idea of a blue (actually cyan) haired girl sporting a mix of magenta, yellow and black came in 2013.

 

First appearance – August 2013

First came the face, has I still lacked a art style of my own.

The blue hair came with the idea that, as basic and obvious as it may seem, my name is associated with a gemstone that is typically related with the color blue (even though this gem exists in other colors). However, I gave it a lighter shade, a pure cyan because, at the time, I was finishing a Graphic Design course and I thought it would be funny if I went ahead and used Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Black! For me, it represents the ability to adapt to most social circumstances and events while, at the same time, not losing focus of my individuality. As Sapphire.

The rose tinted glasses, though normally associated with blinded nostalgia, it represents several things for me. First, it simbolizes a one sided vision of the world. Stubbornness, in short. An individual with strong convictions and morals. The rose tinted color represents tradition, since it is connected with nostalgia. Though I am nostalgic about a few things, it means that I hold a more old fashioned view of how things should be. It’s classic. Though, if one looks closer, the eyes behind the glasses are blue. Again, it represents an independent view. In short, I don’t like to impose my own values onto others and I enjoy my right to be an old fashioned individual… the same way that I feel others should be free to follow their own values.. as long they don’t impose those onto me.

 

Another August 2013 drawing

The hairpin, though I rarely included those on my drawings, it represents my geek side. It doesn’t serve any purpose for the hairstyle, nor does it mold it drastically but it means that I’m fine with that aspect of mine.

The wardrobe itself, the clothing.. there was never a special meaning behind it. It was style, ways to represent the other colors mentioned earlier. And often have I changed the clothing, depending on the season.

With Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Black, I could give my alter ego any color I wanted. Which is why, at times (Halloween, for example), my alter ego would be drawn with other shades, other colors.

 

Halloween 2015

The shape of the eyes and the eye-shadow are also peculiar, different from all the characters I have drawn thus far. For one, my alter ego lacks eyebrows. At first, this was a mistake that I’ve realized much later. But I came to like it this way! For me, it symbolizes a faint hint of pride in one self. Though extremely self conscious and a perfectionist, I am still able to maintain a certain level of confidence in my views.

Instead of having eyebrows, the eyeliner extends far above and reaching the brow bone. It is a way to fix a mistake, the lack of eyebrows. Again, it underlines my flaw (or virtue, depending of one’s perspective) of being a perfectionist that tries to correct everything wrong in herself. Certain vanity.

The shape of the eyes and thick eyeliner represents a superficial judgement. It’s bold, a judgmental stare. It means that, despise everything said earlier, I still judge others heavily on their actions, words or lack of those. Though I do not impose my judgement, I still judge others inwardly. This is obviously a gross exaggeration of that aspect of mine.

 

Halloween 2016

Of course, all of this work around a cartoon character, an alter ego, served a purpose in the past. This purpose however, no longer applies.

Things have changed quite a lot since I’ve started my transition. Being online, having an cartoon avatar like this allowed me to keep in mind who I am, to maintain my personality alive and burning in the digital world while, in reality.. I would still had to wait for that to happen. A gross exaggeration of my virtues and flaws was brought to life thanks to a short tempered blue haired hippy looking cartoon character.

The character was never something I aspired to be given that she was, in essence, me. I used to love this character, even though I do admit that her appearance wasn’t friendly for the wider audience to relate to!

 

Given the changes in my life, it is time to say goodbye to this alter ego. Because, with my transition, I no longer need a mask to hide behind.

 

 

And so we move to the future. Given my transition and the fact that my personality is no longer hidden in riddles and chains, it is no mystery to others who I am.

Though I am difficult to be understood.. according to some of the people in my life, complicated. I feel that the line that separates reality and the online presence I used to keep it hidden more from those I deal with in reality, that line is starting to blur. People are becoming aware of the type of person that I am, the things that I like and my own thoughts. I no longer keep it hidden, though I tend to filter those more in reality out of kindness and overall passivity.

Truth is, there’s no point in hiding what I am in reality from the digital (online) realm.. the same way there’s no point in hiding what I am in the digital (online) realm from the people in the real world. Which is why I’ve created an Instagram account and even uploaded a photo of me as a profile picture across all sorts of social medias!

 

I am what I am. I am SapphyDe90, Sapphy, Sapphire, Safira. I have no real shame in what I do, believe and say. I am free~

And yes, I’ve lost a few “friends” on the way. Either because I, myself, walked away from such toxic relationships or they, themselves, walked away from me. Though it is a shame that some of those, who claimed to support me, faded away the moment I exposed my true colors. Nothing of value was lost, it’s all I have to say.. but I would be lying if I said I didn’t hold some resentment over a few of those people. I mean, here I am sharing my happiness and freedom.. and they just walk away after saying that they would support me. If anything, you should feel happy that I’m happy and I’m sharing you the happiness that you wished for me to have!

Perhaps there are a few people that believe that I’m bragging about my own achievements, or that go as far to say that I’ve become a narcissist behind my back. Shows how much you people grasp this situation I’m in and how low your faith is in me. Do me a favor and get lost if that’s your opinion.

Again, it’s no secret that I’m in some sort of pseudo adolescence. Except, you know, this is the right adolescence that I should of had back when I was an actual teenager. You know how teenagers are, experimenting and discovering their developing bodies and emotions. It’s healthy.. and that is what’s been going on in my life in these last few months. The fact that this vanity and self-absorption of mine, in recent months, has turned away a few people or has made them feel insecure and self-conscious about their own appearance and feelings is, at best, amusing! At worst, pathetic and sad. Because how low do you have to be to feel those things over someone with a disorder? Petty, ignorant.. there are no words to describe people who were lucky in life and still, somehow, manage to envy those who, just now, are able to live a normal life. You had your whole life filled with happiness, the teenage youthful bodies that you could relate. At the age of 27, here comes silly me finally having the body and mind that I deserve, much later in life compared to everyone else and still.. people feel the need to moan about it. No seriously.. get lost, don’t ever talk to me, just go away and don’t look back, unfriend me on your social medias, do whatever you want but can you just disappear from my life?

On the other hand, I’ve gained other friendships.. that feel truer. So no, I’m not the one losing here. I lose more keeping the reluctant in my life and/or friends’ list because, when I browse my friends’ list or social media feeds, their faces and names are there and it forces me to remind of their existence.. and that’s what creates resentment. Someday, I might be the one doing the cleanup if they don’t do it themselves with dignity. When my paciente starts to run dry and surpasses my natural submissive and passive outlook, of course!

 

 

So, what does the future hold for my online pseudonym, SapphyDe90? Simple, it holds everything that I am, what I want to do, what I want to say. It is no longer about just art, about my thoughts, about games, about politics, about anything in specific.

Thank you for reading this blog post and I hope you have a nice weekend!

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