Achaena's Diary, Page Two

Perhaps I am being too harsh. There have been good people in my life, haven't there? What about Rennfri? She adopted me after my family died. That has to count for something. That may not be a good example. Although she seems to care - she DOES care for me - the death and agony that follows her, that she deals out, that is done in her name - I cannot honestly call her 'good.'

What about the elf who had lived next door? She seemed .... innocent of the evils in the world. Maybe the healing woman - the one who became pregnant?

You might say that every nosy paladin who has tried to enforce a curfew on me might be considered good - at the very least, they largely say they are doing it for my safety. So they are nice enough.

And of course, there is the matter of the dwarf, Kelgrim Forgefighter. Undoubtedly, he has made his own mistakes. His relationship with his daughter suggests that she is at the center of one of his bigger ones. But - she has a relationship with her. He's trying to repair the damage done. "Good" is not synonymous with "infallible."

So maybe there is one good person.

I do hope he doesn't hate me, especially after I let his daughter walk blithely into danger. I did send him a letter, so if something is wrong, he can help to fix it.

I'm on a boat now, me and my golem, sailing across the sea to Kalimdor, so that I can fix my own error. I despise water - the only way that I can make the journey is in a windowless room where I cannot see my impending doom.

If we capsize, I will drown and die.

How pleasant.

Achaena's Diary, Page One

Hello.

That's how these things begin, right? A greeting, an introduction, and then I spill my darkest secrets.

But the healer says that this will help. So, let's do this properly.

My name is Achaena. I am a half-elf. I am twelve years old. And I am a monster.

Oh, not like the Worgen, or the San'layn. No curse has made me to be what I am. But I bear no illusions: I am a monster.

But I'm only twelve, the astute observer will remember. What could I have possibly done?

Let's begin at the beginning. An elven woman deposited her newborn baby on the front doorstep of the orphanage. I remember neither my mother, nor the orphanage. I was too young. But I know what happened next.

A group of assassins, my family, adopted me. They raised me, trained me. I learned to fight with all manner of weapons, including my own magical talent. I also learned to brew potions and poisons.

I made my first kill when I was only ten. I've never felt any guilt. Why should I? This is what I was raised for. I was proud; Master was proud of me. He presented me with a set of ten perfect knives, which I carry to this day. They're a part of me, and more importantly, they are my last reminder of him.

You see, it was less than a year later that their scheme was uncovered. I returned from a job to find the house - my home for my entire life - crawling with guards. Everyone I'd known and cared for was dead.

But time moves on. I escaped the guards' notice easily enough, kept out of their way. I pursued legitimate work, even looking after a hunter's pets for a time. That was interesting. One of them was dead - killed long before I met him. I made fast friends with the ghost wolf named Vladik. He is a supremely loyal companion; he rarely leaves my side. The hunter ultimately let me keep him. If there is one person I trust implicitly, it is him.

I've met a lot of people - some of them were even good, I imagine. But mostly ...

There was that warlock who tried to kill me in Dalaran, because I wouldn't kill someone for free. Stupid - no gold, no blood.

He didn't succeed, obviously. Neither did the dwarf who tore a chunk out of my leg.

I'm still alive, but that one was close. I still have scars from those encounters - the leg healed with the help of magic, but nothing can cleanse fel taint permanently.

Even my own friends are - many of them - awful, horribly cruel people.

I think the dwarf, Kelgrim, is probably the best person I've met, and all I do is anger him. Maybe I should try to listen to him - he's old, he's supposed to be wise. But the things he says are so unrealistic.

People are mostly bad. It takes work - hard work - to care for anyone other than yourself. Even those who claim to be altruistic are only doing it to feel better about themselves.

Now I'm feeling bitter.

Maybe I'll burn this page - that's supposed to make you feel better, too.