Aquella's Journal: Book 2

This poor journal has been terribly neglected. It’s my second entry since I returned from my excursion to Bloodtusk Ravine. 

 

The Elders gave me quite the scolding. 

 

“Aquella, you should not have drawn attention to yourself! You shouldn’t even have gone near the Hero of the Alliance! What if the surface dwellers became too curious? What if they followed you? You must practice care; be aware of your surroundings and the consequences of your actions!”

 

The elders were beating me over the head with baseless concerns. How can they be so paranoid when they haven’t seen the surface in years? 

 

They had to be told that King Alteon of Greenguard had passed months after the fact. With how confused they were, I’m sure they didn’t even know about the Rebellion until it was over! It’s very hard to take their advice seriously if they stubbornly refuse to peek at what’s actually going on with our neighbours. 

 

Speaking of rebelliousness, I will continue my written descriptions of our home in this journal. 

 

Samba spoke so joyously of Bloodtusk Ravine, and how dancing was slowly bringing her people and people from afar together. It pained me greatly when she asked me to share stories of my home. 

 

I wasn’t able to tell her about the vast sea, a world in of itself, one of many faces. Both a tranquil mirror of the stars and moon, and a raging monster that tears ships to pieces and resents all life. 

 

Our voices live in the currents of this ocean. Songs dreamed by our ancestors are carried in our souls, and home is where the soul yearns to return. 

 

The stones of the place where I was born are imbued with their ancient magic. In these hall, voices echo from the days when Lady Neso’s turned to her water elves to soothe her fury. 

 

They sing a lullaby as gentle as the darkness that blankets those that come to rest in the depths of the sea floor. 

 

It’s partly why the elders’ anger did not last long, The songs immortalised by stone have calmed them. 

 

I’m starting to feel guilty about being annoyed at them too. They were just worried, and they were the ones who allowed me to explore the surface. Just as long as I was careful. 

 

If I was braver, I would have sung at the Solar Festival. I would part the sea, like the Oracle thinks I will when I become the Champion of Water. Maybe if I did sing, those powers would have awakened. 

 

But the songs are too calming. If they could even quell Lady Neso’s rage, who’s to say that they don’t make us complacent? Are they comforting us in the depths of Midnight? Or are they preventing us from growing? What if I never change and the songs will be all that I’ll ever know? 

 

Oh, these sour feelings got in the way of writing about the memories that brought me joy. I couldn’t sing with Samba, but I could dance. The Hero of the Alliance will surely forget me, but I am grateful that we could meet and that I could take their mind away from their worries for a moment. 

 

I’ll feel better if I shared these memories with the Oracle and the little ones. They were all so disappointed about not being able to go on that trip with me. A contest with water balloons is redundant underwater, but sharing Samba’s dances is another way to bring the Solar Festival to them.