Pamela's Doll

It was always sunset in the plaguelands.

Dust, like an autumnal snow, drifted in the air, casting the sky in shades of khaki, making the sun but a smudge as it lurched over the poisoned hills, the tainted forests of twisted trees and fell mushrooms.

Where the only vibrant color were the surcoats of the Scarlet Crusade or the rivulets of blood upon burned grass.

"It's a doll, Mezzy."

Alone they were, quiet, save for the whispering of the hot wind or the echo of a plaguehound's howl somewhere in foothills behind. The little gnome sat on the steps of the rotted building, its frame witness to fire, sword and the coming of the Scourge. Even the shadows cast by the house's skeletal framework were faded, all colors lost to tones of overlapping sepias.

"Just a doll, Mezzy.

"A little girl's doll."

Beside her the great blue voidwalker, her protector, simply raised his talons to the dusky sky and roared.

" ... oh Mezzy, how did we get here ..."

Fluff and cloth, held close to the warlock's heart for a moment, remembering.

"Can't walk a handful of paces, even in the forests of Darnassus, but to see a sword, a bit of rusted dagger, a broken war machine, the scars of the craft of war upon our world. Hear the alarms ring out in the night, look down from Trouble's back upon a Tauren's broken horns and body upon the trail ... or the blood of the dryads of Silverwing staining the crystal waters of their lake.

"To try and return a little doll to a little girl ...

"Who doesn't understand she died so many years ago."

She raised a hand, to mop her brow, leaving a streak of grime and sweat below the ring of her pointed hat.

" ... oh, Mezzy, how did we get here?

" ... where a fine lord like Captain Redpath can turn upon his own family? Where upon the tallest throne of death sits a man who doesn't remember once being a paladin? Where mages tear asunder the very fabric of the world, where Crusaders don't care whose blood they spill, Alliance and Horde alike, in their genocidal pursuit of spiritual cleansing.

" ... where the High Priest of Stormwind asks me and you to go out and kill someone ...

" ... gear-broke, Mezzy, he asked us to be his assassins ..."

The small doll was hugged again, this time longer, eyes closed tight.

"And then they have the arrogance to call me and you evil."

A shallow breath was taken, quiet, soft.

"How many souls have been sent to the dark on the blade of a Paladin? How many Tauren mothers have broke down on their knees, to shed their tears over a daughter lost to a sword tempered in Ironforge? How many night elf sires have buried their sons, shattered, burnt and no longer even recognizable, magics of frost and fire ending a near immortal life? How many priests have called upon their gods to bring down their victims ... who had that very morning, prayed to their own gods for victory?

"And we won't even mention those who have to slam their dagger into your back, without the courage to look their dead in the eyes?

"How many raise their shields in useless combat against the Horde ...

"When all it accomplishes is to thin our ranks against the time of the Legions return?"

She took a second breath, just as quiet, just as soft.

"And then they have the arrogance to say we are Their pawns."

Setting the doll in her lap, the little gnome lass smoothed its yarn hair, an almost tender motion.

"I ... I ... I am beginning to think that there's no such thing as good and evil, Mezzy. It just doesn't make sense. The Paladins of Stormwind, they say they are good and follow the light ... but I don't think the Trolls of Stranglevale would agree with them. The night elves claim the forests by the will of their swords and huntsmen ... bought in the blood of the Tauren ... who seem to live just as close to Nature's will.

"Everyone seems to be thinking that They are good, Mezzy.

"But when you can't go a day without seeing a skeleton melt into the grasslands, you can't help but to realize that they can't all be right.

"Its funny, Mezzy.

"Because they could all be wrong."

Standing, the doll tucked in her arm, the little warlock brushed the red dust from her skirt.

"I know. And we probably are. And the difference is that we know that. Me and you face that everyday. The paladins, they think they'll be able to stand against that final corruption. We know ...

"We know we are just not that strong.

"And until then?

"Mezzy, I think ... that's not important. We know that we will fall beneath the Burning Legion's might.

"But I am not going to let them take you from me without a fight.

"You are my best friend.

"I know you don't understand that. But that's fine. I do. And I know you don't understand that it's not how we die that makes a difference.

"It is how we live that makes the difference."

She looked up to her companion, managing a small smile.

"And right now?

"We have a doll to return to a little girl."