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Amatula: Questions without Answers
I paced the hard packed floor of the inn at Crossroads. This woman... this Darkspear I was to meet that day... would know about my past? It was hard for me to believe that there was any life before Mother Jonquil found me. My first memory was of taking my first steps into her boney, rotting arms. I'd never found the smell of decay to be too bad, and didn't know that it was considered, shall we say, unpleasant? Most people of Azeroth found the 'stench' quite unappealing. Maybe I didn't because Jonquil had raised me as her own, first in the embracing dampness of the Undercity, and then when her own people found her raising a Trollish child distasteful, we'd moved on.

The place was never important, and we'd traveled from place to place often enough due to the unlikely mother/daughter pairing not being the usual. People just couldn't understand what motives Jonquil would have for wanting to raise a child, let alone a Darkspear child at that. Surely they realized that the Forsaken had feelings and wishes.... dreams and ambitions just like any other person on the face of Azeroth. She'd often told me growing up, "Ama, darling, my heart melted when I saw you laying in the bushes of that burned out village, and I knew you were mine and mine alone. I could never have left you." This was the mighty Forsaken? The ones without feeling and who only thought of themselves? I never will understand that view. Jonquil had been a wonderful parent and my best friend my whole life through.

Though I was raised by an undead woman, I always retained my herritage. The Forsaken had taken great pains to make sure I did not lose my Darkspear culture. In fact, when I came of age, and it was time for me to undertake training, she took me back to Vol'jin. I thought it was because the Forsaken Priests would not accept a Darkspear in their theology schools, but found, through time, that it was Jonquil's desire not to let me forget my roots, that lead her to the decision. If she'd thought it best to take me to the priests of the Undercity, she'd have moved the heavens and Azeroth to make it happen. I believe that with all of my heart.

So here I was waxing poetic and day dreaming of a past that was all I'd ever known, and waiting on a stranger who'd been literally following the trail Jonquil and I had set from the very start. Could it really be? This mage had cared enough about the little infant I'd been to follow me through my life? How had we not met before this day if that was the case? Jonquil told me she'd thought me the only survivor of the massacre at my village. ...And yet...hadn't I sensed her from the start? Hadn't I always wondered about the Trolls who'd created me, formed my limbs and eyes, and whom from whom I'd inherited the blue-black hair? Hadn't I heard the name "Kwami" shouted over and over again in those oddly fuzzy nightmares I'd always had?

Kwami. Was that really me? I shook my head. No. "I am Amatula. Shadow Priestess of the Forsaken." I might not be undead, but my mother is. So many people never understood that and never really will I suppose. I laughed out a harsh breath. "We shall see if my sister and her tribe will accept me as the Forsaken Priestess I have always known myself to be." In my heart. I'm Darkspear and I'm proud to say that I am. I'm also Forsaken. I thought of Jonquil and how her health was starting to fade. She was quite old and I wasn't sure she'd still breathe when I next laid eyes upon her. "I hope sincerely, that meeting you is worth not being at my dying mother's side," I paused in thought, "Sister." It still felt odd rolling off my tongue and I wondered, not for the first time, if I'd ever feel comfortable saying the word. If I'd ever believe it in my heart.

((This is basically my introduction of Amatula "Kwami" to her sister Eonia. At long last, they meet. I hope I've put it in the right place.))

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