Yet More Backstory

Things had returned to what constituted normalcy. The gut wrenching feeling hadn’t gone away, but there were days when it was possible to forget it.

Forget.

Did she want to? No new memories were coming forth; Kezrin had only Renzly’s word to assure her, the word of a thief and a liar.

The little book was covered in a soft dark leather. Hesitantly, Kezrin placed her pen at the top corner, writing the date in a precise, even hand writing. She had despised journals in the past, as her memory had been near perfect before the warlock’s curse. Now it was suspect and unreliable. If she ever had a relapse… she couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting her friends again. She would record everything, and keep the book someplace safe.  The rather sparse journal she’d kept just before her memory loss was a painful reminder of just how easily everything could be lost.

She started writing.

—
My name is Kezrin Kanzelry, once Kezrin Goldwick. I work for the AAMS. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, except that one day I woke up in Orgrimmar surrounded by the strangest people and no recollection of how I got there.  Myzzi tried to explain things to me, and gave me the ‘journal’ I had been keeping, but it didn’t make any sense to me.  It’s been over a year and I’m still putting all the pieces together.

So I’m writing this journal now.  If there’s something I learned, it’s that I can’t expect anything to still be here tomorrow when I wake up.

I don’t like that.

When I was younger (a year ago… or two, depending on your perspective, I guess) I had a perfect memory, or as close as you could get to it.  Eidetic aural memory.  I could recite anything I heard, and often without meaning to.  Got it me trouble a few times with Pop, when I used to blurt things out that I wasn’t supposed to repeat.  He learned real fast not to let me around any secret or sensitive business meetings.

So I was put in Ma’s care.   I always assumed that I got my gift from her side of the family, along with the hair.  I think a lot of my relatives on her side have odd gifts.  Ma has a knack for identifying any scent, a real boon to Pop’s business.  She also had a real talent for making things grow.  I spent a lot of time in the gardens with her as she pointed out which plants were best for making oils and incenses.    Those are the only real fond memories I have of her.  Once I got old enough, the lessons began.

Myzzi and I had tutors growing up, naturally.  They taught us the things every kid should know: how to run accounts, calculate returns, write a contract.  We had language tutors and history, too. Myzzi was probably the better student; her particular talent was for remembering things she’d read and seen.  She could draw a schematic from a quick glance.  I think I slowed her down a bit, as I’d often spend my time having to stop and read things out loud before they’d really stick with me.  And then I’d spend our tests reciting text books by rote until I came across the tidbit I needed for an answer.

I simply wasn’t the business genius my Pop hoped I’d be so I could take over the company.  My best skills were languages, and a bit of organizing.  And helping Ma tend the garden.  However, Ma’s biggest talent was analyzing scents, and she was able to make a pretty good life for herself by marrying Pop and helping him run a scented candle business.  Looking back, I think that’s why she decided to “help” me find success..

If I didn’t have a head for business, then she was determined that I would marry someone who did.  The new lessons started once I was old enough to have some control over my “blurts.”  How to stand.  How to dress.  How to make small talk.  How to smooze and flirt.

Lean in close.  Use light contact.  Bat your eyes.  Compliment their clothes. Laugh at their jokes.

Before we’d have any parties, she’d make me sit down and memorize cards filled with information on guests so I’d know what to talk about.  After every party, I’d have to recite any conversations I had so she could critique them and find out what I’d learned about people.  I learned to keep my conversations short and dull.

I think Ma finally was starting to realize that I wasn’t the social party girl she wanted anymore than I was Pop’s business genius.  She would still make me attend all the parties and do the studying, but then she wouldn’t pry me out of my corner once I made my token appearance.  As long as I looked pretty and didn’t embarrass her, we had reached an accord.

Outside of that, I’d spend my free time with Myzzi, and we’d do more normal things, like trying out her new rocket set.  Life settled into something bearable, routine.  I could deal with it

Then Deathwing blew everything up.