Rain poured down through the thick forested sky above. Had it been weeks or days? 343 More Words

Rain poured down through the thick forested sky above. Had it been weeks or days? She could not remember. She only knew that she could not turn back... not to that place... that horrible horrible place.

The screams in the night had faded, she was that far. This much she knew. She only had to keep traveling south, down the river. It would take her to Tarren Mill.

"Tarren Mill" the words she spoke in whisper with chattering teeth. She was soaked, freezing and alone. The darkness of night closing in around her.

"It should be here." She thought again out loud, continuing to trudge through the mud of the river bank. Just as her self trust began to vanish and she feared herself lost, a single dim light broke through the mists of the bank. There, in the distnce the shadowy outline of Tarren Mill emerged within the gloom.

Her heart leapt, finally... she had made it. An outpost of the Alliance. She lifted mudcaked robes and began to sprint toward the small village, relief washing over her being. Closer and closer until..... no. Something wasn't right.

She could hear no voices, no laughter... no smell of food or sound of life. She stopped, slipping behind a large pine where she could get a clear view of the chapel.

A robed figure emerged, robes tangled and dirty. For a moment she thought him a priest of the light, but then... slowly surely... her relief turned to terror. She withdrew her gaze and drew her hand to her mouth to stifle her own screams.

He was no human at all but a shambling corpse. Had the scourge truly taken all of Lordaeron? Where the things they had said... the fears they had tormented her with true all along?

Gathering her grit she slunk away, back into the forest toward the river. "It can't be true." She thought. "I must push on to Southshore... it can't be true."

She continued on her way for hours more along the bank. "Southshore will be there." She told herself through clenched teeth.

Ahoy, Reader, Kelladis Ourano here to shed some light on the details of my campaign for Stormwind City Council this Summer. I am running for the Old Town representative seat and would like for you to consider voting for me in this upcoming election. 248 More Words

Ahoy, Reader, Kelladis Ourano here to shed some light on the details of my campaign for Stormwind City Council this Summer. I am running for the Old Town representative seat and would like for you to consider voting for me in this upcoming election. As a long-term professional ship captain, I know what it’s like to turn a ship that’s seen better days into the pride of the fleet. That’s what I hope to do with Old Town when elected.

Old Town currently is a testament to how the city’s nobles have let the common people down. The most historic district in Stormwind, and it’s home to struggling family businesses, unemployed workers, and cast-aside veterans of our army who fought bravely for the Alliance in each and every war. When elected, I hope to stimulate the economy of the district by creating jobs for the unemployed and promoting these family businesses that have been passed down for generations from parent to child.

The common people of the city have been overlooked and overworked for years, and it’s time for their voices to be heard. As a sea captain, it’s important for you to listen to each and every sailor on your ship and take their words to heart. With my experience and willingness to hear and help our people, I believe that I am the best candidate for the job. When it comes time to vote this Summer, who are you going to choose? Someone who intends to keep things business as usual, or someone who’s ready to make the changes that this city needs? I am Kelladis Ourano, and I am Running a Tight Ship.

This message paid for by Xaxdorei for Ourano.

The public forum Saturday night, a shining beacon of the democratic process within Stormwind, was marred by a once prominent community figure’s crusade against the unknown. Apothecary, Scalebane, Shan’do: these are the most venerable titles that Kaladhir Ambertap holds to mark a druid, a citizen of his stature. 339 More Words

The public forum Saturday night, a shining beacon of the democratic process within Stormwind, was marred by a once prominent community figure’s crusade against the unknown. Apothecary, Scalebane, Shan’do: these are the most venerable titles that Kaladhir Ambertap holds to mark a druid, a citizen of his stature. Each honorific earned with fang and claw, fighting for his people and even those of this land he now calls home. For this reason I must say with heavy heart that I am disappointed in Ambertap.

Once a staunch ally, I was revolted to find the embittered shell of a druid that heckled the candidates that night carried the same name. So proud was I to lend my aid to the apothecary’s campaign effort, dutifully taking note of each word spoken on the various platforms present, that one can imagine my shock to find my friend disparaging the very newspaper I write for. The vitriol, then, that spewed from this man soured the room. The name-calling and implications of unfair terms caught the candidates off-guard, though they managed to regain composure well-enough. And as if that were not enough, Ambertap made a mockery of the entire process, displaying a startling lack of understanding and care by announcing his intent to run for Park District Councilor – a seat that is not up for election.

His rejoining the crowd, then, was further turning point as he renounced his candidacy and took to jeering at the remainders. To Lady Lasciell Ravenwood he made offensive remarks of a purported tattoo, directly asking, “I would need to have you searched…[] Would you like to consent to the guards?” The confusion in his now-failed campaign was brought to a head as he challenged City Councilor Rhien Heartseeker directly, going on to demand she resign “out of shame.” Ambertap was escorted from the building shortly thereafter.

I write this op-ed not to disparage the good druid’s name; Elune knows he has done well enough in that regard for himself. I write to let the readers know the dangers of wanton vigilantism, to let the readers be aware that such conspiratorial nature can turn even the most noble of people into raving vagrants. I write out of fear that the lunacy that has gripped a dear friend may spread throughout our dear city.

-Ellaria Moonbough

Ahoy and avast, people of the Alliance. I have returned to continue the enthralling tale that I began last week, so that you may find a stroke of maritime entertainment in your lives. 348 More Words

Ahoy and avast, people of the Alliance. I have returned to continue the enthralling tale that I began last week, so that you may find a stroke of maritime entertainment in your lives. Without further ado or poetics waxed, let us continue the tale of Kelladis Ourano and the Baron of Shipwreck Isle!

As we left off previously, myself and Captain Alessa von Alder were thrown overboard into the raging sea during a terrible storm after she had released me from a false imprisonment in an attempt to save the ship from going down after the previous helmsman was cast overboard himself. Sadly, despite my best efforts, we suffered the same fate as the poor helmsman and we were also thrown overboard before the ship capsized, sending the rest of the crew to the bottom of the sea. Of course, if I am writing this, I must have survived, no? Lest this world I am in be an afterlife, then it is the case.

Myself and Captain Alder found ourselves washed up on the white sandy shores of some island neither of us recognized. We found that the chain that she had used to bind us together so that she could place me back in the brig after I had so bravely attempted to save her ship was still tightly clapped on both of our wrists. With no tools nearby to sever said connection, it seemed that we had to stay together for the time being.

After a day of exploring to find food and water, as well as a high place to search for any ship sails in the distance, we spotted a curious pillar of smoke on the horizon. Deciding to make our way there, we spent several days trudging through the jungle, making our way towards the signal we had seen on the horizon. It took us nearly three days to reach our destination, but what we found was well worth the rough journey. A compound made of hewn logs sitting in the middle of a clearing in front of a mountainous stack of stone ruins. Natives or new arrivals, who was to say? But we thought that it was better to take our chances than to stay out in the jungle...

In time for the next deadline!

The parchment is covered in a mixture of blood, dirt, and tears. The corners are ripped as sloppy quill marks cover the pages. 133 More Words

The parchment is covered in a mixture of blood, dirt, and tears. The corners are ripped as sloppy quill marks cover the pages.

I'm... sorry, to everyone I've failed. To the Light, to the Knights of the Silver Hand, and to those in Stormwind. I can't handle this cursed place. Desolace... the Kodo Graveyard... it's too much. I can't feel the Light here. I feel weak. And they won't permit me to go home. I miss Stormwind. I miss the forests of Elwynn and the lakes and the sky and yes, the people.

I have to leave. I can't stay here any longer. I must take matters into my own hands, as it's clear the Silver Hand will not help me. I will form my own company, and bring justice to those who deserve it. To whoever finds this, Rose Company will defend you.

A large blot of ink covers the bottom right of the page.

Furious scribbles line the page margins, signs that the ink and quill were perhaps not quite agreeing. I-- We've finished what things were required in Lakeshire. 74 More Words

Furious scribbles line the page margins, signs that the ink and quill were perhaps not quite agreeing.


I-- We've finished what things were required in Lakeshire. I heard whispers in the Inn of happenings in Darkshire. It isn't too far and it sounds like problems we should be able to assist with.

I've written my love with my updated 'home' from the time being. It's dark and dreary here. He would love it.

Peaches and I have set up in the Inn in Darkshire and have begun looking around for those in need of help.

Until next time --
Taliea

Between adventures Taliea found a worn journal with the first handful of pages viciously torn out. She searched and questioned throughout Lakeshire but was unable to find the previous owner. 21 More Words

Between adventures Taliea found a worn journal with the first handful of pages viciously torn out. She searched and questioned throughout Lakeshire but was unable to find the previous owner. Following the advice of the innkeeper she wet a quill with ink and scrawled her name inside the cover.

It took me a long time to finally sit down and write this, given the gravity of the situation. As has already been reported elsewhere, the druid Lantana has recently passed away, though not by natural means. 336 More Words

It took me a long time to finally sit down and write this, given the gravity of the situation. As has already been reported elsewhere, the druid Lantana has recently passed away, though not by natural means. She was killed in self-defense by another druid, Elmeria Oakenheart, after having stabbed the woman in the stomach. Now what madness could have brought these two druids to harm each other? The answer, I think, is obvious.

In the article "Beware of Dark Druid Maleifarcarum," I warned about a void-influenced druid who was allowed to freely wander the city of Stormwind. Neither her friends nor the authorities took any significant steps in bringing her into custody, both for her safety and the safety of others. As she had previously threatened and assaulted me on more than one occasion, it was evident that she was an explosive seed ready to pop. The two most responsible for her death are Tira Phalandrin and Kaladhir Ambertap. Both of them were given full accounts on what Lantana was up to, and both assured me that the matter was to be handled. Unfortunately, they were blinded by their own affection for the druid, and failed to act to help her. She was in a runaway minecart headed towards disaster, and no one thought to stop her.

Of course, at least part of the blame must rest on me. I tried to inform others and the public, but I did not do enough. I should have pushed harder, despite the opposition, but instead I kept away when the situation became dire. The return of Jarleif undoubtedly had some influence on pushing Lantana fully to the edge, and the Darkmoon Faire was as appropriate as any other place to finally snap. The sigil of the Darkmoon Faire, after all, is an ominous, orange eye. Some whisper of eyes such as those being spotted in the deepest recesses of Azeroth. A coincidence, or not, what is not a coincidence is that a troubled woman finally met a terrible and violent end.

I hope that we, as a community, watch over those who may be tempted by dark magic and step in when needed, even when the "honored teachers" do not.

My mentor told me writing one of these would help me calm myself during moment of struggle, so here I am. I'm writing this from within the Silver Hand barracks... 105 More Words

My mentor told me writing one of these would help me calm myself during moment of struggle, so here I am. I'm writing this from within the Silver Hand barracks... quite a nice place if I do say so myself. I have a bed... my mace... and a whole footlocker! Incredible!

I've been assigned to go to Darnassus in order to broaden my horizons, and then lend my mace in the fight against the Horde in Ashenvale. While I adore any reason to go and fight, the journey to Darnassus is a bit intimidating. I mean, they say it's a massive tree. The elves I meet are so kind, I hope that they're all like that. Regardless, I should ride for Menethil Harbor as soon as the dawn breaks. I'm going to miss Stormwind.

Selinette.

Ahoy and avast, people of Stormwind, Ironforge, or wherever you’ve found this paper. I, Kelladis Ourano, have decided to share with you all Totally Legitimate Tales from my times at sea. 318 More Words

Ahoy and avast, people of Stormwind, Ironforge, or wherever you’ve found this paper. I, Kelladis Ourano, have decided to share with you all Totally Legitimate Tales from my times at sea. These tales are meant to entertain, yet not a single detail has been embellished in my recounting, I assure you. Each and every word has been carefully selected to retain the true message of what has happened while also being entertaining. Without further ado, let us begin the legendary tale known as Kelladis Ourano and the Baron of Shipwreck Isle!

Our tale begins with our hero, myself, locked in the brig of the Lordaeronian Navy ship, Light’s Blessing. Seems that the Captain, Alessa von Alder, was using her position in the Navy to arrest an innocent man based on the rivalry he held with her father, Rear Admiral Gerhardt von Alder. I was only 17 at the time, and somewhat notorious around my section of the sea. Some perceived slight of some kind left a terrible impression with the Rear Admiral, and he had decided that my completely legitimate business needed to be harassed.

The boat began rocking quite violently after a time, and the good Captain Alessa saw fit to come release me from my cell. Sadly, it seems their navigator was knocked unconscious from a fall on the slick deck in the storm, and I was the best replacement, as I knew the waters we were in. Of course, she couldn’t trust me, so she chained my wrist to hers so that I could navigate us out of danger from being thrown into the sharp rocks nearby.

I did my best, I truly did, but the storm was too powerful and I was given my chance too late. The last thing I remember from that night was myself and the good Captain thrown overboard into the swell as the ship pitched into the rocks and cracked like an egg, sending men to their doom. We sank together into the murky depths, flashes of lightning illuminating the sky above the water as my consciousness drifted away...

Stormwind is hurting. No, it's not just Stormwind. 620 More Words

Stormwind is hurting. No, it's not just Stormwind. It's not just the Alliance. The world is hurting.

As a priestess of the Light, I've had to council and console many of our fellow citizens of this fine city for a myriad of reasons. The problem with this is that there are plenty more people who are in pain who don't seek help or guidance. Many more who aren't being helped.

These are our guards, our soldiers, our workmen who brave danger and dismemberment every day to keep our city safe and running. It's impossible to know how many of our fellow citizens are quietly suffering by themselves. I've seen enough unexplained bruises and injuries brought to me for healing to know that some of their suffering isn't so quiet.

So what is to be done? There's an old saying from my homeland. You can lead a hawkstrider to water, but you can't make him drink. You can't force emotional healing on others, that only causes more harm. So where do these people go to escape their pain, to heal? They drink, typically. They seek the company of others. They search out entertainment.

I recently tried something different, something personally terrifying that left me exposed to all my own insecurities. I had a wonderful time. Specifically I allowed myself to be talked into dancing at the Rat's Revelry.

From atop my barrel I was able to observe a great many things. The looks I received were of a particularly lustful and lewd nature, of course, but I saw something in those eyes, those expressions. There was a relief in some of their faces. A reluctant joy in others, as if some people felt like they weren't allowed to enjoy themselves. I've seen faces like these before, slumped in despair at the Cathedral, seeking escape from their pain.

Once I noticed that, my own embarrassment and humiliation started feeling less important.

I'm not a good dancer, but now I want to be. I've always been afraid or reluctant to embrace my looks, but now I want to. Neither of which I feel compelled to do for myself, though. I want to do it because I realized I was able to do with my dancing what I do in the Cathedral. Up there on my barrel I could see everyone, watch them mingle with one another or seek various outlets for their pain, and maybe bring a little joy into tired, haggard lives.

Of particular note, I think, were the expressions of the few of Stormwind's Finest who came through on business, seeking to speak to the proprietress, or retrieve one of their own for work. I could see their desire to drop their responsibilities and join in the fun. They weren't just the expressions of bored people seeking some fun, they were expressions of pain, stress, and even fear of what a night out in Stormwind might entail for them.

I can understand now why my coworkers at the Rat's Revelry try so hard to make sure our patrons have fun. They make sure they can think about something other than the rest of their lives, make sure they can escape the pain of reality and the stress of a world at war. One need not worry themselves over scourge incursions, demonic invasions, or Horde attacks at one of Stormwind's many taverns. I will make a commitment, myself, to use whatever meager means I have to help dull this pain in our populace. If that means I have to dance on a barrel, then I will. And I'll do my best to get better and better at it.

I love the Alliance. I love Stormwind. Trying something new showed me a way I can help make it a better place.

I want to consider the question of our personal weaknesses. I want to get to the heart of the malaise that afflicts us and prevents us from fully and truly aligning ourselves with the Light’s intentions. 477 More Words

I want to consider the question of our personal weaknesses. I want to get to the heart of the malaise that afflicts us and prevents us from fully and truly aligning ourselves with the Light’s intentions. I have seen it in my own homeland, I have seen it in Stormwind, and I have seen it in all the corners of the world that I have visited. Struggle is a commonality we all share, no matter our heritage, no matter our station, no matter our ability.

We are creatures of reaction, born without the uplifting faculties necessary for true happiness. We are, by our births, only mud and embers, facsimiles of divinity. Your rages and sorrows are echoes of this, people of Azeroth.

This is a turmoil that rises up from within, from dark places where the Light has not reached. Beyond our view, beyond the confused veil of sorrow and fury, the Light remains. It shall always remain. Are your struggles not transient? Has the sun not outlived all the struggles of the mortal races?

We have all failed, and we will fail more before we are taken into the Light’s arms and laid to rest. The Light is not snuffed out by this failure. No candles are blown out by our weakness. No, in fact, our failures as individuals ought to be a reminder to us of our faith. The Light binds communities, it ties us together, its teachings encourage us to unite in common welfare.

We are imperfect, and while we might consider ourselves sculptors, we are in need of sculptors of our own. What are mothers and fathers, if not sculptors? What are our teachers and clergy, if not sculptors? What are our comrades, if not sculptors?

We all speak unto each other, reflecting what has been reflected onto us. We moor our ships at each other’s docks. We, the captains of our ships, exchange news and goods and set sail again. Our senses let us be imparted upon, so that we might learn what truth is and see the splendors of the world. This is holy. This is a doing of the Light. Without it, we could not see.

So, in the coming days, perhaps we could undergo a sort of exercise. Pay special attention to what is said to you, and what you say to others. The actions you observe, and the actions you take. Find a concept that is important to you, or to others, and give it your attention. What have you learned of 'justice' or 'love', and what have you taught of it? What does the concept truly mean, beyond just the lip service we get lost in.

We speak of such high virtues as these very often, and we give praise to them, but we must understand what we are saying. Recall certain instances in which a virtue was carried out, or perhaps a certain instance where said virtue could have been of help. If you feel you have a proper understanding of it, then share! Teach a virtue. Brighten your community.

In the realms of men there holds but one truth in each their hearts – the Light. Benevolent to most, the faith sweeps across the Eastern Kingdoms like a comforting blanket, enrapturing its subjects in benediction. 308 More Words

In the realms of men there holds but one truth in each their hearts – the Light. Benevolent to most, the faith sweeps across the Eastern Kingdoms like a comforting blanket, enrapturing its subjects in benediction. Yet to the unfaithful, the degenerate and the impure, threat of divine wrath is often not enough to spur them to absolution. Why might that be, that the promise of damnation does not drive these sinners towards the Light? The paladins are often called upon to be such arbiters, to mete punishment unto those that not spurred by their own volition. Never are their morals questioned nor their actions held accountable, for the light works through them. When these magistrates cast their judgement there is not a second thought to the rhyme or reason, only faith that their interpretation of divine right is exact.

And what if it is not?



Rumors swirl throughout the land of these templars straying from their purpose. Parading the streets whilst rebuking perceived slights; enacting punishment against alleged sinners without consent of the crown; trespassing under guise of criminal investigation – each a story to accompany professing their utmost purity in intention. Under any other banner, these acts would themselves be considered criminal. They take themselves as above the crown, proclaiming divine right to act of their own volition. What more are they than vigilantes? The echoes of Prince Arthas still ring throughout these city streets; the blood-soaked halls of Lordaeron stand a monument to the corruption of paladins. Beating a man to near death to service one’s own agenda does not inspire confidence in the citizenry, never mind consorting with demonic influence under our very noses proclaiming to humanize.


Reverberations of that scarlet sect of paladins cross the mind -- those twisted crusaders who give up their humanity so willingly. Zealous, they make enemies of all who oppose their interpretation of the Light. Here we see what perverse nature this faith may shift into should the sovereignty of paladins remain unchecked, and let us not tread down this path once more.

I have previously written an article in this very paper about the dangers of dark magic users in this city. It is with no pleasure, then, that I have come across a report that the Justicars - the group responsible for hunting dark magic users within the city - may contain some bad actors of their own. 174 More Words

I have previously written an article in this very paper about the dangers of dark magic users in this city. It is with no pleasure, then, that I have come across a report that the Justicars - the group responsible for hunting dark magic users within the city - may contain some bad actors of their own.

According to a young night elf woman named Aiwan, Bigsby Wallace, the current acting head of the Justicars, followed her throughout the city after having previously berated her boyfriend outside of a bar. He had referred to the man, Ultharion, as "pathetic" and a "sad sac." Despite her many insistences, he would not stop following Aiwan, and even used his paladin powers in a threatening manner, which she described as an "aura of red lightning."

This physical intimidation by an otherwise respected paladin boggles the mind. Has the power and influence he wields as leader of the Justicars gone to his head? When this was brought to the attention of Councilor Rhien, she declined to comment due to the lack of known motive. Thus, it is left for the rest of us to wonder. Was alcohol involved, or was this part of his regular temperament? What about the racial background of the victims, being both night elves in heritage? Continue reading the Grobbulus Times for our next report!

The Alliance has proven itself to be a beast that is slow to be roused from slumber. Its combined forces are vast and its industries are without equal, but there are many mouths to feed and palms to grease where any considerable dispatch of its forces are concerned. 1023 More Words

The Alliance has proven itself to be a beast that is slow to be roused from slumber. Its combined forces are vast and its industries are without equal, but there are many mouths to feed and palms to grease where any considerable dispatch of its forces are concerned. For many long years Stormwind has busied itself, questionably, with agendas and projects that run contrary to its own interests - a matter of contention that perhaps makes more sense with the revelation of what evil forces were at work in the realm's court. Stormwind's true interests have been neglected. The integrity of the nation, after hard decades of reconstruction and resettlement, came into question.

Now, perhaps, we see a spark of hope. Eyes open, teeth bared, the Lion of the South brought marshalled forces across the Thandol Span and into the Arathi Highlands. Their aim? To put a definite end to the incursions the Horde had for a long while made with impunity against the beleaguered locals. The long unanswered pleas of the people of the Highlands, and their representatives in Stormwind, known as the League of Arathor, have, at the least, been given some sort of recognition.


Battle lines are drawn in the Arathi Highlands

I could wax on to the point of tedium about the challenges that face the people of the north, but I will not. There is enough suffering in this world, and it is known to us already, so let us take this moment to celebrate what was a victory for the Alliance. We can not presume that this will bring an end to the Horde's predations, but we can see it as a promising new start to our joint efforts against them. If we might win here, we might win elsewhere, and achieve that elusive dream of peace.

The combined forces of the Alliance came through various channels from the south, particularly from the active ports in the Wetlands and southern Arathi, and took up quarters in the fallen Fortress-City of Stromgarde, where they were accommodated by the realm's master: Prince Galen Trollbane. Enemies of the Kingdom remain entrenched there, though that wasn't the goal of this expedition. Such an effort as liberating the entirety of Stromgarde would have required far more than was at the Expedition Commanders' disposal.

Their goal, rather, was an encroachment of Horde forces from beyond Thoradin's Wall. A combined force from the Undercity and across the sea that meant to ensure the security of those who still took refuge in the former internment camp of Hammerfall and seek any targets of opportunity. That, of course, could include everything from the members of the Syndicate in the region, to ogres, to good citizens of the Alliance.

To let more such evils take root in the Highlands, the cradle of mankind, was not something that could be allowed, especially given the beginning of the accursed operations of Varimathras' Defilers. A dangerous precedent was already being set, and their aggression needed to be check in a language they could understand.

No time was wasted on either side. As soon as outriders and scouts became aware of each other's presence, both forces drew up into battle lines, though it quickly became apparent to the Horde that they were outnumbered. They hadn't been expecting a full detachment from Stormwind. Their hopes, indeed, were for easy pickings of the sort they had become accustomed to. That did not make them cowards though. Not on this day. They formed battle lines against the much larger Alliance contingent and prepared to make a stand on higher ground.

The Alliance wasted no time, they advanced, and with their superior numbers they were able to envelop the left flank of the horde forces. Losses were sustained, they were pushed back, and the Alliance forces pressed on. Blood was spilled on both sides, but it was a foregone conclusion by virtue of numbers alone. All that could be done was fight with dignity and try to withdraw in good order. Humbling losses were inflicted upon them, but the Horde was able to withdraw and, remarkably, regroup as a cohesive unit.

The Alliance expedition, meanwhile, assumed the battle done with and departed for their quarters in Stromgarde City. This would prove to be naive, as they were being followed by Horde scouts and pathfinders, sent by leadership that was honorbound to see something salvaged from their first defeat. With an enemy force that was so visible, and slower than their own, they devised a new strategy.

What came next was a true spectacle, and speaks to the cunning and tenacity of our foes. The Horde contingent's leadership selected their best; hand-picked killers and reavers who could be counted upon. This small team, bloodied but undeterred, utterly fixated on revenge, was sent to the crumbling southern walls of Stromgarde, an area beyond the grasp of Stromgarde's own garrison.

Their plan was to strike at the Alliance Expedition's leadership from an angle they wouldn't expect, while what remained of the main body of their force would work to distract the Alliance forces and keep them tied down. Neither would be a difficult task in that city at war, where each street belonged to a different host.

So began a bloody raid. The Alliance was bogged down in brutal streetfighting with the Horde forces they had thought thoroughly beaten. The Horde's warriors bought time for their raiders by using the streets and buildings to their advantage. It was a fight that was moreso on their terms than the first, and this quickly became apparent to the soldiers of the Alliance, but not quickly enough. The Horde's best had scaled the walls and found their targets. They took what lives they could, cutting down key officers from both Stormwind and Stromgarde while their allies threw themselves into their diversion.

It was not a battle without cost. The Horde would feel the sting of these lost warriors, but they had made something of the affair. Alliance blood, from the top, had been spilled. They made it known that they would not simply leave, and not just roll over at the first sign of organized opposition.

This was a valuable lesson for both forces, wasn't it? We must simply hope the Alliance learns more, and that this new proactive approach to combating the Horde is maintained, for all our sakes. For the dream of peace.

It was a hectic scene this morning in the Trade District of our great city. Shop-signs were reverted back to normal, several mock-doors were removed from stone walls, and cleanup was undertaken across the entire cityscape. 93 More Words

It was a hectic scene this morning in the Trade District of our great city. Shop-signs were reverted back to normal, several mock-doors were removed from stone walls, and cleanup was undertaken across the entire cityscape. As is typical for the first of the April month, guard-calls quadrupled in frequency, multiple arrests were made for false claims, and damages were reportedly in the hundreds of gold from one unlucky bank who falsely claimed the city council was ‘Shutting them down, and that they were opening a Forsaken branch in Undercity’. When asked about the unnecessary costs during war-time, officials are reported as saying that they don’t quite understand why April 1st continues to be celebrated, but stand behind the community in the tradition of the Fool’s Holiday.

Much emphasis as of late has been placed on fel or demonic magic, but it is not only warlocks that can manifest darkness. Any user of magic, even those who focus on the Light or nature, can cave into their darker natures and use their powers for ill. 191 More Words

Much emphasis as of late has been placed on fel or demonic magic, but it is not only warlocks that can manifest darkness. Any user of magic, even those who focus on the Light or nature, can cave into their darker natures and use their powers for ill. Others still may seek out other, more corrupting sources of power, in order to supplement what they already possess.

Tragically, a child of Elune has been recently corrupted by a known maleficar, Jarlief, who had been previously banished from our realm. She is reportedly a former of his, and over the course of their relationship, tendrils of ill intent seeped into her. Though she may appear normal on the outside, a dark taint rests within that poses a threat to both others and herself. All citizens are thus advised to keep their distance, and be on the lookout for all possible signs of void-based corruption.

Due to local libel laws, the name of the purported dark druid cannot not be published here. This means that it falls on you, citizen, to keep an eye out for the dangers in our midst! This is best treated with an abundance of caution, so be sure to practice your best social distancing behavior. Since void-based corruption can manifest at any time, even the ones you love and trust can turn on the drop of a hat! Do not let yourselves or others give in!

Stormwind has often been thought a city of opposites, of progression and stagnation, of tradition and innovation all at once. City officials, during the final month of this ever-hopeful writer’s, deemed that the war had drawn away too many of the nobility and ranking members of title from the politics and management of the City itself. 297 More Words

Stormwind has often been thought a city of opposites, of progression and stagnation, of tradition and innovation all at once. City officials, during the final month of this ever-hopeful writer’s, deemed that the war had drawn away too many of the nobility and ranking members of title from the politics and management of the City itself. Council seats therefore, in a rather shocking and surprising turn, were opened to an electoral process given to the citizens of our great city itself. ‘Is this to be a turning-point in our political process, power given to the masses in efforts to unify the citizens high and low to common purpose?’, I marveled and dreamed.

Corrupted almost instantly, this idea of ‘democracy’ that had been so tenuously proposed turned into little more than a farce. By the first weeks following the election, allegations of voter-buyoffs and bribery were already surfacing before going suspiciously silent. The second of the two elected Councillors, Ilythil Nightrage, resigned her position only two months later amidst whispers of scandal and infighting at the upper echelons of power. Stormwind had only tasted the sweet fruit of this newfangled ‘democracy’ before it was stripped away, and a replacement Councillor quietly selected to replace ---- without even a hint of second vote. Criminals have found themselves locked in the Stockades for less than what suspected corruptions have taken place in only the creation of this ‘City Council’, let alone the activities the members allegedly engage in behind closed doors.

For, dear reader, noble intentions and an even nobler title of ‘freedom and equality’ slapped onto a festering rot cannot hide what it truly is. Profit, power and the allure of abusing station seem to have turned what was intended to be a grand dream into a group more focused on their own wealth than the good of the city, and this writer wonders whether the authority has already gone to the heads of these ‘elected’ officials, or whether we can expect to see them use their station to actually aid this hurting City.

Out to bring you the first word of truth,
Elyanne Fasate

From the Sunset's View. Wiesner Platinumbrow. 577 More Words

From the Sunset's View.
Wiesner Platinumbrow.

I was born in a work camp in the Searing Gorge, the ill-timed offspring of a slave and a slaver, and handed off to the Church of Shadowforge without even a moment's hesitation. Indeed, there is a Church of the Light in Shadowforge City. There are those who pray and meditate. The priests, unappreciated and posed as convenient scapegoats, work tirelessly towards alms and healing, with their gazes turned aside, away from the idols of the domineering Firelord. A cog in the military machine, a cog that has only persisted for so long thanks to its efficacy and its support of the soldiery. I was brought up in the holy houses as little more than an orphan, given ample opportunity to watch and no opportunity to speak.

It was a unique perspective I was given in that place where the expectation of our continued service was the only guarantee of our survival, even when the bidden duty of a priest is to give freely unto the needy. What is charity when it is forced from you by the turn of the rack wheel? What is altruism when it is compelled from you at the end of a jeweled truncheon? Were we more or less in bondage than those whose fingers bled and lungs filled with black dust out in the Cauldron? We, the clergy, were as mules; given the task of wielding the beneficent Light, while gagged and blinded, to perpetuate an evil system.

I was among those who believed we were the worse off, because the quarry slaves did not have to lie to themselves. Though their cage was not gilded, their duties were genuine, their struggle was sincere. I envied those I had been born from, and I sought them out. I left the creature comforts of the city and the service of the church and went among them. The most downtrodden, whose plight was the most honest. There, in the soot, among heaps of coal, a true understanding of the Light blossomed between my ears.

I must consider myself fortunate, for my own medicancny has opened my eyes to bright and powerful truths that are lost on my brethren beneath the black mountain. I have much to thank the Thorium Brotherhood, the clergy of Stormwind, and the noble people of Ironforge for - they have filled my belly and protected my personage without expectation of anything but the continuation of spiritual dialogue. To join efforts - hands, minds, and hearts - with my colleagues that live beneath different flags has brought me immeasureable joy, and I hope that you, the reader, will be able to share in even a fraction of this.

The great hunger, the gnawing pillar of undying flame, the terrible and indelible sin of my people, whose birth cries tore open a wound in the very heart of our world, has been struck from the firmament. Ragnaros the Firelord, who has held my people under his sway for so long, has been bested, and I see this as cause for celebration, even as many of my kinsmen tear at their beards and wail. Perhaps, in time, the people of Shadowforge will be able to rehabilitate themselves, and I will be able to walk those halls I cherish once more!

Consider the plight of the common Dark Iron this week. Pity them. I pray, in the days that come, that we might show them mercy. Thaurissan's works might, in time, be undone.

Stormwind, in these last few troubled and conflicting months, has seen a veritable explosion of fel and nether activities. Cartels, seedy taverns, these sorts of dark corners have often held refuge for the outcast or unaccepted in the Alliance, and rumors have persisted for months of small refuges and covens of Warlocks within Stormwind’s own walls. 272 More Words

Stormwind, in these last few troubled and conflicting months, has seen a veritable explosion of fel and nether activities. Cartels, seedy taverns, these sorts of dark corners have often held refuge for the outcast or unaccepted in the Alliance, and rumors have persisted for months of small refuges and covens of Warlocks within Stormwind’s own walls. Are these dreg heaps flourishing and spilling into the streets in the absence of much of the guard force, or is something even more maddening at play here, faithful reader?

Controlling demons and commanding the powers of fel influence is an inherently corrupting venture, and any who has bonded imp or succubus to their service has only done so via pact formed with the creature. Both of the greatest wars our world has ever seen stemmed from the corruption of such influences, the temptation to trade morality, life, or even soul for the power such magics offer. The truth is, wise reader, that these practices are banned from Stormwind for the very simple reason that even innocent dabbling can lead down an ever-darkening path of ruin.

Justicars in the city have warned that even the most pure intentions when it comes to demon-summoning are forbidden by City Law, punishable by detainment or worse. And after the last several months of cult activity, the brief attacks brought on by Jarlief, summonings in the Park District itself, it is no doubt maddening to them that there are still citizens who attempt to justify the dark practices or claim they can be turned to good. The desire to forgive and rehabilitate is a noble one, virtuous reader, but there are some creatures in this world that are beyond mortal means to see cleansed. Warlocks may find the error in their ways, criminals can atone for their crimes, but pity the poor fools who offer the scorpion a ride across the river on their backs.

Out to bring you the first word of truth,
Elyanne Fasate

Greetings all you prime-time Grobb readers! It's duck season in Khaz Modan and what better way to kick it off than with a beautiful way to prepare the best part of the local game animal. 383 More Words

Greetings all you prime-time Grobb readers! It's duck season in Khaz Modan and what better way to kick it off than with a beautiful way to prepare the best part of the local game animal. Today we will be preparing duck breast pan-fried and served with a sauce you could make out of your very own wine-skin and trail rations!


-Ingredients-
2 eight ounce skin on duck breasts
A bottle of a dry red wine of your choosing, in my case a beautiful Bordeaux
4 ounces of butter
2 ounces of flour
2/3rd's cup of chicken stock
Rosemary and Thyme for garnish
Kosher Salt and Black Pepper to taste


-Prepartion-
1. Mise en place is key. begin by leaving your butter and the flour together at room temperature in a mixing bowl, leave to soften
2. Take the duck breast and leave a cross hatched scoring on the fatty skin, trimming any unsightly portions of grisle to clean up the meat. Ensure you don't go into the red part of the meat with your scoring. Season generously with kosher salt and black pepper.
3. Take your freshly scored duck breast and place in a cold frying pan skin down, begin the cooking on low and gradually increase to high heat. This will ensure your skin and fat is beautifully rendered.
4. Once finished with the protein, cooking it to the correct doneness of your choice (medium well registers at 145 degrees Fahrenheit) set aside the duck breast in addition to draining off the excess duck fat into the trash or into a seperate container for use later.
5. Deglaze your frying pan with enough of your wine to just barely cover the fond in the bottom of the pan. Cook off until your wine takes on a loose, syrupy texture.
6. Add in your chicken stock to the wine glaze in the pan and let it simmer and reduce to about half while you whisk together your butter and flour until it is fully incorporated together.
7. Whisk the butter and flour mixture constantly into the pan reduction until it takes on the consistency of a velvety gravy, it should coat the back of a table spoon and wipe cleanly if you run a finger across it, season to taste.

Final notes: The sauce towards the end may taste differently based off of your choice of wine. If you find it is too bitter or tanin-y don't be afraid to add a few table spoons of sugar to bring it back to a richer, more balanced flavor.

In the dusk of a late-winter night, lost souls may stumble through the darkness of Stormwind’s back alleys and hidden passages. For most, it is unclear what these shadows look for, but for others it is very apparent. 378 More Words

In the dusk of a late-winter night, lost souls may stumble through the darkness of Stormwind’s back alleys and hidden passages. For most, it is unclear what these shadows look for, but for others it is very apparent. Late last night while following the canals home, I heard a raucous in the distance. A faint yelling coming from within the mage quarter that only grew louder as I stood paralyzed with curiosity. Emerging from stone-wrought passages came a procession of uniform appearance: dark gowns with cloaks drawn and faces masked by the dim light. In single file they marched, tending to the side streets and alleys that I’ve come to know so well. A sewer grate stood little obstacle for the march, welcomed even as an escape from the city proper and leading to the forest beyond.



What sort of reporter would I be if I were not to follow?

The forest of Elwynn slowed them not, despite the darkness they insisted upon proceeding in. Even as oak and cherry gave way to brush and bramble beneath those decrepit trees come Duskwood, the parade only grew in fervor. The laugh of one of their members, an incessant giggling from beneath dark mask, will haunt me forever more. Hushed cries sounded out from their ranks, “The Whispered One watches.” What nefarious game was at foot here?

Ere long, the ruinous pageantry settled in round the shores of a twilit lake, deep within the boughs of that dark forest. It was there I witnessed what black arts lie within the heart of Stormwind. The shades stood on the mired shores and cast themselves into the murky depths. A flask unclasped, swirling black and flecked with silver, they imbibed themselves into a stupor beneath the waters. Sleep took them even as lungs sputtered for air and life seemed to leave their mortal vessels. And yet one still stood, watching as lifeless companions rose to the surface. Her voice pierced that night, the silence broken at last: “Hail C’thun.” A command issued with no choice but to obey. I fled into the night, praying my presence remained unknown, as those drowned bodies stirred.



I sought refuge in Darkshire, the safety of that grand hamlet doing nothing to quell my nerves, as sleep never took me that night. I sit here now recounting this tale to you, dear reader, a tremble still in my hand. Beware what lurks in the night.

It has been a long decade since the Third War's conclusion. A long decade of rebuilding, nursing wounds, and grieving for those lost to the predations of the most abominable beings our world has ever known: The Undead and Demons. 539 More Words

It has been a long decade since the Third War's conclusion. A long decade of rebuilding, nursing wounds, and grieving for those lost to the predations of the most abominable beings our world has ever known: The Undead and Demons. This has been an era of tribulations unlike any other, and there is not a soul alive who might say their life was untouched.

We won. By steel, faith, and fire, the people of Azeroth have persisted.

This in mind, how can any of us abide the presence of those who kneel to these very same diabolical powers? How can we, with keepsakes of heroes on our walls and over our mantles, permit servants of the most inimical powers existent work black rites within our very own neighborhoods, inside our own walls? We cannot, and brave souls have ensured that we will not!

Dear reader, this is not fanciful doomsaying. I am writing of grim truths brought to light by diligent souls, those who are nobly interested in the maintenance of our fair city and civilization. Only days ago, the duly elected Stormwind City Councilor Rhien put forth her first edict: The capture or killing of one Jarlief, a self-described warlock. She was made aware of his existence - under her and the watch's noses - by concerned and faithful citizens, and she did not balk or disbelieve, but investigated, and came to the same dire conclusions as they.

Jarlief, a man whose origins are a mystery, rose to prominence by his sordid work in the criminal underworld of Stormwind City. He wore his evil plainly, with horns protruding from his forehead and the stench of sulfur following in his wake. His evil visage, and his unnatural talent for the black arts, surely aided him as he leveraged a place for himself among the City's most wretched. It shall never be known how many victims suffered under his predations, or how many supplicants took on the arts under his tutelage, save that both counts shall be too high, no matter the number.

Brave citizens of Stormwind, following on the reports of their fellows and the mandate of the newly instated Councilor, sought the warlock and his fellow cabalists. Several nights passed, and it can thankfully be said that they were not spent in vain. A number of practitioners were turned out and tried for their crimes, assayed by priests and found to contain the taint inherent to such magic.

This work culminated with the discovery of Jarlief himself, and a frantic chase across the city, wherein our heroes persisted through their grit and their desire for justice. All his nefarious spell-craft, though potent and dangerous, could not dissuade them. He flung himself through, of all places, the doors of the Holy Cathedral of the Light, intruding on that sanctuary in his mad bid to escape. He tore past all the laity and clergy, like a beast fleeing the huntsman's horn, and scurried into the darkness of the catacombs.

There, in the deep, his pursuers caught up with him and cornered him. He was slain, as justice demanded, and his body sanctified and interred so that he might never threaten our world again.

Death, of course, is not a matter to be spoken of lightly, but we mustn't become complacent, my friends, not when horned devils lurk in the alleys of our city still. The consequences of such complacency are evident in the scars that mark Azeroth, are they not?

Writer-extraordinaire Elyanne Fasate is back in action after a brief stint in the clink of our most anti-journalistic Capital, Stormwind! Of all the various herbs and concoctions used by our fair and more unfair residents, Bloomdust is by far one of the most common and yet least confiscated narcotics dirtying the streets of our city. 429 More Words

Writer-extraordinaire Elyanne Fasate is back in action after a brief stint in the clink of our most anti-journalistic Capital, Stormwind! Of all the various herbs and concoctions used by our fair and more unfair residents, Bloomdust is by far one of the most common and yet least confiscated narcotics dirtying the streets of our city. This powder, sometimes chewed, sometimes smoked, saw introduction into the city mere months ago, yet in that meager swing of the pendulum has infiltrated every district from Old Town to the Noble Quarter! Entire carts and stalls in the Trade District are now dedicated solely to its sale, and yet as crackdowns increase on Peacebloom sales and the presence of Warlocks in the city, one must ask simple question; ‘Why allow Bloomdust?’

Paper wrapped and smoked, Bloomdust sends the user into a strange half-awake state as memories come flooding back of times better spent, of the most pleasant and pleasing sensations you have ever experienced. ‘Is this not a wonderous thing, a joyful reprieve for those beggars in the streets or nobles troubled by thoughts of war’, you might ask? None of this could be further from the truth, dearest of readers! Other substances have claimed similar in the past, but they did not turn those already struggling through the hardships of poverty into little better than half-awake slaves! Than dreamers who are given hours-long taste of their most joyous experiences as if re-living them for the first time, only to be kicked awake into the drudgery of mere contentment! The truth, inquisitive searcher, is that Bloomdust is being used to chain the poorest of this city to the memory of their pasts, leashing them to the idea of happiness while forcing them to buy greater and greater amounts of the drug to reach their desired peak.

Head officials and civilian business-owners have spoken to the benefits and harmless nature of Bloomdust, this ‘Remembrance Drug’, and brushed off criticisms of concerned citizens as nothing more than backward-thinking or rabble-rousing when attentions should be on the ongoing war. Of course, one must question exactly what (or how much, I dare say!) these notable figures stand to gain from drowning us all in nostalgia until we can barely see the road before us. The way to true happiness, readers, is to make that happiness in the now, not to seek and relive or revive the happiness of before.

Stormwind, nay, the world itself has changed much since this columnist was last free to walk the streets, but the search for truths amidst too-convenient falsehoods is a struggle that never ends. Cartels, Mercenary Companies, Councillors and Kings may come and go, yet never should we allow ourselves to become complacent under their guidance, lest we too become mere sleepwalkers like those poor addicts this narcotic has filled our dear city with.

Out to bring you the first word of truth,
Elyanne Fasate

She couldn't remember a time before her undeath; sometimes she wished she could, but at the end of the day it bothered her very little. In the time from her new awakening up to the point of her new induction into this strange, orc-led Pact she has had to face many things in which she doesn't think she would have been able to handle without the proper leader. 313 More Words

She couldn't remember a time before her undeath; sometimes she wished she could, but at the end of the day it bothered her very little. In the time from her new awakening up to the point of her new induction into this strange, orc-led Pact she has had to face many things in which she doesn't think she would have been able to handle without the proper leader. She has always been a follower, and has never cared to lead much of anything... unless it was a dorf heart. She really did love those crunchy things, and their eyeballs! Such flavor!

So she drools a little at the thought of dorf, maybe she can't see properly all the time - it isn't her fault her eye sockets just won't keep any eyeballs in them for long... and so she was pretty sure she has had to replace her lower jaw on more than one occasion - but all of that didn't matter.

She never would have made it this far if it hadn't been for her orc friend. She did so love that crazy orc, and she wasn't sure why. It isn't like she understood what love is, or what friendship is even; hell! She barely understand loyalty. The orc in question is one she met while dabbling in the black market, deep within the bowels of Undercity, working for the Cartel. Well, the less said about that particular time in her unlife, the better...

She had to follow him after the Massacre, what else was she to do? Her lab had been completely ruined, and her perfect dorf specimens... If she could cry, she was sure she'd have teared up every time at the thought.

Still - he had stabilized her in more ways than one. Was she still crazy? Sure. Did she know anyone named Fred? Who the hell is that? She was sure... oh, right. That Fred. Well - yes, so - perhaps she was a bit more addled than normal when waking, but she isn't pointing fingers at troll's proclivity for eating brains, now is she? Or was it flesh... she never could remember.

Was she thinking of something just now...? What had that been? Hm...

Oh, right! Dorf soup! Now where did I put that recipe....?

Lush fields and clear skies, Rock crags reaching for the sun. Quiet mist covers the sea. 73 More Words

Lush fields and clear skies,
Rock crags reaching for the sun.
Quiet mist covers the sea.

The rains bring new life,
And every animal sings.
The wheel keeps turning.

Our world is at peace,
Roots set deep in harmony.
Balance has been found.

A life of comfort.
The rift split our world atwain,
Green demons crawled out.

Rivers turned blood red.
Ash from war choked out the sun.
But the Light was here.

It never left us.
Guiding civilization,
A bastion for all.

Saved in the Light,
Amiretta Harris

My Grave Diggers were doing good work. I quickly came to be unable to manage a lot of things on my own. 529 More Words

My Grave Diggers were doing good work. I quickly came to be unable to manage a lot of things on my own. We were a strange, diverse group of people of many different backgrounds and upbringings, with lots of different ideas of how things could and should be done. I found a kind of natural inclination towards diplomacy as a result, in doing my best to keep them associated with each other so that we could do the work we'd dedicated ourselves to doing.

It was slow, at first, as we learned how to work together, and how to implement the burial and consecration processes we'd developed. Working with wielders of such varying forces of magic proved to be more complicated than expected, but after some trial and error we got more and more practiced with what was needed.

Different magics seemed to interact with others very differently. Druidic magics had a natural affinity and comradery with holy magics, but that same Druidic magic seemed to absorb and be corrupted by the Fel of Warlocks. The Light and the sorcery of Elune could be used as a barrier to contain the Fel, while the Arcane would feed the Fel and be disipated by the Druidic magic.

Considering what needed to be done, we had to carefully craft runes and symbols, in specific orders, to prevent our lines of magic from interacting negatively while still applying the effects we sought. Idols, runic stones, spellstones, and mana shards were all used in careful distribution to maintain a balance.

The essential idea was that the magics of life would protect the body, while the arcane and fel would defend the grave, unleashing hellish retribution on any that sought to tamper with the body. If we did our job properly, any aspiring necromancers would find anyone we laid to rest to simply not be worth attempting to raise. They would be forced to be move on or lose more than they would gain in the process.

What we didn't account for was protecting each other.

Working in such close proximity allowed the same aspects of magical interaction to affect those around us. The most vulnerable turned out to be the most quirky of our numbers, the die-hard warriors, the hunters and their beasts, the rogues. Their personalities started shifting. They became uncooperative, and despite my considerable efforts to accommodate them, they eventually betrayed the Grave Diggers, abandoning us for other groups. I would hear rumors of them damaging their new communities.

I can't help but feel responsible.

It's happened less and less once I realized what was happening, but occasionally another would seemingly lose their mind. Tiny circumstances would become Azeroth-tilting conflicts. We never came to blows, but I'd be lying if I thought it was unlikely. We've managed to isolate the issues, diminish their impacts, but I haven't found a way to completely end this problem.

All I can do is pray that we do more good than harm, that whatever insanity or evil my former Grave Diggers unleash is less damaging than the security we increasingly bring to the dead. The pervasiveness and strength of the undead of the Plaguelands and Duskwood seem to be ebbing as we chip away at them. We're gaining ground, even as some of us lose their minds.

I saw you again in my dream last night. The hearth had a warm glow to it. 131 More Words

I saw you again in my dream last night.
The hearth had a warm glow to it.
You were laughing with your brother,
the two of you looked so radiant.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.

In my dreams you two are always together.
Maybe it's a trick of the Light.
Maybe my prayers have been answered,
you found him and everything's alright.
I'm sorry I can't be with you now.

I awoke from the dream with silent tears.
A cruel mixture of joy and sorrow.
It feels like years since I held you,
I'll never forget the last time.
I'm sorry I couldn't carry you with me.

I lost myself that day.
Leaving Southshore was easy enough.
Not flying out on one of your gryphons,
or taking any keepsakes was tough.
I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper burial.

All of my love,
Amiretta Harris

It was a novel idea, inspired by reading Alcmene had done while in Northshire Abbey. It would take a lot of work, and a lot of people from different disciplines, but she could do it. 307 More Words

It was a novel idea, inspired by reading Alcmene had done while in Northshire Abbey. It would take a lot of work, and a lot of people from different disciplines, but she could do it. She knew she could.

With a few copper to her name, and a handful of new friends, she set out to try and form an organization with a primary goal in mind. She needed to develop a way to bury the dead that necromancy and plague could not penetrate.

She worked her hands to the bone, plying the skills she'd learned over her life: healing, tailoring, enchanting, cooking... she earned her money coin by coin. She put forth the effort to found a guild, naming it the Grave Diggers in the hopes of finding others with her aim. She found them, people of many disciplines, young students of fallen heroes and more. It took weeks of planning and experimentation, money spilling down and seemingly wasted on the process she imagined could be invented.

And then they succeeded. It took a specially annointed and crafted casket, with blessed ground around it. The casket needed to be warded against penetration while an enchanted charm would keep the earth around the grave from being disturbed by corruption. Left uncontrolled, the undead would avoid it for fear of their own destruction. When controlled, the undead would find the grave more trouble than it was worth, more likely to move on to easier prey rather than bother spending the time and effort.

Now it was a matter of getting the word out. She had to find more people she could teach the process to. She needed strong men and women who could help her dig these specialized graves. She needed warriors of spell and blade to destroy already risen undead so they could ensure they couldn't rise again.

It was hard work. Dirty work. Work that had to be done at night while the conditions were right. It was work that had to be done, to protect the Alliance while it slept.

After the first invasion of the Orcs, Stormwind fell and the residents of the region escaped north to Lordaeron. With precious little time to prepare, a second war with the Orcs broke out. 1034 More Words

After the first invasion of the Orcs, Stormwind fell and the residents of the region escaped north to Lordaeron. With precious little time to prepare, a second war with the Orcs broke out.

North of the Human lands, the ancient enemies of Elf and Human rose up again and joined the Orcish Horde against the Alliance. The green Amani Trolls cleaved between Human and Elven lands, isolating the High Elves for a time.

One of these Elven settlements was an agrarian farming community, one of the breadbaskets of the Alliance. High Elves had farmed these lands for centuries, oftentimes with the aid of magic constructs and farming tools to aid them. One such family of farmers was the Elunara family. They didn't stand a chance.

Alcmene Elunara, young by High Elven standards, was forced to watch from hiding as her family was cut down, screamed for their lives, begged for mercy, and were ultimately dragged away from her. Alliance reinforcements were just days away and found the young woman in a complete mental and emotional shutdown, practically a living corpse.

She was evacuated south, cared for by Alliance medics and nearly unresponsive for two weeks until she came around and immediately proved to be traumatized and in a deep state of turmoil. She had to be restrained for her own good, force fed, and was more or less just cargo for the trip back to human lands. She was taken to various temples of the Light for care and recovery, like many war orphans, and was mostly just put out of the way of the brave soldiers trying to end the war.

Compassionate priests and priestesses of the Light eventually helped bring Alcmene out of her despair, bringing kindness and warmth back into her life. The war was over, and Alcmene was transferred south, to Northshire. What remained of the Temple of Light had been rebuilt, and new construction had been begun on a sizeable orphanage. It was here she would spend nearly 20 years of her life.

From this location news trickled in from around the Alliance. Holidays would see her and the other orphans brought to Goldshire, or the still-under-construction city of Stormwind. The nobility of the great human nation funneled funds into the orphanage, providing it with tutors to train new generations of youths. Orphans were trained to be soldiers, priests, and paladins, and Alcmene was no different.

Any orphan who was not adopted could expect easy employment in the Stormwind military or priesthood. Alcmene witnessed this many times in her years at the orphanage, the only Elf among a slew of Human children. She took to priestly studies, and once she'd mastered the courses available, she began training on her own, or helping the teachers with new orphans who seemed to come in all the time.

War came again. From Northshire she nervously observed the Alliance from afar. The Scourge cleaved through lush lands. The Orcs had abandoned the Eastern Kingdoms to its fate. Her homeland... Arthas slashed and burned through her homeland and took hope of ever returning to it from her. The destruction reduced her people to 1/10th of what it had been. She was part of a dying race.

One day, while Arthas was attacking her homeland, Alcmene felt a pain as if she had been mortally stabbed. Already distant from the Sunwell and vulnerable to its loss, she was struck painfully when Arthas destroyed it. Again she had to come under priestly care, writhing in agony as an addiction she didn't even know of battered her with withdrawl symptoms.

The priests had no idea what was going on, at first, but in a desperate move they prayed and assaulted her body with the Light. Healing magics applied to a whole body, in such amount as to cause its own strange kind of pain. She found relief in this pain though, and she needed less and less to be pacified until she needed no more such treatments.

Back was the kind, caring, peaceful, happy girl. She supped now on the Light itself rather than the Arcane magics of the Sunwell. The news from her homeland clawed at her heart, but she could no longer hold anger or rage in her heart. Any such flames of emotion fizzled out almost as soon as they were ignited.

Already having been rather short since being brought South, at 5'2", her body started changing noticeably. Her slender, waifish form grew more curvy, womanly, more similar to a Human than an Elf. Some suspected her diet which she shared with Human youths, but it was the Light itself altering her. Like all Elves, she took on a form appropriate to the magic she was exposed to, and the Light gave her a womanly, life-giving form, rather unique among Elves.

Prince Kael'thas, her Prince, betrayed the Alliance. This brought a wave of distrust and loathing to the already wounded races of the Alliance. The other orphans took to bullying Alcmene, but her forgiving heart kept her from hating them for it. She endured the attacks, abuse, and frequent spitting upon her. She occasionally hid her ears, masquerading as a human at times, only to be bullied for that as well.

Not only had she not been adopted, but her prospects of being adopted dropped dramatically. It was just as well she was eventually informed, despite still not being a proper 'adult' age in her own culture, that she'd have to find her way on her own. She'd become too much of a magnet for trouble, spent too many years inadvertently wriling up her peers. Alcmene was on her own.

The Alliance was in a flurry of activity though! So much was going on, and like so many others, she was caught up in the whirlwind of the world. Bandits, gnolls, murlocs and the undead. She brought the unique sets of skills she cultivated with her, tailoring she learned from mending other orphans clothes, enchanting she'd learned from her parents to help make farming tools that aided the user, cooking she learned from the military trainers who insisted on their soldiers being fed well.

But what she truly sought to bring to the Alliance was a deep connection with the Light. She was inescapably bound to it, and she took it upon herself to be a beacon of peace, love, and understanding in a world of war.

27th of March, 617 KC. I can hear their haunting cries. 508 More Words

27th of March, 617 KC.

I can hear their haunting cries. Accustomed to them as I am, the baying of plaguehounds will never wholly be natural. They are perhaps my only real company, as few things live in these woods now, and so I’m left to their nightly chorus to hear anything beyond my own voice. Is it a mercy? To not have to think; to merely wait, listening to them as they call to me.

Sometimes I join them.



28th of March, 617 KC.

Winter recedes. The cloak of white that masks the wound beneath can only remain briefly… some would wish that it lasts forever. They’re fools, taking comfort in a lie. I have walked these lands for years—there is no going back. These are the realms of the dead and dying; yet, there is still room for the living here. Just so, it is the same for me. In this body of mine, in this desert of my own unknowing, there is still room for Nazaire. So my vow kept, and my duty endures.

I visited again. She was waiting, as always, beautiful and serene. How many times has it been? Twenty? Thirty? Certainly, another might question me, but I would not expect them to see, nor fault them for it. I rested there until eventide, then cleaned the grounds, said my goodbyes, and pressed on to the next. Her family bade me farewell as I departed, and I burnt them for the twentieth time. Thirtieth?



2nd of April, 617 KC.

It took many days to bypass the throng of the lost at the tower. They know me. I move as if my charges are not there, as if the shadows I am tired of wearing are tired of me. Needles fill my lungs when I breathe at those moments, as though my own body can feel their gazes, boring into me. I turn to glance at the unforgivable and we are the same.

An errant zealot came to me later, her words were prideful and certain; but I knew, day-old hunger grooming the face of fear as she mustered her courage. I buried her in the hills. I’m sure she knew, too.



5th of April, 617 KC.

Soon I will leave again, for a time. Each day is a slog now: a land saturated by the melt—and the blood. The tears? When they surround me, closing in from all sides and force me to save them… would they question me? Leaving them in that murk? I cannot answer, and so what begins as scarcely minutes gone by turns into a day. The weight gnaws at me as surely as the leeches drink their fill of my life. These moments test me beyond any other, and I prove my weakness—my failure—once more. These are nights of helplessness and devoured dreams.

I recall how my eyes swelled at my last glance backward, standing on the borderland. Blood flowed from a red tourniquet tied tight around the sky, forever separating the rotten land from the purity above. I know this is where I belong.

I was down at the Lion’s Pride today, and Barkeep Dobbins told me something very interesting. He said that Brog Hamfist and Toddrick were telling the lads that I’m a right googin at the fishing holes! 594 More Words

I was down at the Lion’s Pride today, and Barkeep Dobbins told me something very interesting. He said that Brog Hamfist and Toddrick were telling the lads that I’m a right googin at the fishing holes! I told him the Brog sells shot made of boar dung and Toddrick is still mad that he has to cook pancakes while I am a soldier of Azeroth. I know Dobbins was impressed, but I still felt a righteous rage inside! I am a master fisherman, and it’s time to prove that to old Pighands once and for all!

The last time we went fishing, Brog thought he was some kind of big man because he spent almost TEN SILVER on that stupid fishing pole that he said was soooo strong. My fishing pole was the same one I got when old Lee Brown first taught me to fish. It served me fine since then, I’ve probably caught over a hundred mud snappers in my day.

But Brog says he caught like 10 oily blackmouths the last time he was near that elf beach, and that pole is so fine I think he might be telling the truth. So I knew I had to get a better fishing rod, if I was ever going to show him what a tremendous fisherman I am.

I took the boat over to that weird beach, and right off the boat I met some guy fishing in the shore! He asked me if I could help him catch some fish, and said he’d give me a new pole if I helped. It took me all day to catch those stupid groupers, I’m pretty sure because old Edna ripped me off again on those nightcrawlers. She’s a snake.

Eventually I got enough of those useless fish, and gave them to old Bubba Gump or Goober Blump or whatever his name was, and he gave me a new pole! I took it right out and tried to catch some blackmouths with it, but the blasted thing couldn’t control the catches and I lost all of them! RIPPED OFF AGAIN. DO NOT TRUST BUBBA GUMP FISH GUY.

I was trying to find the inn to drown my sorrows in that elf town, but I don’t read Elf and ended up just sitting on the side of some weird fountain thing. Some blue guy told me I had to move, and I told him that I was too depressed. I told him the entire story about Dobbins and stupid Toddrick and everyone. I’m not sure why, but I think those elves are pretty easy to talk to. I think its because they can’t see you. I figure the light that’s glowing in their eyes blinds them, probably.

Blue-Ears told me that he heard whispers of a rod to dominate all rods, that could be found only by brave adventurers in the desolate lands of Desolace. He told me they could found in the traps of some kind of fish. I realized then that the blue must have been messing with his brain. How can a fish trap a rod? It’s the other way around. I don’t think he actually understands what fishing it.

I decided to keep looking on the elf planet for a new rod and fish that will impress even Innkeeper Farley, that old stodgey coot. I sent a bird home with tales of my fishing triumps to Toddrick and Brog. I’m pretty sure Brog can’t read so Toddrick probably had to tell him what I said. Toddrick wrote back that Brog had just gotten a new rod to, from some guy named Pat Nagle or something. I bet it’s a really stupid, cheap thing.

It's strange to feel so at home here. When General Feathermoon sent me to reconnoiter the Alliance, I expected to see again what I witnessed when the humans first came to our forests; hubris, entitlement, and wanton destruction. 264 More Words

It's strange to feel so at home here.

When General Feathermoon sent me to reconnoiter the Alliance, I expected to see again what I witnessed when the humans first came to our forests; hubris, entitlement, and wanton destruction. It was a long journey to get here, through what I may have once considered dangerous territory. Yet somehow, the forests of Loch Modan gave me hope... Hope that I would find a people who cherished their lands as we do.

It's been almost two months since I took up residence in the Stonefire Tavern, under the grace of Innkeeper Firebrew. When he isn't serving to the locals, he is an excellent storyteller. The dwarf told me all about his Alliance, how they fought valiantly to repel the Orcish invasion in the years prior to those foul demons tainting our lands. He told me about the missing king of Stormwind, and the kidnapped princess of Ironforge. But what really captured my attention were his quiet, contemplative memories; the forests of the Loch, and his admiration for the wildlife. Maybe that's why he's so forgiving of my animal companions in his inn?

I've met other adventurers in this tavern too. Heroes of this Alliance, even some of my kin who have taken up arms with them! I've chosen to go to battle with these heroes, under a strange banner: "Dethroned." It's never been made explicit to me what throne they think they've been displaced from, but they are powerful allies in this strange place. Truly these people have given me a sense of belonging I've not felt since leaving the forests of Ashenvale. Right here in the city of the Dwarves.

It IS strange to feel so at home here... Perhaps this "Alliance" has more to offer than we all thought.

I feel certain that I've been consigned to this forsaken desert for eternity. I look upon this endless sea of sand and see only a scathing metaphor for its inhabitants' minds - each as barren and fruitless as the other. 331 More Words

I feel certain that I've been consigned to this forsaken desert for eternity. I look upon this endless sea of sand and see only a scathing metaphor for its inhabitants' minds - each as barren and fruitless as the other.

In truth, I've been in Tanaris for little more than a fortnight. And if anyone consigned me to this wasteland, it was myself. Esoteric intellectual pursuits are, I've found, rarely pleasant sojourns into a well-appointed and well-attended tavern. That's why they're esoteric.

I have learned that dry can be suffocating. As my daily pursuits into the ruins of Zul'Farrak leave me as gritty and ground as this cursed sand, I spend a large portion of my evenings in the Inn in Gadgetzan - it is neither well attended nor well appointed.

There are evenings when I'm forced to retire to avoid the violence prone to such establishments, but more when I'm forced to retire to protect my own intelligence, lest it be tainted by half the neutral city's inhabitants. The sheer, seeping idiocy is unavoidable, sliming it way through the taverns and shoppes like a particularly dim-witted slug.

Truly, most evenings I ignore the other patronage of the Inn, preferring to cast my notes and discoveries of the day as I make an attempt to rehydrate myself. I am, of course, fully aware that ale is not actually very efficient for properly hydrating the human body, but I make a valiant attempt anyway.

I've plundered the ruined city more times than I can count, and its greatest mysteries continue to elude me. I've had better luck than most, if my volumes of previous explorers' accounts are believed. I have discovered the staff of the witch doctor, and have taken it into my personal possession.

I bear the thing both reluctantly and greedily. I have no love for the Horde, but as an academic hold a grudging respect for the loa and their knowledge. This heresy of the Sandfury trolls, however, it speaks of something deeper and darker than I believe we can imagine. The staff reeks of power, and I feel it lend strength to my casts, even as a part of me cringes in revulsion. I must study it further.

Today me woke up in the wagon next to the auction house in Ironforge. Me doesn’t know why. 609 More Words

Today me woke up in the wagon next to the auction house in Ironforge. Me doesn’t know why. Then me remembered me had to pass a message to King Anduin in Stormwind. King Ironbeard said it needed to be delivered right away but me was runnin’ a little late now that I woke up in that wagon. Me decided to head for the tram. Me stood up then me thought real hard which way was faster to the tram – left or right? Me thought about why Ironforge is in a circle but me don’t know.

A gnome friend of mine named Mase was on the steps of the auction house and asked me to walk over to him. He is always standin’ there sellin’ water and sorts. We talked about somethin’ or other. When me asked him why Ironforge was round he looked at me funny. Me thinks he don’t know either. Then me remembered he made me a purple shirt so me put it on and showed Mase how it looked. It looked good. It’s my dress shirt. Me said bye to Mase and headed to the bank to put it away so it doesn’t get more wrinkled. At the bank me realized me have enough gold to buy more space and store another bag. Me been earnin’ a lot of gold sendin’ important messages for people and stuff. People use me cause my memory like an iron hammer! I don’t forget nothin’!

So after the bank me was gettin’ thirsty and headed over to the inn. The inn had some milk that me washed down with some of me honey mead. The mead tasted good so me drank a little more. Some humans me never seen before started dancin’ with me so me showed them how a dwarf is lord of the dance. They were some nice people and asked if me knew where they can repair their gear. Of course me knew this is where me grew up. Me showed them a short cut. Ye go over the bridge through the tunnel to the forge, past the throne room, back out the tunnel on the other side to the bank and then up the first set of stairs on ye right. That way you avoid the traffic. Me know all the fastest ways and me pretty sure the humans were impressed. Although they forgot to thank me now that me thinks of it.

So after that me felt tired again and me decided to take a nap. Me was thinkin’ of my favorite nap spots. Me likes to nap on railings, anvils, and tables of sorts. Now that me thinks of it that wagon wasn’t bad either. Me never nap on a bed though cause me have a hard time waking up from that. Me cant be over sleepin’ or me won’t get anythin’ done! So me crawled up on the nearest railing and shut me eyes.

After me nap me remembered about the message me had to deliver to King Anduin! King Bronzebeard is going to be angry if he finds out how late me is. Me came up with a plan to go sit in the library by the king and act like me been waitin there the whole time for him. He has to come to the library for schools or somethin' eventually. Me will ask him what took him so long when he gets here. Me figured while me wait I’ll just record this day in me journal. So here me am now writing this waiting for the King to show up. Hopefully he comes soon because it’s getting dark and me wants to head over to the Blue Recluse soon.

Entry 24. It's been nearly a new moon since I've been commissioned to Stranglethorn. 441 More Words

Entry 24.

It's been nearly a new moon since I've been commissioned to Stranglethorn. This place isn't like Elwynn, and far from the comforts of Goldshire. Too many goblins for my liking. Everyday we march out to survey the ruins escorting the Nessingwary expedition team, but the crew is getting weary. Doubt has even filled my mind, do these tablets even exist? Some of the men overheard the pirates say that the old gnome has been in the jungle too long and has lost his mind. Other's think he's been cursed by the trolls to wander the ruins for the rest of his days. I don't know what to believe anymore.

Entry 25.

I just lit my last candle, praying we leave this place before it burns out. The Salty Sailor Tavern is too loud. The orcs come to drink and brawl every night just under my floorboards. Even the sewers of Stormwind don't reek as bad orcs. Today was no different than last and I fear the next will not be as well. I did see a Tauren today, they're even more massive than the stories say. May I never need to cross swords with one. I must tell the men back home all the sights I've seen.

Entry 26.

This may be the last I write in this journal. As I woke I was greeted by a new battalion that had just got off the ship. They are here to replace us and we finally get to go home on the next boat back, hopefully that will be soon. Today was full of guiding the new groups through the map and transferring intelligence data. Doesn't seem there are as many swords as bows. This must be the hunter team that will create new paths for the expedition. I can smell the famous Goldshire sweet rolls now. This is a good day.

Entry 27.

The truce of Booty Bay has been broken. While we were in our quarters a few of the men stayed downstairs too long and greeted the orcs with aggression. We killed them all, we had no choice. The door is barricaded and we have sent rogue scouts north to Darkshire to gather reinforcements, please make it there safely. What use to fill the air with the sounds of fisherman and pirates are now deafened by silence, not even the seas come to greet us tonight. The ramps and shop roofs are lit only by moonlight as all the torches are out. Drums! The sounds of drums getting near only mean one thing, battle. We hold this tavern with 20 swords and 30 bows and the blessing of King Anduin. I am Surian Valpermon of house Dethroned, I will return to my family. For the Alliance!

Trogg meat; it tastes much like dwarf meat but lacks proper marbling due to their lean diet. There is a near limitless supply of it beneath the streets of Orgrimmar and Thrall has not extended his protection to their kind. 156 More Words

Trogg meat; it tastes much like dwarf meat but lacks proper marbling due to their lean diet. There is a near limitless supply of it beneath the streets of Orgrimmar and Thrall has not extended his protection to their kind. They breed at an accelerated rate compared to other humanoids, making them an excellent choice for farming. They also survive for extended periods after limb removal, even if the wound is left untreated. Their aggressive nature and lack of intellect make them easy to trap, whether they can be domesticated is yet to be seen.

The meat is somewhat tough, so boiling is the suggested method of preparation. Best paired with root vegetables and a heady grog.

Trogg and Earthroot Stew
One adult trogg (or three young troggs for tenderer meat)
Five earthroot, cleaned and chopped.
One pinch of mild spices.
One pinch of hot spices.
One bucket of trogg blood.
One bucket of milk (tauren, preferably)

Boil meat in a cauldron filled with blood and milk until the meat begins to separate from the bone.

Add earthroot and spices.

Continue to boil until earthroot is desired tenderness.

Serve hot with some bone in the bowl.

1: What race does your character belong to? Kaldorei 2: What clan/family does your character belong to? 624 More Words

1: What race does your character belong to? Kaldorei

2: What clan/family does your character belong to? Everstar family

3: What class/profession is your character? Hunter, LWing, Skinning. ICly, NE Outrunner in Ashenvale currently wandering Azeroth on random missions.

4: How would you describe your character's appearance Lean build, more muscle in the arms and thighs. Looks like she had a tumble through a bush half the time with dirt smudges on clothing and the occasional twig stuck in her hair. hair pulled back in a messy ponytail with half still down around her neck. No care for her appearance when on missions, basically.

5: What is your character's primary motivation? Keep Kaldorei lands safe, purge all Orcs and Demons from Azeroth.

6: Who is the person your character trusts most in the world? Kyran, her lion companion. Doraku is climbing back up  there as he's an old family friend.

7: What is your character's greatest strength: Patience. Be it when tracking, waiting for a fish to bite, or holding her position before letting loose with a lethal arrow shot. Evira has learned to be patient.

8: What does your character think of social norms and laws? The Kaldorei laws obviously make sense. Arcane magic shouldn't be trusted and demons are a blight on Azeroth. Other races bemuse her, but she tries to respect their curious customs.

9: What is your character's opinion of their race? Kaldorei are obviously the superior race, ignoring that whole sundering thing... Evira doesn't like to think about that.

10: Is your character in a relationship? Nope.

11: Does your character have any prejudices? Anyone dealing with demons is not to be trusted, all Orcs are abominations from another world, mages are people to be wary of unless they're taking care to mask their magic use from the Burning Legion, Undead are an affront to nature. the Light worshipers are silly, but charming in their own way.

12: To whom does your character owe the most loyalty to? The Kaldorei and anyone who protects nature.

13: What are your character's favorite and least favorite things? Fishing, tucked away in the wilderness with Kyran beside her and the quiet of nature is Evira's favorite way to waste time. She's not one for parties,fancy dresses, large crowds, or alcohol any longer

14: Does your character have any recurring mannerisms? Being utterly oblivious to her state of dress. She's prone to reach for Kyran's fur to stroke when stressed or slips into avoidant behavior.

15: What are your characters emotions and how do they display them? Overall, Evira is friendly and open to fellow Kaldorei and curious of the other races. She's mostly bemused by all of the other Alliances races, how childish they appear in their mannerisms and desires. It's endearing to her. On the other hand, being in Horde territory or near Horde members makes Evira anxious and trigger happy. She rather pelt an orc full of arrows than give them a chance to attack.

16: How would your character handle a subordinates improper behavior? General disgust at the out of bounds behavior then immediately reporting the incident to a higher up.

17: How would your character be described by their parents? "An honorable ranger of the Kaldorei. She has shaped herself into a fine woman these past few eons, shucking the frivolous ways as our people did. Evira hasn't fully found her niche, but we expect Elune will guild her to her true calling soon enough."

18: What is your character highest ambition? Currently, Evira has had a taste of the world outside of her sacred forests and wishes to indulge fully in that.

19: How religious is your character? Evira fully believes in Elune, but will tolerate the blasphemy of lesser races. They're simply confused, that's all.

20: How will your character die? Most likely in a bloody skirmish on the battlefield in Warsong Gulch, if we're being honest.

The strangest thing happened today when Doraku and I stopped in Ironforge to re-supply before heading back out into the wilds. A human shouted me down while I headed towards the gryphon master. 260 More Words

The strangest thing happened today when Doraku and I stopped in Ironforge to re-supply before heading back out into the wilds.

A human shouted me down while I headed towards the gryphon master. A human. I can count on my fingers how many Humans I have exchanged names with since departing Kaldorei lands, yet this one shouted across the Great Forge as if he knew me!

The little Human ran right up to me, calling me his wife!! I still am uncertain where the man learned my name, let alone managed to match it with my face but he swore up and down that he knew me!

Again, I have met a scant few Humans in my time. Certainly many joined us at Hyjal, but to me they were faceless soldiers concealed by all that armor on the battlefield. As a Ranger, I didn’t exactly mingle with Loderon foot soldiers! Those that wander into Ashenvale, up to Darkshore, or Teldrassil itself are rarer still. Barnabus and that mage child were a curiosity for that.

This Human went on to tell me we were childhood friends. That we exchanged letters and that’s how we fell for one another. At this point, all I could guess was the man was deep in his cups yet nothing of his manor hinted at any recent drinks.

All in all, it was a peculiar meeting I rather not repeat. Having strangers claim such a bond with you is unsettling at best.

Though, most peculiar was Doraku’s reaction. He seemed all but crestfallen about the whole thing, needling about never telling me I had been wed.

The nerve of him! Why in all of Azeroth would I bind myself to a Human in such a way??

Undead Priest Date of Undeath: Quite a While Ago She wasn’t quite right in the head, whether that was from before or because of - it was never clear. It mattered little though. 286 More Words

Undead Priest
Date of Undeath: Quite a While Ago

She wasn’t quite right in the head, whether that was from before or because of - it was never clear. It mattered little though. In the end, Ziezi was just a little off center in the grand scheme of things. She was just… not all there, and that didn’t just include her eyeballs.

So her eye sockets were empty, she didn’t judge you for your green skin, now did she?

At the heart, Ziezi was an okay dead lady. She had her priorities straight, her loyalty was always to herself and to her dog. At times, her dog was named Fred, other times it could be the Tauren she passes on the road. That didn’t matter. What mattered was the loyalty she showed in spite of the little bit of mix up that tended to happen.

Did she babble? Sometimes. Did she talk to the air? Maaaybe… So she was a little bit crazy, and a little bit dead, but she didn’t point fingers now did she?

Ziezi had pride in her accomplishments. Like that day she remembered Fred’s name for an entire 5 hours, that was a good day. She was very proud of that. There was also the time she ended up keeping an Orc Warrior alive by the skin of her rotting teeth, which - by the way - had been harder than you would think. He was a very dumb Orc.

Sometimes she wondered what the other side felt like, or looked like. Did they have the same green-grey film over everything? What about smell, what did flowers really smell like? Hm…

But most of the time Ziezi was pretty content with her lot in life. She kept others alive, and the rest of the Forsaken Undead. It is - overall - a very good afterlife. Afterdeath? Well, whatever. She enjoyed it.

Soft. The first sensation that broke through Drusera’s waking mind was that she was surrounded by soft. 926 More Words

Soft. The first sensation that broke through Drusera’s waking mind was that she was surrounded by soft. A heavy blanket, woven if the texture on her skin was to be trusted, with the slight give of a mattress underneath. She was tucked into a bed. A sensation she hadn’t know since the Eldan had vanished and left their little experiment to deal with the aftermath of her existence.

Wrong.

This was all wrong, was the second thought that jolted her awake. There should have been the light hum of exanite and the curious weight of it crushing down the Entity within, with the answering thrashing slashing pain inside of his attempts to escape.

The pain was gone, there was no exanite encasing her. A breeze stirred her hair as Drusera’s eyes fluttered fully open at the realization.

Hair!?

She sat bolt upright in bed, hands going to her scalp that should have been covered by a hood and nothing more. Instead, sleek strands of hair met fingertips as Drusera scrubbed at her now covered scalp. Fingers wandered further and further still as they found her ears, which stuck straight back and kept going.

Her normally hidden ears had always been long, but these? A small, confused noise escaped Drusera as she felt along the shape of her newly lengthened ears. They’d put an Aurin’s to shame for length alone!

“Oh, Elune be praised. You’ve awoken!” A voice cut through Drusera’s thoughts, soft and comforting in the way the blanket felt over her form.

Bringing herself back to the now, Drusera finally took in her surroundings and the one who spoke. A woman, a Mordesh? No, this one had no rot to speak of, no vitalus tubes with a ruddy purple hue to her skin with eyes that shone like moonlight. She wore an intricately woven gown, in the same style as the blanket Drusera absently noted as she glanced down to look at the green fabric that had covered her.

“I- Yes.” She spoke softly, sitting fully up and taking the blanket to wrap it about herself as she took in the rest of the room. There was a vague sense of the familiar, the arching constriction and wooden furniture looking akin to something one would find in an Aurin’s burrow house but this was far more open. There was no true door to the room, only an opening with a ramp leading down and railing on the rest to keep someone from falling off. The dense forest beyond seemed to shimmer in her vision, a visual feast of royal purples and deep blues mingled into the green with shimmers of something glowing moving among the foliage.

Nothing on Nexus has such a constriction that Drusera knew of.

The woman drew close, leaning over Drusera. “How are you feeling?” A faint glow engulfed her hand, which she passed over Drusera’s head.

There was a tingle sensation then a sort of pull from within as Drusera looked up. “What- Was that?” It echoes the sensation she felt when materializing new life, but that tugged on all of the primal energies within her while this only seemed to give a general tug.

“A simple renewal spell to help you get on your feet,” The woman’s brows drew together, which made her comically long eyebrows bob with the motion. “Something still lingers in your mind, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.” She murmured more to herself before looking to Drusera.

“I am Eleshane, one of the Priestess here in Astranaar. Do you remember how you ended up here?” The woman, who certainly wasn’t a Mordesh greeted her.

“No, I should be at the Lightspire, the Entity will-” A hand went to Drusera’s head as a thunder crack throb sounded through it. “Where are we again?” Astranaar. She was unfamiliar with such a place.

“Astraanar,” The Priestess continued with that friendly frown faltering. “Were you with the Argent Dawn? I have not heart of any encampments named the Lightspire, but I have yet to venture to the Easter Kingdoms. Perhaps you were with a group coming to help cleanse Felwood?”

None of the places or names triggered any familiarly to Drusera, an expression of confusion only twisting her features up further as she stared up at the Priestess. “I guess? I mean, I don’t know…”

How could this woman not know of the Lightspire as well? Both the Exiles and the Dominion had soon been crawling over the region once they’d managed to break through the strain infestation surrounding it. Even within the confines of her exanite prison, Drusera had sensed them scurrying about outside.

“You seem to have suffered a head injury. You slept for many moons so it is no wonder that you are disoriented. Let us start with what you know. What do you remember?” The Priestess prompted, straightening herself once more with a serene smile settling into place.

“My name is Drusera and I-” She turned, ears and hair giving an odd weight to the movement before Drusera caught her own eye in a mirror.

A face looked back at her, similar but wholly a stranger. Eyes still shone silver and pupiless, her skin retained a blue huge but now there was a silver sheen to it. That hair she’d felt earlier floated about her face in white locks and she mirrored the woman’s appearance with those lengthy eyebrows and ears.

“I- I don’t know.” Drusera finished, a hand reaching to cup her own cheek as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Martin Openhand let out a barking laugh and clasped Droma's hand in both of his own, shaking before pulling her into a tight hug that left chrysanthemums all over her hair and shoulders. "Don't you know any orcs? 868 More Words

Martin Openhand let out a barking laugh and clasped Droma's hand in both of his own, shaking before pulling her into a tight hug that left chrysanthemums all over her hair and shoulders.

"Don't you know any orcs?" the old witch grumbled, giving her daughter an exasperated look- but beneath that exasperation she was at least smiling, or trying to smile. She was starting to see the kind of truths that everyone else saw- simple things, like her daughter was in love, or her daughter had made an ally. Maybe it mattered a little less what a friend looked like, as long as they were a friend at all.

Blue only laughed, barely looking up from a card game she was sure she could win. Her opponents were her wife, her father, and a pig that liked to smoke. Not that she was underestimating any of them, but if she could unlock the mysteries of the cosmos, surely she could outfox these three.

"Fold," Garmax sighed, and his pig did the same, turning its nose up at the table indignantly.

"Two pair," Blue said confidently, laying her cards out and reaching for the chips.

"A flush, of the royal variety," Zahevere cut across, gently setting her fingers atop the back of Blue's greedy hand. "That's three for three, dear. Lose to me again and I'll take your shoes."

The table erupted in laughter, and the laughter grew as Martin joined them, leaning across the game to greet Garmax and Pear and grab the shoulders of his favorite world travelers, one on either side of him.

"Lady Bluetongue, Lady Zahevere, you have a beautiful family. It honors me greatly to be welcomed into this home, and to be here in your company again. However!"

Openhand took a step back, his dirt-filled armor clanking heavily and causing Droma to mutter under her breath as loose garden soil spilled onto a handmade Thunderlord carpet. Muttering turned to steadily louder profanity as he raised his arms dramatically to tell his tale.

He had come a long way. Circled Kalimdor, following the sun to the west as far as the land could go, fished with the trolls in Shadowprey, crept stealthily (pah! imagine!) past elves in Darkshore, and even climbed the rim of the extraordinary Un'goro Crater and witnessed wonders in distant Uldum.

And in his travels he had uncovered a secret that he knew he had to take to the finest seeker of secrets he knew.

He first began to suspect the truth when he wandered the Whispering Shore in Tirisfal. He wondered again when the feeling returned in Azshara, and yet again as he stalked through Bloodscalp territory in search of a rare and beautiful flower.

Those three dots he finally connected when he turned his eyes from the unfathomable mysteries of Uldum to the scoured surface of Silithus.

To the spires. To the hives. To history.

"Any good gardener can tell you that the right bug in the wrong place spells peril for the whole plant. But Silithus, my friends- it's just what we can see."

Garmax clutched his pig to his chest in terror, while Blue and Zee looked on, wide-eyed and with rapt attention. Droma, utterly committed to pretending that no frightful speech could sway her, had begun batting at Martin's ankles with a straw broom.

"There's something down below, I'm convinced- and if it's at all the four corners of Azeroth as we know it, my friends, then if we don't do something..."

"...By the time anyone else realizes what's going on, the whole world'll be gone." Blue finished, nodding over and over, gears turning in her head. She didn't have a plan, but her mind was running hot with ideas, questions, and an eagerness to be on the road again.

She wasn't the only one eager to see her go. A family reunion was nice, but Droma was still recovering, and she had heard enough about Blue's travels to last a lifetime. Elven ruins, violent stunts with Promise, harpies... the next time Blue came home she was sure she'd hear the same thing all over again.

"Here," she said, after Garmax had crammed three packs- one for his daughter, her wife, and their dead friend- full to burst with provisions and buckled them down from head to toe with supplies. Droma wasn't much of a hugger, but she still wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders for a moment and squeezed, and then thrust a book into her arms.

"First one's full."

"You read my journal?!"

"Only the good parts. Do me a favor and make this one all good parts, by the time you come back and see us."

Blue looked down at the gray cover- oily leather, rendered by hand from a Southfury crocolisk, likely enough in her father's free time- and ran a hand across it in quiet reverence.

"She won't let you down, Lady Droma," Martin announced, clapping one of Droma's shoulders pleasantly. Something icy flashed across her eyes as she felt loose dirt roll down her sleeve, but she took a deep breath and looked into Martin's glowing eyes for a moment.

"I know she won't," she said quietly- but not quietly enough to matter.

"She never has."

Trak was plagued with remnants of the orc's blood curse long after Mannoroth's death. He had reluctantly sought the help of a shaman by the name of Yaju and was given a brew of potent herbs and ju-ju's to purge the evil from within. 507 More Words

Trak was plagued with remnants of the orc's blood curse long after Mannoroth's death. He had reluctantly sought the help of a shaman by the name of Yaju and was given a brew of potent herbs and ju-ju's to purge the evil from within. "Drink deep, compan'ion. Breeeeathe. Focus on ya' self, listen to da' silence, feel ya' 'eart."

"This muck tastes like dirt!" Trak protested. He could feel his temper rising and was reminded of why he was currently cramped in this small hut. He quickly did his best to swallow the bowl in one go. "How long will this take?" He said as the brew dribbled down his chin.

"Patience 'mon." the troll grinned as he poked the fire between them. The fire flickered as Trak watched. Slowly the seconds turned to minutes, while the minutes gave way to the eternal now, that moment when time loses meaning.

The fire was not just just in the pit before them, it burned within the shaman as well, and with every pulse a new spectrum of colors poured from within. Trak smiled as he noticed similar small flames in the distance, through the walls of the hut. He spoke aloud, "There is a herd of elk on the ridge north east of here. One of them is sick and won't make it through the night." The thought was sombering and the orc realized he was feeling something he had never experienced in his life, sadness. This revelation gave way to exuberance as Trak realized he was bound to the curse no more.

As wave after wave of emotion swept over him he could hear Yaju's voice in his mind say again, "Focus on ya' self, listen to da' silence, feel ya' 'eart." Trak closed his eyes yet still he could see the light of each creature. Even with his eyes shut he himself burned with a life force that was strong and vibrant.

As these hallucinations became more vivid he stepped outside for some fresh air. This cascade of feelings was good but it was becoming too much to handle. Trak breath deep as he walked. After a ways he realized he could no longer see the hut and he was alone.

Yet once again he heard the troll in his mind, "Focus. Focus. Focus, green one. Da' Loa guide us in 'dis realm, and ya' gonna' 'sperience many 'tings, and ya' mus' stay true on 'dis path."

Trak looked up into the night sky, to see a bright aurora borealis dancing through the night sky. Trak had never seen anything like it and didn't know if it was real or part of his vision. While he stood in awe at being one with the creatures around him, with the earth and the sky above, he reached out to the green lights above. With his hand outstretched a part of the aurora dipped down and wrapped itself around his arm.

What he had orginally thought was a piece of the sky was in fact a young wind serpent. The ritual had cleansed his heart and lead him to a spirit guide for if he would lose his way. And for that reason he named the animal Vision.

In the blistering winds of Desolace, I've gazed upon an angel. Who knew one could find such beauty in such a dreary wasteland. 178 More Words

In the blistering winds of Desolace, I've gazed upon an angel. Who knew one could find such beauty in such a dreary wasteland. I've only but caught her name, engraved into the aura of her lovely divinity, or at least, that's how it seems. Oh, Sarima. Where can I find the same rush that you sent upon my throbbing heart here in Azeroth? Can anything compare to it?
Crimson locks, waving as if to greet me with the sincerest of welcomes. A smile that is on par only to most precious pearls. Freckles riddled on your face that whisper sweet nothings into my decomposing ears. Your skin, pink and vibrant, is the very definition of perfection.
Alas, this confession of love does not go without the bitter truth. Sarima, my understanding of this world dares not compensate for the treachery that is my flesh. Rotting away like a dying kodo in the Shimmering Flats, picked away little by little from the ravenous vultures. Tragedies are the most appealing to the Gods, I suppose.
My wish cannot be granted in the days to come, but I will forever keep you, Sarima, in depths of my heart and in the dearest of memories..

Durotar. Again. 2729 More Words

Durotar. Again.

Hot, even with the sea breeze rolling in across Bladefist Bay. Dry, even with storms pouring over the mountaintops in the west. Heat haze steamed up from the broad gaps in the earth where deep gorges full of hungry thunder lizards cracked the surface of the arid frontier.

The Sorcerer Bluetongue arrived by sea, draped in a dress of swirling crimson, thin silk gloves covering her arms past the elbows, heavy-heeled boots stamping squares into the dusty umber as she disembarked from the little merchant vessel that had seen her up the coast. Zahevere was close at hand, dressed in her finest as well, bleach-white poet's shirt billowing in the hot breeze, a belt of beaten silver medallions hanging diagonal across her hips, jingling with every step as it bounced against clingy snakeskin trousers as black and shiny as crude oil.

Their adventures had opened a link between their hearts and souls, and even their breathing was in sync as they advanced across the rocky red terrain toward destiny.

Even then, doubt settled like a stone in the bottom of Blue's stomach. Was there really no other way? And what would it mean for this to be finished?

She chewed her tongue and quietly agonized over it while she walked, until Zahevere put a hand on her shoulder and made her stop.

"You're killing me, Blue," she groaned, taking a moment to hold her wife by the ears and kiss her, if only to take some of the frustration out of her face.

"I know. I'm sorry." Green fingers combed through Zee's thick black hair, her thumb amusedly stroking across the bold gray streak for a moment. "This is what she wanted, isn't it? She wants me dead, best she stops trying to ruin our lives at a distance and just get it over with in person, if she can."

Zee's eyebrows peaked and her mouth flattened out as she regarded Blue uncertainly.

"I'm in your head. Have you thought about what'll happen when you throw this fight? We'll both die, Blue. She's not going to stop just because we roll over and show our bellies. She's not you."

The jab left Blue feeling exposed, embarrassed, and even more uncertain about the prospect of squaring off with Droma. But Zee grabbed her all over again and looked up into her eyes, as deadly serious as she's ever seen her.

"I'm right here. Don't hold back. Don't give her what she wants. Show her what she needs to see, and maybe something will change."

Blue thought she had some idea of what Droma needed to see, but putting that hard truth in front of her was just as like to drive her mad as it was to bring her to a revelation. Still, she took a deep breath, nodded once, and tightened her arms around her wife's waist, kissing her for courage, feeling a hot wind blow through the steady, unbreakable link between their souls.

Garmax crouched in the dust a hundred feet away, trying to teach a hog how to smoke. A few drags for himself, inhale, hold, exhale- and then he turned the end of his pipe toward Pear, offering it with a little "eh?" and a bob of the wrist. Blue raised a hand to her mouth at the sight and bit her bottom lip to keep from letting out a laugh, tears beading up in the corners of her eyes as she clapped the middle of Zee's back and pointed toward the pigpen. For one sweet, brief moment, all the terror and tension of destiny and darkness melted away, replaced with the bottomless love she had for her family.

She needed that love. Its warmth clung to her as she turned to find what she was looking for, staring back at her with an uncanny intensity. Droma Deadwatcher stood at the edge of the farmstead, hands folded together atop a cane she was grinding into the dust. She had prepared as well- her hair was bound into a single long, dark braid, lengths of black broken up with engraved golden rings. Black on black on black, she was as much a shadow as she could make herself, a thick clinging aura of midnight framing her bruised hands, racing up the dagged sleeves of her finest gown. Pigment hid her obvious weariness, turning her unblinking eyes into a pair of ghoulish black pits.

Small wonder that Garmax chose to preoccupy himself, Zee thought, sucking a breath in through her teeth at the sight.

"The so-called Sorcerer Bluetongue graces me with her presence yet again," Droma mocked, her head tilted back in a sneer. "It does you great dishonor not to face me alone, daughter-mine."

"This was never a question of my honor," Blue shot back. She ground her heel into the dust and set her brow. Now that she was face-to-face with her mother, all the anxiety that had knotted in her guts the whole way home was finally gone. "But what ought we say about yours? Took you until now to lift a finger for yourself, didn't it? Rather send Promise, his hands are already so dirty he'd not notice any fresh stains, isn't that right?"

Droma grit her teeth and raised a fist. A snake of shadow spiraled around her arm to fill it until her fingers disappeared beneath the roiling of dark sorcery made physical. But when she opened her mouth to make a threat, it was Blue who spoke- louder, letting her composure slip, shouting angrily for the first time in so very long.

"Well, he's gone! Whatever he might've been, he's turned coward after what you put him through! Your own brother, Droma Deadwatcher, mother-mine! And who's next? Father? If you'd dare kill me, what would keep you from him?"

A cannonball of densely packed living shadow smoked through the air without any warning, and Zahevere put all her weight on one hoof, grabbing Blue by the arm and yanking her out of its path before she could react. Another followed, Droma clawing at the darkness around her, hurling jagged chunks of frozen blackness through the heat haze, working herself up into a fever pitch. They crashed into the dirt around Blue, whizzed past her ears and spiraled off into nothing, even slashed a fresh hole through her dress at the thigh, but none could strike home.

Her reactions were not her own. Zee saw it all- left, right, duck, feint- and those roguish instincts danced along the link between their spirits, guiding her wife's every movement.

"The shadows run endless!" Droma howled, digging her knuckles into the blackness that surrounded her like a shroud, ripping fresh chunks of magic out, hardly even shaping them into proper spells, only hurling them raw and loose, letting them find their own form in transit. "You've turned your face toward the sun, even drawn a demon out to watch it with you! And for what? To become a borrower like Gul'dan? What will you do when she takes back everything she's lent you?"

For a moment, everything stopped. Zahevere's eyes were wide with outrage. She had known insults, certainly- former masters who had no clue what a woman wanted had a terrible way with words- but this was different. She was someone now. She liked who she had become, and the idea that she would ever sever her pact with Blue...

...Suddenly they both knew exactly what kind of truth Droma Deadwatcher had to see. Instinct alone saw them draw taut the filament between their souls. Hand in hand, they closed their eyes and let the truth- the physical, inexorable, material fact of who they were step forth to oppose Droma.

They disappeared for a moment, consumed in a color that was neither shadow or ghostlight- blazing cyan, the color of the sorcerer's tongue, evaporated Droma's oncoming shadows as it surrounded them. Everything that they were became suddenly one- memories overlapping, bodies reconciling their shapes into a single extravagant being, a radiance of their abundant love and most thrilling, fearsome qualities crystallizing into a new, whole experience.

Green skin and black horns pierced through the smoke of her creation. Even their clothes had been joined, dress and blouse becoming a trailing coat, trousers tucked into high boots. She stepped forward, and her doubled voice challenged Droma again.

"The truth passed your lips once today, mother-mine," the sorceress-demon offered. "I ought to face you alone."

"Bluetongue? Moxie?" Droma's voice was shocked and small as she searched for her daughter's face in the beautiful demon who stood before her, but found only suggestions she was there. Thick, expressive eyebrows, a cocky grin that stood vanguard for an anxiety she knew all too well was still just beneath the surface- but so much else had given over to the pointed, sinister features of a monster.

The demon had finally shown her hand, and stolen her daughter. She should have seen it coming. She did see it coming, but now it had gone too far, now her child was gone, now Gul'dan had taken another one.

The creature that had been her child was on the approach, but Droma was panicking, and the shadows began to slip through her fingers. The darkness answers only command, never desperation, she remembered too late.

"I ought to face you," the demon said again, close enough to touch. The Deadwatcher reached suddenly for her hip, clawing at her knife, when a gentle green hand settled on her shoulder. Hazel eyes stared into her own, their wild expression fading into heartache. "So you can see who I am."

Droma gaped, unable to look away. The shadows were deep again, the demon's- her daughter's- wings spread wide between her and the sun, but she didn't dare reach into them. She saw her little Moxie, the so-called Bluetongue, and for the first time in her life recognized the innocence in her eyes as something other than naive.

It was compassion that kept Blue from driving those long, glittering claws into her throat. It was compassion that filled her daughter with love and patience when other sorcerers were content to yank on a spectral chain and browbeat a demon into doing their bidding. And what else was in there? Who was that, glowing behind the hazel?

"I looked up to you," Blue said quietly, without an echo.

"You betrayed her trust," Zee added, out of the same fang-filled mouth.

"Will you do it again, when I let you go?" They asked together, neither expecting the truth.

And when Droma's no came, they kept their word anyway, taking a step back and exhaling a long breath. The transformation collapsed in a conflagration of cyan, and then they were apart again, hand in hand, breathless, holding each other up.

Blue's mother looked very weak and very gray when the shadows died around her- but Zahevere took wing and caught her before she fell. Yet in her mind she kept falling, falling, falling, and when she landed she was somewhere else. On a mattress, with Garmax looming over her, patting her forehead with a cool, damp cloth.

"Never did get my letter, did you?" He was saying as he fussed over his wife, head turned to face a different corner of the room entirely. "Just rushed right on up at first light, I bet. Ha, don't try to deny it. I know you too well, my girl, you're just like me."

Blue laughed sheepishly and nodded, draped back over a chair with a cold rag of her own pressed against her brow.

"Sorcerers. Power this, darkness that, no time for the finer things when you're always goin' up an' up an' up- or down an' down an' down, as the case may be." He turned to address Droma when she let out a confused groan and grunted in a way that made him seem every bit his age.

"Y'happy now? Gone far enough 'round your elbow to get to your thumb, finally?" He chuckled and leaned down, kissing her cheek. Droma set a hand on her face as she sat up in bed and found Blue looking at her from across the room, her wife leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and her eyebrows high.

"You're still here?" the old sorcerer asked, kindly as she could manage.

"You ripped your own shadow to shreds." Blue paused to seethe at her thumping headache. "That kind of thing would scare anybody, you know."

"We had to make sure you were safe. At some point you're going to have to learn that you're not alone, Droma the Sage," Zee admonished, her hands dropping to her hips. "But you might be, if you didn't learn anything today."

Nobody likes to be embarrassed. Not in their own home- and who was less qualified to moralize than a demon? But she swallowed that galling thought and swallowed her pride, and made herself breathe again.

"I'm sorry." The words nearly gagged her- not because they didn't need to be said, but because they were so foreign, so contrary to everything she had believed only a few hours prior. "When I realized we were trapped here on this strange world, that the deep shadows of home were gone... I watched Promise take up the new ways and bring you into the fold with him, and I feared I would lose my way as well."

Garmax sat on the bed and held Droma's hand. Zahevere, however, found herself cooling. Her usually easy gaze turned hard as steel.

"You don't mean to say that your fear excuses any of this, do you?" she asked pointedly, locking eyes with Droma and refusing to blink.

"No," she replied, and Blue set a hand on her own chest, her heart pounding as tension gave way to blessed relief. "No, it doesn't. I only- you ought to know-"

"-If we had known before all this, Deadwatcher, we wouldn't have tried to kill each other. We could have helped you."

"But we're done with all that now, aren't we?" offered Garmax, slipping an arm behind his wife's shoulders and offering a sheepish smile. Please, if the spirits are any good at all, say we are.

"I've wanted it to be over since that day in the mountains." Blue slid out of her chair and was laying on the floor with her eyes closed, rubbing her temples. "How about you, mother-mine?"

The older woman held her head in her hands and looked down for a long moment, making a pained expression as she searched for the words.

"It never should have happened. If you can forgive me, then I will seek to restore my own honor rather than worry about yours. I swear it, if my swearing still means anything."

It meant everything. Blue would have told her so right then and there, but sleep was taking hold whether she liked it or not. Silence blanketed the little farmhouse and the elven moon shone full and fat and gorgeous, smiling in her familiar way. Zee stared up at her, leaning on a windowsill, wondering while the rest of the family slept.

What was she now? Could a demon be a daughter, as well as a wife? She smiled to think that she might be the only one among all the sayaad who had to think about such things. All because she chanced to meet the one warlock who kept her heart as open as her mind. As Garmax's snoring broke through the contemplative silence, she did her best to quiet a laugh. Somehow the idea of having a family was starting to grow on her.

When morning broke, Blue and her mother would find their spouses playing chess in the kitchen- frozen mid-move, mouths agape, as a hog pranced proudly across the floor with a smoking pipe jutting from the corner of its mouth.

Droma Deadwatcher stood in the dust, staring skyward as Azeroth's moon slowly rolled down to the horizon. Sun would rise soon, and with it the shadows would concentrate and darken and stretch. 1274 More Words

Droma Deadwatcher stood in the dust, staring skyward as Azeroth's moon slowly rolled down to the horizon. Sun would rise soon, and with it the shadows would concentrate and darken and stretch. Walking in those, she felt the most herself.

She looked ruefully across the dust, feeling in her bones that she had lost all control, hating herself for how her life had become ritual after ritual- to know, to see, to be, and the burning fatigue that followed it all, as if she would never truly sleep again.

She frowned as she watched Garmax talk to his hogs. She knew their names- he talked of them like a child learning all the little habits of their first pets- Bully, Tocks, Runner, and Pear. Pear was the runt, and he kept bringing it onto the porch to play with it when he smoked his pipe. She knew more about those damn pigs than she knew about him anymore.

Wasn't he a creature of any conviction? His daughter turns up at home with a demon in tow, and he embraces them both! Not a word against it, not a warning, not any resistance at all as some extradimensional seducer came waltzing through the door, eating one of my onions as if it were an apple, having the gall to look me in the eye and ask me how I'm doing when she's under my roof, hanging all over my child as if she weren't tying her up in puppet strings...

She stood there making herself angry until Garmax finished feeding the hogs and came over to her. How had she ever found him? The years had softened some of his old edges, and he even had a belly starting- but those kind eyes, somehow kinder with their crow's feet, and his huge arms, so easily able to sweep her off her feet after years of holding monstrous animals at bay or firing that bow of his... Garmax was warmth when the wind blew between the stars to chill her. He wasn't haunted like she was, he hadn't seen the old truths that bound the cosmos into order.

It was better that he never saw them, or he might despair as she did. To imagine him desperate, living in rituals, drowning in shadow pursuing the one thing that could save him- power, power to put a stop to it all, power to lift himself above the chaos and live for the old truths...

It would kill him, surely as it had killed her. There were no new things left in the cosmos, and he would die just as any curious fool had died before him.

She would cherish him, if only she didn't become so angry when she looked at that smiling face. Didn't he understand that all his love was being spilled into a void? How long could he waste his time like this, devoted to nothing in the shape of a woman? The thought made her grit her teeth and pinch the bridge of her nose. Standing there and stewing would have taken up her entire morning, and yet when his lips pressed against her cheek...

Droma Deadwatcher swallowed hard to keep herself from sobbing. Her eyes were black glass as she looked up at him, confused, distant, a poor match for the glittering flecks of gold in his smiling hazels. Without a word he hooked one arm under her butt and the other behind her shoulders and pulled her effortlessly off of her feet, just as he'd done a thousand times before, hugging her against his chest and murmuring in that low, hunter's voice of his. A whisper that wouldn't trouble a wary deer, his way of secreting away his love so that it was only between the two of them, the world none the wiser.

"You're as perfect as the first time I laid eyes on you," he seemed to lie, in spite of the streaks of gray that shot through her wavy black hair. He carried on in spite of everything- in spite of her bruised fingertips, the unwelcome creases texturing the corners of her mouth and giving unflattering depth to her neck, the weight she'd put on over the years... to him it was nothing. How could that be true? Was he trying to hurt her, lying like that?

If he was, why was he holding her like this? Making her feel small, in the only way she'd ever liked to feel small. Kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her ears. Curling his fingers around her shoulder and squeezing, murmuring his love for her endlessly, looking away only to catch the first rays of sunrise as they poured over the distant mountains.

Somehow, all his affection provoked her to laugh. To raise a battered hand to his bristly cheek and look at him a while, finding the orcish dignity that was just beneath the surface of a man who had given up his fearsome nature as soon as he no longer had to wage war. Finding the corner of a grinning mouth, a tusk that was white and worn and adorned with a simple ring, gold with a little bead of emerald, a gift she had given him in another lifetime. She felt his grip tighten on her backside as she kissed him, and suddenly was crying, painfully realizing that he was still Garmax son of Garmax, The Trailbinder, Thunderlord, Nighthusband, Friend to Beasts, The Rope that Guides the Way.

The disgust she had been chewing on since before dawn turned to ash in her mouth, and she shuddered against his chest, sinking her nails into the thin and sun-bleached plaid he wore. He was quiet throughout, his less-roguish hand rising to stroke her hair while he shushed her.

She was safe in his arms, and that terrified her. She walked in the shadows! She was Droma! The Darkest! The Deadwatcher! The Shade Alive! Wasn't she above this? Wasn't such a base and trifling need as being held and being loved so far beneath her as to be utterly alien? Utterly mortal, temporary, a disgraceful indulgence?

Hadn't she ascended?

She felt so weak. Malnourished, but empty in so many other ways, too. And yet here Garmax was, pouring himself into darkness, casting his love endlessly into a bottomless pit... and as she shook in his arms she began to doubt, for the first time in years. It couldn't be a bottomless pit if he was able to fill it. If the void was finite, it wasn't a void, and she was no living shadow at all.

She was at the bottom of a dark and crushing chasm... and here was a rope to lift her out. When he kissed her again, she gave herself to that moment, holding his head in both her hands, willing the moment to last as long as it could.

"She's going to fight me," Droma eventually exhaled, looking utterly dizzy, her eyes still swimming.

Garmax raised his bushy eyebrows and let out a little laugh. "I know," is all he could say.

"It's going to be right. Mak'gora as only the shadows can deliver. Whatever comes of it... it's going to be right."

"And when the dust settles, and the two of you come to your senses, Pear and I will be waiting with open arms. You're my heart, Droma. Might be I can never understand why it's got to be this way, but win or lose, I'll love you just the same. Long as the spirits bid me to stand, as I've always sworn."

"And if she wins?"

"Won't make a difference," Garmax laughed again, pressing his lips to Droma's forehead.

"She doesn't want you dead, Droma. She wants you back."

Terror gripped Blue bodily as she turned in her sleep, journal tucked under her pillow, beads of perspiration clinging to her forehead as she endured a long and painful nightmare. Zahevere clung to her side, fingernails raking pleasantly across one green shoulder, at a loss for what to do to calm her wife's troubled mind. 1034 More Words

Terror gripped Blue bodily as she turned in her sleep, journal tucked under her pillow, beads of perspiration clinging to her forehead as she endured a long and painful nightmare. Zahevere clung to her side, fingernails raking pleasantly across one green shoulder, at a loss for what to do to calm her wife's troubled mind. Should I wake her? But it seemed she shouldn't- dreams were the mind's way of removing the barrier between the person you have been and the person you are, and sometimes one simply had to confront that.

At least, that's what she told herself as she leaned down, her nose in Blue's hair, a restless sigh rolling across the back of the sorcerer's neck.

Standing in the shadow of her mind, Blue argued with a version of her mother who had never set foot on Azeroth. Tall, with perfect swayed-back sorcerer's posture, arms thrown out to cast, fingertips black with pigment and eyes alive with the soul's own fire, Droma the Sage stood atop a rocky crag snatching shadows out of the sky, drinking the darkness that lingered after lightning struck.

Blue felt very small, watching her from a dozen paces away. She was very small. And very afraid of her mother, in that moment.

"This is where power lives, my boy," Droma hissed through her teeth, her arms smoking up to the elbow with shrouds of captured inky un-light. She turned toward Blue- whose legs felt heavy, her feet bolted to the ground, her eyes stinging with hot tears of panic- and walked up, sinking onto one knee to look her in the eye. A swirling black robe pooled on the stones around her, making her seem like a shadow herself, even her physical form forever in question, shifting, given to interpretation.

"Not just behind you," she went on, peering over Blue's shoulder. "All around. The words mean nothing without shadow to give them shape and impetus- you must learn to find the darkness wherever it is, wherever is closest, if you mean to speak as I speak."

And then she spoke, to demonstrate, and Blue lost her legs completely, wide-eyed and suddenly thrashing as the everywhere-at-once needles shot through her muscles. A little word of agony- and agony it was, blinding and debilitating and... mercifully, gone after a few seconds. Droma took her hand and pulled her to her feet in a way that suggested she thought herself quite the kindhearted teacher.

"Reach out and grab a shadow, son."

Disgust and confusion caused Blue to squint. That was twice that her own mother had gotten it wrong- but she remembered this moment, didn't she? She had lived this more than thirty years ago...

Ah yes. The very next day she had gone on a hunt with her father, and told him she made a better daughter than a son. He had laughed and patted her back and told her to go retrieve the arrow she'd set off course with that little surprise.

But he also told her that he loved her, and that it was fine, and that it ran in the family. No surprises other than the timing, Garmax had laughed, and her mother had laughed as well when he told her. Only a woman takes so easily to sorcery this powerful, she had said, ruffling Blue's hair in approval.

So why then would her dreams take her back to this moment? She knew her mother could be as cruel as she was kind- what need did she have with the cruelest moment of her youth, when she had already decided that rather than kill Droma, she would do as Promise bid and try to save her?

She looked down at the tiny green hands of her dreaming self and closed them into fists. She had relived this moment enough, and wanted no more of this nightmare. Purple-burning soulfire burst from between her knuckles, ready to blast her mother from the precipice the next time she opened her mouth to deliver a curse-

"Blue, the bed!"

Zahevere was at her wit's end, and shook Blue by the shoulders, beating out little tongues of flame with a pillow as they crept along the hay-stuffed mattress. Bleary and suddenly panicked, the sorceress leapt up and stumbled in the darkness, sparks still trailing from between her knuckles as she whirled in a room lit only by the fire she'd started in her sleep, tripping over boots, grasping at the stone walls, gasping for air, every part of her burning with embarrassment.

"Oh, spirits preserve me- Zee, are you alright? I'm so sorry, Droma, she-" Her heart was pounding and she slapped a hand to her bare chest, taking a moment to suck a much-needed breath in through her teeth. "...It wasn't real. Just a memory. Bad one."

The sayaad kept her head down for a moment, finally beating out the last of the flames in a shower of goose feathers, and then made her way shakily across the room. Angry-scared strength suddenly cinched Zee's arms around Blue's waist, and her pink, pointed nose disappeared between her wife's breasts as she tearfully clung to her, wings quaking as she shuddered toward calm again.

"I was there," she eventually croaked. "in the space between our minds. The dreamdrift, the link, whatever it is we share... it let me in. I saw it, I felt it..."

Blue shushed her, running a hand through that silky black hair, thumb circling around the roots of her horns as if to massage the stress away.

"She's never known you, has she?" Zee eventually added, turning her eyes up.The cyan beads of her own glow stared back at her, reflected in Blue's steady, searching gaze. "Not then, not now. Everything you've ever said you are... she's humored you, because it amuses her."

It troubled the sorcerer to have it said so plainly, and so truly.

"Droma likes to plant things in her shadow, just so her own darkness can wilt them." Blue sighed, nodding against the sayaad's forehead.

"Then we can't play nice, can we? The only way to put an end to this is to confront her with the truth."

The thought scared Blue. Was she sorcerer enough to square off with Droma Deadwatcher?

Hadn't Droma spent her whole life telling her that she wasn't?

Hadn't Droma been wrong about everything else, too?

I have been through a tumult of late, every day it would seem. As my magical skills had not advanced significantly since learning the hallowed Ghost Wolf form, I eventually swapped my pitted & scarred stave for something I never would have dreamed I would wield. 1118 More Words

I have been through a tumult of late, every day it would seem.

As my magical skills had not advanced significantly since learning the hallowed Ghost Wolf form, I eventually swapped my pitted & scarred stave for something I never would have dreamed I would wield. A massive bearded axe, weighing more than any mace or shield combination & sending a chilling message to all who cast a glance over my battle worn, bloodstained & mud marred armors. This along with graduating from leathers to proper maile armors paints my weary form in a new light.

No longer am I the sheltered child I had been. No longer have I time for the wistful hours spent turning the pages of works of lighthearted fiction. No longer do enemies bare down upon me like simple prey. Nay, instead I am a force from the nightmares of children. Four hundred pounds of disappointment, garbed in the pilfered regalia of the dead and the damned. Their pleas for mercy silenced by the knell of my sweeping blade, this hewer of hopes and dreams of any whom would turn toward me & strike me as with even an air of disrespect.

I am a tool. My name is Cog. I writhe in unison with the other instruments of aggression I have come to know as comrades alongside me in the great Warchief's precious Horde. I am directed seemingly on whim; my commanders need merely point me in a direction and I am unleashed. A hell of burning lightning & crushing earth, searing flame & wild rivers. The wind pushes my arms forward without consultation of my consent, the elements coming together to show whatever unfortunate creature that has found itself beneath me the frozen screaming silence of death.

I am a butcher. Not a soldier. For the Forsaken, I slaughtered farmers & hands in their fields. Then I poisoned their dog & it went wild & killed its former owner. For the Darkspear, I as Shu'halo marched into their ancestral home to murder Stonesplitter trolls. Retrieving what I suspect were religious trinkets as proof.

That sounds an awful lot like genocide, to me. Like stories of the orcs and humans, tauren and centaur, to me.

For my own people, plain old shu'halo, amidst the biting wind atop a spire in Thousand Needles I entered an average tauren settlement in every way. Except it was populated with Grimtotem, so I, as ordered, ruthlessly splattered their blood in haste, my totems staring on in deafening silence, as if struck dumb by the horror if not already silent in their passive vanguard.

Why does the Earthmother still assist me as I brutalize my brothers and sisters? Still I wake & breathe & An'she warms my face with light and love. Amidst her grace, the iridescent vibrations of life abound throughout my waking conscious senses. Yet such horrific sin do I offer in faith? How could a wretch as me remain so favored? Earthmother, I would think it naive to suggest you simply have abundant need of topsoil fertilizer. Surely there is more?

How can the wrong of the Horde remain right?

I look to my brethren in the Forsaken. Despite what I might've just written, in truth few I've met seem as malicious as those masterminding atrocities in Hillsbrad. Most are dour, even genuinely sad, but generally we seem to understand one and other. They are the angry dead. Focused like the finest beam of light through the canopy toward their seemingly sole goals of fighting back the Lich King & fighting for their right to exist. The individual Forsaken vary widely in their personal ambitions I find, however. In this manner they resemble humans. Orcs, shu'halo, even trolls, we are far more societally & socially committed to duty and honour before, or at best alongside personal ambition. Not that I would consider this trait of our departed comrades negative. Just different.

The Forsaken remind me of myself, I suppose. Of the vision of me I only share with your pages. Both at once proud and ashamed of what we have become. A glaring cacophony of a paradox. Acting out the worst nightmare-like works as if a game of parody. Instead we live parity.

Rambling off topic as I am, journal, at this climactic hour, I am reminded of a friend I made. A friend, yes! I know I should have written but, I'm so busy and I keep leaving you at the bank for extra space in my bags...

Bah. Nonetheless, her name is Lerain. She is associated with those erm, The Counters folk. She is a member of the Forsaken & yet wields the magic of the pure Light of An'she despite the pain it causes her in undeath. She exhorts faith in every way in that. Even in her modesty when I mentioned as much.

Do you remember how I don't have time to read, anymore? Well, I don't. Except, like, a little. I found some old molding books when I was in Tarren Mill. Human books, in Common. So I saved them, & I sent them to miss Lerain to see if she could translate them for me. I'm so excited! I hope they're stories. It's a little sad how often I'm daydreaming about whatever strange & interesting things humans write about.
...

Probably how much they hate us. That would make sense. I couldn't blame them.

Anyway, I also received a handwritten work from a consort of demons & her companion. Moxie & Zehevere gifted me a work-in-progress of theirs. They are attempting to compile a brief history of Zehevere's people, called syaad. I didn't know demons had racial history, or even personalities, but Zee conversed with me in fine Orcish with manners a far cry more delicate than most of my Horde compatriots. The pair of them fancy themselves a romantic duo. Though I question the legitimacy of a relationship based on magically bound servitude, it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. Nevertheless the pair seem enthralled with one and other in a similar manner to most young couples, so time will tell if their union is to last. Outside of that, their relationship is no business of mine - I wish the best for them, the poor estranged lovers. Anyway, it is also in Common & I gave it to Lerain for translation as well for the time being.

I'll admit, journal, the way they were together, even simply holding hands; the thought makes me quietly pign for something of the sort of my own. A comfort, a port in a st-...
..

I've been interrupted & informed just now, after having just come off the evening watch here in Feralas to come write & sleep, that my relief has just taken an arrow, & I'll need to cover their post until morning.

Good night journal, have a good rest here in my hammock without me. At least one of us will rest before sunrise.

Garmax Trailbinder sat on his porch, contentedly patting the belly of a young hog that sprawled across his lap. All was umber as the sun tipped over the western horizon of Durotar, and the air around his family home was a rich bouquet of drying tobacco, sizzling pork, roasting greens, and the sticky-sweet cloying of a jug of mead fermenting underneath the deck. 997 More Words

Garmax Trailbinder sat on his porch, contentedly patting the belly of a young hog that sprawled across his lap. All was umber as the sun tipped over the western horizon of Durotar, and the air around his family home was a rich bouquet of drying tobacco, sizzling pork, roasting greens, and the sticky-sweet cloying of a jug of mead fermenting underneath the deck.

This wasn't his world, and that might always trouble him a little, but this world sure was right sometimes.

Bouncing the hog on his knee as if it were a toddler, he held its face in his hands and grunted little chuckling nothings at it- who's a good boy this and gettin' big ain't ya? that, thoroughly amused even if the only answer was the occasional confused snort. Soon he'd have to get up and spend a little quality time with his wife- dinner, stargazing, reminiscing. He remembered when his daughter told him how her own evenings went, and laughed at how alike they were. Sometimes life's simple pleasures were the only kind an orc needed.

Of course, Droma disagreed. In recent months she had begun disappearing for hours at a time, even whole nights, always coming back with her shadow darker and bruised circles around her eyes from whatever troublesome rituals kept her up with nobody but a stranger's moon to keep her company.

It made him very sad. Droma the Sage- Droma Deadwatcher, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, the light of his life, even wrapped in darkness as she was- had a way of giving herself to ruin. Her sorcery was her strength, and it was a strength he admired- something had always thrilled him about being the brave and mighty hunter who only answered to a sinister and mysterious woman. A frightful edge was good on an axe, and it was good on a reputation, too.

And yet, his "evil queen" was dying on her throne. He could see the desperation in her, an unhealthy shine in her eyes, a darkening of the fingertips that meant blood under the skin. And what for? Did their daughter- a successful sorcerer, happy and talented, a world-traveler, even!- really trouble her so much?

Wasn't it for love? Didn't he make the same decision, in a time when shamans held the orcish world aloft on their back and few dared to tread even a moment in shadows, let alone live in them?

It was a pain in his chest to see his family torn apart like that. And to suffer Promise coming around for a meal- Garmax could deal with a lot of things, he had the patience of ten orcs, but The Sorcerer Promise was worse than a wounded wolf. More a... crazy, gangrenous wolf, snapping at invisible rabbits.

At least he had the good grace to pass through quickly. Who knew or cared where he was now?

Giving his hog a few final-feeling pats on the belly, he finally let the fat little gruntling wander back toward the water trough, and then rose from his rocking chair to go help with dinner. But just as his hand made to lift the thick leather flap that led inside, a troll broke away from the road and came sprinting toward him- and what a strange sort of troll it was.

Tattoos like wings marked not only his shoulders but his ankles, and a little round hat kept falling over his eyes as he kicked up dust on the approach to the porch. A bloated duffel bag bounced on his hip, and a shiny brass badge clung to the breast pocket of his red-and-brown cotton jumpsuit.

"'Ey!" He called out abruptly. "Ya Garmax? Garmax de Rope? Pon Southfury Way?"

"Hoy, that's me!" Garmax hollered back, stepping down into the dirt. "And who's this, come runnin' onto my little farm, now?"

"Chazun'da, Horde Couriers United, mon. Ya got a letter." He waved a yellowed envelope sealed with a blob of unmistakable cyan wax.

My girl's writing home!

After a few moments exchanging pleasantries and a cheerful clap on the back, Chazun'da was on his way and Garmax was squinting at Blue's sharp, angular handwriting.

Father,

I regret that I haven't written sooner, and I wish I were writing under more pleasant circumstances. There isn't an easy way for me to tell you what you need to hear, but please, brace yourself for unhappy tidings.

Promise told me everything. I know what his word means to you, but that's why I'm writing ahead- I'd rather you confirm the whole truth of it before I act.

It looks like mother wants to kill me. The way Promise puts it, she sent him to scare me out of the sorcery game. Couldn't stand to see the way I was living.

In Stonetalon, she told me she didn't know me. At home, dared me to walk in the shadow where she thought to easily overwhelm me. And now, following this- I'm starting to think that her contempt for me is coming to a head.

Please, write back and tell me what you know of her. What she's been doing, how she's been feeling. Zahevere and I are resting in Tanaris, and there are frequent couriers passing through the goblin city here. Tell us what you can, and we will remain here- safe and sound, taking no action- until we know better what to do.

I have always trusted your guidance, father. On the trail and in matters of the heart. Please, guide us one more time. I don't want our family to fall apart.

And, frankly, I don't want to die.

I love you. Aka'magosh, and spirits watch over.

-Moxie

Garmax frowned at the letter, folded it, and tucked it into his back pocket. Could Droma really be plotting to kill their only daughter? Unthinkable! More of Promise's ravings, surely. Just a diversion from his own wretched dark-drunk monstrosity.

And yet... she had been staying out late, and coming home so magic-sick she looked nearly dead. Why?

Why, unless there was some truth to all this?

His handwriting had never been good, but he had charcoal and he had some parchment stuffed away somewhere. After dinner, he decided.

After dinner he'd try to have a talk with Droma.

With the successful expedition into the wailing caverns I returned to finish my tasks in Silverpine. I was able to easily take on the mages of dalaran and take down their boss in the area. 720 More Words

With the successful expedition into the wailing caverns I returned to finish my tasks in Silverpine. I was able to easily take on the mages of dalaran and take down their boss in the area. I had received two final tasks which seemed relatively easy, kill some mindless scourge in a cave to the south and deliver research to the apothecary in Terran Mill. Upon arrival to the cave I encountered a shaman on the same mission. I was more than grateful to join him as I personally hate dealing with the fleshless scourge skeletons. I can kill ghouls all day no problem, but those skeletons are are annoying. I can't make bones bleed, I have been trained to rend my enemies to weaken them and win longer term fights, but skeletons DON'T BLEED. Anyway, clearing the scourge went smoothly and the shaman invited me to join him on his attack on Shadow Fang Keep. Originally I was going to immediately turn him down as I knew from the scouts reports I was no where near strong enough to attack there yet, but he assured me victory as his guild was sending a powerful champion who could probably just do the job by himself.

We arrived at the keep, there was four of us in total the shaman and I were now accompanied by another warrior and a powerful rogue. The rogue sliced threw the worgen with ease, the stables and courtyard were quickly conquered. Upon entering the dining hall was when things went south. One of the worgen got a few good hits on me before the rogue secured the room. My injuries weren't any so severe and were well within my first aid expertise. Luckily I had found some wool cloth on the worgen in the courtyard, so while I was making a couple of bandages the rest of the group moved on. After I finished tending to my wounds I noticed that it seemed a little quiet. Sure I know rogues are masters of stealth but the shaman and warrior that are with him are anything but silent. Then I hear footsteps coming down the staircase my allies departed to, unlock up to greet them and there I see two worgen each accompanied by a worg. They charge me, I reach out to grab my weapon when one of the worg bite's crush my right hand. As the second one approaches I swap to defense stance and manage to block him with my shield. With one mighty pull I yank my hand free from the worg's mouth, simultaneously breaking many chains on my mail gloves. I knew that it would be impossible to swing my axe in my current state and I had to escape. I knew I had no healing potions left but I did have a swiftness potion. I quickly threw my weapon into my bag and pulled out the potion as I slid across the table and made a dash for the exit. As I cross the bridge we had entered from I noticed they didn't peruse me past the gate. I do not know what became of my allies, I doubt those worgen could kill the rogue but I have not heard from them since.

I returned to the undercity to receive treatment and have my armor repaired. The Horde Trauma Unit told me that almost every bone in my hand was broken and had forbidden going on any mission. However dispite being told to rest I went to see the warrior trainer and while I did master retaliation, I also worsened my injury. To receive additional aid my doctor sent me to Terran Mill to "see a specialist" but I think it was just to keep me away from training in the under undercity's war quarter. I still had to make the delivery for the apothecary so I didn't dispute his decision. I may have made one more mistake that slowed my recovery. Using the possiblity of conflict with the alliance along the main roads impeding my recovery as an excuse, I took a "short cut" through the Alterac Mountains. Let's just say there are big spiders and I am very grateful for the members of Horde Trauma. I have been sitting idly in Terran Mill for a week now but as of tomorrow I will be cleared for combat again. This settlement is the closest I've been to an alliance town and I am eager to return to duty.
For The Horde

This is a tale from a few years ago, when I still roamed the world as a freelancing assassin. I was a strong valiant defender of the Alliance, and a challenge to members of the Horde. 989 More Words

This is a tale from a few years ago, when I still roamed the world as a freelancing assassin. I was a strong valiant defender of the Alliance, and a challenge to members of the Horde. Until these events unfolded, I always had a strong distaste for Horde, and especially the undead. I still do, but I can no longer view all Horde and Forsaken equally as despicable.

This all began in late winter, I was exploring the troll villages up in the mountains of the Hinterlands, tasked to slay a powerful witch doctor. To my knowledge at the time, that was all that was up there, I was not prepared for an entire army of some god worshipping trolls. Yet, there it was, the troll city of Jintha’Alor. This was a test of stealth, and was no simple task by any stretch of the imagination.

I snuck past the guards up to the very peak where the target in question had stood. However, I was not alone. A small band of Horde had also made their way up. Corpses of various trolls and their guard wolves had been littered around. However, more guards would soon make their way up, and I was caught between a rock and a hard place. This group of Horde had the same target as I had. The group had been comprised of an Rogue of the Forsaken, along with a Warlock, and Druid.

I grit my teeth, clenched my fists, and let myself become exposed to this group. I had no choice. It was either get caught by other guards, or, attempt to achieve a common goal with my enemy. This was against all my past teachings, my body froze as I stared at the trio. They stared at me back. Knowing they could overpower me, I would bow before them, then gesture to the witch doctor. Before the Warlock could cast her spell, Rogue draw her dagger and Druid... uh, shapeshift... the Rogue came before me and laughed.

It was not that of evil, like all others I had come across. It was as if the undead heard a hilarious joke. Her hand would be pressed on my shoulder. I was frozen stiff, unsure how to interact, but the forsaken gestured her hand to the target, pat my back, and nodded at me. I slowly nod back and draw my blades. Thus, with the power of the four of us, we would slay the vile doctor, and my task would be complete.

I was not done however, there was only one way out, and that was to go past several guards waiting for us. There was no way I wouldn’t be spotted, especially by their canine companions who could smell any living creature from a couple dozen feet away. Likewise, I had to resume this pact with the Horde group. They had another objective, to collect an egg within the cave behind the slain doctor.

I followed suit, slaying guard after guard, the trio keeping true to their silent promise. They would communicate in Orcish, among themselves as I remain silent. Occasionally, I would be pat on the back or have my hair rustled, but I could only laugh and smile. Once our task was complete, we left the cave and made our way out back.

Before I parted ways from the trio, I had to give some method of thanks. The Rogue was especially nice to me, and she seemed the most interesting of the bunch. I didn’t have a lot on my person, but I bestowed upon her a small gift of gratitude. It was just a ring, but I had picked it off from one of the guards along my way up. I was hoping she’d take it, and she did. As I handed her the ring, I simply just said my name, Myste. I’m not sure if she understood, but she said something in Orcish, then I think she said her name, Putress. Or Putris. It was hard to understand, but I tried to replicate it in my own tongue. I believe I heard them say “Myste” in return, though again, hard to understand. From this point forth, I would remember her name. And on the occasion I saw their face out in my adventures, I would give them not a threatening gaze, but a smile.

I bid farewell in my native language, and then disappeared, sliding down the cliffs as the trio would find their own way home. From that point forth, I was transformed. I was no longer willing to slay all Horde on sight. While, I do fight for the Alliance and remain this way, I will stand by what’s right when the time comes.

On occasion, I’ve spotted feeble Orcs and Trolls having issues with monsters in the world. To pay it forward, I’d assassinate their attackers, and vanish away. Overall, since this change in philosophy, I’ve noticed most Tauren are friendly, and are honorable in their actions.

I haven’t seen much change in most Forsaken, but not long ago I had a similar interaction with two of their mages, in the hot muggy caves under the Searing Gorge. I was partnered with a Rogue, and told them to stay their blade. I’d wave and bow to the duo of Forsaken, as this was my way of communicating peace. It worked the first time, so of course it would work again, I thought. Likewise, the mages and the two of us had a common enemy. With the four of us, we would easily slay them, and carry on with our day.

Take this lesson from me. The enemy of your enemy is still an enemy, but do not be afraid to make them a temporary ally. You never know what the benefit will be when you can establish a common goal. Just... be cautious when trying this, and always have a back-out plan. Recognize when this is beneficial, and when this will lead to certain doom. If you can achieve this successfully, your adventures may only become more prosperous.

The shadows are many things to many people. A weapon, a warren, a way to better know yourself. 1007 More Words

The shadows are many things to many people. A weapon, a warren, a way to better know yourself. A sorcerer of any notable skill understands the shadows as a place rather than a power, a well from which they can draw in their time of need- that is why a shadow follows you into the light, after all. It's always there for you. In times of trouble and uncertainty, when all seems lost, when the sparks go out of your wand and the wind goes out of your lungs... the shadows are there. Dip your hands in and draw up a force that can save your life.

That's what it's there for.

The Sorcerer Promise, an orc of some eighty years, older brother to Droma the Sage, imitator of the profound Elder Shaman Ner'zhul, and eternal seeker of deeper and deeper shadows, leaned on a twisted ash cane and bared his teeth at The Sorcerer Bluetongue- Bluetongue the Younger, Bluetongue the Lesser, Bluetongue the Misguided- grinning yellowly at his niece with all the familiar warmth one might expect out of a favorite uncle. Whatever pleasant nature he might've sought to suggest never quite reached his gaze, which still swam indecisively with supernatural greed, never settling on anything for long.

"Put your wand away, I just want to talk," he demanded crankily, stumping his way across the inn's main hall to their cheap little alcove. Blue kept her wand in her hand and regarded the old monster flatly, her hazel eyes two chips of dull amber. Zahevere was no more impressed, laying on her belly across the top bunk with her head in her hand.

"Hateful creatures, the both of you. Near about killed me, and for what?" In a state of eternal dishevelment, he dusted himself off and fussed with the frayed bordering on his robe.

"Shame it didn't take," Zahevere shot back, her tone positively lazy. "Don't suppose you want to give us a reason to listen to you before you fly into... whatever it is you have in mind, do you?"

Blue felt her fingers growing sweaty from the tight grip she had on her journal, working divots into the soft leather. In the other hand, her thumb flicked back and forth against the handle of her wand, causing the tip to flash and flare. One little press of the thumb and a stream of fireballs would spill out- but better that it didn't come to that in the middle of an inn.

"If ever it meant anything to be a Thunderlord, lower your damnable weapon and see me as I am," Promise protested through clenched teeth. There was something strangely earnest on his face then- his cheeks and forehead were dark, flushed...

...Embarrassed? That was enough to get Blue to relax her cocked wrist and rise from her seat.

She swept across the little three-walled room and stared into Promise's shade-drunk eyes. He still smelled like smoke. Making a point to keep curt, she quietly asked her questions.

"Why?"

Droma.

"Who?"

Droma.

"What?"

Droma the Sage.

Promise squeezed the handle of his cane unhappily as he gave up the truth. He hadn't been sent to Desolace for his skill as a sorcerer- his dear sister was relying on his colorful character to put a little scare into her daughter's heart. Set her back on the right path. Show her what the consequences of her actions might look like before warlocks at large got wind of her maladjusted ideas about demonkind.

But Blue just had to turn a farce into a firestorm, didn't she? Nearly killed her own blood for love's sake, and nearly killed herself in the process.

But the only thing worse than working for Droma the Sage is failing her.

Promise raised his hand as if to cast and nearly lost his balance, having to roughly bang his cane against the floor just to keep on two feet. A blue-black sorcery scar raced under the skin of his left arm starting at the middle finger, and didn't terminate until the top of his bald head, sweeping across the spotted old dome like an eclipse hiding a strip of the moon.

"I can never understand what sort of sorcerer you are," he sighed, "but not for lack of trying. Might be that I'm old and softheaded by now- but she's gone over to fresh shadows and new darkness, while I tarry in the twilight. It's easy to watch things change from where I stand, and..."

For a moment he teetered, looking sicker all the time. Neither woman made a move to support him- after all, they both knew, this could all be an act- but after a few seconds of peril he righted himself again.

"...Truth of it is, she's changed more'n you have. I remember you spittin' the words at talbuk and reachin' your whole arm through summoning circles- came natural as anything, didn't it? Because you didn't think, you're like me- you felt what you had to do, and did it."

Droma, he went on to say, wasn't the doing type. Not without a lot of thinking first. Not without charts and maps and math. And that frightened him worse than any amount of romance that Blue might find in her sayaadi companion. Droma's orcish nature was giving way to make room for more and more living shadow, and soon there would be nothing left but anger and ambition and violence in the shape of a woman- and even an old monster like Promise couldn't stand to see it happen.

"What would you have us do? Do you want Blue to march back into Durotar and kill her own mother?" Zee scoffed, refusing to give Promise even the briefest reprieve from her thoroughly-justified scorn.

But Promise kept his eyes on Blue when he answered the question. His voice was soft, hoarse, and unsteady with misery.

"No," he managed, after a moment's struggle with his tongue.

"I want you to save her."

The mysterious woman clamed she was on a mission, a mission to discover truths unknown. What kind of truths could she possibley know? 371 More Words

The mysterious woman clamed she was on a mission, a mission to discover truths unknown. What kind of truths could she possibley know? She talked of mysteries and lore of long forgotten lands. Places I have never heard before. Lands that I as a simple fisherman have never traveled. What about my training? What about the Guild ‘Righteous Reclamation”? Have I lost my mind? But here I am finding myself fighting Watchers in Westfall, Orcs and Gnolls in Redridge. Even Dragon whelps come to do us harm. What were we after? She would not tell me much, it was almost as if she was trying to understand herself and what she was seeking. I felt myself grow in the light as I traveled training my new abilities. The Light helped us through many battles, but her power came from somewhere else. Almost as a polar opposite to what the light had to offer me, but it echoed the same.
We found ourselves at an inn within Darkshire. There where whispers about a night watch that protected the People of Darkshire. They were serious and stout people always ready for the beast of the night to spring forth. That’s when we heard the screams from guards for help. As we ran out, we witnessed a gruesome sight. Someone in the distance yells,” ITS STITCHES!” We run to help the night watch already in battle with the monstrosity. Keyla summons some power from the unknown while I use the Light to keep all defenders alive. The monster had organs hanging from its bowels and seemed to be put together from rotting corpses. The fear that was inside me tried to engulf me and I felt like I was back on the farm, running from the scourge. But I pressed on. I saw Keyla fall to the ground. I saw what seemed like fear in her eyes. I look up and prayed to the light and I reached down and laid a hand on her. She gets up immediately as though she had never been injured by the abomination. Then out of nowhere a member of the nights watch cut off the creature’s head. As “Stitches” remained alive though decapitated we continue to burn the flesh with fire. Where did this creature come from? What is this place? What is Darkshire?

Martin Openhand decided to travel with the two lady adventurers for a while. Though they missed some of their usual privacy, and the typical rambunctiousness that came with it, having a stalwart companion who flirted ever so lightly with insanity brought a certain security to their travels. 669 More Words

Martin Openhand decided to travel with the two lady adventurers for a while. Though they missed some of their usual privacy, and the typical rambunctiousness that came with it, having a stalwart companion who flirted ever so lightly with insanity brought a certain security to their travels. They need only stand back and watch, mouths agape at the incredible violence of The Knight of the Garden at work, vertically bisecting an oncoming centaur with as simple a gesture as grinding his heavy boots into the dirt and bracing his blade in front of his chest.

His mania and warmth were a welcome change from Blue's frequent bouts of melancholy. His friendship held them aloft through blood and battle, and his tale-telling around the fire at night was robust and loud and thrilling- given the chance, he'd do well on the stage, Zee thought. And then she found herself troubled to think, have I ever even seen a play? When?

But before she could linger on it too long, he whirled into action, regaling them with the terror of single combat against a drake in the far-distant Badlands.

His bottomless chivalry and glowing praise became a tailwind to blow them across The Barrens, a fearless charge that wove them through the Thousand Needles, a blue streak of progress that tore across the Shimmering Flats to deposit them safely in Gadgetzan, in the span of only a few days.

Journal entries came short and sweet until they finally had time to collect themselves:

Fish for lunch today. Great view from Freewind. Found an artist who painted us holding hands at the top, gave up an entire gold coin for his trouble.

Hard practice against Martin. He fears no curse and laughs louder when he's burning. Rather than say he hurts, he only tells me that the spell "appears to be working just fine." Knocked him off his feet for the first time since our first duel with a hard flash of soul's own fire. Didn't hurt as much as it could have. Fell asleep with Zee laying on top of me, woke up with a mouthful of her hair. Still think it's cute how she snores.

Skinned knee running across the flats. Nothing major. Never thought I'd run from a tortoise but here we are. Tore one of my favorite skirts, still want to keep it. Guess I have a miniskirt now. Daring but fun. Zee wore a sundress today and looking at her too long made my heart hurt. I have scarcely ever been happier.

Sunsets in Tanaris are among the most dramatic Azeroth has to offer. The sun looms enormous over the distant mountains framing the Un'goro Crater, lighting pink clouds from underneath with burning bands of orange. Shadows stretch over the dunes for miles, strange and ancient obelisks drawing black lines that all point toward some buried secret, waiting to be dug up by the right person.

It is more than safe to assume that The Sorcerer Bluetongue believes herself to be the right person.

She sat in a bunk with her back to the wall, Zahevere sprawled across her lap. Hours before, Martin had waved his goodbyes and raised his sword to the leaning afternoon sun, proclaiming his next heading. What the Crater had to offer him was anyone's guess- but he went where the plants went, and in that respect he had certainly made the right choice.

He was still on her mind as she tapped the dimly glowing tip of her wand against the corner of the page, fussing over what to write. She did her best to tune out the clinking of coins and the shuffling of this traveler or that, but it wouldn't do. She was much too distracted to make a real entry, and barely looked at the page as she scribbled down the only thing that was on her mind:

Trouble has a way of finding us, and I fear we've been spoiled by the lack of it. Call me paranoid, but I can't help but think that the worst is yet to come.

What would make me say that, after Martin showed us how easy it could be to have a pleasant day?

Well, Journal-mine, that's easy. The Sorcerer Promise just walked through the door.

Journal-mine, I need a heading. The mysteries of Azeroth are heavily guarded, and the one I thought to call my own had to be left behind a mile underground when we made our escape from Blackfathom. 1177 More Words

Journal-mine, I need a heading. The mysteries of Azeroth are heavily guarded, and the one I thought to call my own had to be left behind a mile underground when we made our escape from Blackfathom. What's left to me is obvious- working together with Zee to unravel the secrets of the Legion, and maybe someday undo the work of some monster-god who set the cosmos aflame untold eons ago.

If I can be honest, it might be too grand a destiny for the likes of me. Not that I wouldn't want to aspire to it, but me, against the work of something so vast I can hardly understand the nature of it? Vexing, to say the least. As if I've bought myself a jigsaw puzzle of truly entertaining complexity, but it's stored in a box I can't figure out how to open.

Is anything worse than seeing exactly what you want, and finding out you can't have it?

Zee urged me to spend today practicing some spellwork, and I'm grateful she did. I'm still in recovery, after all- much like a wounded blademaster might spend his days hacking away at a dummy, I won't get any better if I don't put myself through some physical therapy. ...Or whatever passes for physical therapy, for the soul. We spent the afternoon at the shoreline- she'd throw a seashell and I'd have to aim, speak, and bid the shadows to work on the target. Watching an inert shell crinkle like paper under the effects of physical corruption were... well, it gave me some insight into what I'd been doing to my enemies with a few dark words, and that was distressing.

Not that I'll stop, but empathy is its own set of shackles. Now I'll have some idea of how they feel, and that might have me pulling punches at the wrong moment. If I can't make a decisive kill, I might put myself at risk. Or worse, her.

I made us stop when I started to feel that inward-facing fire run down my arm again. It takes longer, every time- but what I'm learning is that all the magic I know draws on the soul in some way, and drawing on it too much is like picking a scab. Next thing I know it's bleeding and I'm burning, and until this difficult chapter of my life is over, I'll need to be a little more careful than that.

My fingers are sore from it, and I can't imagine more happening today that I'd care to chronicle. Let's rest, journal-mine. She and I, and you as well.

But rest was further out of reach than it seemed.

Zahevere had wandered far from the docks, drawn onward by a strange feeling that tingled in the tips of her ears. With Blue's hand in hers, she made her way across the coast toward a little hill overlooking the sea. It was a strange fixture as far as rocks covered in dry grass went, tiered and even, as if it had once been deliberately stacked that way some time in prehistory, worn so smooth as to be unrecognizable as the world spun on.

At its base, Zee knelt in the sand and asked to borrow Blue's wand. She tapped the crystal tip twice against one of her horns, igniting the magical light inside, coaxing it to be a good deal brighter. When she held it out over the water, warm yellow beam cut through the blue-black roll of the tide.

What they saw below the surface was the end of the world.

There are dropoffs, and then there's that. The gentle bumps of the natural staircase climbing behind them were actually the peak of a truly vast seamount, its side a sheer drop down into an empty abyss that went on, and on, and dizzyingly on, so deep it seemed unreal. The yellow light could cut through the gloom only for a couple dozen feet, but even the sense of depth they got from that told them that there might not even be a bottom for the light to reach.

They had to get away from Ratchet, Zee decided on the spot. She looked afraid, maybe even a little sick. She had felt it in Blackfathom, she insisted as she reached for Blue's arm and took several long steps back from the shore. They had to pack, they had to leave, she didn't know what it meant but just trust me, Blue, and so they paid up what was left to pay for their room at the inn and rushed out onto the open road, back into the world of wandering raptors and waist-high grass.

"I think this world is very sick," she eventually said, when they'd put a few miles between themselves and the sea. As she strung a sheet for shelter between a pair of leaning palms, she went on. "Did you feel it? The shadow of a shadow?"

Blue had felt something. Though she knew the nature of shadowy sorcery quite well, what she saw in that abyss felt meaningfully different. As if it were on the other side of a boundary between a shadow's familiar darkness and... someplace else. But that sort of thing made her curious, not fearful. She didn't like seeing Zee so afraid, and resolved to stow her many questions for later.

Strong green arms moved with a thoughtful silkiness, light against Zahevere's skin as they wrapped around her midsection. Blue's lips pressed against the top of her head as she tightened her grip, lifting the sayaad off of her hooves. Spinning, swaying, she hummed a quiet song- one of her mother's, bittersweet as the notion was, because at least she knew how it went- and she guided her beloved away from her camp-setting, away from the dim fire, out into the dust to dance.

As if spun to the surface by the centrifuge they made of themselves, all the warmth and laughter and love that had been so thoroughly buried under the stress and trauma of their travels rose to burst out of them, loudly up into the night air. Their little slice of vacation not even a day ago was nice, but it was a diversion- this was different. This was coping.

They collapsed a dozen feet from camp in a heap of brittle grass and held each other a long time, heads together, hands linked, eyes on the stars.

"It's all so much bigger than us, Blue," Zahevere admitted quietly. "But when I'm with you, I'm not scared of the consequences."

"...But we ran anyway, Zee."

"For our health. Better to live and learn than dive and die."

"Well said, my friend!" a familiar voice exploded from a short distance away. "Look at how you've both grown!"

Neither woman bothered to get up, but they were laughing all over again. Martin Openhand laughed with them as he clomped down from the high road, smelling of dry seaweed in addition to his usual bouquet.

Martin's advice had been a winner last time, and so they took it again.

They looked at each other, and how they'd grown.

And they liked what they saw.

The fishing's good in Ratchet. I know, because now that we've had our fill of ancient temples and murderous magic, it's time for a little vacation- and when we realized we'd slept in an extra four hours this morning, we decided to let a warm, catlike laziness overtake us entirely. 490 More Words

The fishing's good in Ratchet. I know, because now that we've had our fill of ancient temples and murderous magic, it's time for a little vacation- and when we realized we'd slept in an extra four hours this morning, we decided to let a warm, catlike laziness overtake us entirely. We bought our first swimsuits today- despite all my hemming and hawing about going soft as I get older, she insisted on the two-piece variety, and by the middle of the afternoon we were stretched out on folding chairs, slathered with some sort of important-sounding zinc paste, watching the fishing poles we'd staked in the sand bob and twitch.

A vendor selling cold drinks out of a cart nearby came rushing down the beach to gasp at us when we threw back the little fish. Went on and on about how he could sell those, about how we should have kept them, on and on- but Zee simply told him that if he wanted the fish, he knew where to find them.

You know, I say we make enemies everywhere we go, but that was among the most casual ways I've seen to do it. He stomped off, we found our peace again, and by nightfall we'd pulled in a few fat grouper. I sat on a stump filleting them while Zee prepared our fire, and we made our easy way through sunset listening to the pop and sizzle of searing meat on cast iron. She's starting to match my appetite, which is a good thing- I don't like to be the old lion, biting off a big selfish share and leaving the rest for her to pick at.

Laying there on our backs, bellies full, hands together, we watched the stars come out together and talked.

We talked about the early days, what we thought when we met each other, what we went through during the war- how much it would have meant to both of us, if only we knew back then that it was safe to open up.

I told her how glad I was, at least, that she was here now, like this. How happy it made me to call her my wife. How grateful I was that, especially today, she got me out of my shell and put me in a bikini of all things.

She told me she liked the way I looked in it, and that she wouldn't mind terribly if I kept on making daring fashion choices. It's nice to feel wanted, journal-mine. I don't need to tell you how we spent the rest of the evening, or how I ought to be asleep myself by now. We're on vacation. If I want to stay up until four in the morning, there's no obligation looming on the horizon to stop me.

But tomorrow I'm going to wake up with her in my arms, and ignore the sand in my hair for as long as I can stand it just for the sake of staying here with her even a little longer. No worries, no danger, no thinking about sorcery or secrets. For now, it doesn't matter what magic I can and can't conjure.

I've got all the magic I need right here.

I am still not whole- it hurts me terribly to draw on the soul's own living fire, and I am reminded that injuries take time to heal- it'll always be tender if I keep poking at it. But, Journal-mine, I am a sorcerer, and that is more than I could say when I woke this morning. 1231 More Words

I am still not whole- it hurts me terribly to draw on the soul's own living fire, and I am reminded that injuries take time to heal- it'll always be tender if I keep poking at it.

But, Journal-mine, I am a sorcerer, and that is more than I could say when I woke this morning. I say the words and living shadow leaps into my hand, leaps down the throat of my enemies, binds legs and lungs and lives. Much of the spectacular power I once enjoyed is once again within my reach. I must remember to thank Martin when next I see him- he disappeared toward the end of our journey, pursuing a mystery of his own I'm sure.

Today I learned that I have friends. Plural. Three Counters came to my call: Nillah, a beautiful Tauren with a bright mind and a warm heart, Raz, a fantastic young man whose enthusiasm could provoke good nature out of the dourest Forsaken...

...And Holgar. Holgar who knows about spirits. Holgar who knows how to kill.

A veteran, as I am, but he rose under another clan's banner when the warhorns blared. There is much- so much- that we could tell one another, old aches we could attend from a lifetime gone by, years stolen by fouler sorcerers than I and the Alliance besides- but he is slow to warm to me.

I don't blame him for keeping a respectful distance. I am a married woman, after all. And consorting with demons, well, that's a daily matter. Twice daily, if I'm lucky.

But he joined us, and kept us safe, and saw us through the grand and treacherous ruins of the temple. The mysteries we solved together! What a remarkable team- I count myself lucky to know them all.

Over and over, I tried spells- and as the need became more apparent, the spells came to me. No doubt the intense darkness and ancient, latent magic of the place made for ideal circumstances- Martin's instincts were right on the money. After a few successful casts, I found my old curiosity returning.

And just in time to encounter the wall.

Four little lights. Two blue, one yellow, one white. It occurs to me now that they might've been phases of the moon, in an era where they were cleaner. The blue ones maybe new and waning, the yellow waxing, the white full. As little as I know about elves for certain, that speculation's about as useful as human mercy- which is to say, we ought not count on it.

Convenient that there were four of us, though. We struggled through the depths, constantly beset by naga, by territorial reptiles, by murlocs, which... the thought alone is simply miserable, but being physically confronted by a dozen of them was enough to send any of us into a killing frenzy. Those little monsters bring out the worst in everyone.

And yet, with Martin's voice booming down the ancient halls to guide us, we made our way ever deeper, collecting crystals to match the lights on the wall along the way. Each belonged to a guardian of some kind- a beautiful naga, a wretched fishman, and worst of all, a man of the Kingdoms who thought himself to be a warlock.

What was he doing down there?

I'm not ashamed to admit that we fought them into submission and robbed them of their magical riches. The naga retreated, the murloc died, the human begged for his life- and died. What can I say? Neither I or Holgar had any sympathy for him, albeit for different enough reasons.

Crystals in hand- well, most of them, we found the door to the innermost sanctum. As is often the way with ancient wonders, a magic stone socketed into the right carving makes all the difference- and never has a burden been lightened so suddenly or so completely than when my darling Zahevere took that old elven locket from around her neck and wedged it into the door to serve as a substitute for the gem we missed.

The magical circuit completed, the barrier fell, and we barged in unannounced on an absolute brain trust of warlocks. By then, I could feel the old conduits flying open within me, shadow pouring freely out of my hands once again, the old words snatching vicious shapes out of the darkness to drive these wayward wizards into the ground. It was enough of a thrill to throw my head back and cackle- but I resisted the urge.

A thoughtless swaggering type, too intoxicated by the feeling of power running through him to know how to use it, led the cultist congregation.

That one, we didn't have a choice. He had to die. Holgar took so much pleasure in the act that our friendly guide found himself cut off mid-sentence by a spray of blood splashing across the ceiling, where he'd clambered into a little alcove to spy on our progress.

But of course that couldn't be everything.

The goblins have an awful invention, they call it the "dead man's switch." A man is expected to hold down a button constantly, and if anything at all prevents him from holding it- such as, for instance, dying- releasing the switch causes a bomb on his person to detonate, as a sort of instant revenge against his attacker.

So it was when the warlock fell that a fledgling hydra, covered in tatters of fresh shed, hungry and pale and seething, came storming up from below. I shudder to think what sort of outrageous giant its mother must be, further down in the depths where even we would never dare to tread.

With Zee's hand in mine, I tried my luck. My favorite sort of sorcery, the kind that makes me truly a force to be reckoned with, the living fire of the soul...

I said the words. I closed my eyes and drew it into my hand, and I felt my arm burning, burning, burning, from the inside out. Quick as I could, I squeezed my fist shut and killed the spell before it could turn me into a living conflagration on the spot.

Luckily, with the thunder of Raz's rifle and the burning moonlight Nillah drew straight down through the stones, the hydra fell just the same.

All were injured. Brave Raz was caught across the throat by a rake of claws during the creature's death throes, and I took a blow to the stomach from its thrashing tail.

I have no doubt that Holgar and Nillah have their own wounds to attend to, but we are all too tired to take inventory of each and every one.

Moving arm in arm, hands on shoulders, on backs, anything to keep our balance, we staggered as a party up the beach, paid the fee, mounted two to a wyvern, and took the fastest route to Ratchet. Safe, sunny, seaside Ratchet, with its deep-fried food and colorful drinks full of crushed ice and strong liquor.

They've all gone their own ways now- stoic Holgar stayed to listen while Raz did his recovering in a more horizontal fashion, and Nillah has a job elsewhere, so I didn't ask her to stay any longer than the first drink.

Now it's to just Zahevere and I. And it feels right again. It feels like I'm here, instead of standing outside the burning wreckage of myself trying to figure out what happened.

I'm not whole, but I'm here.

And Journal-mine, I never appreciated how good that could feel until now.

Just to be here. Here among friends, here with my wife, here on Azeroth.

Here to stay, and now I know it for sure.

I’m reporting this story two days after the tragic events in Gadgetzan. A Tauren hunter stood atop the arena cage showering arrows upon several victims. 280 More Words

I’m reporting this story two days after the tragic events in Gadgetzan. A Tauren hunter stood atop the arena cage showering arrows upon several victims. Witnesses describe him to be eleven feet tall, brown furred, and utilizing a tiger to help commit his crimes.

“I have no idea how such a tall wise guy could get up there!” said one of the bruisers on duty. “None of us can shoot him down ‘cuz he’s using the middle as a way to hide. Nimrod’s like this guy deserve a beatin’.”

Few Alliance have stood up to the challenge. Not only was the terrorist in question abusing the cage to stand away from the guards, he was even tougher up close. Luckily, two heroes have taken the pride in defeating this brute, for the safety of Gadgetzan, and the safety of the Alliance.

This would be none other than myself, and a Rogue who shall remain anonymous. It was a struggle to climb atop the barbed cage, but not entirely impossible. Eventually, the terrorist fell, and would attempt to reclaim his spot. Understanding that the Alliance had the high ground, the guardsmen allowed us to hold him off. It would be only half an hour until Orgrimmar grunts carried him off to face trial for his crimes against the public.

“This day, we fight against the evils of Azeroth.” I shouted in glory. “This day, we share pride in the safety of our fellow Alliance. This day, the Horde terrorist has been defeated and sentenced for his crimes, and ALL of Gadgetzan and it’s citizens can continue their daily lives.”

A few cheered in victory, whereas most carried about their normal routines as per usual. So far, the goblins have done nothing to prevent similar events from occurring again. “Time is Money” after all.

Arriving to Kharazan, Medivh entered the lowest chamber of the tower and said, “Greetings, my love.” to Sargeras as he laid the pristine and untouched body of Muhammadah at his friend’s feet. 1421 More Words

Arriving to Kharazan, Medivh entered the lowest chamber of the
tower and said, “Greetings, my love.” to Sargeras as he laid
the pristine and untouched body of Muhammadah at his friend’s
feet.

Sargeras did not even look at Muhammadah who arrived in the
arms of Medivh carrying her resting body. Sargeras, without a
word, instructed Medivh to allow her to rest in a chamber of
Kharazhan used only back before the Titans walked Azeroth.
As Medivh was leaving her in her chamber a journal fell from
her bags as she turned over to rest. Medivh took the journal
and this is what he saw as he read the elvish, as Muhammadah walked right out the front door back towards her home in Stormwind:

Muhammadah was swimming in Lake Lordamere with Archeus on her
back in her green robes and hood. Aware the the Western
Plaguelands are a route where one takes on the Blight, she
adjusted her rout to Scarlet Monastery in preference of
admiring the serene lake.

As she made land with a flash of light she was dried. Taking a
bit of musk out of her pocket with crushed Mageroyal she found
on its banks she applied a perfume to her skin before she made
prayer facing the city of Lordaeron.

She entered Scarlet Monastery only to be greeted with other
humans who were of complete disrespect for her presence,
unawares of what blessings The Light bestows while she is
witness, she left the Monastery.

Sitting on a hill while boodies hung upside down from trees
she gazed across Tirisfal Glades towards Lordaeron. She had
fled Stormwind, Darnassus, and Ironforge to come to the
Scarlet Monastery hoping she would attain some acceptance with
the others, but yet here she was again; alone with the alone.
She took from her pocket the ring she carried. As she placed
it in her palm and began to recite the Scriptures to it out of
a kind of desire to speak to something even it could not hear
or see her. As she pronounced her words of prayer she began to
feel destructive with the Light and turned her words into
words of chastisement upon this small circle of gold.
Yet it replied. It replied with elvish appearing on its
circumfrence.
Aware that she is in the Kingdom of Lordaeron and Quel’thalas,
she hooded herself and proceeded to walk to one of the only
living Highborne; The Banshee Queen.
Arriving to the gates of Lordaeron she disarmed herself and
walked in slowly as members of the Horde walked around as
though she were already citizen. Upon arriving to the throne
room of The Kingdom of Lordaeron she knelt in the presence of
the unseen king of kings who rules from his throne over all of
Azeroth.

What happened in that exact moment, I, Medivh, could not see.
Yet I did hear the voice of The Maiden sing,

Blessed are you oh, lord teach me your statutes.
I am the image of your of your natural glory.
Though I bear the scars of my stumblings,
Have Compassion on me

After this I regained my vision back from Sargeras. I was
witness to Muhammadah’s spirit walking out of her body. Upon
the departure of her spirit, a wolf appeared and whisked her’s
away to Sylvanas like a game.

As her soulless body remained kneeled in prayer in statue-
esque form, the Royal Deathguard replied to her song as they lifted a messenger of their God upon their hands above
their heads,

Hello gracious Lady who in the flesh bears God for salvation for all.
And through whom the human race has found salvation,
through you may we find paradise,
Theotokos our Lady pure and blessed.
Alleluiayah, glory to you our God

Those who slept in their graves joined in
procession as Muhammadah’s corpse proceeded into the depths of
Lordaeron. The Royal Deathguard gently layed the corpse of Muhammadah at the feet of Sylvanas. The Lady looked right, left, right,
left, and then forward while two simultaneous claps of the hands were heard from the throne room.
Muhammadah’s soul appeared before The Dark Lady. The Maiden
told The Lady, "Hail to thee, full of grace, The Light is with
thee, as she presented the glowing ring that was now spoke.
What I heard I cannot bear to write, but yet The Dark Lady
comissioned ambassadoress Muhammadah with the mission to present this find to Chieftain Cairne Bloodhoof.

Muhammadah walked in peace through the Undercity without a
hood upon head as she was in the presence of her family. While
some members of the Horde mistake her for a normal human, yet
one direct gaze from her slightly green eyes stayed any
attempt on her life.

Before departing Muhammadah heard and obeyed the command of
the Lord of the Ring. She sat herself in not but a white
tabard and placed the ring on her finger. As she sat, an Orc
Warrior named “Scream” wept at her feet. She got off from the
throne, put on her robes, and went forward.

As she arose from the depths of Lordaeron she took a zeppelin
to Durotar in good company. Upon arriving to Durotar she was
again being mutinied as a troll joke upon her, and she jumped
into the depths of the sea. Swimming to shore she ran across
the Barrens while she could sense that the war in Ashenvale
was now beginning.

As she ran through the Crossroads there was no sign of a
friendly or unfriendly Alliance presence, so she carried on to
Camp Taurajo and entered Mulgore.

Upon entering she took off her shoes and took the living
flowers from her bag and sang,

Lift up your hands in prayers.

As her voice sang so to did every rock, stone, blade of grass,
and life in Mulgore resound,

Lift up your hands in prayers.

Muhammadah took the lift up to Thunder Bluff where she knelt
at the totem pole by the pond and began her spirit dance. As
she danced she arrived to the tent of the Chieftain. Resuming
her flesh, the Maiden lifted her pointer finger to the sun as a
circle of light glowed upon them all. Whirling faster than an
element of the wind she went off the edge of Thunder Bluff
arms spread open.

No one knows what they saw that day, but yet it appeared a
Night Elf was hunting a druid in Thunder Bluff that day, and
Muhammadah was brought by the wings of an eagle across the
Barrens’ journey in a moment to the gate of Orgrimmar as the
eagle gazed upon Orgrimmar and sang,

Lift up your hands in prayers.

As she landed, Durotar was pulsing in rhythm to Mulgore. She
entered Orgrimmar and yet every time she was struck down her
spirit danced back to her corpse, and she arrived to Thrall.
Thrall’s eye opened wide as he saw his visions’ truth. As she
entered the Hall of Wisdom, Thrall ran to meet her and ask her
why she had come to Ogrimmar, something that the Elements
refused for countless aeons to answer him.

Muhammadah took off the circle of light from her hand and
placed it in Thrall’s palm. Thrall again was eyes wide open as
he roared, “Lok’tar Ogar!” dropped the ring. With 5 strikes
of Doomhammer he had placed the ring into the face of Doomhammer.

As he showed Muhammadah, she lifted her the palm of hand towards the face of the face of Doomhammer and the ring left the stone and
metal head of Doomhammer and answered its masters call. She
said a prayer for The Dark Lord Sauron and placed the ring back on her hand.

As Muhammadah and Thrall walked through the Valley of Wisdom,
the Drag, the Cleft of Shadows, and Greater Orgrimmar they
listened as Cthulhu, Azatoth, Yogg, Sauron, and the crew were
telling jokes about what will happen with “The Alliance” who
were declared heretics by their own deity, The Light.

Upon arriving to the point of return to Gadgetzan from
Orgrimmar, Muhammadah turn to Thrall standing at the gate and
she wept 1 tear that fell onto the soil of Durotar and smiled
as she put her hood back on her golden-red hair. Thrall cried,

“Welcome, Home!”

Muhammadah replied, “For the Aliiance!”
“For the Horde!” echoed Thrall.

Theme Music:
Undercity - youtube DOT com/watch?v=9SNIuHcg_zA

Thunder Bluff - youtube DOT com/watch?v=KRHqihQ0Ll4

Orgrimmar - youtube DOT com/?v=KRHqihQ0Ll4](https://www.youtube.com/?v=KRHqihQ0Ll4)

Dark Spears - www.youtube DOT com/watch?v=oXyrjy7t-Cs

Photos:
imgur DOT com/a/zlAHi4d

The Knight of the Garden walked his quiet way through Ashenvale. Once, he had been a violent creature- a savage from the low kingdoms of the East, placed in charge of other savages whom he spent most of his time striking across the face for disobedience. 1739 More Words

The Knight of the Garden walked his quiet way through Ashenvale. Once, he had been a violent creature- a savage from the low kingdoms of the East, placed in charge of other savages whom he spent most of his time striking across the face for disobedience. Only he possessed discipline, was the farce- the Light flowed through him rather than the rest, and knowing that, he could distribute justice as he saw fit.

But the Light was a farce as well, wasn't it? A false promise, retracted as soon as some unfortunate little mishap caused him to die. But what did he find when he opened his eyes again? What lived when all else did not?

Even when the sky itself seemed blighted, the flowers reached for the sun. And so would he. What was Light, compared to life? Was it really anything more than a toy?

A feverish urgency overtook him, and he realized he might look quite insane carrying out the duty that fate had suddenly thrust upon him- but he found that, in death, there was no shame to suffer. He did not care. All pretense had been lifted from his shoulders the moment he was cast off the mortal coil, and this was the kind of second chance a living man only dreamed of. He was free.

Free to buckle his withered body into the finest plate armor bony hands could steal. Free to pilfer abandoned planters and fields for soil and seeds. Methodically filling in the gaps, from the bottoms of his boots to the hollows of his pauldrons, until all but his head was completely buried beneath a thick layer of living soil, rich with earthworms and pebbles and seeds of every kind.

He found that the weight of it didn't slow him down- and why would it? Undeath had rendered him little more than a skeleton, but that skeleton moved- he was propelled by something greater, something supernatural.

And so, without burdens yet at least a hundred pounds heavier, Martin Openhand walked toward the sunlight. He walked west, pursuing it into the night, following it over the horizon- and with vines winding their way through his bones and the first blueberry buds filling out around his ribs, he eventually walked his way onto an a ship and sailed across the sea.

He found his laughter there. The stakes had never been lower. There were no orders to give or take anymore. The only two fixed points in the world were himself and the one thing he had chosen to believe in- life, green and lush and winding, rampant life that gave way to rot only to grow itself right back up out of the muck. How wonderful that all of it was so material! So tangible! Right there upon him, now and forever! What joy was there in life that compared to this?

Swordplay thrilled him in new ways- he moved without muscle, and felt no pain. Axes bit into metal and then soil- and before long a cluster of flowers would burst up out of the fresh gap! Vines and overgrowth spilled from between hinges and clasps, hanging over every buckle and winding around every plate. All he felt was the weight- splendid, measuring weight, push exactly so hard and thirty pounds of wet earth follow, turning a sudden stab with six feet of steel into a frightful, puncturing blow.

He had never fought that well in life- and now he fought for fun! How remarkable undeath could be! He even made friends easily, and with the strangest people. A warlock who boldly walked about with her succubus companion, flashing a blue tongue between her tusks when she spoke! How strange, how new! How blue!

How blue...

Martin crested a hill overlooking the ocean and saw a loosely-arranged camp at the bottom. Two women sat holding one another by a fire beneath a purpling sky, a stone's throw from naga territory. One was green and broad, the other pinkish and dramatic. He realized he knew them and let out a sudden holler, inarticulate but certainly noisy, and then came thundering down the hill, his duel-worn armor more pitted than ever, fresh clusters of vibrant chrysanthemum stuffing the gaps.

"The sorcerer Bluetongue! And her..." He paused a moment, grinning confidently as his amber eyes drifted to their linked hands. "...And her lady wife! As sure as the sun shines, it has been too long!"

He swept off his helmet and bowed extravagantly, snapdragons framing his face like a high collar as he looked up to offer them a fresh new grin.

Zahevere leaned back on the split log bench where she sat, her mouth agape, a hand on her cheek. For the first time in several days, Blue spoke loud and clear.

"Martin?!"

And then Blue was on her feet. Zee could only watch, wide-eyed and baffled, as her favorite warlock made her staggering way to the fragrant dead man and hugged him, clapping his back as hard as she could muster.

Putting on a show, the sayaad suddenly realized. Can't let him know that she's lost her magic. She's too proud for that. But Blue herself had a different take on the truth.

The Knight of the Garden wasn't afraid of anything. All bets were off with him. That's what made him deadly. That's what made him beautiful. It was a warm kind of mania, the firework-bursting enthusiasm of knowing that you've ascended.

It was a state of being that she missed, but he lived in it permanently. He could change everything.

Blue ushered him over to the fire and was quick to offer a share of the provisions, which he was happy to take. He gnawed at a strip of salted plainstrider while Blue, rather than concealing the truth, told Martin Openhand everything.

He cheered to hear of Garmax and his good nature. He ached through Droma's treachery. He gasped at Promise's ambush. He leapt from his seat and yanked both women into a monstrous-strong hug to hear of their new bond.

"Call it marriage," he insisted, "for my sake. I never had the chance, and there was a handsome cobbler my age who I'd have gone to knee for in an instant, if only the great grand death of the kingdom hadn't come for us. Never did find out where he went, absolutely tragic. Absolutely miserable. Absolutely... solvable."

By the end of his dramatics, he had nearly resolved to rush right back to the Eastern Kingdoms in pursuit of professing a love of his own- but Blue took him by the shoulder and made sure he heard the whole story.

And that put his bony butt back down on the log.

"...I know a thing or two about losing a piece of yourself," he offered kindly, once he'd endured the most miserable chapter of the tale. "Lucky for me it was only a little faith. There's plenty of reality left to fill in the gap, and the world is wonderful. But for you? For you, my dear sorcerer, I think there is less to fear than you think."

A lengthy hiss of metal on leather followed as he slowly drew his monstrous blade from the sheath on his back. He leveled it at the horizon and cut at nothing, turning his whole body with the swish of his arm. Like a compass, Zahevere mused, and she wasn't far from the truth this time.

Martin's blade aimed a path clear across the beach, toward the distant yawning mouth of the Blackfathom ruins. "Lady Zahevere, a word. Did I hear you right, when you said that these slithering strangers are protecting an ancient set of tools that don't even work?"

"She told me that their potency was too diminished to use. I imagine it's sentimental value that keeps them there now."

"Then damn the tools and damn the naga! What we need is down there, oh yes, but we've no need to go sniffing after a silly trinket. Sorcerer Bluetongue, hear me true."

Blue felt a surge in her chest- cold and strong, a gale wind to fill her sails, if only for a moment. Across the drift of minds, Zee could feel it too- and as resolve raced through her, she took her wife's hand again.

"What you lost is lost, and the same can be said for the naga. But they never grew. The flower is dead and they cling to the pot."

His voice was a commander's growl, a paladin's poetry, the mighty blast of light and heat that came with stepping out of the shade and into the midsummer sun.

"The sorcerer I know is no pitiable mourner. The chaos of living that you fear is merely the ache that comes with growing stronger!" He plucked a knife from his belt and tossed it to Blue, who reflexively snatched it out of the air with her free hand.

"Together- you, I, Lady Zahevere, your friends who are no doubt on the wing as we speak- we will go forth into the depths.

Not for treasures. Not for mysteries. Together, we'll trim the wilt from your living soul and bid it to grow again, and the thrill of glorious combat shall serve as our shears!"

Blue and Zee looked at each other for a long moment, eyebrows aloft, mouths hanging a bit open, on the cusp of something- laughter, dismissal, panic- but it never came.

Briefly but brightly, the glimmer of a sorcerer's cunning returned to Blue's eyes.

"You've convinced me, Martin," she said, offering her hand in the fashion of the humans and their dearly departed. Martin took her by the forearm and shook strongly, baring his teeth in a growling laugh.

"We'll try it your way. It can't be worse than all this helplessness."

Zee's heart soared to hear that- in one deft stroke, she was won over as well. Give it a day, give it two, however long it took for the Counters to arrive, they could endure it.

Nothing had changed, not really, and yet that old feeling had returned. They would survive this- they could survive anything, so long as they were together.

And now that Blue was back, in a manner of speaking, they were in fact together, weren't they?

Blue's journal went without a proper update that night, for the first time in weeks- with Martin in their company, the trio stayed up until just before dawn, laughing and wiling away the hours with games and song.

There was no adventure today. Once again I have the wand, and once again Blue is resting. 1433 More Words

There was no adventure today. Once again I have the wand, and once again Blue is resting. It distresses me to admit this, but we are a little stranded. Not helpless, but far from home and right on the edge of enemy territory. Skirting south we'd be fine, but it's a longer journey to Mulgore than to Blackfathom, and I worry that Blue might become injured worse in the crossing.

We await a letter, and the waiting is slow poison. We tried chess- scratching the board out in the dirt, making pieces out of corks- but she's getting weaker. Not dying, and that is some small relief, but losing that willful quality I've come to expect.

If we were any other matched pair of warlock and demon, I'd be gone by now, and she'd be dead. Another cautionary tale to tell about playing with dark forces, another demon-who-was scattered on the wind. But we're not, are we?

As of late I've taken to wearing the funny little locket we picked up from the harpies. Better that I hold onto it than for Blue to get it in her hand and spend any more time brooding over what it could mean. The history of the elves means nearly nothing to me, so if I wear it, it's simply a pretty little exercise in outdated fashion. Anything to entertain, anything to keep all this lingering and loitering from driving me mad- in fact, I think I'll cut this entry short and take care of myself, for once. As much as she's been relying on me, maybe that's what I need. Just... a refresher. Something to take the stress off, even a little bit.

Goodnight, Journal. I leave you in the capable, caring hands of The Sorcerer Bluetongue.

Carefully as she could, Zee lifted Blue's head- greeting the confused, sleepy grunt with a little kiss- and slid the journal underneath her to serve as a pillow. With the weather-worn pages and oiled leather binding, it was a good deal softer than it looked. Sighing, she rose and arched her back, pressing her hands against it to pop her tired spine.

The ocean churned in the distance, and a storm was rolling in. A few forks of white lightning jumped through the bloated black clouds. No moon tonight, she noticed. The sky met the sea without any distinction at all, just a haze of bruise-colored murk a dozen miles away.

Piece by piece, Zee left her clothes behind in the sand. A sleeveless top snagged on a cluster of cattails, and a blue satin bra briefly inconvenienced a fat hermit crab, who dragged it along for a short while as she advanced on the tide. By the time the cold saltwater lapped over her thighs, there was nothing left to adorn her but a few pieces of silver jewelry- and those could stay, she reasoned. They weren't weighing her down any.

She could feel fish whirling around her ankles, nibbling at the bristly fur around her hooves, and felt the dignity leave her as a harsh snort of a laugh doubled her over. A wave splashed across her face as she sought to balance herself, but digging a hoof into sand simply scooped it, and suddenly she was on her back, gasping, flailing...

...Floating. And suddenly her heart was slowing, and her breathing growing even.

The lightning whimsically split the clouds overhead, squiggling here and there, the thunder so steady and quiet that it simply joined the howl of the wind. Zee floated for a long time- minutes turned to an hour, and the storm grew steadily closer. Only once she was blinking rain out of her eyes did she realize how long it had been.

In drifting down the shore, she had drawn the attention of a naga sorceress, who stared at her confusedly, squinting, fangs bared in a look of steady, searching uncertainty. Expecting the worst, Zee scrambled for footing and rose to face her, even unarmed as she was. Her hooves dug in again, but this time she didn't slip- and the naga was getting closer.

She didn't expect the stranger to speak, or to grab at her chest. Reflexively, she swatted away a pair of grasping hands and found herself looking into the glossy black eyes of something that might've been an elf, once upon a time.

Just like the harpies had been.

Just like she had once been... something else.

She relaxed her clawing hands and spoke, briefly as she could.

"Only swimming," Zee said. "Not your enemy."

The naga seemed almost relieved to hear that- but her gaze never made it to Zee's face. Her shoulders sagged and her lips pursed as she struggled to speak a language that would suit. The language of the Legion seemed to suit well enough, although her pronunciation was a little runny.

"Do you come from Zin-Azshari? How do you have that? Who are you?"

Demons are expected to lie. And if it means not having to fight, then sure, let's lie to this naga. Just a little bit.

"I have come a long way," Zee offered, allowing the naga to draw her own conclusions. "This belongs to my companion, who earned it some time ago."

Fins bristled, listening intently, and one set of hands went to a set of broad, scale-covered hips. The other pair were clasped in front of her chest as she chewed her lip and waited impatiently to hear more.

"Names are power, and I think I'll keep mine. But I'll trade you what you want to hear, for what I need to know."

This was the game. Give them just a taste, and then watch their jaws snap, desperate for more. The naga had, it pleased Zahevere to see, taken the bait. How apt.

"What would you have me tell you? Please, it has been so long since we've heard anything. What of the war? What of our queen?"

"All that, you shall hear- but first, I have a difficult problem I need to solve. I'm told that down below, not far from here, there are ritual tools that might mend a damaged soul. Leftovers from, ahah, a long time ago, no doubt, when there were a great many more reasons the soul might be compromised. Am I right?"

The naga recoiled for a moment, as if she might strike out just for having been asked the question. Doubt filled her shiny eyes for a moment, but when they settled on Zee's chest again- on the locket that hung there, seawater beading on the features of an ancient elven queen's face, the suspicion faded.

"...They do not work. Else we would have used them by now."

"Are they broken?"

The naga shook her head, suddenly looking frustrated. "Diminished. The years have taken all from them. And we do not go below. The ones who remain forget themselves, forget us. Stay, or you will die."

The sayaad tossed her wet hair over one shoulder and carefully wrung it out while she listened, eventually working it into a bun. She didn't like the sound of any of this- but maybe knowing what was ahead would rouse Blue from her stupor. Now she only had to give up her side of the exchange and get back to camp before this naga invited her into whatever damp cave she called home.

"I'll do what I can with what you've told me- and thank you."

Gratitude shocked the naga more than anything else. Zee tensed as her long green fingers curled, readying to conjure up sparks or frost or whatever else- but the moment passed, and a steady, squinting skepticism filled that fishy face.

"And news, now? What has become of the world?"

"I dunno," Zee replied, clicking her fingers and vanishing from sight. It was a dirty trick to play, turning invisible and then leaping away, letting her wings catch the wind and keep hoofprints from giving her away. She heard the naga shriek with frustration and saw the dim blue glow of frostbolts fired at random- none in her direction, at least. She grimaced to think what would happen the next time they met.

But for now, her clothes long forgotten on the driest part of the beach, now soaked through with steady rainfall, she rushed toward camp to wake up her mate.

There really was something down there.

There really was a way to get Blue back.

Surely that would bring the light back to her eyes, wouldn't it?

Wouldn't it?

There she was in the Inn, sitting at the table, having a drink near a fireplace. She seemed alone in a crowded room with sounds of late morning crowds already getting restless for the day ahead. 392 More Words

There she was in the Inn, sitting at the table, having a drink near a fireplace. She seemed alone in a crowded room with sounds of late morning crowds already getting restless for the day ahead. The respite of Goldshire has been nice, getting away from the Abbey, but this was unexpected. Who was this woman? The only way I can describe her is she had short brown hair and hazel eyes with an average figure. There was a sparkle in her eye, a slight smirk when she would ask the bartender for another drink. I had slept in today, but not on purpose. Most days I get up for the day at first light. I believe it was around eleven in the morning, but the Inn already seemed full of life. It was as if fate had brought this event together since the beginning of time.
I have not even thought of another since the day my wife turned into the scourge. Could it be I felt happiness was not meant for me in this way? But there was something about her. There was a pull, a magnetic force, an energy about her.
The next thing I know she asks me, “May I help you” Confused and bewildered I stumbled over my words. The woman stated, “I could not help but notice you were staring at me like a drunken fool.” “Are you usually this straight forward’, I responded. “Well a handsome man such as yourself, staring at a woman all alone I would assume would eventually speak to me.” I found myself speechless and dumbfounded that she would be so straightforward to a stranger. The woman was leaving the Inn and had her back facing me as she continued to talk, “Well since you are not going to talk, I suppose I have better thin….” “Wait don’t go, I said, it has just been a long time since I have talked to anyone that is not at the Abbey. I meant to someone who is not a priest or paladin as I am in training. By the way my lady, what is your name?” “My name is Keyla.” Keyla I thought, what a peculiar name. “Yes, my name is Keyla, and I am on a quest! I need your help; can you help me?” I was in silence and shock at the request. “ I can’t give you details, but it could be dangerous.” “I must ask the Abb…..”, I responded. “Can you help me or not? If so, we must leave now!

Peace and Blessings be with You! Your eyes meet Muhammadah's green, almost luminiscent, eyes guarded by thin eyebrows that are neatly kept in a heart shaped face whose pearlish skin soflty glows like silver, with high cheeks, full lips that are on the precipice of a smile as though she is being spoken to by a lover, one you cannot see or hear, divulging secrets. 1276 More Words

Peace and Blessings be with You!

Your eyes meet Muhammadah's green, almost luminiscent, eyes guarded by thin eyebrows that are neatly kept in a heart shaped face whose pearlish skin soflty glows like silver, with high cheeks, full lips that are on the precipice of a smile as though she is being spoken to by a lover, one you cannot see or hear, divulging secrets. Behind a tightly packed hood on the border of her face you cannot see her hair nor her ears, yet if you were to look behind them you would see locks transmuted into a golden color with slight threads of red interwoven. Ears which are slightly more pointed than most humans sometimes reveal themselves as she turns her head. Although covered in an indiscrimante robe you would easily assume, and be correct, that beneath it is a virgin body both beautiful and strengthened by being fashioned by The Light in ideal form. Few would ever be able to see her shape unless fighting alongside her or a member of what she considers her family.

Muhammadah is neither a prophet nor a prophetess. She is only an orphan raised in the Cathdral of Light. Of unknown birth place or parentage she is considered less than a commoner. She has been illiterate for most of her life due to her circumstances of being an orphan. However you would often find her nowadays with a book that she is carefully studying when not engaged in other matters that seem to distract her from its study. A woman of the lowest class, yet of the highest virtue.

Wandering as a child in Deadwind Pass speaking in a tongue no one knew only saying the word "Muhammadah", she was found by a band of travellers. Thus she was named Muhammadah. War had ravaged and plagued most of the human population for years. Few were able to meet their own needs, let alone the needs of a child. The travellers decided to take her to the Cathedral of Light and leave her there to allow The Light to sort out her life.

Upon arriving to Stormwind in the morning hours, she was kept hidden in the belongings of the travellers to avoid detection. Stormwind was at its threshold for refugees. When brought to the Cathedral she walked in as if almost certain that this was her destination with only a very sincere and succint attempt to say thank you to the travellers who brought her there. She entered the Cathedral and sat down and began to prostrate herself. She repeated this for hours long beyond the setting of the sun.

A priest of the Cathedral at the time, Abu-Talib, had noticed Muhammadah throughout the entire day. Being most certain that this was no ordinary child left homeless and orphaned by the war, he approached her and extended his hand to her. The young girl, although unable to speak, knew this man would be the one who would help her. Taking the hand of the almost bronze-skinned, coalish-now-greying bearded, holy man she was delivered from starvation, abuse, and potential death on the streets of the now reclaimed Stormwind.

Abu-Talib brought the young Muhammadah to the finest orphanage in Stormwind, just outside the Cathedral. By finest it is meant that the children were able to eat every day, had beds, clothes, disease free, and were given the duties of serving the clergy of the church.

For years Muhammadah would serve Abu-Talib, the priest who officiated the office of the Cathedral, in Stormwind. Often she would be brought to meetings fo the clergy where he would walk and proclaim that "Muhammadah is a great soul. She will be a great woman." and seat her amongst the clergy with him.

When she would not be tending to sweeping the cathedral, attending to the candles, cleaning clerical robes, or preparing food she could never eat for the clergy and nobility, Muhammadah was often found being allowed to leave the city to tend to the flocks of sheep belonging to Abu-Talib. Never was she found idly playing, but always devoted in some task of service.

As she grew, listened, and learned she became a fluent speaker in the common tongue and almost seemingly forgot that strange alien language she had once spoken many years ago. However much she desired to learn to read and write, Abu-Talib's proposals to the clergy were always rejected on the grounds that "Muhammadah is not of noble stock".

Many years passed, as did the wars, and while Muhammadah was sweeping in the corner, in the fields with the flocks, or trimming the whicks on the cathedral's candles she grew seeing paladins of the light train and go to war in the name of The Light to defend the innocent, liberate the oppressed, and save the lives and souls of the citizens of the kingdom of Stormwind and beyond.

So too as did the years passed, Abu-Talib, would pass away as well on the eve of Muhammadah's 19th birthday. Given that she was his servant all of her life, it was her task to clean and sort through his belongings so that the church would distribute them according to thier will.

As she entered his room and quarters she witnessed a miracle. She saw out of season fruit appear atop a closed book that lay in the middle of the desk. Aware that miraculously apearing fruit could not be accounted for in the will, Muhammadah sat down and took a bite of the pure fruit. She gazed at the book, aware the she was unable to read, and decided to open it hoping perhaps she would gain some piece of knowledge.

When she opened the book written on its pages were a strange alien language, almost elvish, that she instantly was able to read and comprehend. That night she read the entire book and found that she had discovered a book detailing direct revelation and words from The Light itself. As her eyes adjusted to reading for what felt like the first time in many years, if ever, she now focused her sights on the piece of paper that was foreignly attached to the inside of the book. Her eyes were now able to read the common tongue as well! It read: "Scheduled to Burn Immediately."

Shocked, Muhammadah had to do all that she could contain herself to not scream. She put her head on the desk and cried. Not only was such a scripture of importance about to be lost, but she was aware that now an orphan girl at the age of 18, and 19 tomorrow, her only options were to sell heself as a prostitute, become a concubine to the clergy, or marry herself to a man as his property. She had seen so many other older orphan girls follow the same fate, and now without Abu-Talib's protection she feared that she herself would share the same fate.

A virgin, devout in faith, and now with direct knowledge of revelation that even the clergy wanted removed from existence she avowed that she would not be reduced to such a fate. She stood packed her bag with the fruit, the book, and took Abu-Talib's sword and armor that he kept from his youth. While looking through the room once more before leaving, Muhammadah found her name written on an envelope pinned to the door, almost as if it was left there for her as she left the room.

She opened the envelope and inside of it was a golden ring and a short letter detailing to whoever would read it to her the circumstances of her illiteracy and stating, "This is rightfully Muhammadah's". So she pocketed the mysterious ring.

So Muhammadah, as a child of the road, in the earliest silver thread of dawn snuck cloaked in hood and robe out of the city and into the wide open world of Azeroth seeking whatever would be bestowed upon her by will of The Light.

Zahevere sat at the campfire, turning her new fiddle between her knees and watching the flames. It had been a spur of the moment thing, thrusting an entire gold piece into that sailor's hand, but now she had it and it made all the difference in the world. 699 More Words

Zahevere sat at the campfire, turning her new fiddle between her knees and watching the flames. It had been a spur of the moment thing, thrusting an entire gold piece into that sailor's hand, but now she had it and it made all the difference in the world. There was a glow about her, a new warmth that filled her when the sound of the strings imposed order on her chaotic memories. Just like her beloved, she had found her own means of control, and in a world of so much tumult, even a little bit changed everything.

As she reflected on her own good fortune, she found that she feared for Blue. Wouldn't that old anxiety be creeping in? Without her spells, wouldn't the "chaos of living" eat her alive?

Yet there the orc laid, snoring with her journal laid open on her chest, wand tucked behind her ear with the tip still glowing and ready to write. She hadn't so much as put a word to the page all day, and usually she was so diligent. They had spent most of the evening talking, planning, plotting- where could they go? What did they need? Why do this or that if it wasn't a sure thing?

It had nearly been an argument. Why do anything if it wasn't a sure thing? Why not just lay down and die, if they didn't have all the answers?

Zee hadn't liked to hear it put that way. She only wanted to be cautious, to mend some wounds before opening up new ones- but sometimes a little recklessness was all Blue knew. And why wouldn't she trust that instinct? It was the same instinct that cause her to set her insides on fire and lunge at Promise, and that had paid off, hadn't it?

Still, the more the sayaad learned about herself, the less she wanted to risk. What she had now was something no other demon had managed, as far as she knew- she was free, completely, utterly- the bond that held her together now was an invention of the heart, rather than the invention of a lunatic's cosmic paranoia. Her memories might never come fully into order, but she could call on them now, carefully stack them into something almost resembling a series of connected events, even glean context from all that guesswork and catch a glimpse of whatever life used to look like.

It meant everything to keep being this. Keep being Zee. Keep being someone's mate, someone's hero, someone's lover.

The someone she was thinking of snorted in her sleep and rolled to her left. Toward the fire. Panicking, Zee broke the peace of the evening with a crack of her whip, snatching the journal out of peril before it could dump off of Blue's chest and into the flames. Sputtering blearily, the warlock shook her head and slowly woke, turning hazy hazels up at a towering figure on the other side of the fire.

Well, she towered from ground level, anyway. It was nice to see her from this angle, looking positively majestic in a breezy poet's shirt, even with such a shaken expression on her face.

"My hero," she mumbled sleepily, gesturing without meaning up at Zee.

What could a demon do but laugh, hearing that? She made her way around the fire and crouched down, planting a kiss on Blue's forehead before settling in next to her. A deft swish of the wrist slipped the wand from behind the warlock's ear in the process. Before sleep took her as well, she decided she knew how to mark the day's passing.

We've arrived in Zoram, journal. I did everything I could to prevent us from delving into ruins, but- you guessed it- that's exactly what's next. At least there's a grace period. The clear and present danger in dealing with the naga population has given Blue cause to call on her allies in a funny little organization we joined some time ago.

Even now, a courier is on the wing heading south with our message.

We are in over our heads. Blue will not recover without the intervention of either profound and unique sorcery or spiritual action of the highest caliber. We intend to hazard a ruin called Blackfathom in search of either of these, and we cannot go it alone.

Come at once, if you are able. As many as you can muster.

Can we count on The Counters?

The small journal was a bit tattered, and the handwriting was poor, inside detailed a very basic guide to blacksmithing, more importantly, an axesmith. My mentor gave me an axe the day before he died. 963 More Words

The small journal was a bit tattered, and the handwriting was poor, inside detailed a very basic guide to blacksmithing, more importantly, an axesmith.

My mentor gave me an axe the day before he died. That's one hell of a line to open up on for a small guide to chopping heads, twisting mind, and smashing dreams. I am Thorimm, and I am the chopsmith.

Everytime I mention to someone that my profession is that of the chop, they give me a weird look, or seem to question why I call it such, so here I've decided to write some personal notes on what it means to be a master of the choppets.

I suppose I'll start from the way beginning. After my tribe offically joined the horde, we needed weapons as we marched towards Hyjal with the rest of the races. Many of my comrades weapons were battered, broken, withered away, and dull. My mentor taught me the way of the axe, how easy it was to swing and let the weight of the monster do the dirty work for you. Axes are simple, you swing, you chop, you get results.

I remember my mentor showing me the plans to a masterful chopper, a blazing beautiful combination of arcanite, gemstones, and enchanted leathers. It was one of the last things he would show me before he would perish in the Battle for Mount Hyjal. He risked his life to save me, and now, I live his legacy with the idea, vision that he had, to create the most beautiful chop.



You see, thats the end goal in mind... they call it, the Arcanite Reaper.

But enough about me and my ambitions. This is a guide to making a masterful chop, and if you follow my series, by the end, we will have created the axe of dreams, the cleaver of nightmares, the Chopanite Reaper.

For this first chapter, we're going to start with the basics, an axe that you'll be able to keep handy for quite a while if you're a beginner. First, you will have to gather some materials: copper ore or bars that had been smelted, Malachite, an uncommon gemstone found in the same veins, light leather, gathered from the beasts that roam the plains of Mulgore or hills of Durotar, and finally, make sure to have a rough grinding stone, and some fluxes for the craft.

Once you have gathered the materials, you are ready to begin your first steps towards becoming a masterful chopsmith. The first step, is to smelt and fuse a few of the bars together to create an ingot suitable for the head of the axe. Once you've got about a two foot long (size may vary, depending on.. well your size.) ingot, you are ready to begin forming the head. Start by hammering out an eye, not your own, no, but rather one for the axe. Create a point in the center for the blade to fold over, and flatten the areas around it. Use the forge and remember the technique: Heat, Pound, Mold, repeat. Once you've got a good eye, use the anvil to begin folding the ingot in half with this technique. Once you've got it where you want it, flux and weld together the ingot to create the head of the axe!


(Taken from a tutorial online!)

You can now begin to shape the head of the axe once you've reached this point, continue to use the previous technique, and follow the plans provided below to form the axehead properly. Remember, this portion is very important if you wish the axe to have a good swing for MAXIMUM CHOP.

Displayed in the journal were some notes on how to properly form the axe blade, as well as details on how to split the front to add a blade to the end.

If you followed the plans correctly, you'll have room now to install proper steel to the end of your blade. So that we do not make this more complicated then it needs to be, we are going to continue with copper. Create another smaller ingot, and start to bend yourself an edge that we can place on the end of the axe. Sharpen it, and create some divots so we can weld it in properly as shown below.


(Also taken from tutorial!)



Now that we've created the head of the axe properly, you're last bit is to make sure it will never fall out... by using the technique! Place it in the forge again, and hammer it in until it is properly welded.

From here, cool it, and now you may begin using the grinding stone to create the sharpest chop possible. For a guide on how to use a grinding stone... well, I'll leave that to you to figure out, or just ask one of the blacksmith tutors around.

Once you've sharpened and cleaned your blade, it's time to make your handle and grip. Simply put, find yourself a nice metal rod or create one yourself, get a few stoppers and weld the end of the pole to fit inside of the fold of your axe's eye. Once you got a good fit, hammer it in, notch the bottom, and fashion yourself a good leather handle with the light leathers you've gathered.


(Wowhead)

The end product should look like this! If it doesn't, well, try again! That's the beauty of blacksmithing. Sometimes, you don't always get what you want, it takes patience, practice, and the ability to keep moving forward. If you did make it correctly, congrats! You are ready to move on to the next axe. I will create and publish the next chapter at a later date. Get out there chopsmith and try out your NEW CHOP!

Images and step-by-step tutorial can be found here!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksDvJI3wav8_

Blue has a little bit of a seasickness problem- some things never change- and is resting belowdecks. So once again, here I sit, pecking away at the page and introspecting on her behalf. 742 More Words

Blue has a little bit of a seasickness problem- some things never change- and is resting belowdecks. So once again, here I sit, pecking away at the page and introspecting on her behalf.

I may be made of slightly sterner stuff than my beautiful companion, but I think I can understand- there is a certain dizzying quality to sailing, especially in poor wind, nothing to push you along but the steady undulating of rolling ripples that might've been waves a few miles before. Even now, I think I'd rather keep my eyes on the moon than hazard the shifting, swelling horizon.

We needed this, I'll tell you that for free. No sorcerers, no treachery, no violence- and the captain considers himself a passing-fair conjurer, which means plenty of ice at hand to tend to our injuries. Until today, I hadn't made any time to really take stock of mine- ha, but they're not as bad as they could have been.

I've never seen that particular spell split like that, though. It wasn't enough to simply hammer into me, it had a way of caving in on itself so that a harder core could come through for another impact. Genius spellcasting, but that goes without saying when Promise is involved. There are so many questions buried just under the surface of this attack, and I'm sure it haunts us both to try and answer one, only for two more to crop up right after.

I've read this journal back to front a few times now, and you know what distracts me from all this terror? There are so many mentions of the moon. It's a strange moon to me, and a strange moon to her, but now it's our moon-- insofar as the elves have no choice but to share it, if I've got their attitude right.

She's up there now, just like always- and we're heading north into her peoples' territory. What will they make of us, I wonder? We're physically compromised and mostly-unarmed, but will that make a difference? Considering what I've heard about their history with the Legion, I imagine we'd get along better if their old empire still stood.

Best not to dwell. That's what I keep telling Blue. I can taste the irony of a demon having to practice what she preaches, and it's a bitter flavor.

...Wait a minute, is that a fiddle? Excuse me, journal.

Zahevere clicked across the deck and crouched over an abandoned violin- human craftsmanship, richly oiled wood that looked more red than brown in the evening light, matched with a bow that only needed a little rosin to work some magic. Memories of memories tumbled over each other in the back of her mind, shapes and flashes that made her smile in a crooked, hazy, curious sort of way.

She turned the violin- fiddle, her memories insisted- in her hands and felt her smile sharpen into a grin. One of the crewmen must have been playing earlier while she and Blue were down below, and if he left this here, then maybe...

Glowing eyes narrowed, Zee dropped to all fours and looked across the deck, possessed by the kind of curiosity that usually sent her mate off into dangerous ruins. It took a moment of careful scanning, looking for the slightest irregularity on the surface of the freshly-swabbed deck, but then she saw it:

Under a bench on the port side, its little tin lid askew, was the fiddler's rosin. Full of purpose, the sayaad strode across and snatched it up, and with motions that felt as strange and alien as they were automatic, set the fiddle under her chin and drew the freshly-rosined bow across the strings.

The sound was rich and low and sweet, and Zahevere felt her eyes close as her fingers danced up the neck, drawing out higher and clearer notes. Her fingers split without a second thought and notes became bouncy, decisive chords, and strange, beautiful music from her long-forgotten epoch spilled across the deck. Oil lamps lit cabin windows as crewmen began to wake, but it was Blue who made it up to the deck first.

Of course it would be. Somehow, she knew. She always did. Strong orcish arms, gentle as the breeze that carried them through the night, slipped around Zee's waist and held her. Blue's breath was warm on her neck, and her voice was a whisper's whisper, hushed in reverence of whatever had overcome her mate.

"You found something, didn't you?"

The sayaad swallowed hard and simply nodded, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she played and played and remembered, remembered, remembered.

Been a while since my last entry, things have been such a whirlwind lately. Seems almost every town and outpost is in dire need of help. 232 More Words

Been a while since my last entry, things have been such a whirlwind lately. Seems almost every town and outpost is in dire need of help. I do my best to get to everyone's concerns but there is just too much to be done and too little time to do it.

I've trekked deep into the distant marches of Kalimdor, gone north into hostile territory to combat the deranged Scarlet Crusade, fought the horde in the depths of the southern jungles and have been honing my smithing skills in between adventures.

It's been busy, I was named first Knight, then Guardian, of my order. It is an honor I can scarcely believe! I can only hope to do my fellow knights the justice that is due them and to assist with the growth of the many new recruits we have taken in.

My time in this sweltering jungle is soon to come to a close I think. Many of the Bloodsail pirates lay slain by my hand, including what captains were moored off the coast. I've been given a mission to slay the despicable trolls hidden in the hills. I'm told they practice a dark necromancy, but whatever their powers I will enact righteous justice on them!

Tomorrow is the day our order moves to establish Southshore as our headquarters. This will bring is in much more direct conflict with the Horde, something that I have been preparing for for a long time. By our righteous cause will all enemies of the Alliance be pushed from this land!

Where the hell are you, Rhene? Mother and Father won’t be back for weeks yet… Mateas Varlois set his jaw as he looked over the estate orchards that afternoon, the Autumn harvest now in its last stages. 572 More Words

Where the hell are you, Rhene? Mother and Father won’t be back for weeks yet…

Mateas Varlois set his jaw as he looked over the estate orchards that afternoon, the Autumn harvest now in its last stages. From his vantage point atop the low manor walls, he could clearly see two dozen of the fifty-five workers still on the estate grounds, toiling away beneath the dirty, sickly-tinged sky. The persistent racket had scared away all the birds as well, leaving little but the harsh sounds of labour to further agitate his frayed nerves.

It’d been almost two days since his sister had left to investigate. Those pillars of filthy black smoke still burned strong, and there was no word from his sister or the House Guard she’d brought with her. Under ordinary circumstances Mateas would be overjoyed that his callous and arrogant sibling was away for this long, but he could not rid himself of the knot in his stomach steadily twisting tighter and tighter.

What the hell should I do?

Mateas considered his resources. He had five trained House Guard. Sending a rider out to look would leave the grounds even more vulnerable, and precious few others knew how to keep themselves in the saddle.

“My lord, a word?”

Mateas jumped at the unexpected intrusion into his reverie and quickly felt a rush of heat against his cheeks for being startled so. He paid a glance over his shoulder to get a brief look at the ageing Frel Laurens, sergeant of the remaining Guardsmen poised halfway up the stairs on the walls.

“Y-Yes, Frel?” Damn, he’d had far less of a lid on his nerves than he’d hoped…

“Just wondering on instructions for this eve, sir? Folks are starting to notice your sister hasn’t come back yet and they’re whisperin’. It’s bad business, what with that smoke and all.”

A question and advice in one. Mateas exhaled softly, grateful for the perceptive eye of the older man.

“I..” Mateas hesitated. “Off the record, Frel. Do you feel it?”

“Like I’m a rabbit holed up by a terrier? Aye sir. Just wish I knew what exactly that terrier is.” The middle-aged Guardsman case a wary look towards the dirty sky.

The young man – barely older than a boy nodded, a little more firmly now.

“You and I both… All right. Bring everyone in to the manor tonight, or just within the walls if they won’t all fit. Grab yourself some workers too and start moving stores in here as well, just in case. I’ll go speak with Ferdinand and have him make ready to ride in the morning.”

“Yessir.” Frel saluted crisply, and turned to clomp his way down the stairs, armour making an awful racket as he did so. Mateas sighed and turned back to watching distant southward path, and was vaguely disgusted to find himself wishing Rhene would come thundering back. That way at least if something went wrong with this bloody harvest it’d be her fault and-

Thump.

Once more knocked from a reverie, Mateas turned in the direction of the noise and barely a meter to his left now lay the body of a small blackbird. Beady black eyes and pale yellow beak half-open and downy feathers ruffling in the stale breeze, it didn’t move, even as he cautiously nudged it with a boot.

Ice rushed down his spine and the hairs on his neck rose, the already cavernous pit settled into the base of his belly now yawning into a bottomless abyss.

He now knew why the birds hadn’t been singing.

I promised Zee I would try not to dwell on what happened to me and focus on recovery instead. Journal-mine, that is very difficult. 917 More Words

I promised Zee I would try not to dwell on what happened to me and focus on recovery instead. Journal-mine, that is very difficult. At the moment I can hardly cast spells- even with the words on my lips, the shadows refuse to take shape in my hands and go crumbling away on the wind. Maybe in time I'll return to form, but there's a lot of form missing, and who knows when it'll fill in? And what does it mean for a soul to clot and scab and mend, anyway?

You think you know your chosen form of sorcery and then something like this happens.

...Oh, I'm dwelling. Like she told me not to. Let's move on.

Walking to this troll settlement was less treacherous than it could have been, but skirting a fortress and taking the high trails over centaur land were demanding. She roused me before sunrise with our bags packed and her arm held out for me to hold- and I did, and we went.

The way the sky only ever makes it from black to gray as the hours turn made for miserable visibility and treacherous climbing, but she was fearless and an endless comfort besides. When once I fell, she sat with me and held me and kissed me and made every assurance that I was not alone in this, that we would make it to the shore together.

With each passing moment I fall deeper and deeper in love with a woman to whom I've already pledged my life and honor. Every day of this journey I appreciate her more truly, love her more deeply, and in my prayers I beg the spirits to show us a way to live simply and happily with our lifetimes of conflict and terror long behind us.

The trolls of Shadowprey are some of the most wonderful people I've ever met. They didn't think twice when they saw Zee walking at my side, keeping me upright. They nodded and waved us through and directed us to an open-walled inn with a thatched roof and a beautiful view of the sea.

Journal-mine, I have not felt so vulnerable since I was a child. And she knows it. With every breath I take she sees it, and she braces me. When finally the walking was done, I laid back on a bed stuffed with dry reeds and undressed with my eyes closed, shedding anything and everything that clung to me unwelcome, whether that meant a black cotton bra or the stress of nearly losing my mate to that maniac's ambush.

It was over, and there was peace to find in that, if I was willing to find it. But as always, I was lost- and she was there to guide me all over again. Her lips pressed against my chest, and when I looked down I saw the angry purpling streak that ran jaggedly across me, left collarbone to right ribs, jagged lines of desperate and damaging sorcery looking strangely sharp and defined even underneath the skin.

Her lips followed that streak as if she could simply kiss it better, and I made no protest. Maybe she could simply kiss it better, and wouldn't that be a miracle?

But when the shadows didn't surge back to my fingertips and go firing across the room, she simply raised those perfect lips to mine and found another way to heal me. The sky was pink and dim, the thick corruption of Desolace's atmosphere nowhere to be found on the coast, and as the stars came out one by one, we made love with an enthusiasm that our battered bodies protested against, but could never hope to resist.

Injuries notwithstanding, we're both still exceptional when it comes to that. The funny old Elven moon was a high crescent, smiling down through the open walls at us as we laughed and shivered in cooling sweat and held each other, legs and fingers tangled, our heads together as we murmured this and that about our love for the longest time...

It's nearing dawn already, and I should be asleep. In a day or two's time, a boat will come for us and we'll make a strange, roundabout journey north, going the long way around Stonetalon to drop off on the old elven beach called Zoram. From there... maybe we'll take the familiar path down in the shadow of the mountains to Mulgore.

Or maybe we'll do our soul searching in stranger places. There's still a world north of Zoram, and our little silver secret remains to be solved. Recovery sets the schedule for our adventuring, and learning if I can ever cast a spell again will make all the difference.

But for now, for one more day, we'll linger here and take care of each other. The woman who runs this place is the finest cook I've ever known- I'll have to ask for some of her recipes to send home to father.

Is it strange that having such a simple, everyday thing to consider brings me a certain comfort? For this brief, vulnerable moment, the most important decision I have to make is what goes into a gift for my father. Everything else is soft and quiet and done, and though I've never been weaker, I've never felt safer.

Zahevere did this. All of it. She saved me, and saved me, and saved me, and I'll spend the rest of my life finding the right way to thank her for it.

I think I'll start now. She's still asleep, after all.

What if I'm the one who gets to kiss her awake, for once?

From the Journal of Minimus Ignotus, 9/12 The following is an accounting, as accurately as I can remember, of my first battle against the Horde. I thought I knew what combat was like. 1063 More Words

From the Journal of Minimus Ignotus, 9/12

The following is an accounting, as accurately as I can remember, of my first battle against the Horde.

I thought I knew what combat was like. I had read about it in the stories, and even scuffled with the occasional bandit myself. But nothing prepared me for what would be called the Battle of Two CIties.



My story begins in Auberdine, where I rallied with the rest of the Northern Alpha Company of Lordaeron. Spirits were high as we formed ranks and began our march south.

As we marched we passed many allies. Most asked where we were going. Some knelt out of respect. Others fell in line to join our quest. Finally we arrived at our destination, the Gates of Astranaar.


We were met at the gates by a force of elves. I waited impatiently as Lord Commander Syr explained why we were here. After we had permission to enter the city, we rallied with the rest of the force led by the noble, littering dwarf Gonebald.


As the leaders of our forces discussed battle plans we mingled with the rest of the army. Never have I seen such a force. Elves riding cats that could swallow me whole, drunken dwarves waiving axes, Paladins of the Light, and even a handful of rank 60 heroes. Just as I thought there was no way we could be defeated, grim news reached us; the Horde was already in Ashenvale.

There was no time for speeches, no time to even form a proper line of battle. Hundreds of Horde poured out of the forest and rushed the bridge. The Redridge Irregulars bravely charged headfirst into the thickest foes, valiantly holding the bridge. I stood in stunned silence, unable to move as I stared at the enemy force outnumbering us three to one.

I was shaken back to my senses by the Lord Commander ordering us to hold the right flank. The Alpha Company charged as one, driving our foes back from the river. It was chaos. Fire and ice rained from the sky, arrows ripped through my comrades, and orcs screamed curses in their black tongue. I fired a frostolt at an orc sniper in the river, but he dove into the water as it connected. I can’t remember if I killed him or not.



Finally we beat them back, forcing them off of the bridge and into the forest. The Horde’s organized retreat quickly devolved into a full on route. We cheered as we ran, nipping at their heels. Mounted soldiers road up and down protecting their own from being ambushed. In no time we had entered the Barrens. The Horde guardsmen barely slowed us down as we raced past their guard tower, Crossroads in our crosshairs.

A sense of unease filled my stomach as a shadow passed over the dusty road. I looked up and the unease turned into a twisted knot. Dozens and dozens of Horde flew overhead, the bat like wings of their steeds almost blotting out the sun. The horde had called in its most powerful warriors, enough to raid Blackrock Mountain itself.



We clashed at the gates, swarmed by guards, raiders, and the elite Segra Darkhorn herself. The pitched battle swung back and forth. Segra was killed, but the raiders were picking off our officers. Reinforcements began to trickle in, but it wasn’t enough. After slaying the innkeeper, a retreat was sounded, but not soon enough.

Though it wounds me to say, I shall not lie. It was a bloodbath. A wholesale slaughter. Those with mounts fled while they still had breath. It was chaos on the road. Men and women were ruthlessly cut down again and again. Horde camped on corpses, while the wounded yelled in pain.

I found myself huddled in a Quillboar’s mud hut while they puttered around outside. An orc was hunting them, so I slipped out the back door as quietly as I could. I stayed away from the road, heading north to where my allies were hopefully regrouping. At the edge of the Barrens I finally breathed a sigh of relief as I finally saw my guildmates again. But my happiness was short lived as terrible news reached us.

Astranaar had fallen.

We raced back to defend the city, slamming into the rear of the Horde force and setting up our defence back on the right flank. The Horde had taken the bridge. We were being driven back into the city. Ghosts of the dead were as numerous as the living.


I channeled all the magic I could muster, summoning blizzard after blizzard until I had exhausted all of my mana. I retreated to the back line to rest when I saw something that stuck with me. A human priest, still in her initiate’s garb, healing as many as she could. By rights she shouldn’t even be here. She should be in Elwynn training, not in the middle of a deadly forest, and definitely not on the battlefield. It didn’t matter that she could only close the smallest of scratches. She never stopped doing everything she could to fight for the Alliance.

I had to dig through my spellbook to remember how to summon water she could drink, but after I found it I conjured her an entire case.

Lord Commander Syr had rallied the Alpha Company, and we were holding fast. Despite being outnumbered and facing a more powerful force, we pushed them back inch by inch. When we reached the river, Syr called for a charge, and the Alpha Company stormed the river. The Horde tucked their tails between their legs a fled, the might of the Alliance hot on their heels.

We stopped at an orc watchtower briefly for a commemorative portrait before steeling ourselves for the final fight.



Dozens of Horde Guards waited for us at Crossroads, lead by none other than Segra Darkhorn who had apparently recovered from her wounds. But the Horde forces stood no chance.



Segra fell a second time, and we butchered the Innkeeper and flight master for good measure. A handfull of Raiders were trying to protect the village, but they were overwhelmed. The last of the survivors huddled in the inn while we claimed the tower. We gave them no quarter. The endless bloodshed had hardened my heart, and I rained frozen death upon them with no remorse. Claiming victory, the Alliance celebrated with a dance party in the captured inn.



The day had been won, and at long last, we could rest.

Dear diary, My powers in the Light have waned almost completely. It takes great effort for me to call upon the healing powers of the holy Light. 104 More Words

Dear diary,

My powers in the Light have waned almost completely. It takes great effort for me to call upon the healing powers of the holy Light. Is the Light punishing me for engaging in theosophical discourse? However, I have found a new source of guidance.

My dreams are not only images now, but words. Whispers of reality and unreality. These whispers within my head exist not only within my dreams, but also when I am exhausted on the brink of consciousness and sleep.

I have found that I can maintain the whispers within the waking world by balancing myself on the edge of exhaustion. These whispers have taught me a lot about my own psychic powers, and although my holy magics have left me my psychic powers have increased tenfold.

So Promise is alive. That's a funny trick to play on me. 398 More Words

So Promise is alive. That's a funny trick to play on me.

When I woke up today it was sunset, and my head was in Zee's lap. She was pressing a cool rag to my forehead and singing a song I didn't recognize. I remember crying and closing my eyes and falling asleep again, and now that I'm awake it's well after midnight.

If wizards and mages operate in the realm of the mind, then warlocks and sages are entrusted with the same access to the soul. I abused that access yesterday, and maybe we won- but not without serious risk. I don't think I realized what I was doing.

For future reference, think of your soul like soft, wet clay, shaped around a spinning wheel, not yet ready to be fired. To draw forth a bead of soulfire, you need to carve off some clay- carefully, artfully, leave a little detail behind. The sacrifice shapes you, and every handful of hot sorcery refines you ever-so-carefully.

What I did yesterday was to take my big stupid hand and run it through the spinning clay, rip off a chunk of myself and flash-fire it into a jagged slab of potsherd with which I could stab Promise to death.

And now I have to deal with what I've done. The spirits only know if a soul can be mended, and if I'm being optimistic, I suppose it's one more secret to find out.

Did we get what we came here for, yesterday? I feel like I'm no wiser, and yet... Zahevere, Zee, she seems different. Stronger. Her hair might be a little longer, too. And... she'll not appreciate me writing this, but there's a little gray in it now. I think it makes her look interesting and dangerous, which- hah- are there any two qualities I enjoy more in a woman?

She's standing at the edge of camp, holding her whip in both hands, keeping the braid drawn taut as if at any moment she might need to lash out and kill something. Maybe this journey was too much for us. Tomorrow I'll talk with her and find out for sure what's next.

If we're going to do some soul-searching, with souls as strange as ours on the line, we'll need some serious help.

I sure hope the Tauren still have some of that patience they stretched to welcome the Forsaken into the Horde, because I think we're going to Thunder Bluff.

I had arrived at the sacred forests of Ashenvale, ready to begin the assault with my comrades. For too long the Horde had desecrated the sacred forests with their disgusting plague and thoughtless harvesting of resources. 581 More Words

I had arrived at the sacred forests of Ashenvale, ready to begin the assault with my comrades. For too long the Horde had desecrated the sacred forests with their disgusting plague and thoughtless harvesting of resources. As I had arrived at the village of Astranaar. there they were. A legion, of orcs, trolls, tauren and abominations of the Forsaken. They were ready for us before we even began. A cold sweat ran down my spine. I looked to my comrades, and they stood fearless and unwavering. Ruthlessly, the Horde advanced, and we met them outside the gates. My brothers led the charge, the clanging of steel and channeling of magics assaulting my eardrums. I did my best to heal my comrades and attacking the Horde front line from a distance with the wrath of the moon. After what seemed like an eternity, we had successfully pushed them back. Seizing on our success, we advanced down the long road to the horde base of Splintertree Post. Initially met with little opposition, we reveled in a small victory. Gradually, elite Horde forces trickled into the base via wyvern to stop our assault. We held the line outside the gates, and many of my comrades fell at that time. Then, another large Horde regiment arrived from the east to flank us. We were quickly overwhelmed, and many more of my comrades fell.



I was able to slip into the shadows and retreat. Myself and several other survivors rendezvoused outside the gates of Astranaar, and met with another Alliance regiment, led by the dwarves of Clan Battlehammer. Hope returned to us weary soldiers, and we advanced to the Horde's base yet again, with even greater numbers. We passed several small Horde units and swiftly crushed them with our numbers. We had gathered a massive force outside the gates of Splintertree Post. The dwarves of Clan Battlehammer let out their rallying cry. Arcane blizzards and fel fire rained upon the gates. The Battle of Splintertree had begun. Clan Battlehammer's forces held the front line. The dwarves held the line and fought valiantly, but they were slowly whittled away by the Horde's vile magic users. A flank of a few elite Horde soldiers arrived from the south, but part of our regiment took care of them with relative ease. When victory seemed all but assured, a vast legion of Horde soldiers, spanning as far as the eye could see arrived from the east. With Clan Battlehammer's forces already in disarray from the previous conflict, we were forced to retreat once more. Most of our force made it back to Astranaar alive, and we were able to hold off the few Horde who thought they could take the village.



The Battle of Splintertree had ended. We did not take Splintertree Post. The Horde still held a foothold in the forests of Ashenvale. However, while our forces had taken a heavy toll, theirs had been all but devastated. We held the gates for what seemed like hours, and for every brave Alliance comrade I lost, we reciprocated at least tenfold. The Horde knew that any advance into Ashenvale would cost them dearly, and in that sense, the battle was a victory. But I couldn't help but wonder... Was this all worth it? I had lost friends. Wives in Stormwind and Ironforge mourn the deaths of their loved ones, families have lost fathers and mothers. For what? A territorial stalemate? No end in sight for the endless conflict? I know why I fight: to protect the sacred forests my people call home. To this end, I leave the battlefield with reaffirmed motivation. I fight for the forests. I fight for Aviana. I fight for the Alliance.

I woke up with a pile of cadavers on my chest. The smell of rot dulls my senses. 333 More Words

I woke up with a pile of cadavers on my chest. The smell of rot dulls my senses. Pushing my way out, I gasp for air; I could not breathe but it was not due to the lack of oxygen in the room. My eyes darted across the room.

A sepulcher... They must have dumped me down here thinking I was dead. I must get out

My hands instinctively grasped at my throat, my lungs begged for mercy, as I made a mad dash towards the steps. A voice sounds from the top.

"You there!" A voice grumbled. "About time you woke up. We were about to toss you into the fire with the others but it looks like you made it."

Crawling to the top, out of breath, I extended a trembling arm towards the sound. My hand reached out for help, I suddenly noticed bones where my fingers should be. My eyes widen, my panic deepens.

"What is wrong with you? Speak quickly." A figure approached the top of the steps, the moon illuminated its shadow onto the ground in front of me. "Are you a mute? Perhaps I should still just toss this one into the fire anyway."

"Help..." I managed to say. "Can't... Breathe..."

"Master yourself!" The voice booms. "We are of the undead! We do not need to breathe!"

Undead? How? When?

Thoughts race through my mind. The figure grabbed me by the hand and yanked me out. While walking away, the figure mumbled, "I grow weary of this. I am Mordo, caretaker of the crypt of Deathknell. Seek the Shadow Priest Sarvis when you've come to your senses."

My eyes, still slowly adjusting to the light, inspected my hands; the color, drained, the flesh, stiff and hanging. I bring my fingers closer towards my eyes. A faint purple aura could be seen emitting from my hands. Necromancy. Powerful necromancy. The feeling of agony in my lungs dissipates as my mind realizes that the undead need not breathe.

Dear diary, My dreams have been becoming more vivid. It is like I am there myself. 92 More Words

Dear diary,

My dreams have been becoming more vivid. It is like I am there myself. Not only do I dream of alien landscapes, I now sometimes see places on Azeroth I have never been before. I am being called to these places.

Following my dreams, I made my way deep into Horde-controlled territory. There, I found a region known as Desolace. The demonic cults and kodo ghostfield made me realize I had been called there to spread the Light and smite down all of the evil within that land. However, my ability to smite with the holy Light appears to be waning. A test I am sure.

My name is ZAHEVERE, and with my own blood do I commit my name to this ensorcelled book. What I record here is the whole truth, insofar as a demon can be expected to tell it. 1293 More Words

My name is ZAHEVERE, and with my own blood do I commit my name to this ensorcelled book. What I record here is the whole truth, insofar as a demon can be expected to tell it. I do this for the sake of love, and if any of Blue's beloved spirits are listening now...

...Save her, if you can.

A word of corruption spoils the innards and bids you to retch, and if you refuse the urge, it hurts you worse. A word of deepest agony sprouts razors between the strands of your muscles, and ignites a panic in your heart that begs you to move and rip yourself to shreds. And then there's fire. No word at all needs to call it forth- only a look, only intent, and your bones become kindling to cook the rest of you.

All these we endured when an orc called PROMISE came cackling out of the long shadow with his hands raised to call fire out of the sky.

He is the finest liar who ever lived.

"This will keep you safe," he lied a lifetime ago, invoking his own name to add, "I Promise."

"This will defeat your enemies, I Promise."

"The secrets here can change everything, I Promise."

"This is the day I die. I Promise."

Raised against him, spells of his own design wilted and fell out of Blue's hands, nothing but formless ephemera stripped of the shape sorcery gave them. Fireballs turned to streaks of smoke that fell short well ahead of him, a whip of life-taking passed through his chest and out of his back, uselessly shattering rocks behind him, and even Droma's own ancient words...

...Well, those provoked him to speak.

"Didn't my sister ever tell you who invented those words in the first place? Khehah-haw! Before you were anything but a twinkle in Garmax's eye, we were secreting away the old tablets to our favorite cave, learning the words out of the sight of the shamans! You've taken our little trail through the shadows and wound it off into the wilds, Bluetongue!"

Blue doesn't carry a weapon. She once told me that she gave up that right to walk in the shadows- bearing an axe in dark places is as grand a dishonor as bearing a fistful of shadowflame in Mak'gora.

But I am a weapon. I may be a great many other things now, more than I've ever been before, but the truth of me is as simple as this: Whatever I was, whatever sort of woman might've been in a memory of a memory, has been put to eternity's grindstone. I have come out of the ash and sparks as something sharpened to a deadly edge.

Before he could lay another curse on her, I dove for him. I am ashamed to admit that he swung his casting hand toward my chest and let fly a bolt of shadow as dense and broad as a cannonball, and I nearly felt the fight go out of my lungs right then and there.

Nearly. Maybe in another lifetime, I might've let myself die. But she wants me to live, and that changes everything. So I lived, and I grit my teeth, and I felt forceful streams of splitting shadow beat back against my wings as I went for his throat with my whip.

And then I was in fresh peril.

Promise is a unique terror. He seems to only react to what he wants, and the rest of the world means nothing to him. My whip coiled around his neck, but he never took his eyes off Blue. Streams of blood seeped between the braided leather, murky and thick, but he moved as if he felt no pain- and maybe he didn't. Maybe he can't.

I did my best to leash him, but he resisted me without looking back. I dug my hooves into the desolated earth and locked my arms, and finally saw him stagger. I'll never forget that look in his eyes, that eerily thrilled grin, as he suddenly pivoted and raised a hand. I could see Blue over his shoulder, fruitlessly calling out spells, her hands flashing black and orange, smoke filtering between her curled knuckles.

The dismay on her face broke my heart. She was scared she couldn't save me. If only she knew that she already had.

Wild-eyed and cackling that awful bird's laugh, the same crowing I endured so long ago during the war, he made a terrible threat.

"You've been kept out of the nether too long, haven't you? Look at you! Your misguided heroics, moving without command, clothes... it's time we sent you back!"

For a moment, I thought he had. His hand cut across the air in a strange shape, connecting four points of dim purple light- no simple banishment, he meant to author a reversal, undo me into shreds, cast me particulate into the abyss once again...

I felt the crumbling. I thought I was falling apart. My neck, my wrists, my ankles... but those are awfully suspicious places to start dissolving, aren't they?

That's when I realized. The only thing left of me that he could control were my shackles. In one stroke of misapplied murderous intent, he shattered the yoke Sargeras placed on me.

What I know of the nature of demons tells me that without that ancient sorcery to hold me together, without the weight of damnation chaining me into service, I should have simply faded away. I've seen it happen. Known demons great and small who were unmade, milled into some greater beast.

But I resolved into myself, whole and intact and undeniably me, and while Promise stared, shocked and dismayed and confused, I saw Blue thundering up from behind. What did I feel then? Pride? Good cheer? Love?

Well, of course I felt love. Love puts the wand to the page, even now. Whatever the case, my chest was tight with fear and anticipation and excitement as she closed her fist around a dark purple crystal and spoke a spell of her own.

Promise had no defense for that. Her fist erupted in blue-black fire that raced up her arm to the elbow, and rather than cast it out as a ball or a bolt or a lash, she hammered into the center of his back, driving him forward.

Toward me. Who still had a whip around his neck. Inexhaustible spellfire spread angrily across his cloak as I yanked him down off of his feet, face-first into the dust. First he laughed that horrible laugh, and then he screamed in a way that makes me almost nostalgic- there was a sweet, childlike panic in it, the confident master rendered a bawling idiot when confronted with his own death.

"This means nothing!" he screamed, pounding a fist that had just begun to immolate against the ground, "I Promise!"

I can't know the truth of that. But it's the strangest thing- when his cloak finished burning, there was no orc underneath. Is it too hopeful to think that he was incinerated completely, bones and all?

Best not to dwell on it. My more pressing concern laid on her back a few paces away, coughing and shaking, little pops of half-realized spells flaring from her palms as she scrambled for that control I know she needs- what had he done to her? At least the spells were forming at all, but that strange blue magic... that Blue magic, must have taken everything she had to cast under his suppression.

She's in my arms now. It's where she belongs, and where I belong. If not for her, I'd have been unmade today. The bond that gave me shape and form was violently shattered. But I have another bond now, don't I?

And so does she. Her old Promise is broken, but she'll have mine forevermore.

We didn't waste any time getting out of Sun Rock. One day of pushing our luck is fine, but two... 679 More Words

We didn't waste any time getting out of Sun Rock. One day of pushing our luck is fine, but two... well, we don't want to fall out of our Tauren neighbors' good graces. So we press on, high up the road.

Where the sky turns red. Where the Legion left their mark. Where water, law, and good sense all run dry at the same time.

Desolace.

This entry will be a joint endeavor. I'm handing the wand off to Zee- her perspective on what happened here is the most valuable one I can imagine. There are things she'd recognize that I never would.

===========

This place is one giant summoning circle. I can tell it wasn't always supposed to be that way, but the centaurs have beaten the ground flat with their endless warring. There's a power underneath here- not the Legion- but perhaps that's worse.

If someone lights this candle, there'd be no stopping whatever netherborne giants came spilling out. Forget armies, forget titans- these misshapen mountains and endless, sallow flats would bring to bear a terrible mutant- thousands of years of violence given shape all at once...

This place and everything in it needs to be scoured off the face of Azeroth as soon as possible. But that's not what we're here for, is it?

No, we're here for my sake. And what an interesting place to seek those secrets! Lesser warlocks with chests full of cowardice and heads full of nothing swarm uselessly around ruins, waiting to have their ranks broken by us, their mysteries plundered and their works undone...

...It's quite a thrill to watch these would-be "dark masters" fail. After all the miserable summons I've known, I can't help but feel a little satisfaction.

But I digress. I've been asked for my expertise in this matter, and for the woman I love, I'll give nothing less than my very best.

I seem to recognize the plants here, much like the ones I recognized in Azshara. They're not perfectly the same, but a memory of a memory shows me something very similar- lots of poison to be found out here, but there are also berries that make everything you eat after them taste sweet. And maybe most important of all, a few bushes of jojoba. Foul-tasting, but useful. We can render a wax from that and, and--

Pulling from these deep old memories is starting to make me nauseous. I'd better hand the journal back to Blue.

===========

We'll review later. For now, finding a good place to make camp for the night is a challenge I didn't expect. We're exposed in every direction, and there's danger in every direction as well.

And worse than danger, we're being watched. They think they're being subtle, but subtlety doesn't help when all the world is flat. Even when the sky's that sickly shade of bruised red, I can still spot a black robe and a crooked cane from a mile away- and they do keep about a mile back, pivoting with the sun so that there are always shadows to hide in, even as they maintain what they assume is a stealthy distance.

A part of me thinks there's a secret that needs finding under that robe. Another part of me is so sick of being pursued and attacked and in trouble that I want to just start marching back on this stranger and light them on fire.

But let's let them come to us. There's a natural rock formation just ahead that might serve for camp. If there's something they need from us, they'll have to move first.

That's about as good as it gets out here. We'll find a book of Legion text and use it to author a new ritual, and start to undo some of the damage they did to my Zee, a thousand lifetimes ago. That's the plan, and as soon as we carry it out, we're running back to blue skies and green grass just as fast as we can.

I don't think either of us is afraid, but there's a certain wrongness to this place that makes me... nauseous.

Wait, didn't Zee say she was nauseous, too?

What's going on?!

As I write this, I find myself in the Inn of Goldshire. I can hear the tinkering of the blacksmith across the way. 266 More Words

As I write this, I find myself in the Inn of Goldshire. I can hear the tinkering of the blacksmith across the way. The chatter of the barmaids and tender’s downstairs. The sun just rose, and I feel the need for some much-needed fishing. I stretch and get dressed in the most common clothing I could muster. Finally, a vacation from the Holy duties of the Northshire abbey. I bought a knife, a pickaxe just in case I found some wild animals or some minerals I could sell since. Since my work at the abbey was as a volunteer, the extra copper could come in handy. It felt good to have a day of normality. A day away from the death brought on by the defias at the Abbey. Nestled at the crystal lake Just behind the Goldshire Inn. I feel the breeze blowing through my hair and against my skin. Then I heard it, a group of the defias off in the distance. I moved, and as I moved, I must as startled them as much as they startled me. As I searched for their whereabouts all I saw was a red bandanna on the ground. It had blood as though one of the defias had been injured from an attack. It appears the townsfolk have had enough of these bandits and lowlifes. As I stared at the blood-soaked bandanna I noticed a piece of paper stuck to the bottom of my boot. I ripped off the flyer and read the contents of the flyer. " Join the Steelmasons guild and treasure and adventure await!" Maybe this is what I need in order to find my way and my redemption against the Defias and my family.

Stonetalon looms again- but we're not going up asking for trouble, this time. The harpies have made their choice, and I'll respect that- even if the curiosity burns and burns and burns, they're buying their privacy with violence, and they can have it. 742 More Words

Stonetalon looms again- but we're not going up asking for trouble, this time. The harpies have made their choice, and I'll respect that- even if the curiosity burns and burns and burns, they're buying their privacy with violence, and they can have it. I still have the locket, after all- untranslated, feeling heavier in my pack the longer I ignore it, its smug little elven queen looking up at me with those glittery amber eyes.

The roads up here are thin and make for bad camp. Between hungry oversized spiders and the steady stream of goblins going in and out of the nearby valley, it's not worth sleeping under the stars out here. Better to wake up all in one piece than to risk our hides for a little extra fresh air.

So here we are, upstairs on a mattress stuffed with hay, watching the moon through the window and painting each others' nails.

Just who are you, Elune?

Were you an elf? Or are elves in the shape of you? Or... is that your body, we can see from here, full of strange craters and valleys without any names?

I know so little of Azeroth even now, but she's always there. Is it any wonder that our neighbors to the north stake all their worship on her? Imagine living for so long... she'd be the only thing that never changed.

What did he think, I wonder? The elf whose wounds I tended. Did he thank Elune for divine providence when he didn't bleed to death, or did my Orcish nature spoil that for him?

I'm sure he's fine now, but I'd like to know what that moment meant to him. I'm still not sure what it meant to me.

As for today, I must confess that we made little progress other than crossing the border. We're at Sun Rock Retreat now, and we've done nothing but enjoy ourselves. The local Shu'halo have been patient with us, considering certain qualities of Zee's that she simply can't help. They have horns and hooves as well, you'd think they'd understand- but I had to do a great deal of huffing and puffing with the guards and invoking this name and that before they finally relented.

But they always do, and we were able to have a little fun. After a morning swim, she found a table with my father's game carved into it, and little pieces made of bone. Strategy has never been my strong suit, but... journal-mine, you know by now that I'll do anything to make her happy. So I took up the black pieces and followed her lead...

...And lost. Best two out of three?

Best three out of five?

I had never seen this side of her, and I could tell she got a certain thrill out of it- the control, the reading of movements, the bold declarations of when she'd win and in how many moves... I have to admit, I felt a certain flutter in my chest to see her eyes flash and her teeth click as she said things like "check in seven moves" or "good luck getting your queen out of this one."

There was something absolutely devious about her laugh as she won, and won, and won- and when I was ridiculous enough to suggest we play one more game, just one more to see if I had learned anything, she leapt across the table and tackled me down into the dust...

...And then we got in trouble.

You never like to be pulled away from your significant other for any reason, but when a big tauren hand takes you by the shoulder and pulls, you end up moving whether you like it or not.

At least we still had most of our clothes on. We've been cooped up in this inn ever since- at his insistence, to keep us out of trouble. So we made an evening out of cleaning out our packs and going through our goods, throwing old things away and folding clothes. My fingernails are black again, and hers are a glittery purple. There's a fire burning in a brazier across from us, and everything is right with the world.

Everything but this little locket. What are you trying to tell me, you smug old elf?

Zee insists that we'll figure it out sooner or later, but I'm starting to wonder. I haven't had any clues since that strange dream, and that feels like so long ago now.

Maybe I'll dream again tonight. Or maybe I'll let Zee keep me up until sunrise.

Maybe I'll dream of Zee. I think they call that having your cake and eating it too.

Greetings, diary, and spirits of the inkwell and quill. I found you in the possession of one of those water stealing curs out in the dunes. 216 More Words

Greetings, diary, and spirits of the inkwell and quill. I found you in the possession of one of those water stealing curs out in the dunes. You a quite a fine tome, would fetch a pretty copper to the right buyer. No, I think I will keep you, and tell you a story, so if I fall, never to rise again, perhaps someone will find you and learn of me.

Who am I? Gromal Ragebrew, last of his clan. One of the many warbands to fall under the sway of fel blooded addiction. We fought like beasts, and died like them. I am unsure how I survived through it all. Dumb luck, or the spirits trying to help one of their wayward children. I am unsure. I was already long in the tusk when Thrall took our people across the seas, to found a new home. I drank eagerly at Hellscream's command, and I heard the death cry of a god. I st--- the ink becomes smeared -ste like no other. I have done horrible things, little diary, and I wonder why the spirits still whisper to me.

It does not matter why they do it, simply that they do. I shall know when I am beyond redemption when the only sound I hear in my mind are my own thoughts. I must go, little journal, night has begun to set, and the sand is cool enough for Ignis to ride upon.

I woke up to the screams of people running in fear outside the Abbey. Those in red bandannas as I found out later called the Defias were terrorizing the whole abbey of Northsire. 128 More Words

I woke up to the screams of people running in fear outside the Abbey. Those in red bandannas as I found out later called the Defias were terrorizing the whole abbey of Northsire. Commoners laid to waste. I had flashbacks to the day of the scourge. I wanted to hide in the abbey but by the Light, I went out and fought these bandits. The citizens of Elwynn rose up and fought off the Defias in the land a surrounding area. But the damage had already been done. Blood had been shed of the innocent and for what? I will investigate further where and why these Defias have stricken these lands. I am impressed at how the people came together, how I wish we could have done that in Lorderon in the time of the scourge. This will cause my leave to be taken back as I will need to help those that are injured from the fight against the Defias.

I question my motives in this journey to become a paladin of the Light. Are my motives pure? 128 More Words

I question my motives in this journey to become a paladin of the Light. Are my motives pure? Brother Samuel looks at me with caring eyes as a Father for his only son. I felt unworthy but determined at the same time. I spent what felt like a lifetime at the Abbey in Northshire doing menial task and clearing the wildlife that threatens those at the Abbey. I imagined myself killing Dragons and the Undead armies by the thousands as I clean the abbey for the one-hundredth time. I have a weekend to myself coming up away from the chores of the Northsire abbey. I plan on staying at the Inn in Goldshire and doing some fishing and hunting. As I have a zeal to find retribution in my cause, I still wish for the simple days of fishing and farming outside the capital of Lorderon.

Dear diary, By the Light, damn those large cats. I lay upon a bed in Darkshire as I pen this entry with my vision halved. 104 More Words

Dear diary,

By the Light, damn those large cats. I lay upon a bed in Darkshire as I pen this entry with my vision halved. I was caught unaware by one of the large jungle cats within Stranglethorn Vale. It took my eye completely. For some unknown reason, my holy magic has not returned my eye to me.

I went to this jungle following a clue I found within the dwarven lands. A trace of ancient troll mythology connected the Old Ones to the ruins within Stranglethorn. Before my mauling, I was able to use coal and paper to replicate many of the stone tablets among the troll ruins. While I heal up, I shall study these replicas as preparations are done to make deeper expedition into the jungle.

Dear diary, Having returned to human lands, I found myself sent by my superiors to aid with the undead menace threatening the region of Duskwood. Overall, the experience was merely a standard smiting of the undead and aiding of the local militia. 190 More Words

Dear diary,

Having returned to human lands, I found myself sent by my superiors to aid with the undead menace threatening the region of Duskwood.

Overall, the experience was merely a standard smiting of the undead and aiding of the local militia. However, I was able to meet with a man by the name of Abercrombie. He was able to enlighten me on what the Old Ones were: ancient gods that were dead yet dreaming. When we last parted, he gave me information about a temple to the Old Ones known as Blackfathom Deeps.

I made my way to Blackfathom Deeps where I was greeted by the clergy within. They were gracious hosts and fonts of knowledge about the Old Ones. Within the temple, I was able to learn a lot about the Old Ones.

When I told my friendly hosts about my dreams, they stopped preparing the stew (although the cauldron was huge they had prepared no meat - they must belong to a vegetarian sect) and brought out a tome for me to take. It was written in an alien dialect, but they told me that the words would be revealed to me in time.

Before I left, the priests allowed me within the inner sanctum, where they showed by a three headed dragon. They said it was a favored herald of the Old Ones. I found it rather adorable.

Dear diary, Through my journeys, I have met a host of people. Among these are members of a group known as the Righteous Reclamation of Lordaeron. 81 More Words

Dear diary,

Through my journeys, I have met a host of people. Among these are members of a group known as the Righteous Reclamation of Lordaeron. An organization tasked with retaking the Alliance lands of Lordaeron from the undead. Maybe, one day I can return home.

I have been asked to be a member of the leading council, and have been given the title Master of Knowledge. This fits well with my archivist skill set, and hopefully I will be able to live up to the task.

We have rebuilt the organization and inducted our first set of knights. Overall, they appear to be a somber lot.

Dear diary, I have been recalled back to human lands by my superiors. They believe it important that I help surprise the Defias insurrection. 130 More Words

Dear diary,

I have been recalled back to human lands by my superiors. They believe it important that I help surprise the Defias insurrection. While I have more interest in researching more information about these enigmatic Old Ones, I am forced to return in order to maintain my stipend.

The Defias were help up in the ruins of Moonbrooke. I grouped with other adventures to clear out the bandit nest. The Defias were led by a man called Van Cleef. He was a leader of the masons that rebuilt Stormwind. From interrogation of a mason within the Stormwind Stockade I was able to uncover an insurrectionist plot. The Defias had spies that led into the heart of the Stormwind nobility.

I feel like the Defias were created by the nobility. But for what reason, I do not know. I have been rewarded for my efforts and have secured enough funding to continue my research.

Dear diary, I have made my way to Darkshore. It was a long trek, and I had to use my holy arts to revive a traveling companion that was almost felled by a reptilian beast. 158 More Words

Dear diary,

I have made my way to Darkshore. It was a long trek, and I had to use my holy arts to revive a traveling companion that was almost felled by a reptilian beast. We were eventually able to make our way to Menethil Harbor where I procured passage across the sea to Auberdine, Darkshore.

This new land is rich is theological and occult information. Within several ruins I found information about the ancient Night Elves, and through methods which came to me in my dreams I was also able to extract information from the ghostly and quasi-demonic beings that inhabited the ruins.

Within Auberdine, I was able to engage in theological exchange with Night Elf clergy. Their religion is rather alien, but interesting. They seemed more interested in boasting about their own religion, but listened to my explanations of human religion out of barely hidden boredom.

Within Night Elven archives I have found information about beings known as the “Old Ones.” For some reason, even with the small amount of information that was available, I found these Old Ones quite interesting. I much search for more information about these Old Ones.

I am grateful for the Gold Road. Squishing our way across the flooded savanna, even for the few minutes it took to find those reliable old cobbles, was thoroughly unpleasant. 985 More Words

I am grateful for the Gold Road. Squishing our way across the flooded savanna, even for the few minutes it took to find those reliable old cobbles, was thoroughly unpleasant. We dried out as we walked, and soon the sun cut through a thin patch of lingering storm and finished the job.

Though I tend to watch the horizon as we walk along our way, something kept catching my eye. Something on my right-hand side.

At first it seemed random. A little extra click in Zee's step, a puff of wind blowing around my ears- but I'd look over, and nothing was amiss. Time passed, and it began again, a little more insistently. Click-click-click. Soon enough I couldn't help but notice the way her fingers tightened around mine whenever the rhythm changed.

It's funny to think about it now, but in the moment, I don't know what came over me. There's a great deal unwritten about the way our thoughts and feelings have begun to bleed into each other, but I'll say this much- she's not as coy as she once was. The next time I turned my head to check on the sound, she was grinning up at me, and with a strength I didn't expect she pivoted at the hips and pulled me suddenly around, into her arms.

With proportions like mine, it would have been easy to resist- but for her, I'm a leaf on the wind. Into her arms I went, laughing, doing my best not to step on her hooves, finding my grip divided between her hip and shoulder.

"You're too in your head lately," she told me, not unkindly. "And since you're in my head too, I get to hear it all."

Words caught in my throat at that. I could tell my face was darkening over the choice of what little concession or admission or apology I was choking on. But she never gave me the chance. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a long, deep breath...

...And then I heard music.

Stranger than that, it was music I'd never heard before. The drums didn't roll in the familiar way they did when my father played- these were strangely precise. And the other instruments... I somehow doubt I could place them even if I saw them, so strange was their sound.

Not to say that it was unpleasant. Only... new?

New to me. From the hum playing on Zee's lips as she watched my face, she must have heard these sounds on the other side of history.

"Can I tell you the truth, Blue?" She asked me. And of course, I feared the worst. It was maybe the worst time to fear the worst, given what she said next.

"You're afraid of everything because you haven't got any rhythm yourself. If you could feel the beat of all things, you'd know what to expect. Birds know when to flap, bears know when to bed down for the winter...

...But I haven't seen you fly, and you're up all night letting your worries eat you alive when you'd do better to make like a bear and sleep."

She was right, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. So I just gave her a long look, as if maybe I'd find the words just by waiting for them to show up on her forehead.

"It's driving me nuts, you know. Because I've seen you without this burden, and I don't know what made you pick it back up."

She took my shoulders and swayed, and I swayed with her. Slowly, caroming from one edge to the other, we began to dance down the Gold Road.

And journal-mine? Maybe it was some strange sayaadi sorcery, or maybe it was the simple finesse of a demonic hand pulling my head out of my ass. But the truth of it is, I stopped thinking and started breathing again.

I feel like I haven't taken a breath in a long, long time. Not since that confrontation with Droma, now that I'm finally able to reflect on it. She put me on my guard with that laugh- Promise's laugh! What did it mean? I still don't know, but... I know it's a question I haven't been asking.

It's all been so strange, and all I've done is brood, brood, brood about it, save for one brief flash of clarity where I pledged my heart and soul to Zee. How quickly I fell right back into confusion! One day, two, and my mother's living shadows had their grip around my mind again before I even knew it.

...Droma the Sage is a very talented warlock, I'll give her that. Doesn't even need to cast a spell to leave me painfully bound for as long as she wants.

Well, not anymore! Laughter took over us as we spun down the road, music from the far side of time playing just for us, and for a few blessed moments that's all there was.

Just us, and nothing else.

In a stroke of the most fantastic irony I can imagine, the demon exorcised me.

And then I fell over.

Breathless and still laughing, even as stones as old as Azeroth cracked against my back and drove the wind out of my chest, I hooked my arms around her waist and pulled her down with me.

When we kissed, I knew everything had changed. She smiled against my lips and held my head in her hands- and before she could see the tears in the corners of my eyes, the rain was falling again. This time when the thunder rolled, I felt an old heat in my blood and squeezed her against me, holding handfuls of her soaked hair as I poured myself into one long moment of blessed cacophony, the hammering of our hearts a mirror held up to the fresh chaos overhead.

Droma's shadow no longer hangs over us. We share one of our own, and it goes on and on for miles.

Dear diary, On the Stormwind front, I have taken out several bandits working for an organization known as the Defias. They appear to be attempting to take over Westfall. 120 More Words

Dear diary,

On the Stormwind front, I have taken out several bandits working for an organization known as the Defias. They appear to be attempting to take over Westfall. Although, why they would take over that Light forsaken land is a wonder to me. It is dry and the earth has been leeches of all nutrients by over-eager and under prepared farmers.

Finding no progress in my research, I have moved from the human lands and resettled in Iron Forge. Lately, my dreams have inspired several inventions and I have found myself to be a natural tinkerer. I find these lands conducive to my newfound hobby. Helping out the dwarves in the surrounding areas have also not helped uncover any insight into the nightmares that plague my sleep.

I have met some companions and will set out tomorrow for Darkshore, a foreign land under control of the Night Elves.

Rain doesn't come easy in The Barrens. The mile-high anvils of black cloud overhead are ripping the sky apart and filling it with painful blasts of daylight every other minute, and thunder- the thunder of rituals, the thunder called down on mountaintops, the planet's own angry bellows, roll constantly across the plains and through my chest, rattling my heart as easily as a child might shake a jar of fireflies. 537 More Words

Rain doesn't come easy in The Barrens. The mile-high anvils of black cloud overhead are ripping the sky apart and filling it with painful blasts of daylight every other minute, and thunder- the thunder of rituals, the thunder called down on mountaintops, the planet's own angry bellows, roll constantly across the plains and through my chest, rattling my heart as easily as a child might shake a jar of fireflies.

I am scared. Not anxious, not worried- I have lived over forty years now, and these moments make me young again in the worst way.

This is the chaos of living. This is knowing that not only is there always something bigger than me, but that it's here and that I can do nothing but endure it.

The land here was not ready. We've drawn our camp up into today's shade tree- taller than the last one, thank the spirits, and we've enough clothes- our leathers, mostly- between us to string up and fill all the gaps in the canopy. Below, watery mud runs across the umber hills, streaming noisily between the dry brown grass, endlessly south and west toward river and sea.

This will be my shortest entry in a while, but I hope to at least capture some meaning in it. Today we worked our way west, and from here I can see the mountains bordering Mulgore. The same storms drowning the landscape out here might mean fields of flowers on the other side. As soon we noticed the storm gathering on the horizon, we knew we'd be stopped for a while.

Not because we said anything about it. It's strange, but I think we both felt it. At the same time. For the same reasons. No sooner had I turned away from the shelf of deep gray on the approach than she began throwing our packs up into the branches.

She's asleep at my side right now, and I swear to you, journal-mine, I can feel a suggestion of her dreams. Always a heavy sleeper, my Zee- but she doesn't like when I laugh about her snoring. The crashing thunder has a way of bringing her near to the surface, just about to wake... and that's when I feel the overlap.

If I close my eyes, I can almost see it myself. Fire, and noise, and a great strange roaring, so unlike anything I've ever heard, like the hungry mouth of an open whirlpool, larger and angrier than any force nature had to offer.

What did you go through, Zee? And when did it happen?

All I can do is hold her close to me and ask the spirits for guidance. But which spirits? As much as I thank them for every little thing, how can I ever know what they make of her?

I can't stand the thought. If they can't answer her prayers, I will.

But right now I'm in no state to answer anything. I need to sleep. Maybe I'll dream with her, and see that chaotic place she doesn't remember, and let the strange roaring deafen me to the storm.

Maybe that old nightmare won't trouble her so badly if she doesn't have to face it alone. Or is that just the selfish wishful thinking of a sorcerer who needs a way to put some distance between herself and her own fears?

No, even I'm not that neurotic. That's just the storm bringing out the worst in me.

She makes me feel safe, and that's what I need right now. All I want is to give her as much as she needs of the same.

I love you, Zee. Goodnight.

You never truly grasp until you're dead on how important your jaw is. Makes me wish I never lost the damn thing, I can communicate fine to mortals and other undead using magic, but have you ever tried feeding without a jaw? 139 More Words

You never truly grasp until you're dead on how important your jaw is.

Makes me wish I never lost the damn thing, I can communicate fine to mortals and other undead using magic, but have you ever tried feeding without a jaw? It's a struggle and its almost embarrassing that you have to use a straw or a make-shift funnel to shove meals down your throat like some disgusting meat , lichen and mushroom slushy. Thank goodness that being dead kills your gag reflex and taste buds, as I do wish I was able to do that when I was alive to my reflex when I had my own pitful moments with bar crawling around Lordaeron. snicker heheh--haha-huhaah! --wheezes

--Anyways, With the cursed palette of making everything taste like ash, I wonder if I can find something that can even awaken my poor taste buds. but alas, not even an sweet candied apple which used to make my teeth rot with how disgusting sweet they are, tasted like ash. It satiated the hunger pains, but no satisfaction. This is truly suffering...

Can't sell this one short, journal. The usual care with which I mark the passing of days is going to have to be set aside for a little... 1368 More Words

Can't sell this one short, journal. The usual care with which I mark the passing of days is going to have to be set aside for a little...

...enthusiasm.

Try to understand. We've encountered warlocks, harpies, a number of wild animals, dwarves, even family. And that was all done in the name of avoiding elves, because their butchery would make a blademaster sick.

I have no interest in knowing how many silver arrows my torso might hold. The efficient spin of a glaive, one that's got thousands of years of practice in its whirl, is enough to separate my head and neck before I even feel it. I don't care to learn anything more about that, either.

There are not enough ways for me to express that I understand very clearly the danger of ageless hunters who work together to make their sacred forest little more than an enormous mouth that my fellow orcs keep falling into.

So imagine my upset when one of them comes walking toward me from across the savanna. It's good sense to keep your distance from a wounded animal, and I found that old piece of hunters' wisdom just as easy to apply to this. For once, Zee and I were both dressed- I in a light robe of undyed linen, her in spun cotton shorts and a sleeveless top- neither of us armored enough for any sort of conflict.

The elf was bleeding from his shoulder. Some hungry raptor had taken a chunk out of him, from the looks of it- and his entire shirt had gone into the wrapping. The way it seeped said it still wasn't enough.

My mind was consumed with the war we'd fled. These elves hadn't troubled me then- not the way the humans had. Then, it seemed that every problem I had came with a human attached to it. This man, their ally, could come rushing on with all the violence of the Eastern armies in his heart and I'd be too dumbstruck to do anything but die. Back then, what feels like a lifetime ago, I could count on a bristly mustache and that familiar look of misplaced, thrilled hatred behind every thin little sword.

Not so with these ancient folk. These are what happens with Azeroth tries to make an orc. Their shamans might speak to the moon instead of the spirits, but the warriors are a match, and the flanged dwarven mace hanging from his belt looked every bit as deadly as any axe I'd ever seen. There's a strange honor to elves, but as with all things elven, it's a buried secret that they'll kill to protect.

For a long time we stared at each other- would he break into a run? Would I?

It was up to Zee to shake us out of what my father would call "check." She slipped into shadowless invisibility and climbed up our shade tree. After a quick fan of the wings she took to the air, gliding over the grass to land behind him.

How do I know all that if she was invisible? Good question. Somehow, I lived that moment with her. These are questions better asked on any other day- on this day, the only thing to ask is what came next.

She put him in a headlock before her invisible glamour fell, and with a swift kick to the back of the knee, dropped him into the tall, dry grass.

And then I was faced with a moral quandary. Sorcerers have those, believe it or not, and perhaps myself a few more than others. Here was, essentially, an injured man in need of help- but could I trust him, against his nature? As soon as he wasn't too hurt to stand, was there a world in which he didn't kill me anyway, in the name of whatever trees some orc I've never met decided to work into lumber?

I stood. I paced. I muttered and twirled my wand and consulted Zee for guidance, knowing that I must have looked every bit the villain to this elf as my shadow swung back and forth across him in the blistering heat.

In my hesitance, I offered him my waterskin. I'd already been drinking heavily from it, which must've been enough to convince him it was safe because he drained it before I could even muster a little protest.

With Zee keeping a hoof at the ready in case of emergency, I knelt and put a finger to his wrapped wound, then held the bloody digit in front of his eyes. I could feel a little bit of my mother crossing my face as I wordlessly chided him for carelessness, shaking that same finger and giving him a good long glare.

He paled at the sight of it all, and I very much approved of that. If I have to play host to one of these half-feral killing machines, I'd much rather it be a quiet affair where I'm in control.

Undress the wound. Wash the wound. Thank Zee for putting a hand over his mouth when he complains. Redress the wound with something clean. I'll miss that skirt, but at least it wasn't expensive.

Next came the hard part. I took a step back, bid him to stand, and asked him where he meant to go.

He didn't understand. Far be it from the wise old elves to learn the low tongue of their poorly green neighbors, right?

...I've really got to keep my distaste in check before it turns into full-blown prejudice, but again, journal, I must stress- their ruthlessness is known. I am afraid to be anything less than careful, and if we're being honest, it's really that fear that needs addressing before anything else.

But it wouldn't be this man who addressed it. He pointed past me, south on the Gold Road. Horde territory, last I checked- what could he want in the Crossroads? What would he get, other than a swift crack on the head and thrown back into the dust?

Again, I consulted with Zee. If we sent him on, we'd just find him and have to fix him once more, and what then? We have an elven friend we're responsible for? We're on thin enough ice with society as it is, I say.

But she's wiser than me, and I admire her more every day for that. With a mouthful of borrowed words that I didn't understand- I can pick and choose from what little I've seen on ancient scrolls, but conversation may never come- she told him that if he kept forward, he would die.

He looked past her to give me a wide-eyed look, but she clicked her fingers and commanded his attention. More minced elven, more pointing and shaking her head. But still, he pointed to the south- and he was shouting now, with an urgency and anger that drove me, I'm ashamed to admit, into my instincts.

I didn't kill him, but I promise you there was a part of me that was so sure it was the quickest, cleanest, most reasonable course of action. The burning afternoon sun threw deep black shadows everywhere- making it easy to sink my fingers in and grab a handful, compressing it into a broad stone that seeped like sand out of my fist and smoked blue-black from its core.

This, I sharply threw at the center of his chest. It burst on impact, knocking him off of his feet and throwing him back into the grass. Zee must have read my mind, because the elven word for "Go!" burst from her lips a second later- and then he was scrambling northward, hissing and grabbing at his shoulder, but getting far, far away from us, for which I was very grateful.

In retrospect, he never did reach for that deadly-looking dwarven mace.

That probably means something.

I'm going to stay up tonight and talk with her about it. I think she would know whether or not I'm a bad person, or just too skittish for my own good.

I hope she knows, anyway.

I don't want people to be afraid of me, but is that how it has to be? Just to survive?

Isn't it enough to just be in love? Can't that make this terrible world just a little softer?

Please?

When I said the words, I think some naive part of my mind was convinced that everything would change all at once. That something magical would happen, and all the wrongs in the world would be set right at once, as we became an axis around which fate could spin. 919 More Words

When I said the words, I think some naive part of my mind was convinced that everything would change all at once. That something magical would happen, and all the wrongs in the world would be set right at once, as we became an axis around which fate could spin.

But that part of my mind belongs to a little girl who never left the old world, who never swore strange oaths on moonless nights, who never knew what I know now.

That the reason we stake so much on love- for what is Orcish honor, if not the actions we take for the love of being an Orc?- is because it is alive within us.

I sleep, and I am in love. I bathe, and I am in love. I hunt, and I am in love.

I breathe, and I am in love.

It is the song that plays underneath everything, and what we said last night- what we did last night, was done perfectly to its rhythm.

Journal-mine, I am very sore. And I still haven't put on my clothes. Sunrise and high noon have come and gone, and sunset looms only a couple of hours away- and what do I have to say for this day? I'm still sitting here, under the same shade tree where I said the words. My hair is a mess, I'm soaked in sweat- only half of which is Durotar's fault- and it's only been a matter of minutes since I found breath enough in my chest to settle down and put this new wand to the page.

Asking that question seemed to awaken something in her. Something did change, and maybe something magical did happen, even if it wasn't the grand revolution of the cosmic wheel a younger warlock might have expected.

Whatever it is, it's nothing I've seen in a book. It might be something that nobody's seen anywhere. Some time ago I might've said I knew the nature of a succubus- deceivers, torturers, seducers of the highest caliber- and to any sorcerer's ears, that would've sounded right.

But what sounds right isn't always the truth, is it?

Now, when I think on the nature of a succubus- the sayaad, which is a lovely-sounding word if I've ever heard one- I think of all we've been through. I think of her bravery, her quick wits, her laugh. The sayaad is characterized by her fearlessness, her sense of reason, and the bottomless sincerity in her heart. These qualities are buried under the trauma of cosmic torture, and it takes patience and an open heart to see the woman that the nether's warp has so affected.

And yet there she is, a dozen yards from me, kicking up dust as she wings briefly into the air to snatch a bird down for dinner. Looks like crane. Some gray little cousin of the plainstriders, and probably tastier. I always found those huge monster-birds especially stringy and bland.

No wonder she and my father get along so well. She made that look very easy.

She makes a lot look easy, journal-mine. She made it look easy last night, when she took me by the ears and pulled me in for another kiss before giving me her answer. She made it look easy when she did that interesting thing with her tail this morning, too. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the endless grace she brings into my life is more charming than anything else. We've faced monsters, and she still found time to fit in a quip before putting the hooves to them. We've faced my mother, and even in a mystical hall of night, what did she do?

She threw a toy at a powerful mystic and roared in my defense- and it worked!

I'm in awe of her, and there are only so many ways I know to express that. I like to think that despite the ensorcelled tomes and head full of secrets, I'm still an uncomplicated woman.

Maybe a little too uncomplicated, if I'm still sitting here scribbling away, pondering what I can do next. What little moment I might invent just to put a smile on her face.

I wish I could go back in time and let myself know that things would be like this. After the war, I fell into a terrible depression for a time- and though I hardly knew it, she was there. Only a few weeks ago, she was the one person in the world I felt I could talk to, even if she didn't seem too inclined to talk back.

Now she's everything. There's always this thrilling demonic tinge to everything about her- just a little something sharp that the uncareful might cut themselves on- but she trusts me to handle her with care, and I take that particular privilege very seriously.

On the other side of that frightful edge, there's so much more. Everything that another warlock would surely miss. Warmth and compassion and spirit- imagine the magnitude of this woman, that she was unmade countless lifetimes ago in some great cosmic confusion, and yet so much of her remains, here and now.

The nether couldn't take her smile. Sargeras himself, the so-called "Master of the Burning Legion," scattered her across the stars... and yet it wasn't enough to unmake her in any way that mattered.

She's here. She's whole. And this incredible woman from beyond the stars kisses me awake in the morning and holds my hand in times of trial.

What can I give to her, when she's spent strange and uncountable years having everything taken away? Could anything ever fill the void left behind by the Legion?

I think it's going to be very fulfilling to spend my life finding out.

What I write in this journal cannot describe an ounce of the relief and joy I now feel. It had been a hope, a fools hope for a hundred years and yet now… Her voice, a sound I never thought I’d hear again, echoes through my mind. 394 More Words

What I write in this journal cannot describe an ounce of the relief and joy I now feel. It had been a hope, a fools hope for a hundred years and yet now…

Her voice, a sound I never thought I’d hear again, echoes through my mind. Tentative and curious, it’s as though coaxing a child out from a hiding place at times. It took but a few days, but now a familiar fire in her tone has returned. And yet there is a fear, a nervousness to it all.

Can I blame her? Trapped in that form and others for a hundred years? I’m the first person she’s spoken to in all that time. To say she was terrified at what I may think was an understatement.

The Troll Gods; apparently at the wrong place in the wrong time. Some sort of ritual she interrupted when running a simple errend. Clearly, the powerful beings took issue to her presence.

And yet through it all she lives, her mind and soul intact. She doesn't want me using her true name among others, and I can understand that. Perhaps in time she'll regain her confidence among others.

We travel now across these lands, helping adventurers as needed. I still have a long way to go in terms of honing my skills, but the task seems much less daunting with a familiar voice and presence at my side. Perhaps hidden under scale and claw, but familiar nonetheless.

The horde are getting bold- there was a brief skirmish with a druid in the Wetlands. Clearly not all the members of that sect are as peaceful as Daesil hopes.

I now travel with Talliana to enemy territory. It’s a risky venture, going back to the place in which she stayed for perhaps a decade…but there are some personal items hidden there she wishes to retrieve. It also gives me a chance to catch some highly-desired fish. Gold is a necessary thing nowadays; good intentions cannot buy arrows or fix my armor.

And yet come what may, I cannot help but feel happy, genuine joy, for the first time in decades. Finding her again weighed on my mind more heavily than I imagine- and a note from my brother convinced me even further as such. I met him briefly- and then got a note but a few days later.

‘Good to have you back, Nedrian.’

Perhaps I have been too withdrawn from those close to me. The knowing look Talliana gives me as I voice my thoughts is rather heavy evidence.

Things change. Perhaps it’s time I do as well.

Well met. I am Curtis Anvilcrusher, an' this is me log. 398 More Words

Well met. I am Curtis Anvilcrusher, an' this is me log. My hope is teh inform the people of Azeroth of some of the interesting places, people, and histories of our great lands. I'll do me best teh keep my findings concise an' informative, and I'll also do me best teh make sure yeh know how teh check out the things I'm writin' about.

Fer me first log, I want teh spread the word about a not very well known place from me homeland. Ironforge's Airfield.



Exceedingly difficult teh get to, yeh can't jus' waltz to the Airfield through Ironforge (well.. not unless yer in Magni's especially good graces). The tunnel teh Ironforge seems teh be blocked off with some sort of magical wall..

Teh get to the Airfield, yeh must be willing teh climb some of the most treacherous mountains in the area. There's a safe spot teh begin yer ascent just outside the North Gate Pass in Loch Modan. If yer headin' into Loch through the Pass, immediately bear left an' look fer a gentler slope into the mountains. From there, yer gonna climb until yer on the mountains tha' border Dun Morogh and the Wetlands. Keep heading west along that border until you can see the Airfield to the south!

The current rumblings is that the Gnomes have been workin' with Ironforge teh perfect a Flying Machine (I'm standing on one of 'em in the picture above). Once perfected, this could give us a great military advantage over the Horde and any other enemies of Ironforge and the Alliance. Progress has been slowed, however, as Troggs 'ave been pouring out of the caves south of the Airfield at an alarmin' rate. I'm sure the Mountaineer's would appreciate any help we could give 'em, so if yer in the area, kill some Troggs for yer kin.

While yer up there, head west climbing the mountains until you make it teh the tallest peak. There, I've planted a flag an' left some ale fer you teh drink if you make it. Left the bones of my meal to.



Hopefully this gives you a small glimpse into the great mysteries to discover in Azeroth! If you 'ave any requests of things I should cover next, send me some mail! And make sure you keep your feet on teh ground! Unless you want to test out one of those Flying Machines of course...

After all of mother's theatrics and the barbs between us, I half-expected to find us wandering through the dust before sunset. Instead, a certain calm came over her that kept me nervous all evening- but for once, for a few hours, all really was as peaceful as it looked. 1005 More Words

After all of mother's theatrics and the barbs between us, I half-expected to find us wandering through the dust before sunset. Instead, a certain calm came over her that kept me nervous all evening- but for once, for a few hours, all really was as peaceful as it looked.

We talked, we ate, and Zee finished her game with father- he calls the game "chess," and says that the humans might have invented it, but he perfected by "taking out the little holy men and adding more dogs." I trust he's right.

We even slept, curled up together on one of those handmade throws, close enough to the door that we could still feel the heat from the fire outside. After all these years, Droma still insists on keeping a fire at night- to darken the shadows and sharpen the sorcery, of course. But before long my suspicion collapsed, and I let my head rest against Zee's chest. With her heartbeat to lull me, I was out before I knew it.

What little goodwill we had provoked out of mother didn't last until sunrise. She didn't fight, but she was nowhere to be found in the morning. Father provisioned us heavily with salted meat and hard bread and dried fruit, and seemed eager to send us on our way- but not without another one of those mighty lifting hugs of his, it should be said. For each of us.

It's nice to have one parent approve. And for Garmax to finally come around to my...

Oh, this is always hard. I'd say mate, but is that proper? The question gnaws at me day and night because despite all the secrets we've uncovered, I still fear the truth of that one. Still, she is so precious to me, and it makes me happy to see at least one parent treating her kindly.

With thoughts of those rituals in my head, and her fingers laced comfortably between my own, we once again set out for the west. All our options had been exhausted. Ashenvale is cut off to us by violence, Azshara is an empty waste, Bael Modan is clogged with rubble...

...All that's left is Desolace, by way of Stonetalon, by way of The Barrens.

A long walk, to say the least.

Where are we now? The grass is as high as my waist and the sky is deep and vast with stars, and a crooked old shade tree is at our backs with our clothes hung in its branches. An hour ago she pushed me into the river, and I grabbed her and pulled her in after me. The burden of a quest is off our shoulders, and with that tension gone, knowing it'll take a long time to come up against any new terrors...

...Well, why not have a little fun? The look on her face when she realized she was coming in with me, and then how she broke through the surface of the water and laughed- I live for that moment, I'm coming to realize.

I love you, Zee. And tonight I'm going to say it out loud. Nevermind what we've written or how many times we've written it- all the pining and waiting and pondering, it's no good to just read about it, I've got to do something about it.

She's laying on her back only a few paces away, soaking in the moonlight with her hands folded behind her head. I could sit here and write, or...

Blue set the journal aside and took a few steps through the tall, gently waving grass. Her shadow fell across Zahevere's face, and glowing blue eyes peered up at her out of the dark, lively as they were lovely.

Fangs flashed in the gloom, and slender fingers slid smoothly up Blue's bare calves, touching just to touch, sharp nails pleasantly raking across soft green skin.

"You've got that look again," the succubus said, laughing lowly. "Don't tell me you've already found yourself another big secret to chase after. I was really beginning to like this new pace we're setting."

For a long moment, Blue didn't talk. Her long hair, the braid unraveled, swirled on the wind as she stood there summing up her courage. She knelt, reaching for the demon's face with gentle hands, cradling a cheek, running her fingers across a pointed ear... then she exhaled and bent down further, pressing her lips to Zahevere's for a moment that may as well have been a lifetime.

Their eyes closed, their hearts raced, and when their lips finally parted, each looked as thunderstruck as the other, gasping and staring, knowing full well what it all meant and knowing full well what would come next.

But even knowing how the woman you love feels, even trusting that you can read it in her eyes, struggles to compare with the moment when you finally hear the truth.

Spoken in a whisper, just for you. A new secret, a new vulnerability that only you can keep safe.

"I love you, Zahevere."

The sayaad's mouth hung open in shock. No matter how much she had wanted the moment, no matter how much she had felt the same way, a part of her endlessly screamed that it would never come. But it did, and there it was, and there Bluetongue was, stroking her hair calmly as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

How could she have known that there was more? But Blue was speaking again, in that soft, rough voice- a little like her father, but sweeter, rich with all the love that she felt in that moment.

"You've saved me. Then, now, just as likely tomorrow. From myself, from this world's perils, from- hah!- my mother, of all people. So, Zahevere..."

The demon was silent. Tears welled hotly in the corners of her eyes, and one of those wandering hands slid up along Blue's side. The orc sat in the grass beside her, looming, swallowing her fear one last time.

"...If I can trust you to save me tomorrow, then I want you to have all my tomorrows. I will name myself your mate, for as long as I live.

If you will name yourself mine."

I've been remiss in keeping up with you, journal. I have not been keeping track of all my antics and fear I have forgotten all of the proper details, or even the proper order since I haven't been ending my nights with a write up. 745 More Words

I've been remiss in keeping up with you, journal. I have not been keeping track of all my antics and fear I have forgotten all of the proper details, or even the proper order since I haven't been ending my nights with a write up. I admit, I have been too drained to bother picking up a quill. Ranging across all of Ashenvale is one thing, but traipsing all over Azeroth? A different story. Granted, the portals of mages and gryphons have helped a great deal in making such large leaps from place to place but we've done so much in between!

Prior to my solitude being so rudely interrupted, I would meticulously write down all of the happenings in Ashenvale nightly and catalogue any and all Horde movement I tracked. I would check in and give my reports in Astanaar when Elune watched from her highest point once a week.

Like clockwork. I may not be the most social creature any longer, but I was faithful to my schedule and could be counted on for my patrols. Ever since Kyran got sick, I had taken a leave of absence for his well being and my Darkshore trek only to extend it as I was swept up in the antics of an old friend and new.

Now? I got a knowing look as I switched from ranger duties secluded to Ashenvale to extend them where the Alliance need me. To Blackfathom Deeps. To within Stormwind's walls, in their own dungeon of the Stockades. To Redridge and back again. Many a Defias, Naga, Murloc, and Orc has died to my arrows these past few days.

All with Doraku, Barnabus, and a young Druid known as Manasa. She is a sweet thing, but a Druid who seems to need to nap within the Dream a little longer...

Still, she is a master of natural magic. She managed to keep the lot of us on our feet while all sorts of creatures crowded round, trying to get their pound of flesh. The dear managed all on her own with the four of us despite that Guard Captain insisting a fifth would do us well. Hah! I think he forgot Kyran, who obviously counts as our parties' fifth.

This group seems to ebb and flow, Barnabus and Manasa wandering off one day only to meet up with us once more to delve deeper into territories with far more threatening enemies.

Yet, Doraku stays. He insists it's to look after me and get me back 'home', but he's doing a piss poor job of it. The Warrior is all too willing to let something side-track him.

I wonder if this is how he has been traveling about all these years, letting the wind and a request of a stranger take him where they may.

I admit, traveling with Doraku has been-

Enjoyable? Not exactly the correct word. The fool had us stalking through Stonetalon Mountains Monday night. He insisted on finding multiple horns from the chimera who stalk through the Charred Vale because some random sod asked and he needed the new armor the exchange would provide.

Sigh. My childhood friend has become a tad obsessed with the armor he now meticulously cleans.

Now, Stonetalon? The last time we'd traversed there with Warrior Barnabus, we encountered many a Horde but they fled at the sight of two warriors in full mail and a Hunter. The other night?

Oh, they fled. Solo adventurers, groups of two or three or four. They'd flee and my arrows would decorate their back.

Then the Horde managed to get smarter if you can even imagine. They'd wait for us to engage with a chimera, or come at us en mass.

Now, I am a skilled shot but there isn't much to be done when Warlocks have sent curses ringing through your ears and one of those mangy cow Druids happens to be gnawing at your knee.

I can at least say I managed to fell a few before we departed swiftly.

Journal, it was a rough night. Eventually, we got those blasted horns and limped back to Ashenvale. Yesterday I can say we scarcely moved beyond tending to our wounds.

Now? Now I'm back on a boat, if you can imagine it. A letter came through the post and now aid is needed in Duskwood. I've never been to such a place, but the name alone sounds more appealing than the sprawling open spaces we've visited previously.

Human lands are all well and good with their rolling plains and meadows, but it doesn't feel right until the woods are thick and only moonlight manages to break through the leaves.

We will have to see what this Duskwood holds for us.

I had made my delivery to my new base of operations the Sepulcher. There is no inn here as in Brill, instead they use a crypt for rest. 377 More Words

I had made my delivery to my new base of operations the Sepulcher. There is no inn here as in Brill, instead they use a crypt for rest. It is definitely different from what I am used too but I am grateful for the forsaken's hospitality.

The tasks in the northern half of the forest were pretty simple, just gathering materials from the wildlife for the apothecary, as well as some scourge and knoll population management. After that I was sent to deliver stuff to the undercity while there I ran into a priest from my guild and before I knew it I was on my way to the the ragefire chasum. I had taken up a shield and sword to protect my allies but I haven't used a one handed weapon in combat before. It took some getting used to but we prevailed.

With my aid no longer needed I returned to the Sepulcher where my deeds were starting to be recognized among the forsaken. I have gained friendly status with them and it was time to push into the southern part of Silverpine. This is where I am starting to experience difficulties. Mages from Dalaran are on expeditions here and they are hostile. Their frost magic is slowing me down and they aren't even the strongest threat. I'm unsure if they are cursed or willingly following the archmage Arugal but worgen control the area. I teamed up with a warlock and a rogue to attack their village at the base of shadow fang keep. We relied on the warlock's voidwalker to keep the worgen from overwhelming us until we approached the village's inn. I had heard a sound coming from the side of the inn and when I checked to see what was happening I saw a peculiar sight of a worgen attacking the biggest bear I've ever seen. However it wasn't a bear, it was a druid. The three of us rushed to is aid and he joined us for the remainder of our mission. We completed our mission and we return to the Sepulcher with a journal from the inn.

There is still more to do further south I will set out again tomorrow. My enemies are getting stronger I may need to go claim armor from the enemies that inhabit the wailing caverns in the barrens to ensure that I am properly equipped to claim this forest for the horde.

Well, if it isn't my journal. I was wondering when I'd get you back. 1342 More Words

Well, if it isn't my journal. I was wondering when I'd get you back. Seems that Zee had a great deal to say, and aren't we both grateful for that?

Today was something else, journal-mine. Something else indeed. Let's dig in where the digging's good.

Droma the Sage had some words to eat, while the rest of us enjoyed a nice breakfast of eggs over boar. I sat back in a wicker rocking chair tilting a fork back and forth between my fingers as Droma stared and fumed and huffed and let out the most entertaining little half-statements. Lots of ifs and buts and botched warnings, all of which we found very entertaining.

Yes, we've faced terrible foes together and come out safe in each others' arms, mother. Yes, we've traveled to strange places and uncovered fascinating mysteries from far and wide. And yes, only a few days ago, we had a spectacular dinner date only an hour's ride south of here.

Yes, mother-sage, we are in love, and it seems that father would like it very much if you came to terms with it with the same grace he did.

"Leave her inside," she eventually said, pointing an accusing finger at my dearest demon. "Walk in the shadows with me, if you can."

Before I could respond, she had already passed through the curtain, out into the yard.

Or so I thought.

I nodded at Zee and my father- who was quick to invite her to try a game he'd fashioned with little wooden pieces- and looked through the windows into the light of high noon.

Funny, then, that passing the curtain led me into a vast and open starless midnight.

We are shamans of command. A voice said from everywhere at once. A word binds the blood and serves formless, unquenchable pain. A whisper suggests that inside is out. That upside is down. That it would be better to die than to tarry among the living a moment longer.

"I am Droma the Sage, Speaker for the Night, Tide Between the Stars, Song-Binder." my mother intoned with a severity I had come to expect. "Who do you claim to be, to walk in this shadow with me?"

Last time I met her as only her daughter, only Moxie, who remembered her well and missed her dearly. It wouldn't serve. Not in this un-place she had rendered for the occasion.

"I am The Bluetongue, Moxie the Borrower," I began, chewing that blue tongue of mine a moment as I searched for titles within myself.

"Know me as Soulfinder, for that is what I've done and nothing more."

The surging whorls of endless night overhead seemed to ebb a moment, peeling back as if to let her through. She hung just out of reach, her hands up and poised to hurl fistfuls of sorcery at the slightest provocation- but she found it within her to hold back, for a moment.

"None of these names call to mind honor," she replied coldly. "So where would one find your honor, I wonder? Anywhere at all?

Without it, are you even an orc? Or have you become some unrealized thing, the shape of an orc wrapped around an idiot's ambition?"

As I began to speak, something very unusual happened. A little wooden carving in the shape of a castle shot across the darkness and struck my mother in the forehead, and the false night Droma conjured retreated in panic from shafts of blazing Durotar sun that were suddenly slicing through it in every direction.

I looked over my shoulder to see Zee, her teeth grit and her brow set, her arm still extended from the throw, my father holding the other arm and struggling to watch the chaos as the daylight forced him to squint.

"Look here and see her honor!" my beloved bellowed. I had never heard such anger in her voice, and I felt myself blush terribly at the words. "Know me, Droma of the Thunderlords! I surely know you!"

Hooves clacked decisively across the stone and dust as she rushed past me to tower over my mother, who sat covering her eyes and grimacing. And still, Zee had more to say.

"From your own daughter, I have heard of your wisdom, your sorcery, and the depth of your honor. So deep does it run that when you witnessed the foul Gul'dan for the only time in your life, you immediately forswore his ways. You knew better. You were right."

She was, in fact, right. And yet she seemed so shocked to see a succubus say it.

"If I was right," she growled, getting back to her feet. "Then why are you here? What is the meaning of this, if not treachery?"

I had to speak for myself then, or I never would. I felt numb as I put my hand on my beloved's shoulder and looked my mother in the eye.

"I gave you the meaning of this in your hall of shadows, Droma the Sage." I could feel the tears welling in the corner of my eyes. Anger might suit a warrior, but never a warlock. Rage drives me to cry before it ever drives my hand. "When I named myself Soulfinder, that was the truth of it. Where other sorcerers found nothing, I found something. And only because I looked. Only because I made it my will to know that secret, just as I once made it my will to know yours."

"And you found her," she finished for me. There was disgust in her tone, but for the first time, it didn't feel as if she were about to spit on me.

"There are other secrets," Zee added, running a hand along my forearm. Is there any better comfort, in a moment so sick with tension?

"We seek them as well, and we do so with honor."

The disgust came back to my mother's face at that, and she scoffed harshly. "What does a demon know of honor? Only enough to corrupt it, I have no doubt."

Father was hiding inside, I noticed. Better that he didn't hear all this than let mother change his mind about me.

Silence overtook us all for a moment. Just as that day in Stonetalon, I had no expectation that I'd convince her. Just as that day in Stonetalon, I had no other choice but to speak.

"Honor places me here. Honor compels me to challenge you, Droma, so that you might know me as I am. Not the shadow in your head, but the orc that stands before you. Whatever you make of me, I am no coward- and it shames you to act as if I am."

"A coward consorts with demons. And there one stands."

"What will it be, mother? Mak'gora? A sorcerer's duel? Will you make me kill you when I would just as easily embrace you?"

She looked sullen. Petulant, even. It adds a surprising level of youth to a face so old and wise, to take on fresh pettiness. I expected the worst. But then she turned her slate-colored eyes toward mine and raised a finger.

"None of your strange titles shall pass my lips," she began- and I was ready for curses and violence already, grinding my heel in the dust, but they never came.

"But I will name you a warlock. A different caliber than I, but maybe not lesser, if you've got the gall to suggest mak'gora against the likes of me."

Then she did something I didn't expect. She took a step toward me and set a hand on my shoulder, and laughed.

I have never heard my mother laugh. Not in all my life.

And you know what, journal?

There's a certain high, birdish quality to it that reminds me of someone from a long time ago. Fascinating.

Ive spent much longer than I would've liked in the Barrens and surrounding areas. The sun is much too hot and sears whatever exposed skin I have so I spend so much of my time going from tree to tree just to hide in the shade so I don't start smelling like cooked rotting corpse. 710 More Words

Ive spent much longer than I would've liked in the Barrens and surrounding areas. The sun is much too hot and sears whatever exposed skin I have so I spend so much of my time going from tree to tree just to hide in the shade so I don't start smelling like cooked rotting corpse. Luckily, I didn't have much to focus on in just the Barrens. I was tasked with helping a Druid ally of mine with quests in Hillsbrad. This is when the fun began.

We started in Tarren Mill, making many trips to and from the nearby Alliance farm. During our expeditions we ran into many many Alliance. They were all such easy prey and the fear they must've felt seeing two enemies come out of stealth ready to rip them up made them taste extra good. During our many ventures back and forth from the farm we had killed many cats and bears for the quests we had in Tarren Mill. This lead to us practicing our skinning skills together as we are both skinners, he just specializes in skinning and herbalism while I specialize in skinning and leatherworking. We'll work together to gather as much skins as possible and I'll make gear for us both with it. It's a good system we have between us.

After we had helped Tarren Mill with the assault on Hillsbrad we headed our separate ways for a bit. I had gone to Thousand Needles and he stayed in Hillsbrad with a fellow friend of ours. While I was in Thousand Needles I ran into much less Alliance, but I did get to help the Tauren stationed out at Freewind Post with many things - including spying on the nearby Grimtotem. I snuck around the camp and stole the notes they had laying around their camp with minimal casualties. I aimed to get in and out without having to kill any Grimtotem as to not alert them of an intruder but I had no choice on the ones I did kill. If I let them escape I would've been spotted for sure. Regardless, I did succeed in the mission and we successfully killed their leader and saved the Tauren he had taken prisoner to become his wife. May she live a better life and may her brother rest in peace.

After working on some tests of my abilities I was told I had to go a remote area of Stonetalon to continue my quest. So I treked out to Stonetalon, stopping by the camp we have out there incase I ever needed to head by later - I'd rather fly to the camp than re-walk obviously. Once I had gotten to the camp I took a short break but then headed out to continue my tests. I was sent to Ashenvale to retrieve a book and was then quizzed on my sense of lore. Luckily for me I have studied the history of our world in the past and most of it was still clear to me, so the hardest part of the test was getting the book. The Tauren who was testing me decided that was all he needed and immediately suggested I visit someone in Undercity. Now I'm not saying this test might just be to see how far I'm willing to walk, but I'm starting to think it might be so.

I also did many other things, such as clearing out Blackfathom Depths, murdering/eating Alliance scum, and adventuring with allies. We did clear Razorfen Kraul late last night but nothing really interesting there, just some pigmen being pigmen.

Oh - yes - actually, one big thing did happen yesterday. We helped our warrior get their Whirlwind Axe. Now they cleave through enemies as if they were paper, and we had to fight much stronger enemies in a group of 5. Often while trying to gather the supplies we needed from the stronger enemies, we'd get jumped by a nearby group of Alliance. This made gathering materials much harder, but luckily, they left after a while. Now our warrior has promised to pay us back with their services, specifically being our meatshield for anything we could ever need. This was the agreement.

That's all for now, perhaps there will be more in the next few days, but I feel like I've spent a large majority of the last few days running from A to B then B to C, ect. If I wasn't already dead I'd probably have some pain in my legs, so thank the Banshee Queen for making me this way.

These ghastly atrocities in the Field of Giants needs to be exterminated from the face of this world. I cannot and will not stand to look at more and more of these goddamn pecker heads creeping the living hell out of me and my fellow comrades. 6 More Words

These ghastly atrocities in the Field of Giants needs to be exterminated from the face of this world. I cannot and will not stand to look at more and more of these goddamn pecker heads creeping the living hell out of me and my fellow comrades. To hell with these damn buggers!

I had to replace my trustworthy axe today. After countless battles and a few near death experiences, it was in no shape to continue fighting. 23 More Words

I had to replace my trustworthy axe today. After countless battles and a few near death experiences, it was in no shape to continue fighting. I acquired a new, sharper and deadlier axe. I shall name it Killmaim. May its blade gorge on the blood of my enemies.

Okay, I lied. One more entry. 1040 More Words

Okay, I lied. One more entry. You can't expect perfectly moral behavior out of a demon, you know- and besides, this is important.

We're being watched.

It was harder to notice at first- we were moving quicker, and I cared a great deal less. But they were always there, walking a few paces behind, disappearing over the horizon, slipping from shadow to shadow before vanishing into the nearest crowd.

Worse, it isn't always the same person. Always an orc, but that tells us next to nothing. What does tell us something is what happened today.

We thought to contend with the dwarves in Bael Modan. Do you know who seems out of place in a dwarven excavation? An orc.

Do you know who stands out to an orc, who's creeping around a dwarven excavation in search of secrets?

How about another orc?

He nearly blew our cover entirely, the way he thudded through the stone halls with all the subtlety of a Tauren during the Fire Festival. I saw a sword in his hand- a flat, butchery-minded sort of thing, tipless save for a jagged little spike that hung down past the edge.

Seems a bit inappropriate in the hands of a sorcerer, if you ask me. So I slipped from sight and waited for him to round a corner in pursuit of Blue- and then took it out of his hand before he could raise it. All was quiet in the dwarven fort except for the grumbling profanity he offered us, until my own warlock decided to speak.

I'll spare us the play-by-play. If at any point in the future we're wondering how that conversation went, here's a short version that's just as valuable:

"Who are you?" she may as well have asked. Of course she had a poetic, thoughtful way of putting it, but she's a little dazed right now after a long and nasty ordeal, so we'll let her speak for herself when she's a tad more lucid.

"A real warlock," he suggested in his answer. "Also, you're shaming us all with your beautiful heart and sparkling eyes and the frequency with which you receive affection, something we other warlocks are endlessly denied."

I pitied him, but not enough to offer him any kindness. So instead I played with the sword I stole, while they did more talking. Warlocks do half the fighting in words- even my dearest lives for the drama of proclamation and provocation. Far be it from me to deny them that.

But then the hallway was on fire.

And what did we learn about dwarven hallways?

Ah yes. They're full of explosives.

Our would-be assassin threw his hands over his head in the absence of his sword and spoke a word of desolation, opening up a burning cloud of fireballs six feet above us. I'll be cleaning and mending my wings all night, because my first instinct had me wrap them tight around Blue the moment I realized that we were about to be blown to bits.

Lucky for the both of us, she had also realized that we were about to die.

I can't speak for her, but I don't think even she endorses what she did next. Dwarves were coming down the hall to address the commotion, and she was... efficient, in their dispatch. The first, she grabbed by the neck and pulled the soul out of his nose with the same sort of bicep-flexing ferocity one might expect from the healer removing a rotten tooth, and with that soul still in her hand, she gagged the second one that made to swing at her.

It was unpleasant to watch a dwarf unfold like that, crumbling and burning until nothing was left of his collapsed body but a gaping skull beneath an open portal. I didn't bother to ask where it lead, I just held on tight as we jumped through.

The look on her father's face when we dropped out of midair and landed face-first in the dust outside of his humble Durotar home was difficult to read. Equal parts surprise, panic, and excitement to see his daughter flashed across his familiar hazel eyes.

Garmax the Rope offered one of his hands to each of us and lifted us out of the dirt, while his favorite wolf bounded up to sniff at me and do the same sort of whining and growling that most animals offer a demon.

"When I asked you to come visit sometime, I expected a little warning. Haven't even got a cot ready for you, daughter-mine."

The man has a voice like a roughspun quilt. Warm, but prickly in a familiar sort of way. I like him.

"Your mother's around back, feeding the chickens. I've done my best to talk with her, but she's still cooler than you'd like on the whole subject. --Hah, but I suppose age has softened my head just as well as my gut, because I'm pleased to see the both of you."

Now that was rare. And the rarity was why I hung onto every word- and gladly clasped his huge yellow-green hand when he offered it.

"I am called Zahevere," I told him. Funny, I've not seen my name show up in this book before I wrote that. I wonder why. Of course, he gave me his name right back, and yanked me up off the ground in the kind of bear hug only a father can offer.

...I assume. If this is what fathers are like, he makes for a fine example.

He had another one of those hugs for my dear Blue, and then, hand in hand, we made our way inside. It's sunset as I write this, and her mother still hasn't come in, so... I fear the worst.

We're pursued, we're disliked, and I'm not even sure what part of Durotar this is. How does this all bode for our journey, anyway?

Blue only has shrugs and laughter to offer me.

"I'm just glad you're safe," she just told me.

I'm going to hide my face in this handmade throw and spend a little while coping with how much I love her.

I'm glad you're safe too, Blue.

I apologize that I haven't been writing, Journal. I've been frighteningly busy in a terribly literal way. 1327 More Words

I apologize that I haven't been writing, Journal. I've been frighteningly busy in a terribly literal way.

I ran out of work in the Crossroads after, among other tasks, felling several centaur with my own hand. There are still stains of blood that will not wash from my now worn arms and modest leather armor. I've broken, lost, and replaced more pieces of equipment than I can keep track of, frankly. I've set to whacking things with a stick, lately. This Crescent Staff imbued with the power of Rockbiter or Frostbrand, crushing my foes before me like the heaviest mace. Even its thickly enchanted wood haft is beginning to splinter, magic faltering. I will need to find something a little more purpose-build for defending myself.

Ha! Defending myself. What a joke. I was and am charged repeatedly by taskmasters of this "great" Horde to hunt and murder not just the myriad wildlife of Mulgore and The Barrens, but humanoids. As I write this, my hands tremble as I remember the Centaur's taunts in a bastard slang version of my people's Taur'ahe. Disrespectful currs. I speak little anymore of a language I've rarely used in the better part of the last decade, but I know plenty enough to not feel guilt over the bloodstains those wenches became.

Guilt. So much guilt. After running out of work in The Barrens, I came together with a group of other travelers whom I have loosely remained in contact with, and together we traversed a marshy cave at the center of an oasis called the Wailing Caverns. There, we found ravenous beasts, monsters of sludge, mold, algae, and the first Kaldorei I had ever met. With their long blade shaped ears and their soft features, you would not expect them to be sinister. These , these people, (as I hesitate to call them) however, were insane with a variety of nature magic which permeated the caverns and made me physically ill. But we killed them. All of them. Without mercy. With flame and fang alike, and then we stole their modest belongings as well like a ragtag gang of worthless buccaneers.

Buccaneers... Blasted pirates! Near Ratchet, a coastal port with a ferry leading to Stranglethorn, (where I hear the fighting between the Alliance and Horde forces is raging ever more out of control) I took up a contract to hunt down a pirate. I didn't bother to read the majority of the contract until I had spotted him, (I didn't expect to find him, honestly, there's a lot of ocean out there) having come ashore to make a meager camp with some of his fellows in their billowy linen blouses. Upon reading, I was required to bring his head back as proof. I remember swallowing hard, and contemplating tearing the contract in half in disgust of such a vile act. However, my belly snarled at me, and after checking the rewards for the return of the brigand's head, I simply could not allow myself as a rational person to leave without what I had come for.

He begged me for his life, you know? He ran in fear as he fell beneath my blows, his comrades lying bleeding and broken around us as we struggled in the sand. I was using a poorly fashioned shiv and a thick oaken buckler at the time, and dropped my shield onto his gut as he lay on his back, looking up at me. The heavy steel and wood knocked the wind out of him, and silenced his cries just in time for my knee to sink onto the back of the buckler, holding down his frail human form beneath my mass as I brought the chipped, cheap steel of my shiv to his throat. Methodically. Like a gnomish automaton or one of the Goblin's hack-job machines, I bit my tongue and scarcely breathed as I worked. I stained the beach red as I systematically twitched the blade through his tissue and removed my prize from its previous perch.

My food tasted of ash in my mouth. I ceased eating shortly thereafter, having already forgone sleep. As I write this, I ride a particularly slow, elderly Wyvern toward Splintertree Post at the moment, having finished the work I was able to do in Stonetalon. Perhaps if my mount does not expire, I will arrive after nightfall. Some merciless culling of the harmless wildlife population for a troll who used the ingredients to poison some night elves whom he already had captive in cages, getting mercilessly beaten and raked with claws repeatedly as I transformed into my spiritual Ghost Wolf form and left behind my Earthbind Totem as harpies in swarms guffawed at my expense, too strong for me to defeat in all but single combat.

"That's right, tuck your tail between your legs, Tauren, you coward!" - psh, those bickering whores know nothing of me. They know nothing of honor. Nothing of braery. They know nothing of the Horde. But, in that regard, do I know anything of the Horde?

I watched in horror as my compatriots in Stonetalon gathered into groups to assault the peak. I, of course, joined them as I was ordered. These druids, however. These Kaldorei were different. They were not insane. They are not wrong; we are indeed cutting down their forests. We are indeed encroaching on their ancestral lands. We are indeed menacing and insatiable. I could scarcely slur the words to my healing spells as I watched my allies overwhelm the poorly armed, poorly trained Dryad and Kaldorei. They whimpered under our blades and shook as the life left them, just before they soiled themselves and just after they ceased twitching. They all cried for their Goddess, their Elune. I know she wept for them, too, as I did turning away and remaining silent as a gaggle of my male compatriots dragged one of the more lithe females into one of their tents. I left. I don't know what happened to her, I don't want to know, but I already know she was the last one they killed, and they did not return to the Retreat until hours later at dusk.

I don't want any part of this, anymore. What is this war? Why is it so? Why are we fighting, and what for? So the Orcs can build more homes? So I can slaughter thirty-eight Zhevra in search of eight pristine hooves? To prove myself?! Why not build in The Barrens, or Durotar, there are trees in these locations to be felled, for a surety. My people owe a blood debt to the Orcs and their, - no, our - Warchief Thrall, a shaman of honor whom all admire, but I question with strength our actions as a whole. Surely we could all individually accomplish more simply leaving each other alone, if not as allies, than through this senseless war? The others my age seem to not know why we war, only that it is the way of life they seem to seek. Why?

We are landing, and I am exhausted. At least in this part of the forest, things are quiet. I can hear the wildlife over the low din of the Post, now, and I have no desire to bury myself in my books which I have scarcely been able to keep up to date with my limited finances. I want to cover my face with my hands and cry until I have drowned myself in tears. I want to curl up on this pathetic excuse for a rented bedroll, little more than a carpet on the floor, and take a deep breath in, only to turn to stone for the rest of eternity. I still can't believe I paid thirty damned silver for this trash and ate stale bread with water for dinner. I miss Orgrimmar. I miss the Matrons. I miss the orphanage, though I laugh at myself and the terrible, cruel irony of life as I write that. As I admit it to myself.

I miss home.

I wanted to explore the rest of Dun Morogh. I hadn't been to the east of Khranos yet so that is where I went. 303 More Words

I wanted to explore the rest of Dun Morogh. I hadn't been to the east of Khranos yet so that is where I went. Off to the side of the road I spied a huge quarry with a small outpost. I spoke to some of the dwarves there. Senetor Mehr Stonehallow was one of those dwarves. He took a personal responsibility for the trogg invasion of their lands. This stirred my anger since the dwarves didn't come to our aide. Purchasing tomes to learn new demonic magic was expensive, so I put aside my anger and accepted his task for recompense. So I ventured into the quarry to kill some troggs. I made quite a bit of silver. enough to buy some important tomes. Over by the Ram Ranch I took a request to slay the fearsome yeti Vagash! He had eaten a couple of the herd. I strolled up the hill and found the beast in his liar. Krakkath held his attention and I feared him away from me. The battle was long, but I eventually slew the great beast. I pulled one of his fangs as proof of the deed.

I ventured further down the road toward North Gate Outpost. There was a missing pilot to find in the hills. Mori has been missing for several days and wild howls can be heard. Hopefully he is ok. After many days of searching we found out why Mori hadn't been heard from. his grisly mangled corpse was frozen in the snow. I pried a book from his corpse. Turns out he was mauled pretty badly by a bear. I decided to get revenge against this bear. No dwarf deserves to die like that. I reported my findings to Hammerfoot so he could call off the search. He was saddened by the news. I ventured to South Gate Outpost and was given directions to Thelsamar. It was finally time to leave these frigid lands. Loch Modan awaited.

I was given a summons to the Forlorn Quarter to see Lago Blackwrench. A friend from Gnomeregan. 264 More Words

I was given a summons to the Forlorn Quarter to see Lago Blackwrench. A friend from Gnomeregan. Many of our order were wiped out in in the aftermath of Thermaplugg's "brilliant plan". Thus, our order is in disarray and the old masters are scattered around Azeroth. He suggested to visit the Slaughtered Lamb in Stormwind where the human Warlock Order hides in the basement. I swallowed my Gnomish pride and went to see Gakin the Darkbinder for I had to learn to summon a voidwalker. This demonic creature would be my salvation. No longer would I have to fear to common rabble. For the voidwalker is an all-powerful demon. Gakin at first was loathe at the tought to teach me his ritual. I could hear the disdain for Gnomes in his voice. So, he set out a condition. Track down a traitor of his order and retrieve his bloodstone choker. After a hard-won fight I slew Surena Caledon and retrieved the choker from her smoldering corpse. With his choker retrieved Gakin recognized my talents and saw fit to teach me. His sent me down into the depths of the tavern and showed me how to draw a summoning circle. With the Bloodstone choker and the summoning circle created the ritual was ready. I just had to call upon my demonic magic. I poured my demonic energies into the choker and then into the summoning circle. A mighty voidwalker appeared and attack. I forced it into submission using my dark magic. With the voidwalker subjugated I made a pact with it. Now under my control none would dare set themselves against me openly. The name of my demonic servant? Krakkath.

I arrived in Khranos without too much trouble. The cold is biting and burns. 575 More Words

I arrived in Khranos without too much trouble. The cold is biting and burns. My beard has icicles in it. I delivered the report to Senir, he told me to find him later as he would have work for me. Another opportunity to make money appeared at the Inn. Ragnar Thunderbrew had his trapper enlist in the King's Army and needed me to kill some boars. He promised to share the recipe and pay me a few silvers for my trouble. Upon my return with the meat I was shown how to cook them. Turns out the secret ingredient was Rhapsody Malt brew right in the basement of the inn. I was feeling weary from my travels, so I paid for a room and went to bed.

The next morning, I awoke and explored Khranos seeing if I could be of any help. I met some dwarven siege pilots Bellowfiz and Stonegear. They were going to deploy to the Alliance warfront and needed to stock up on supplies. Meat, fur, and booze would feed them and make them more comfortable inside the siege tanks. I paid a visit to Steelgrill's Depot to drop everything off, including some tools another dwarf asked me to deliver. I went to see Senir to see if he had any work for me yet. Senir was behind on his report to the Senate and needed me to investigate Frostmane Hold. It seems trolls from the frostmane tribe have made this their new home. I scouted the cave and saw that the cave was indeed infested with trolls. I thinned their numbers abit before returning to Senir. I was rewarded with a warm fur robe. Surely this robe would fight back the biting cold. Razzle Spryrocket is a fellow Gnome I met while doing errands for dwarves. He was working on a machine that would reverse the radiation and restore our brothers minds back to normal. I knew it was a longshot, but I knew I must help him with this endeavor. I gathered the parts he required. Upon finishing his machine, the "ReCombobulator" was tested on a captured Leper Gnome. Sadly, the experiment failed as I watched before my eyes as the Leper Gnome turned into a chicken. Hungry, I wandered over to Iceflow Lake and fished for some brilliant smallfish. After cooking them and sating my hunger I did some more exploring.

I discovered a small village of dwarves named Brewnall. They were often under attack from the local wildlife. I agreed to do some hunting and thin the numbers of the local wildlife. I went out and fought Iceclaw Bears, Snow Leopards, and Elder Crag Boars I returned to the village to assure them they would be safe for a while but the population would likely surge again in a few months if left unchecked. Marleth Barleybrew is a competitive homebrewer. She tasked me with heading to the Inn in Khranos and replacing a barrel of Thunder Ale with a barrel of her own Barleybrew Scalder. I agreed and made the trip as I needed to see Serin anyway. After switching the brew out I talked to Senir one last time. He needed me to take his report to Senator Barin Redstone in Ironforge. I was surprised to find him in the High Seat of Ironforge. I delivered my report and he was none too pleased. He threatened to call the guards on me. I quickly left and returned to Khranos, I needed some ale and a good nights rest.

This will be my last entry for a little while. I'm giving the book back to Blue after today- I have a feeling that my voice can only bring so much to this little chronicle, especially considering how different our attitudes are toward the pursuit of secrets. 917 More Words

This will be my last entry for a little while. I'm giving the book back to Blue after today- I have a feeling that my voice can only bring so much to this little chronicle, especially considering how different our attitudes are toward the pursuit of secrets.

That is to say, in this particular case, secrets are her passion, and I am simply along for the ride. It'll be lovely if we find any, but it wouldn't trouble me if we spent our lives simply seeking and never finding.

As long as we spend that time together, I mean.

With our backs turned to Azshara for the time being, and sunny Ratchet all around us, we had a choice to make when we woke this morning. West or south? For her, it was all about following leads- go where the warlocks go, see what they saw with new eyes. We debated about it over breakfast, weighing the pros and cons in a way that went a little something like this:

"Well, there are dwarves to the south."

"Had enough of them."

"And centaurs to the west."

"An interesting way to die, but not a pretty one."

"Which seems the better lead?"

"The dwarves are digging for ancient treasure, but the centaurs block the way to Desolace, and..."

She struggled a bit with the contents of her bag until she found a map and spread it out on the table, pinning down the corners with our plates and mugs.

"...if all the rumors hold true-"

"-as they did for Azshara-"

"...then Desolace is overrun with demonic activity. Portals, runes, covens, it's a hotbed for exactly our sort of research, but it's about as hostile of a place as I can imagine."

We decided we'd dealt with enough hostility. For a little while, anyway. For now. So our next step is contending with dwarves again- only this time, I suppose we can do the ambushing.

As I write this, they're just over the ridge, toiling away or turning in for the night, and we're camped on the edge of the savanna. For the first time in recent memory, it has been a day without being attacked. The wariness was starting to affect us in subtle ways, and one can only live on her guard for so long before completely losing her mind.

Bit by bit we felt it leave us, replaced with the blowing breeze and the tickle of the waist-high dry grass. Silly as it sounds, wearing that dress last night made me feel different in a way I never expected. My armor suddenly seemed a little... drab, when I woke up and moved to put it on this morning. Now, a little white blouse and some black crocolisk-skin trousers, that made all the difference in the world. I could see myself getting into Azeroth's fashions, if they're all so comfortable.

As for her, well... I shouldn't dwell too much on outfits, but you'll remember what I imagined she'd wear last night- red cloth, fur trim, something bold and traditional, cinched with a tooth made into a toggle?

Well, she owns one of those. How she stands this late-summer heat in all that I'll never know, but sometimes she'll just stand there and hold out her arms and... billow, for a while, and I must admit it looks very freeing.

She has a fixation on making me laugh, and it scared me at first. The instinct, you know? What does she get out of this?

But now I know. We're in love- she with me, and I with her, a fact that I repeat to myself about a hundred times a day now- and she simply does it because she loves me.

I cannot express enough how shocking it is to just write that, with confidence. This will be the last time I wax poetic about being lifted up out of damnation, I think- but one last time, I must.

None of it is supposed to work this way, you know. Even the summoning, if we're to look all the way back. Not to say that it was botched, but the old orc called Promise wasn't kidding about the way she poured herself into the spell.

A warlock speaks a name as a command, and we are called forth. Why then did she reach for me?

Why take my hand? Was she afraid her word wouldn't be enough?

I suspect that when she felt my name burning her tongue, she worried she'd lose it before she finished the spell. But why not end it, then? Surely the war was not so desperate that a single sayaad would turn the tide.

I'll have to ask her sometime and see what she thinks. I happen to think that even then, before we even knew it, we were connected. It's hard to believe in fate when you've been torn apart and remade in the nether more times than you can count, but... perhaps the threads of fate are longer than lifetimes, and we only think such a force doesn't exist because it usually outlives us.

She's calling me now- ha, and she looks quite extravagant, laying down by our fire wearing nothing but a gold necklace and a smile. I'm going to go spend the rest of this evening in her arms, and kiss her everywhere until we're both the most wonderful kind of dizzy.

As for my next entry? Let's make a game of it. I'm not going to ask for this book again until she's too exhausted to pick it up and do her daily record-making.

With me around to keep her busy, it shouldn't take that long.

They dull brown of the ground seems to extend ever onwards into the distance. The hordes of quilboar, centaurs and savage beasts seem never ending. 72 More Words

They dull brown of the ground seems to extend ever onwards into the distance. The hordes of quilboar, centaurs and savage beasts seem never ending. I am aiding the people here the best I can but frequently it seems as though my best only puts a small dent in the teeming masses. I have slain more quilboar than I care to count, but still they threaten Camp Taurajo.

I have been directed to a Cavern system in the central Barrens... The Wailing Caverns some call it. I plan to gather allies tonight and explore this cave system!

Journal, I don't really know where to start with this past week. I made the journey to Teldrassil with little issue and never saw a familiar face. 1161 More Words

Journal, I don't really know where to start with this past week. I made the journey to Teldrassil with little issue and never saw a familiar face. Getting to Dolanaar was just as simply and I grabbed the requested herbs from the Innkeep quick enough.

I would have been on my merry way if a familiar voice hadn't flagged me down. Of all the people to run into, it was Doraku who had hailed me.

By Elune, I haven't seen the man since back in Hyjal and even then we'd only exchanged pleasantries and certainly hadn't acted as the friends we had been.

..I suppose that unfortunate party is as seared into his memories as the foggier version has been to mine. It twists my gut to think of it and who I was back then. A careless thing with little thought to Azeroth as a whole.

It's been so long, yet he looks almost the same. Perhaps a little more filled out now that he's taken up the mantle of a true warrior of the Kaldorei. He wears the armor well, truth be told.

Still, he greeted me as a friend and introduced me to a Human who was visiting the area. A curious man, that Human. His name is Barnabus and he is a near insufferable chatterbox. Fancies himself an adventurer. Insists he's the best one in all of Azeroth and by Elune he's determined that everyone knows it.

I don't quite know how it happened, but these two warriors decided that we were now a trio.

Doraku made some comment that I really should be checking in on my parents, but I brushed him off. Getting the herbs back to Kyran was of the upmost importance.

Thus I made my way back to Ashenvale, but now with these two in tow. There were many distractions along the way, what with that blasted 'explorer' getting into all sorts of trouble!

How he managed to find the site of an Old God's corpse, I'll never know....but it may have been for the best as there was some poor lost Human girl-child stuck within the pit with too many cultists afoot. We helped the poor child out of the pit and directed her up the road to Auberdine.

The trek to Ashenvale and Astraanar was uneventful, save for putting a few arrows into some stray Horde but I was happy to be on my home turf.

I got to check on Kyran and deliver the herbs, but was told there were many days yet before he'd be able to run with me again. His wound is looking well, no festering or signs of infection. He's simply languid, but eager to leave. The stable master assured me he'd make sure Kyran rested well and would get the salve applied daily.

At this point it had been an entire day and a half without my beloved and in the company of two idiot warriors, so I was none to pleased but at least Kyran is doing fine.

With little else to do, I let Doraku and Barnabus take our strange little group where they will. Somehow they got it in their heads that we needed to use this time to help everyone in all of Azeroth!

First it started with helping about Ashenvale, before a local asked us to check a station in Redridge along with culling their local Wyvern population. Along that merry route we happened upon a goblin who wanted help sabotaging a rival company who was cutting all of the trees down!

Oh journal, you should have seen the barren place. Miles upon miles of felled trees and a land swarming with grimy Venture Co workers. The three of us did our part in trying to cut down their numbers, getting some useless papers along the way for the Goblin.

Then the Wyverns... Those accured Wyverns. We slaughtered them wholesale, but ripping out those venom sacs as proof of the kill proved to be cumbersome. Apparently, skinning the beasts wasn't enough. We had to carve into their tails for the fragile venom sacs. Messy work, but the Horde will be severely lacking in air transport now!

I am pleased to report that during this time we felled an Orc warrior, two vulgar warlocks and one of their Shamans. A Tauren, sad to say but he helped his fellow Orcs and Doraku took him out for it. I am a little saddened by the Tauren's death, as they seem to care for nature as much as I, but this is war.

After we finally managed to trek back to Astranaar, get cleaned up and check the status of Kyran feet seemed to be itchy as Barnabus got it in his thick skull that the Eastern Kingdoms needed us.

I don't know about all that, but I can now say I've ridden that clattering monstrosity of a Deeprun Tram and have made acquaintances with Flight Masters all over Azeroth.

Now, apparently these silly little Humans are having some sort of a political kerfluffle. The Human King didn't see fit to pay his people properly and they suffer for it. Yet, Barnabus insisted we needed to aid those under Stormwind's banner as this- Defias Brotherhood was a menace.

Now, a glance from the outside would have me leaning towards helping them except for the fact that they seem to be terrorizing civilians for a slight from their King. They really should have gone through the proper channels for this, instead of harming innocents to vent their frustrations. Really, they were ravaging farms! I'd expect this behavior of Orcs, but Humans should know better.

This mission against the Defias took us through a place known as the Deadmines where I can say we thinned out enough of their numbers to satisfy the Human Commander of Sentinel Hill.

I do admit, there is a certain charm to these Human lands and satisfaction to be found in helping them with their silly squabbles.

Still, I'd been too long from Kyran and told my companions of my wish to return to Ashenvale. Barnibus took this as a parting of ways, but Doraku insisted on accompanying me. I'm uncertain on how I should feel about this, especially since he still keeps dropping hints about visiting my parents...

A mild annoyance for another time, journal as I am happy to report that Kyran is once more at my side. The Stable Master gave him a clean bill of health!

We celebrated our reunion by fishing up a feast for the three of us, dining on Slitherskin Mackerel until we'd burst!

Now I find myself tucked in for the night with Kyran dozing at my hip and uncertain of my next step. Perhaps I need to find a way to shoo Doraku along his way?

If I am being honest with myself, these past few days have been an enjoyable adventure. I don't have such a draw to get back to my solitary patrols here. Perhaps I will see if the locals need a little more help and see if Doraku decides to follow this venture....

Ahh that Dwarf there, Sten Stoutarm. He is offering some gloves in exchange for food. 509 More Words

Ahh that Dwarf there, Sten Stoutarm. He is offering some gloves in exchange for food. Is this dwarf such a weakling he can't gather his own food? Never the less I must do this if I want to keep my hands warm. Just my luck I found a belt among the remains of the animals I was killing. This should come in handy for keeping hold of my tools I acquire. Upon completing the trade with the dwarf, I was handed a missive. I was to meet a skilled Warlock inside Anvilmar. This will have to wait as the dwarf has more tasks for me. I am to deliver some mail to Talin Keeneye. For some reason dwarfs are too incompetent to deliver mail correctly. Thus, once again my supreme intellect is required. Whilst delivering these letters I killed some Troggs in exchange for some snow boots. Talin Keeneye offered me some fur pants in exchange for killing some nearby boars that plagued his camp. Now my feet are warm and dry. Dwarves may be dumb, but they can at least craft useful items.

I finally ventured to Anvilmar and met with Alamar Grim the one who sent the missive. Like me he too was disgusted with the Dwarves and Humans. We both agreed that we were tired of being treated like second class citizens.We decided to become allies on this day. Us Gnome Warlocks must stick together. Alamar decided he was going to teach me summoning magic. To do this I needed to gather some Feather Charms from the nearby Frostmane Trolls. Before I fight them I need money for supplies. Luckily a feeble Gnome in Anvilmar had a request with reward. All I had to do was recover his tools from some nearby Troggs. On may way to gather Feather charms I stumbled across a dwarven camp with representatives from their senate. They are investigating the troll threat to Coldridge Valley. They offered me supplies in exchange for help hunting some troll whelps. Inside a nearby cave I found a staggering number of Frostmane Trolls. I blasted them away with my magic recovering Feather Charm from the dead bodies of their novice mages. With both requests complete I decided to return to Anvilmar to learn summoning magic. After making a contract I summoned my first imp. It was hideous and annoying, but it swore to serve me. The demons name is Rulnik. I then decided to return Felix's tools to him and give my report to the senate representative Grelin. Grelin said a big troll by the name of Grik'nir the Cold took his papers. If I learned anything only Trolls intelligent trolls have names, so this troll would be a fearsome opponent. I defeated Grik'nar and retrieved the Journal for Grelin. Grelin sent me to his brother Senir in Khranos along with a report of the Troll and Trogg activities in Coldridge Valley. Grelnir warned me that Troggs had infested the tunnel to Khranos and to be careful. I hate Troggs and will kill them with peace of mind. They are responsible for current predicament. I shall show no leniency!

I was the one who made the suggestion to leave Azshara. Too many misadventures. 1528 More Words

I was the one who made the suggestion to leave Azshara. Too many misadventures. Dwarves and monsters and the oft-dreaded introspection left us wanting something a little friendlier overall. Isn't it funny how the trip home always seems so much longer than the trip to wherever you went?

She convinced me to get on a gryphon again- I don't like the risk of falling. Have you ever been unmade? Rendered into only a vague composite of what you're meant to be? I have, and it feels like falling the entire time. The time spent between summonings is endless vertigo- and the fact that she never asks me to return to that endless dark is a tremendous relief.

I held onto her just the same. It's terribly embarrassing to write this down, but... she does smell wonderful. Like the cool, black earth of a well-kept garden, with blooms of every kind. I close my eyes and rest my head against her shoulder and let myself drift away to some other place, some imagined neverwhere, her anxieties and my damnation left behind in exchange for tall grass to lie in and quiet thunderstorms to lull us to sleep.

It was exactly that kind of thinking that did put me to sleep before we landed. The sound of her laughter and the warmth of her lips on my cheek woke me, and then she helped me down onto the day-warmed cobbles of Ratchet.

I must take a moment aside to talk about the armor I wear. It's a good deal more comfortable than it looks, given that it was created right alongside my body, but she has a way of getting me out of it- and on this particular night, she had something else for me to wear, which I found exceptionally strange.

"You'll look so elegant," she told me, much to my immediate doubt.

"I have a necklace for you, too," she offered with that familiar toothy grin, as if just giving me the news was the same force that made the sun rise and set.

But... I did feel very special. The dress was a clingy little thing, Goblin-spun fashion covered in tiny square beads that glittered against the black silk whenever I moved. She even made sure to allow a gap for my tail, and helped me slip the straps over my wings.

Every day, this question lingers in the back of my mind, the spurned voice of a woman who has been milled through the nether as fodder a few times too many- why do all this for me?

But she must have seen the look on my face as I listened to that little irritant, because the very next thing she did was scoop me up in her arms and spin around, centrifuging all the torment out of me for a few beautiful moments as her kisses fell on my cheeks and lips and neck. Then she set me down, and asked me to wait as she got dressed.

I don't know what I expected. Furs? Something rough and red and beautiful in the orcish fashion, none of which hung from her when she stepped out from behind the folding screen in our little room at the inn.

I could feel myself staring, and stopped myself from laughing as I suddenly recalled my little outburst in the mountains about who had seduced whom. I was staring! And how could I not? Satin in shades of midnight created the most spectacular silhouette I've ever seen. A split ran all the way up to her hip, baring one of those long green legs and giving me a sudden flush of appreciation for a set of thighs I'd already seen in a hundred other contexts.

That would have been show enough to last me a lifetime, but then she was looming over me, bending oh-so-very far forward to slip her fingers around the back of my neck and secure a tiny silver chain there. I haven't worn jewelry in... oh, there's that nasty timeworn feeling again. There was a life once, maybe, and I wore jewelry in it- and it's been since that neverwhen that I've gone without.

My heart hurts, and I'm not even done telling the tale of our evening. Is my damnation at an end, or am I about to plummet further than ever, after a little taste of bliss just to make the landing that much more painful?

We were to go to a restaurant. The goblins, she insisted, were more interested in running a successful business than fretting over who they'd have to serve. So, arm in arm, we climbed a hill at sunset and passed through a curtained doorway to the smell of sizzling zhevra and fish of all kinds, smoke and roast peppers and the truly universal appeal of caramelized onions drawing us in to a table with a primal urgency.

Alas, we ran into the back of a man who must have rolled out of bed with the intention of spoiling our evening. He spoke as if he knew he had to try and hurt us somehow, and that was terribly embarrassing to endure.

I ought to describe him. In my dear Bluetongue's entries, she makes such an effort to record who we've met. The memory of that very entertaining dead man and his sword come to mind right away.

This was a human. A dour sort of human, with sunken gray eyes and sallow skin, his hair a maimed shelf of bristles that were close to matching the spotty black beard he wore. He was broad-bodied and tall, but didn't look especially strong. Only the kind of man who might be called upon to lift a sofa or hammer a few nails from time to time- if not for the staff slung across his back to tell otherwise.

I do hate a floating crystal. There's a subtle hypnotism to them, and the threat of potency besides, when they hang in the air on their own. This one fancied himself a warlock, that much was evident in abundance.

He scoffed at this and that, and barked questions at Blue. When I spoke out, he seemed to veer out of flippancy and into outrage. So yes, a typical warlock.

"We're trying to have a nice evening," I found myself seething. Can you imagine! Again, a sayaadi tormentor of my caliber, and what I care most about is the sanctity of quality time with my beloved. I get to have that!

May the Legion forever waste between the stars. I hope the nether floes pull them apart bit by bit until there's nothing left, for denying me this wonder for so long. It should come as no surprise that he raised his hand to strike her- humans have a history of that, when it comes to orcs.

It wouldn't stand. My hooves had done plenty of work the day before, but one chore further couldn't hurt. So I drove one into his stomach as hard as I could. Ha! And the shock on his face, the offense from this man, to see that I'd done it without taking an order.

"Control that thing," he brayed, clutching himself and gripping a handful of darkness to throw at us. But the threat was too little, too late. A set of thick Ogre fingers curled around his shoulder and pivoted him hard to the side, toward the door.

I like Ogres. They're a sweet, strange people. And one of them saved our date. I may ask Blue to give them a little research time. Who's to say what secrets they have? Unlike the elves, I don't think anyone's looking for theirs.

Finally, blessedly, we found our seats and...

Oh, how much more can I say of it? I am so, so happy. What other sayaad, here or anywhere, can say that? We tried a great many different things- wines from distant vineyards, fish prepared half a dozen different ways- even raw!- and an enormous deep-fried onion fanned out for an evening of plucking off and dipping into sauces.

These goblins have a knack for mixing an elegant dining experience with menu items that are clearly, visibly bad for the body.

We wiled away the whole evening like that, laughing and telling tales- there were difficult patches where she would ask me what I remembered, and I'd have to admit that it only came and went in tiny pieces, but every time it seemed to trouble me she'd hold my hand and kiss my knuckles and offer another story of her own.

I know more about Garmax the Rope and Droma the Sage than I ever imagined. All orcs had titles, it seemed, and what was hers?

"The Borrower," she told me. An invention of the orc called Promise, who had treated her to his birdish laugh and mocked her for giving near as much as she takes, in her warlockery.

Well, how long did she plan to borrow me? I had to know.

"Forever and ever," she said.

Forever and ever. My chest still feels like it's going to burst.

Forever and ever. With me.

With me.

I have spent a few days helping the forsaken in Brill. It wasn't long until I was recruited to join a guild. 219 More Words

I have spent a few days helping the forsaken in Brill. It wasn't long until I was recruited to join a guild. They seem like a friendly group and a shaman even gave me some spare bags he had and now I'm donating the herbs I find to aid in his alchemy research.

While in Brill I was trained by Austil de Mon, a forsaken warrior trainer, he has taught me a few new skills and sent me on a mission where I learned my defensive stance. I also worked for a few others in Brill. The tasks they needed done were simple enough had to kill some mongel grave robbers to north, some mindless u dead and wild beasts that live to the west, however the main enemy in the area appears to be the Scarlet Crusaders. I have definitely made a dent in their numberd. It pains me to admit this but they have a monastery in the north eastern corner of tirisfal where they have some elite troops that I am absolutely no match for. I must get stronger and I will come back and conquer their stronghold.

The apothecary has ask me to make delivery to silverpine forest. I have over heard some troubling rumors about the beasts in the forest and a keep they have overrun. I will make sure that I handle this threat swiftly as I push south getting ever closer to alliance territory.

So cold, I don't know how the dwarves can take this blistering cold. If only I had time to recover my tools. 37 More Words

So cold, I don't know how the dwarves can take this blistering cold. If only I had time to recover my tools. Unfortunately, the radiation swept over my lab. My tools and projects, all my work lost to radiation. Curse you Thermaplug! I must find some warmth before I freeze to death. Maybe one of these dwarves can help.

Troggs, Troggs everywhere. Where is the alliance? 64 More Words

Troggs, Troggs everywhere. Where is the alliance? Where are the dwarves? That Idiot Sicco Thermaplug convinced Mekkatorque to irradiate all of Gnomeregan. What a brainless twit. Now our home is lost. Many of my brethren have changed, becoming brain addled due to the intense radiation. I decided to leave Gnomeregan and make a new way of life. With nowhere to call home I must make a new life outside the world.

It's been 3 days and I'm still in this horrendous expanse called "The Barrens". Gods do I see why they call it that now. 333 More Words

It's been 3 days and I'm still in this horrendous expanse called "The Barrens". Gods do I see why they call it that now. I've been here for 3 days and I'm still having to scour these wastes for every bit they have. My flesh was already rotting enough as it was, now I just smell like cooked rotting corpse.

I try to rest myself indoors during the hotter parts of the day when the sun is at it's peak and go out to continue my quests during the evening, around 6pm or so. This makes it a tad bit easier to sneak up on my targets without them smelling me from across the zone. Luckily I also think that I recently finished up my last quests here. Now I can start moving on to another zone.

On that... I've heard word from my allies of the filthy Alliance have been spotted in the zones next on my list. Stonetalon and Hillsbrad have the most activity I've been hearing. Having lived on the EK all my life... even back when I was alive, I've been to Hillsbrad more than once, so I'm having to decide between somewhere I am more familiar with - or somewhere unknown and undiscovered for me where I can explore to my dead heart's content. Decisions, decisions.

Last night did end rather well though, as I finally finished gathering materials for my Deviate Belt. This equipment is some of the most powerful leather I can craft and by far the most powerful piece of equipment I have. I also gained the ability to craft some decent shouldpads. I had only cloth ones before because they were the only ones I could find, but now I have good leather shoulders. I also had a quest to go back into the twisting mass called Wailing Caverns and kill the remaining leaders of the Druids of the Fang. The group I found did so with ease, and in return I got a fantastic new sword.

I've attached a picture to this entry to give a reminder of the days when things were more simple.

In an exercise I expect to find equal parts charming and confusing, she has handed me this journal she keeps. She bid me write whatever I want for the next little while, to compare how we chronicle the days. 1280 More Words

In an exercise I expect to find equal parts charming and confusing, she has handed me this journal she keeps. She bid me write whatever I want for the next little while, to compare how we chronicle the days.

Reading through this thing today makes twice I've gone over it, and yet it still makes me want to cry.

Shall we examine that? I am, in a great many ways, a living monument to desire. She should desire me- ahah, and does, often and with fantastic vigor- but I must emphasize for the record, since that is what this little book is meant to be, that...

...For the first time in my life, this strange and tangled epoch where years and days are equally in question, there is more to it. More to her. More to me!

I speak- something other masters forbid as soon as they saw me- and she listens. She laughs with me, shows me the natural wonders as we walk along these high, strange places. She held me for a long time underneath a waterfall and I felt a wholeness inside me that I haven't known since...

...Since when? Again, the tangled epoch. From whence did I come? To where will I go? All I have is here, now, and for once, it is wonderful.

And with that preamble out of the way, so that my lover can read the truth in my heart whenever she pleases, let us move on to talks of the day.

She didn't have a backup wand, and we had come to rely on that little toy for just about everything- lighting fires, writing these pages, dispensing a little bolt of deterrent at whatever bear or bird happened to creep too close. So we have begun the process of making substitutes until we can return to Orgrimmar. We've a bundle of torches now, and I've managed to make us some writing tools.

You know what's eerie about that? I don't know how I knew to do it. Picking out the right native herbs, working them into pigment, adding a little alcohol- it's more paint than ink, but you can dip a quill in it and it writes. And all we had was spiced rum, so the journal does smell like cinnamon now- but there are worse things, surely.

...What was I saying? Ah yes, the important thing. I have memories, and a great deal of them. Finding what I need in my mind is a bit like picking through a torched library and occasionally finding a little wonder, and- can I be honest?

I suppose I have to, that's the point of the journal. The truth is, that bothers me. The incompleteness of what I am never mattered before, such is the nature of a demon. We are all tatters of something, held together with darkness in the shape of whatever we might've been.

But now that I'm here, now that my life looks like this, I suddenly care a great deal. I've never had the time to care before, because I spent my days waiting for masters to die and release their hold on me.

Now half of the time all I want is to be held. Isn't that silly?

With our torches made and something to chronicle our journey, we chanced upon a sunken ruin, its marble entrance jutting up from the bottom of a mountain like a yawning mouth, with stairs leading down, down, down, into...

...Well, into nothing, at first. We were not the first ones here, to skip a great deal of fretting over what we might find in the dark. There were no treasures, no monsters, not even a ghost we might ply for information. I was ready to turn around and head back into the sunlight when she knelt in a corner, laughing that funny little laugh of hers.

I tell you, she's all mischief, once you get underneath the kisses and sorcery. Never once have I seen her avoid a chance to get in trouble.

And so she did.

I remember reading a few pages back, about the ancient elven connection to the Legion. Now, there's no love lost between me and the rest of demonkind, I can promise you that- but to see the look on her face, she must've thought I was thrilled when an enormous balloon of a voidwalker came stretching up from down below, its shackles cracked and unstable, seeping with blue-black streams of liquid nether.

"Ah, look at this!" that mile-wide grin seemed to say. "There was a secret after all!"

It wants to kill us, dearest. It is a cloud of living murder with no brain and no heart. Remember what I said about all demons being the shape of something, rebuilt out of the tatters of something whole?

That was a half-truth. These things are big blue bags of swirling nether that was already there, given just enough personality to laugh as they put a fist through your chest.

And you know I can't allow that. If anyone's putting a hand on that chest, it's me.

...Oh dear, I'm getting possessive, aren't I? Ha, well, nevermind it. To drive to the heart of the matter, it overwhelmed her rather immediately, and I feared the worst. To die like this would be worse- though maybe not quite as embarrassing- than dying to the dwarves.

So I had to be her hero for the second day in a row. Which, can I just say, I'm starting to understand why she likes to rescue me so much. There were stars in her deep hazel eyes as I drove a hoof through that domed blue face so hard it inverted into the monster's chest for a moment. After pulling her up by the hand and putting myself in the middle, it was simply a matter of quick, decisive violence.

I am very good at committing acts of quick, decisive violence. A hand went up to retrieve that face, and I struck out with another kick to shatter the already-cracked crystal. One side of the rogue voidwalker smoked and trailed formlessly while the other writhed in confusion, a single white eye staring at me while it gathered the requisite body to come at me with the one fist it still had.

I could tell you I dodged, or turned invisible, or silkily stepped out of the way and lashed its remaining half into quarters. But that would be dishonest, and because she asked, I will tell the truth of it.

That big blue fist crashed into my stomach so hard I thought I was going to snap in half. I beat my wings against the stale air but they did nothing to stop the sudden momentum.

But, as I must always remember, I am not alone. And she had been on her feet long enough to get her bearings. A thick blot of living fire- the alluring mottled flame of a soul's own ferocity- leapt from her hand like a panicked cricket and smashed into the creature's remaining shackle with all the force of a charging ered'ruin.

And then the creature was gone, and we were safe again, and gratitude overwhelmed us until there was nothing left to do but hold each other and laugh and kiss until our hearts settled from the thrill of it all.

We're by the campfire now, and she's bathing in the river. She's wringing out that long red hair and humming a little tune, and the longer I look, the much more urgently I feel the need to join her.

I may trade the book back to her tomorrow, or I may write another entry, if the mood strikes me. But for now? I know what I want, and it isn't more writing.

Let's linger a while longer, my love. What we didn't find today still waits for us tomorrow.

Today at the merchant coast near Ratchet, I met my first human. I helped him die then ate him. 41 More Words

Today at the merchant coast near Ratchet, I met my first human. I helped him die then ate him.



A bit later, I met a demon who had a pet warlock named Trixibelle. We tried communicating, and eventually found a common language.

My journey continues; and nothing but good news heralds my progress. Nedrian succeeded- and of that, I cannot be more grateful to Elune or whatever lit his path. 113 More Words

My journey continues; and nothing but good news heralds my progress. Nedrian succeeded- and of that, I cannot be more grateful to Elune or whatever lit his path. Perhaps my brother will smile more often now…but that is his journey. My apprehension concerning him has ceased, and I now focus on my own journey.

I still am learning the ways of the druid, but it is everything I had hoped to pursue. Balance, the natural world, how the energy in this world moves and flows through all living things…it is a blessing I am able to learn and commune with such forces.

I continue my training with an eager energy I haven’t felt since first beginning my book studies of this path. The threat of the Horde continues to loom…but that threat will be confronted in time.

I do not know how I succeeded. A few days after my training began, I set off on my journey. 230 More Words

I do not know how I succeeded.
A few days after my training began, I set off on my journey. The wailing caverns; what madness drove you there? What force drove me there after you?
At least I know the answer to that second question.

I still do not know if I succeeded in full. What knowledge or curiosity drove you to provoke the troll gods? Clearly, they did not take kindly to your presence...and this powerful magic is beyond even my understanding. As I look into those intelligent eyes, I wonder if there is anything left of you in that scaled form beyond that of an animal?

The mental calls to you remained silent, and I admit, I was beginning to despair. It was only yesterday however, after days of fighting at my side that I heard a single voice, piercing into my mind as the enchanted amulet in my possession glowed.

‘Nedrian.’

Your eyes widened; and for a moment, I knew the gaze that looked back at me.

'Talliana, you are still in there.'

And then it was gone, and a beast, albeit an intelligent one, looked back at me curiously. But now I have hope. Perhaps it is a fools hope- but that is all this venture was from the start. I have you at my side, one way or another, and perhaps in time I can pull you from the cage in which you are bound.

I’m not letting you go. Not again.

During a visit to Orgrimmar one day I stopped by the Valley of Wisdom to pay my respects to my Warchief, Thrall. Believe it or not, the Warchief himself had a task to offer me, an important investigation of a growing source of corruption within Orgrimmar itself! 302 More Words

During a visit to Orgrimmar one day I stopped by the Valley of Wisdom to pay my respects to my Warchief, Thrall. Believe it or not, the Warchief himself had a task to offer me, an important investigation of a growing source of corruption within Orgrimmar itself! I returned to Durotar to find cultists of the Burning Blade and retrieve a lieutenant's badge.

After slaying a number of the cultists to find one of suitable rank, I proceeded back to Thrall who confided in my his suspicions about a certain "Neeru Fireblade" who could be located in the cleft of shadow. As it turns out, this "Burning Blade" nonsense is a cult devoted to the Shadow Council, which I am told is a cult of warlocks that serve the Burning Legion, whatever that may be.

With Thrall's orders in mind, I noticed a call for a few brave souls to plumb the depths of Orgrimmar and find the secrets of the place known as Ragefire Chasm. I joined a group of fellows prepared to risk life and limb to end the corruption and we journeyed into the maw of the Chasm, fighting our way through giant worms, troggs and cultists.

Eventually we found our way to the heart of the cult, and proceeded to slay a monstrous demon, Taragaman the Hungerer. This was the first of the filthy creatures I had seen in my life and although I am normally loath to take the life of another living being, to slay something as anachronistic to the elements as this loathsome creature gave me great joy.

After cutting a swath through yet more deranged cultists, we emerged in the room where one of the leaders of the cult stood. The orc warlock fought with a rage that was truly terrifying, but he stood no chance against the might of the champions of the Horde and in the end he was put down like the dog he was.

We emerged triumphant from the Chasm, heads of the enemy leaders in hand, and prepared for the next adventure.

We were attacked! There's never any real rest on Azeroth, just the moments between lunatics jumping out of the bushes at you. 966 More Words

We were attacked! There's never any real rest on Azeroth, just the moments between lunatics jumping out of the bushes at you. Much to my relief, it wasn't elves- I'm still quite convinced of their capacity for murder, and don't have any wish to test it. That said, it was nearly as bad.

In the middle of the night, we were set upon by dwarves.

How? Why? I couldn't say. In the aftermath we saw the swaying green lights of a ship in the distance, that bottle-glass they use to keep the candles dry. But the dwarves themselves- three of them, two who might've been any sort of gender and one who was most assuredly a man- took a great deal of struggle to remove from our little camp.

I expect no honor from Dwarves. They took a perfectly serviceable bow and arrow and made it louder and messier simply for the pleasure of it- and all three of these had one of those "rifles" slung across their back- save for the man, who grunted something at me and kicked me in the ribs to wake me up, a smaller sort of rifle already in his hand.

Much as I shudder to think what sort of monster I must've looked to them, I'm a little impressed with how quickly I roused and found my feet. Twice their height and nude as the day I was born, with my beloved right there at my side at an instant, they must've realized the odds weren't as even as they seemed.

The fear in their eyes only bought me a little time, and then they started firing. Look to your left shoulder, Future Moxie, and you'll know as well as I do now that the "Adventure" goblins taught us a sharp lesson in underestimating this kind of weapon. So we moved together, and fast as we could, taking cover behind the shade tree we camped under.

She was so brave. She was so brave, and I adore her for what she did. I had no idea she could turn invisible! I'll have to ask her more about what magic she knows- was it her idea to learn it, or did the Legion impress that ability upon her?

Quiet as can be, transparent as air, she eased around the tree. They were trying to be clever about advancing, I saw, coming around from both sides. The two cohorts- one a little shorter than the other, and both with pretty faces, albeit with impressive, neatly-braided beards- rounded on me from the right side. But on my left, just a few feet behind...

I saw them stop as they heard a strangling sound, and their eyes went suddenly up. The man hung- half by his beard, half by his neck, strung up in a prone position while my dear demon stood triumphant on the branch above, holding the whip that snared him.

I can't spell whatever it is they said, but they didn't seem to like the idea that they might break their friend's neck if they tried to get him down- or the idea that we might break his neck if they didn't leave us alone.

So they put down their guns, and I, in a state of nudity I became steadily more conscious of, raised a finger and told them to wait. They must have understood, because they didn't move while I slipped into a robe and grabbed my favorite wand. A little shake of the wrist and that little crystal was looking red and deadly- all for play, at this point, but sometimes you have to play a little if you don't want the same kind of trouble to come again.

So I brandished the wand and made it clear these awful little savages were dealing with someone learned and sorcerous, and they drew their guns again.

Okay, we all make mistakes. We lived. But not without some difficulty. They shot the wand out of my hand and started firing up into the tree like the maniacs I knew they'd be. Despite everything, it didn't seem right to strike them dead in Azshara. So I gave my brave companion a very carefully-measured look, and we set to work toppling these hairy little sailors.

Their man was the first to go- and morale went with him. A lesson learned from my fight with Skomag- fire in the beard stops a man from being your problem. Shortly after he ran, the other two broke ranks and made for the shore, firing back at me all the while.

I didn't get up out of the bushes until a couple hours after the last shot rang out. An invisible arm had wrapped around my shoulders without me taking notice, and invisible lips pressed against my cheek with a reassuring warmth.

She laughed as she made herself visible and looked at me. The sun and moon were sharing the sky for the moment, and she looked so truly magical in the foggy pale blue of that first-in-the-morning mirror of twilight, grinning from ear to ear.

I could have gawked at her all morning, but she slipped her arms around my neck and squeezed me as tight as she could and let out another, softer laugh.

"You had me so worried!" she said, and my heart melted so fast and so utterly I simply dropped down and laid my head in her lap, utterly helpless.

She was so worried. The succubus. My dearest friend, most faithful companion, and beloved... what? Mate?

I doubt any orc in the city would approve of me calling her that, but after a few more dwarven ambushes like these, we might be due for matching tattoos and a dance around the bonfire.

Wouldn't that be nice? Do I even need more reason than "it would?"

Who's to say, Journal? Maybe someday.

Maybe someday soon.

I skulked around for the last two days. Killing and skinning enemies in the Barrens. 257 More Words

I skulked around for the last two days. Killing and skinning enemies in the Barrens. I've made gear for the allies I've started to gather. Nothing amazing, but I've made it with my own boney hands.

My most favored allies have accompanied me through two dungeons in the days since I last made a journal entry. We cleared the area known as Ragefire in Orgrimmar, and another twisting mass of caves called Wailing Caverns in the Barrens. The Caverns were by far the most expansive of the two. It took us nearly two hours to clear it and wake Naralex from his nightmare.

My allies and I will continue forward, planning to progress ourselves and get ourselves ready for the hunt. We will find the Alliance and eliminate them.

That being said... while the Alliance should be eliminated I met one good one. Their name was Prize, and while I couldn't understand their language, they did a pretty good job communicating that they wanted my shirt. Strange thing to want, but I wasn't needing it anymore, I had others. So I sold it through the Neutral AH that the Booty Bay boys run. Figure I have to make a profit right? Well turns out this Rogue wanted to give me something in return, as they didn't want to just take my shirt. So they gave me theirs. I will wear it as a fond reminder that not all Alliance are filthy mongrels, and some have a decent head on their shoulders.

Wherever you are Prize, wear my Thug Shirt with pride, and I will wear the Footpad's Shirt with pride as well...

After conquering Ragefire Chasm yesterday with a group of fellow intrepid adventurers I realized that I had now entertained a number if requests to run errands into the Silverpine Forest, to the Sepulcher. I took the Zeppelin from Orgrimmar, and it was quite an experience. 57 More Words

After conquering Ragefire Chasm yesterday with a group of fellow intrepid adventurers I realized that I had now entertained a number if requests to run errands into the Silverpine Forest, to the Sepulcher.

I took the Zeppelin from Orgrimmar, and it was quite an experience. I had a great conversation with an orc and a troll about the trustworthiness of the forsaken, with good points made on all sides!

It was quite a site, going from flying over the sea in a couldless sky to a totally socked in foggy sky where you can't see your hand in front of your face!

Many people ask me, Jyodi, where's ya Troll accent? Ya talk like one o' dem Humans! 69 More Words

Many people ask me, Jyodi, where's ya Troll accent? Ya talk like one o' dem Humans!

There's a reason for that. I grew up around humans. I didn't retain any common but even speaking Orcish I learned to keep my accent down. I wasn't exactly popular among the human population. No one spoke Zandali, no one WANTED to speak Orcish. I learned a few phrases and focused on my teaching.

But if I get heated you best believe da accent come out!! Then tha frostbolt!

The best and safest route would be to go back to Stormwind so I began my travel to the Dwarven district. Upon arriving I entered the Deeprun Tram to Ironforge. 134 More Words

The best and safest route would be to go back to Stormwind so I began my travel to the Dwarven district. Upon arriving I entered the Deeprun Tram to Ironforge. The Gnomes and Dwarves had engineered a great and vast underwater tunnel that connected both Capitols. In Ironforge I stopped by the local Weapon Master and was taught how to use a gun. This would greatly aide my in my journey. To reach Dark Shore I would need to travel from Ironforge and through the tunnels of Loch Modan to reach the Wetlands. The Wetlands were home to many amphibious beasts. I clung to the road stealthing past giant gators. I finally reached Menethil Harbor. I stayed the night and rested for a few days. The Dwarven Music and food were interesting to say the least. I went down the the docks one morning and chartered a ship to Auberdine. Where I finally made landfall at my desired destination. A new adventure awaited me.

I went to Westfall to see Gryan Stoutmantle of The People's Milita. The people feel like the Stormwind Royalty have abandoned the region. 107 More Words

I went to Westfall to see Gryan Stoutmantle of The People's Milita. The people feel like the Stormwind Royalty have abandoned the region. So the people formed a milita to deal with the threats from the Defias Brotherhood and mechanical golems. I battled many beast to supply the locals with sustenance, I slaughtered many Defias and Gnolls. No matter how many I killed the numbers never seemed to dwindle. I began to understand Stormwinds position on the matter. Westfall offered little strategic value aside from the Deadmines and those were aleady lost to the Defias Brotherhood. It wasn't worth my effort, the corruption was too great. I grew disgusted by my surrounds and decided to leave Westfall for nicer scenery. I fled for Auberdine and the twilight of Dark Shore.

While questing in Darkshore and fighting Grells I got myself into a sticky situation. Two of the dark creatures attacked me at the same time and once I thought I was certainly done for, I felt my body almost float upwards and I was flooded with a feeling of warmth and love. 209 More Words

While questing in Darkshore and fighting Grells I got myself into a sticky situation. Two of the dark creatures attacked me at the same time and once I thought I was certainly done for, I felt my body almost float upwards and I was flooded with a feeling of warmth and love. My surroundings became brighter and even though I was trying to fight of the Grells I had to turn around.

When I turned around I saw another strange creature, this one less foul than the Grells however. A human paladin stood there, his right hand in the air. I was confused but there was little time to think. I turned back to the Grells and fought them, the paladin shortly joined me and together we defeated the Grells.

After the fight the paladin introduced himself as a paladin from < The Order of the Light >. It was all very confusing, I have barely met humans in my life, growing up in Moonglade and just a couple of years ago moving to Teldrassil. The paladin did however seem very kind and as we parted he told me "May the light guide you." I was quite surprised that a human would be familiar with Elune but I replied "May Elune's light shine upon you stranger."

Humans seem like an interesting type of people, my mom always told me good things about them. I will try to make more acquaintances with humans in the future, it will also help me in my quest for explaining my past....

It feels like there's something missing with the previous page only half-filled, but whenever I look at that empty space I know I'll it'll all come back to me. The most wonderful night, like none other I've ever had. 523 More Words

It feels like there's something missing with the previous page only half-filled, but whenever I look at that empty space I know I'll it'll all come back to me. The most wonderful night, like none other I've ever had.

But this page has potential. And so does this little adventure of ours. Have I ever actually written down what it is I seek? Ha, I'll look truly out of my mind far in the future, reading back through these pages and ignoring my impetus over and over again.

Our neighbors to the north are terrifying. I once called their warmaking "butchery," and that is precisely what it is. They kill in silence, with shocking efficiency, and move on to the next target as soon as they loose a single deadly arrow.

I've watched them come down on wandering travelers- merchants of the Horde who venture a little too high up the road, or happen to be in the wrong place as an elven patrol crosses the Barrens- and the way they act compels me to ask questions.

I must have missed it. The moment everything turned on an axis and brought them down on top of us. At Hyjal, I've been told we stood shoulder to shoulder to save the entire world. Stakes I'd rather not contend with, frankly, but I'm very glad someone did. Thrall is a fine leader, and I've heard rumors that the human woman who went up with him is very charming.

So why must we kill each other, then? Just to keep us from setting foot in their forest? Is it truly because we felled a few trees out of turn?

But none of these are the question I'm trying to answer. Elven secrets are the true history of this place, the only record of all that was. Names to affix to these ruins, and names to affix to those who ruined them. Azshara was named for a city, but where is it? A rumor says it went down to the bottom of the sea, but I have no means to go that deep and see for myself.

The Legion has been here. The very same Legion my beloved once belonged to, a few moments at a time, before a new master summoned her. To hear her tell it, there are a great many reasons even beyond the terrible un-being of the Nether not to go back.

And that's the real question, here. What did the elves know? Their queen, what sort of wonderful, terrible creature was she?

I don't think I'll have to threaten the entire world the way she did, but I know what I want, and she knew how to get it. If the legends are worth anything, she knew how to do whatever she wanted.

I only need a little taste of that to set things right for her. Someday- if I can weather the aggression of the elves, brave their roads, delve in their ruins- I can undo the damage the Legion has done to my dearest demon. I can promise her a future of her own, even after I die, where she will need no master and calling her true name will mean nothing.

With how many times she's saved my life since that night in the midst of the war, I think it's the least I can do.

Looking down in my three fingered palm at the pair of totems hanging around my neck, Earth and now Fire, as well, with a little assistance. My Searing Totem crackles at my enemies as they fall, alongside the ever present boon of my Strength of Earth and Stoneskin totems. 318 More Words

Looking down in my three fingered palm at the pair of totems hanging around my neck, Earth and now Fire, as well, with a little assistance. My Searing Totem crackles at my enemies as they fall, alongside the ever present boon of my Strength of Earth and Stoneskin totems. My summoned magical companions. My gifts of strength courtesy of our divine Earthmother. They fight alongside me as I battle Quillboar, Harpy, Centaur, and the myriad beasts of The Barrens doing this bloody work I've found at the behest of several folk residing at The Crossroads.

I hear tell there are goings on in Ratchet. Some folk seeking kinship in this storm of blood. I know little else about it. So surely I shall have to investigate if I am to learn more. That will be later, now.

For the time being I concern myself with the grim work of thinning the local population of Zhevras, in an attempt to find several pristine examples of their hooves. Then I have to journey West of The Crossroads and fight through raptors and Centaur to collect some fungal growth for a Forsaken apothecary. I do not like how he seems to presume I am too stupid to understand the reason for his wanting them, and instead simply dumbs down his speech and insists I collect them for a little coin. The pretension irks me, but work is work.

I can feel myself getting stronger every day out here, underneath these wide open skies and the cruel scrutiny of always watching my back for raptors, hyenas, Qiullboar, and all manner of other evil which surely breaks itself against my shield and falls like ripened fruit beneath the blows of my hammer. Siln is pleased with my progress when I journey to Thunder Bluff, and I've caught whispers there are troubles beneath Orgrimmar with the Burning Blade cult. It seems the world is also getting darker, stronger, meaner with every passing day. I cannot hardly contain my apprehension nor my excitement about the future.

I know I'll be fine as long as I keep my going with my best hoof forward. No looking back, now. This journey has only just barely begun.

His path was revealed to him at a young age. Detlef was the first child born in a new Tauren settlement, and his siblings and cousins were to come in the following months and years. 271 More Words

His path was revealed to him at a young age. Detlef was the first child born in a new Tauren settlement, and his siblings and cousins were to come in the following months and years. As the inland village grew in size from refugees of the Murloc coastal raids, traveling merchants and doctors began to stop by. Onak Maplehorn’s mother was well known in birth-lore and medicine, but with her fame came hubris...and carelessness. As Detlef’s siblings and cousins were born and lost within a fortnite under her care.

What the village accepted as the will of the Earth Mother, Detlef did not. He vowed to learn proper birth-rites to ensure this would never happen again.

Many years later Detlef would come across Onak’s mother again. In adulthood Detlef's powers as a shaman had developed and he no longer saw with clouded eyes. It was clear that Onak's mother had not lost her touch- but that she was in the thrall of a demon. This remnant of the Burning Legion sought to eradicate life on Azeroth before it ever even entered the world by targeting the unborn.

Detlef forgave Onak’s mother for the loss of his kin and after a vicious fight the demon was ripped from her soul. Onak's mother survived the exorcism but was left a broken shell from the years of torment. Her deeds will never be forgotten, and perhaps Onak would continue her quest to practice Birthing Rites throughout Kalimdor.

This was the path that was decided for Detlef as well. He shall continue to educate Azeroth on Birth-Lore and will vigilantly fight for the future inhabitants of our world. But should the demons come for Onak like they did his mother, Detlef will be the one to quell the demon’s thirst with its own blood.

Marshal Dungan sent me to WestBrook Garrison. Their Deputy Rainer needed help to alleviate the Gnoll threat. 61 More Words

Marshal Dungan sent me to WestBrook Garrison. Their Deputy Rainer needed help to alleviate the Gnoll threat. I eliminated many Gnolls and took back their armbands as proof. Then the I went to collect the bounty on the Gnoll menace known as Hogger. Upon defeating Hogger I was rewarded with a very nice chest piece that fueled my strength in battle. With the Gnoll threat diminished I made my way to Westfall where I would continue my adventures.

Remy "Two" Fingers is convinced that a Murloc Threat is coming. I spoke to Marshal Dugan about it. 45 More Words

Remy "Two" Fingers is convinced that a Murloc Threat is coming. I spoke to Marshal Dugan about it. I am to report to Guard Thomas to help investigate. Sure enough I found the corpses of two footman half eaten by the river bank. Murlocs had put together a lodgement of stick huts. I retrieved their medallions and reported this back to Marshal Dungan.

Earlier today in the barrens I found an incredible artifact! I don't know its history, but it's clearly infused with magical power. 64 More Words

Earlier today in the barrens I found an incredible artifact! I don't know its history, but it's clearly infused with magical power. By merely holding it I can feel my spirit lift and my vigor rise.



Inscribed on the side are the words, "Beaded Orb of the Whale". It glows. I think it compliments the wand Weesus crafted for me two days ago perfectly. I just awoke from a nap at The Crossroads inn and, I feel ready for anything.

Marshal McBride thinks my services will benefit the alliance so he is having me deliver a report on local activity to Marshal Dughan in Goldshire. Upon arriving I took shelter for the night in the Lion's Pride Inn. 111 More Words

Marshal McBride thinks my services will benefit the alliance so he is having me deliver a report on local activity to Marshal Dughan in Goldshire. Upon arriving I took shelter for the night in the Lion's Pride Inn. Innkeeper Farley was serving small Pumpkins this night. When I awoke in the next morning I sought out Marshal Dughan. Rejuvenated from resting my body I delivered my report. As acting Deputy I set out to Fargodeep Mines to evaluate the Kobold threat there. Later I was sent to Jasperlode Mine to scout there. It became clear the Kobolds were amassing bbut not why. Before I could investigate further an SI:7 agent tasked me with finding the Spymaster Mathias Shaw. Mathias needed me to infiltrate a Defias Brotherhood operation and obtain some intel from the Dockmaster. For completing this task I was rewarded with a nice dagger that increased my agility.

Heeding the call for adventurers I set out for Northshire Valley. There I met Marshal McBride. 47 More Words

Heeding the call for adventurers I set out for Northshire Valley. There I met Marshal McBride. He set me out to help the local and investigate the Kobold Threat. The locals also sent me to investigate a gang of thieves that call themselves the Defias Brotherhood. I dispatched their leader Garrick Padfoot, but something tells me I will be seeing more of them.

Blackrock Orcs beset upon my family home in the Elywnn Forest slaughtering my wife and daughter. My home and farm are now a burned out husk of it'1s former glory, I leave on a mission of duty to help upend the Orc threat! 32 More Words

Blackrock Orcs beset upon my family home in the Elywnn Forest slaughtering my wife and daughter. My home and farm are now a burned out husk of it'1s former glory, I leave on a mission of duty to help upend the Orc threat! No longer will I remain idle while innocent lives hang in the balance. I will take up my daggers once again and join the fight, this I swear as a solemn oath!

Today I traveled to the Valley of Trials to continue my fledgling training in the arts of shamanism. Even though I had read an article in the Times that suggested there was a surge in travelers seeking training and refuge there I was not prepared for the sheer wait I had in store for me. 105 More Words

Today I traveled to the Valley of Trials to continue my fledgling training in the arts of shamanism. Even though I had read an article in the Times that suggested there was a surge in travelers seeking training and refuge there I was not prepared for the sheer wait I had in store for me. It seemed an impossibility just to approach the first trainers.

Sitting at camp outside the Valley, pondering leaving the Valley and traveling to another far off training ground, I remembered some wise words from the Tauren that encouraged and suggested that I travel here. "There is a lesson in everything." , he said. As I sat and wondered what the lesson in this was, I realized my training had already begun. I was being taught patience and I immediately resolved that I would meet this lesson with perseverance. For all good things come to those who wait and this was, after all, my home!

The day I so eagerly awaited arrived, and with it apparently came countless others to Northshire with similar goals as me, which came as a blow to my ego as I thought I was one of a select few. Instead among all these people I was no promising warrior, I was just some second-rate blacksmith's apprentice who barely knew how to swing a sword. 389 More Words

The day I so eagerly awaited arrived, and with it apparently came countless others to Northshire with similar goals as me, which came as a blow to my ego as I thought I was one of a select few. Instead among all these people I was no promising warrior, I was just some second-rate blacksmith's apprentice who barely knew how to swing a sword.

Despite starting off my Northshire experience with a bruised ego, when they gave me and the others our first tasks to clear out some wolves and an infestation of strange rat-folk I hit the ground running. Despite not knowing much about how the intricacies of sword-play worked, I learnt quickly against those overgrown mongrels and walking rats.

While I was fine with assisting in any way I could if I had to, when I smugly asked Deputy Willem if they had anything more important than some wolves, I cannot understate how shocked I was when he said that there were some criminals from a group called "The Defias Brotherhood" nearby that he wouldn't mind being disposed of.

Now what I'm about to write may sound hypocritical, but if it's for the safety of the people I would gladly purge rat-folk or some wolves from dawn to dusk, but to slay my fellow man? That is a daunting task I did not expect to have thrust upon me so soon.

Despite my qualms with the task, a knight does what he must to protect order, so this Scarlet Squire shall do so as well. This is when I learnt that a battle to the death with your fellow man is much different than a battle to the death with some wolf, no man fights honorably when their life is on the line.

No one ever told me just how bloody being a knight can be, the sheer sight of it after the criminal "expired" was enough to send me about fleeing, however shameful enough to write. However my prayers from my last journal entry were answered, the light gave me a revelation that I shall carry with me always. How could I call myself a Scarlet Squire, if I ran and hid when I saw the scarlet life that flows through all of our veins?

With my resolve strengthened, I finished dispensing justice to those criminals, and the Marshal of Northshire sent me back to Goldshire to report to Marshal Dughan. After reporting to him I returned to my oh so favorite place in Goldshire, The Lion's Pride, which has inadvertently became my base of operations. Something tells me I'll return here alot in my journeys to come. Signed, as always, by Scarlet Squire Penne Brando

After that strange dream of mine, Azshara seemed the most likely choice for our next leg of the journey. Well-provisioned and only ever-so-slightly behind schedule due to an early-morning rendezvous, we struck out into the unknown. 1203 More Words

After that strange dream of mine, Azshara seemed the most likely choice for our next leg of the journey. Well-provisioned and only ever-so-slightly behind schedule due to an early-morning rendezvous, we struck out into the unknown.

Knowing the lay of the land has never been my strong suit- father was the tracker, after all- but it surprised me a great deal to see grass and trees such a short distance from the arid mesas of Durotar. The entire climate gives over to perpetual autumn in the blink of an eye, and there's an eeriness to that which I have trouble giving a name.

I almost want to say it's as if time has stopped, but that isn't true. The hippogryphs soar high overhead, raking each other with their antlers in what I can only assume is a struggle over a mate. A giant made of stone stumps its way up and down a hill on thick, squat legs, carving a rut in the ground as it frets over some eternal something.

In that respect, it reminds me a little of myself. Lockets and dreams, love and secrets, sex and society... do I belong in this Horde, if I need to know this much about the elves? When I look at this woman who only stands here beside me because once upon a moonless night I called to her, is it my burden or hers that makes me ache?

She says that she would rather be here than be nowhere. Better to be than not to be. But there has to be more than that- why should she simply be when she could live? Even thrive?

Twice in our journey across the hills that overlooked the shore we found ourselves stopping, tossing down our bags, making love there in the tall grass without a second thought- but if she and I are anything alike...

...I think that mood so urgently overtook us because it was easier than do something than to say something.

There are things I have to tell her, things I better understand how to say now than I did only a week ago. She's lying on her back now, her armor cast aside in a pile while shoots of wild phlox wreath her face and tickle her ears. And I... well, here I sit, brooding as the sun sets, unable to open my mouth to say what I'm writing. Maybe I should just give her the book. Maybe-

Cool, soft hands settle on Bluetongue's shoulders, raking black nails gently across them both. A shiver runs up the orc's spine as those dangerous would-be claws dance across her skin, light as a feather, and then come forward. Tattooed arms hang around her in a loose hug that still somehow paralyzes her- the journal is open in her hand, her wand-tip still aglow with a tiny bead of writing heat.

"Not a soul for miles and miles," offered the most beautiful voice in the world, a soft cheek easing in to press against Moxie's. She could feel the smile without looking, and felt a smile of her own struggle to the surface through a sea of uncertainty.

"We could go again," the succubus continued, punctuating the sentiment with a high, sugary little laugh. "Or, if it would better please you..."

There came a long pause as she shifted, pivoting around Bluetongue until she loomed over the seated orc- and then she sat herself, drawing both knees up to her chest and regarding her favorite set of hazel eyes with a kind of shyness that seemed almost foreign to her wicked features.

"...You could tell me what's troubling you, instead of telling that little book."

Bluetongue unfroze as if working the numbness out of a limb, blinking with care, chewing her lip, swaying a little on the spot until she was sure she could function.

If she really loved this succubus the way she was sure she did... didn't that mean trusting her with this kind of thing too? Warlocks are made of secrets- if she betrayed that nature and let herself be truly known, even in the name of love, didn't that betray what she was?

The succubus watched her think about it, and eventually grew impatient enough to reach across and set a hand on the orc's bare thigh. "You and I could swap lives and not know the difference. Putting me through so much anticipation, ahah, is a special kind of torture, Moxie Bluetongue."

Suddenly questions of betraying the nature of her station didn't mean a thing. She was whatever she was, and this succubus...

"...You're the most important person in my life."

Blue's voice was quiet and rough, and that old fear gripped her so tightly she thought she might keel over and die on the spot. And yet, there was more she meant to say.

"I fear an inversion of our pact. Have you seduced me? Am I more yours than you are mine?" Trembling eyes rose to meet glittering obsidian, the succubus leaning forward on her knees, mere inches from Blue's face.

"Or is all this real? Please, if any part of you is compelled to deceive me, deny it just this once. I need the truth if I'm to go any further."

This time the succubus paused, a wounded frown taking over that mischievous face for the first time. She exhaled and looked away, wiping an eye.

"Fool," she eventually said, shaking her head. Then she laughed- a short, sharp sound that was nearly enough to knock Moxie over, delicate as she felt in that moment.

"You're the one who seduced me, you, you... strange, ridiculous, temporary mortal! The gall! To offer such wonders to one of the damned! To a sayaadi tormentor! What sort of warden are you, to shackle me and then dangle something so incredible right in front of my nose...

...and now you'll yank it away, won't you? It's no different than before. Damnation is as damnation does, and I was damned long before I knew you."

She was weeping, then. Her chest shook and her shoulders fell- at least until Bluetongue wrapped her warm fingers around them and pulled.

The eternal silence of Azshara took hold of them for a moment as Blue embraced the succubus in her lap, running a hand through her hair and trying in vain to wipe away an eternity's worth of tears as they came rushing forth unbidden.

The only way forward is through. It was true for her father. She felt it was her own truth as well.

"No," the warlock finally said. "No, I would never." Her voice was small, humbled, and in whispers she finally gave up the whole truth.

"I meant every word. I was only afraid... afraid that if anything changed, for good or for ill, that I would unbalance it all and lose you."

The succubus looked up at her. Supernatural beauty struggled against the sincere flushed-and-wet veneer of heartache.

Both of them made to assure each other at the same time, with the same words, and all that came after was laughter and tears and blessed, complete relief.

In the same moment, for the same reasons, in one hushed, doubled voice, they said:

"You mean everything to me."

As I made my journey to the abbey in Northshire, I felt nervous but also dignified. I am eager to start my training and education to become an official Paladin of the Light. 135 More Words

As I made my journey to the abbey in Northshire, I felt nervous but also dignified. I am eager to start my training and education to become an official Paladin of the Light. As I approached the Abbey to my surprise there were several others there as well. The rumbling of war, an event that are more important than the horrors that engulf my thoughts. People from all walks of life. I thought my journey was solo, an adventure for one to defeat my foes. It almost had a festival attitude. Those lining up ready to defend the “Alliance” and the land we call home. I heard rumors of a Horde, not sure too much about the history of such brutes, but I hear the undead walk amongst their ranks. As I walk in to the Abbey Brother Samuel meets me with a bow. “How may I Help you.” “I am here for my training, brother Samuel.” “I have much to show you, we are in perilous time.”

My day has come at last. Today I have completed the Valley of Trails, the first step all great orcs must take to becoming a hero. 77 More Words

My day has come at last. Today I have completed the Valley of Trails, the first step all great orcs must take to becoming a hero.

I have decide to leave aiding senjin village to my fellow orcs and troll comrades, and instead I went to the Eastern Kingdoms to aid the forsaken. I believe that by getting to live twice means they have the most experience to offer, in addition to to their close proximity to the alliance they will need my aid.

Tonight I rest in Brill tomorrow I will aid my forsaken brothers in their war against the scarlet crusaders.

I finally got up to realize I was actually in a crypt with loads of other walking corpses. I'm not sure what's happening - but I know one thing. 113 More Words

I finally got up to realize I was actually in a crypt with loads of other walking corpses. I'm not sure what's happening - but I know one thing. I'm alive again. That's what matters. Death can't keep me down, so can anything? Only one way to find out.

I went out into the world and made quite a bit of progress. I'm one of Varimathras' Deathstalkers now. Albeit I am a new recruit, but not everyone gets to this point so I am proud. I will serve the Dark Lady and my people well from the shadows.

Soon, I will start training in a skillset. Perhaps I will craft gear from the leather of the mobs I kill? Maybe I'll go ahead and start tinkering with mechanical stuff. The future is new and exciting, and lets see where it takes us...

The most savage feral Druid Azeroth has ever witness.

The most savage feral Druid Azeroth has ever witness.

The boys found out about my transfer request and arranged for a hunt to say farewell. Nothing says "We'll miss you" quite like tracking and killing some battle boars and prairie stalkers. 383 More Words

The boys found out about my transfer request and arranged for a hunt to say farewell. Nothing says "We'll miss you" quite like tracking and killing some battle boars and prairie stalkers. We had a little feast before I shipped off with a squad of Braves for the Barrens.

The squad was bound for the Crossroads, so we made a stop at Camp Taurajo. Mother was there, helping build up new tents for the settlers. Father was off hunting, and we had to get moving before he returned. The Barrens feel larger than I remember them being. Once I could have found my way across the vast reaches as easy as one walks his kodo, but now I can't say I truly know the Barrens anymore. Too many strangers, too much noise. Not that that's a bad thing. The Crossroads have been build up into a sizable trading post, and the orcs brew some strong drinks there. But that wasn't the end of my journey.

A caravan headed west for the coast by way of Razor Hill required escort, so I volunteered. I would have stuck around the Barrens longer if I hadn't found out about Laika. Turns out she's been shipped south to deal with the Grimtotem Tribe. That's an ominous thought. I know better than anyone just how bad those brutes can get.

The caravan rolled along without incident, first to the Hill, then southeast to a little spot called Sen'jin. It's a troll village, and they were less than receptive at our arrival. Apparently they've been having trouble with some voodoo and hexes or some such from the savages off on the Echo Isles. Once the caravan was offloaded, I joined a raiding party heading to the Isles to clean out the renegades spreading curses.

I wasn't expecting what I found out there. Quillboar magic is something I've seen a lot of. Their thorny growths choke the land like a plague, but they've got nothing on these voodoo trolls. In one skirmish, I saw one of our hunters' arms shrivel like a dried-up plum in the space of a breath. All it took was a touch and a word from the head hexer. Glad that asshole's head came off. I half expected him to grow back a new one.

These trolls are a strange lot. I'm in need of some rest after that last battle, but we're heading out again tomorrow for a fishing trip. Should be a nice change of pace.

I was not the only adventurer making their way through the forest it seems. In fact the land was positively swarming! 93 More Words

I was not the only adventurer making their way through the forest it seems.

In fact the land was positively swarming!

Bringing my Mallet down onto the first Kobold i slew came pretty easily, im not ashamed to admit that I enjoyed it. Killing vermin and darkwrought creatures seems like a calling of mine. Although being deputized to kill my own countrymen, (as roguish and cutthroat as the were) caused me to hesitate slightly.

Oh well. It appears that evil comes in many forms. I aim to make my way throughout the world by the strength of my arm; with my faith to steady me, i'll take any job rewarding experience, gold or armaments.

It feels good to be back home. It feels good to be fighting honestly. 19 More Words

It feels good to be back home.

It feels good to be fighting honestly.

It feels good to be fighting, honestly.

Maybe I'll try to commune with the Great Bear Spirit once again..

Dear Master Angler, I keep tryin’ ta catch Spotted Sunfish ta sell ‘round town fer buyin’ a dolly fer mah sis - but the dang things keep givin’ me tha slip! Can you give me some tips on startin’ out? 738 More Words

Dear Master Angler, I keep tryin’ ta catch Spotted Sunfish ta sell ‘round town fer buyin’ a dolly fer mah sis - but the dang things keep givin’ me tha slip! Can you give me some tips on startin’ out? -Jamin, Lakeshire

Hi Jamin, thanks for writing and for your interest in angling! Like most folks, you heard about the usefulness of fishing but are finding it hard to get started - but all you need to do is learn some of the finesse and skill behind angling. Here are some tips to learning the basics, practicing the trade, and catching those Spotted Sunfish!

First, go track down your local Fishing Trainer for some basic guidance for beginners - you can talk to my old buddy Matthew Hooper in town (tell him Thereza sent ya), but my other readers should ask a guard for directions to their local angler. They’ll give you the rundown on how to toss a line out and how to bait a hook.

Next, you’ll need a nice sturdy fishing pole. You can’t just cast a line out on a stick or something - that’ll never work. A friendly merchant in trade goods should be able to help you out, check if Ms. Davenport has any in stock - my other readers should likewise check with their local trade goods merchant or quartermaster. Don’t worry about the fancy poles to start, but definitely keep an eye out once you have had some practice. While you’re shopping with her, see if she has any Shiny Baubles - bait is crucial for getting fish to bite down hard. Don’t worry about the more expensive bait, that takes finesse to use properly - just focus on the basics for now. Lastly, make sure you have some space in your bags for all the fish you’ll be catching!

Once your preparation is all done you’ll want to head over to a good fishing spot. Unfortunately, the fish of Lake Everstill are way out of the league the greenest of novices, but it won’t take long to get good enough. Ask your pop if he can walk you down to Elwynn forest, where the fish are much easier to catch. You don’t need to travel too far - the banks of the river south of Stone Cairn Lake should do. Those waters are chock-full of Brilliant Smallfish and Longjaw Mud Snapper - both of which are great fish for beginners due to their temperament and size.

Once you arrive at the riverbank, you’ll want to bait up your pole with those Shiny Baubles - they’ll catch the eye of any fish swimming the river’s waters with how they scatter the sunlight and be very noticeable even from the weeds. Next, get a good grip on your pole: both hands! Then once you’re ready, cast your line out into the middle of the river and try to avoid the shallows when starting out. Now for my favorite part, waiting for a bite - enjoy the sounds of nature, listen to the wind through the trees and the gentle lapping of the water. This will help ground you for the fan-favorite - the strike! When a fish latches on your bobber will dip and splash so grab on tight and haul the thing up and out of the water!

If all went well, you should be proudly holding onto your first catch! For your goal of Spotted Sunfish you’ll want to practice for a while - maybe catch four or five score of the Smallfish and Mud Snapper who make the banks of Elwynn their home. While some will get away from you, you should find that it gets easier and easier as you practice - you’ll get used to the way the line moves when fish are nibbling, you’ll improve at setting the hook when they bite, and of course you’ll get better at detecting the unique way each kind of fish moves about.

After you’ve caught enough, you and your pop can walk back up to Lakeshire - I’m sure he’ll be really proud of you for all the hard work you’re doing. Once you’ve made it back and are up for going after the Spotted Sunfish, be sure to use your bait (Nightcrawler if you can), be patient, and don’t give up if some of them get away from you - with persistence even the biggest fish can be caught.

Thanks for writing Jamin, and Light be with you!
-Thereza the Master Angler

I have enlisted with a fresh order of Knights. The Knights for Righteous Reclamation of Lordaeron! 195 More Words

I have enlisted with a fresh order of Knights. The Knights for Righteous Reclamation of Lordaeron! Though much of my old home remains under the command of the Scourge, we will rally as one and push back all enemies of the Alliance. Word of a strange breakaway faction of undead, said to be free of the command of any vile lord, come this far south. And that they've allied themselves with the Horde!

We will see. For what difference is there between a free and enslaved undead? What other course could such a free soul seek but the mercy of a lasting death? That the Horde would ally with such wretched creatures is of no surprise. What orcs can speak will blather about honour but they seem to know nothing of it. Any dark ally is of use to them. We'll see how loyal the dead really are when their backs are turned.

The order plans to seek a foothold on Lordaeron, but for now we bolster our numbers and our strength in Azeroth. There are plenty of threats to be dealt with here. How can Stormwind bring forth justice if it can't even keep it's own lands safe? My purpose in leaving Northshire is becoming clearer the further I travel.

I filled all yestereve with missions for Marshal Mcbride. The rumours of flagging guardsman presence were more than true! 230 More Words

I filled all yestereve with missions for Marshal Mcbride. The rumours of flagging guardsman presence were more than true! The mines were overrun with kobolds and the Defias Brotherhood, as they call themselves, had shut down Milly's orchard to us. I find red to be a good colour for them. The bloodstains don't ruin their cloth.

I met a new priestess to the abbey, Taelena. A stalwart ally, her holy magic packs quite a punch, though she seems driven by a depth of unfathomable purpose. But it is good to have her at my side. Together we bested the Defias in Northshire, though their leader eluded us still. Yet we pressed on, a calling from one of her order drew her to Goldshire, whereas I was drawn to Stormwind. I had spotted the glimmerings of copper ore in the mines and felt frustrated that I lacked the tools to obtain it.

The night drew in and folk began to seek out their homes. I thought that it would be a good idea to seek a bed, so to the inn I went. My dreams that night were strange, I felt as though I was trapped on an endless road. Goldshire would only briefly come into view before the comfort of the town would fade and I would find myself once again at the start of my journey. I awoke the next morning feeling as if I'd actually walked those many miles, but I set off back to Goldshire nonetheless.

Dear diary, I went to Northshire Abbey. The tome I was looking for was there. 126 More Words

Dear diary,

I went to Northshire Abbey. The tome I was looking for was there. In my studies I was able to improve my powers of the Light, along with learning how to make others feel the nightmares I also felt. I am not going to report that last part back to my superiors.

At the Abbey I made a friend, a swordsman named Ein. We slaughtered both kobolds and bandits known as Defias.

On my return to Stormwind to report back to my superiors of my advanced abilities in the Light I took a nap. While attempting to leave Stormwind I kept trying to leave, but I would suddenly be back in my bed. Eventually, I was able to wake and leave for real. Others such as Ein report the same nightmare. I may not be alone with this curse.

This is not good. We haven spoke in years, yet, he specifically called for me... 45 More Words

This is not good.

We haven spoke in years, yet, he specifically called for me... Mcbride, you son of a motherless ogre.

I dont have any of my old garments, but I think a old maul that I use to make fences will suffice if anything happens in Northshire.

I have a bad feeling about this... please, look over me.

Stabbins is a Johnny on the spot type of guy. A real go getter and do-gooder. 43 More Words

Stabbins is a Johnny on the spot type of guy. A real go getter and do-gooder. Stabbins loves helping out the community and fighting injustice wherever it is. A true lover of the people Stabbins is not a fan of corporate greed and detests anyone who does not care for their community. Stabbins supports the camapain of Mayor Moneybucks

I suppose it is time that I make a start on this journal, to document all of what is to come. In the dead hours of noon, I had taken a journey south of Dolanaar, towards the very rim of Teldrassil. 913 More Words

I suppose it is time that I make a start on this journal, to document all of what is to come.

In the dead hours of noon, I had taken a journey south of Dolanaar, towards the very rim of Teldrassil. The sun irritated my skin; regardless, I bore it. There grew a great branch, stretching out towards the Veiled Sea. I stepped out along its body, feeling the fury of the wind upon this world’s precipice. As it whipped around me, I placed myself at the very edge of this outreached, oaken hand, and took in the horizon.

The sea’s mists wrapped around the coast of Teldrassil, grasping towards the peaks of Hyjal. Nordrassil’s boughs yet towered above it, and nonetheless the fog climbed. My vision may no longer be clear, but the horizon yet maintains, thankfully. I sat down, and let my legs dangle out towards the open sky.

A compulsory resolve took hold. Breathing out, I fell back on the branch and closed my eyes. Let the dreams seep over my mind. It was a selfless thrill: Durahni always said I should seek such things. Perhaps not as he willed, alas.

A return to that same lake, though that fog of sense was gone. I raised myself from the stump, and walked along its banks. It was all silent. My footsteps did not rustle the grass, disturb the sheen of the water. My ears could not find even the slightest anomaly to twist into a half-sense.

From the waters arose the three bodies of the children, grown now. They were ghastly faeries, corpses bound with a defiled magic. With nothing to cloud me, I could finally recognize them. Velinde’s face and body was still a plain, unfeatured aggregation of pinkish flesh. Vilvera bore all the trappings of a drowned sailor, complete with their drunken smile and hazy eyes. Asu’zee was burned and shredded, maintaining that stiff, heroic temerity as she bled and blistered. I suppose I never forgot how she looked in her casket.

Asu’zee held out her bloodied hand. As I grasped it, I felt its intense warmth. Her sisters joined in; Velinde’s nails clawing into the back of my hand.

They spoke all at once through unmoving lips. To write it down would be trivial - their utterings were already too memorized, beaten into iron. There was nothing new to bear.

And all at once, their voices silenced. Asu’zee thrummed, “We’ll be here if you need us.” With that tenor, the water reeled back the three. We all held out our hands as we were pulled away, but knew better than to pull against fate.

I turned around, to notice the Feathered Guide, beckoning me once more. We walked along the cobbled roads for a time, exploring the small wonders along the way. With one artless step, I fell off what felt like the edge of the world, bringing my body with me. The land I once knew faded away into an endless sky, with winds that ripped at every joint that held me together. Below lay a sea, all too familiar in its malaise. Their hands would catch me there. And yet, the Feathered Guide did not move, entirely undisturbed by wind and gravity alike. He simply floated down with me, never taking his eyes off me.

And finally, I let the wind pass through my fingertips. Their flow was not at all mysterious; it was a familiar stranger, an unknown soul bearing the likeness of one that had long passed by. I closed my eyes, and felt myself slowing down to static. The winds no longer howled their rage; their breeze was gentle, as if caressing the strings of the loom. I felt myself adrift along a peculiar kind of stream.

It was not at all flying. Soaring, perhaps. Sailing felt like it fit the moment.

The wind carried me across the sea, towards the destined land. War-torn. Blood-drenched. Ruined and inhospitable. And yet… it held that promise. A promise encapsulated in every fresh growth that dotted the land: every unbroken beast, every laid brick, every blade of grass. The lands persevered.

Durahni smiled, at last.

My eyes fluttered, and I found myself lying across the width of this arm of Teldrassil. I hoisted myself to my feet, and stared back out at that horizon.

Those wars had ended with tenuous pacts of peace. I had never grown. But I had learned to live. Every inch of this body bears the mark of my folly. For awhile, I believed I found my salvation. But this world bears a cycle unending. And after 10,000 years, I could do nothing else but to accept its entropy, do nothing else but to live for myself.

And the wind at my back… It, too, held that promise. A promise to no longer be cut down by the past, by those ancient hands.

I would never leave it. Couldn’t. The teahouses, the arena, the lonely nights of the long vigil. Yet, like Blanche, something new could come into creation. To find something to care for, to no longer fear my own influence. It was…

I closed my eyes, and let the winds wrap around me. Remaining in their presence until their touch ceased. The smell of the sea returned. My old heart longed for it.

Shadowglen would bear the fresh faces of the new era. I would see them all, in this last night in the tired home of my old people. With one last look towards the horizon, I travelled back into the wilds. Perhaps their exiles were for the best, after all this time.

My old heart longed for it all.

Quite a day, oh journal of mine. One I would hate very much to forget. 1040 More Words

Quite a day, oh journal of mine. One I would hate very much to forget. But how can I even begin? Shall I tell you how alive I feel? How fantastically new and strange and wonderful? No, not right away. I had better start at the beginning.

With the kiss.

Before I opened my eyes, I could feel her breath against my skin, and her hands on my shoulders. She's no orc, that much is certain. She feels light as a feather, and even soft as I am, I'm sure I could lift her up in one hand.

But weight and pressure are different things, aren't they? When her lips pressed against mine and I willed myself to keep my eyes shut, it's as if the whole of Azeroth was perched atop my chest, driving the breath from me, pinning me against my bedroll until I could feel the warm umber dirt of Durotar against my back.

Warlocks of every stripe go on and on about the nature of a demon's heart, but I can tell you the truth of it now- I felt it pounding against my chest as she sprawled across me, tangling her fingers in my hair and dragging those little fangs across my bottom lip. Demons are a people unmade, and that is the truth of it. Unmade like we were unmade, maybe, separated from their traditions, separated from their identity.

I know, because I felt the whole woman that she was. I felt her passion and her warmth and her tenderness, all of it boiling to the surface of that fantastic demonic form to heat my skin like a second sunrise- one behind me, one ahead.

Sunrise had given way to high noon by the time we finally let go of each other, laughing and panting and sweating there in the dust. I held her hand and looked up at the passing clouds, all my clothes bundled behind me like a pillow when any other day I might have chosen a more reasonable place for them, like my body.

She turns my fear like the flat of an axe deflects an incoming blade. When I look into those deep, nether-worn eyes of hers, I feel the overwhelming chaos of living crystallize into a single enemy, something we can fight against.

Something that she and I, together, could defeat.

With shaky legs and tell-all grins, we eventually dressed ourselves and staggered back into Orgrimmar. The spice and smoke of the markets woke a rare hunger in us- rarer for her than for me, but we ate like we deserved it, tearing chunks out of honey-roasted boar and cooling ourselves with cactus nectar served in sorcerer's cups made of living ice.

It was bliss, even when our lively hearts were made to contend with combat.

I could hear Promise laughing in my ears as the fantastic dead man whirled on us with his sword drawn. He still wore the old silver-and-blue of that dead nation, but he spoke like a man of the Horde, frank and cheery and full of a warrior's vigor.

He wanted a taste of the sorcery that had slain him. He cheered us on into the fight, that mighty two-handed blade laid flat across a bent elbow as if he meant to dive and take the legs from us.

I realized as I watched that golden death-glow in his eyes that humans were a remarkable sort of creature after all, when the pretense was stripped from them. I liked this ferocious man and his deadly blade, and we gave him the thrill he asked for, not a stone's throw from the teeming little lake where the fishers tried to find something tasty in the shallows.

The suddenness of his blows was remarkable- life must carry a certain weight, for all the ponderous swaying and momentum of a man laden head-to-toe in armor was gone. He jabbed like an ornery wasp, six feet of stinger whizzing past my head and retracting in seconds for another try. We rounded on him, a curse tumbling easily from my lips to race up his clattering bones and stall them. I could see the black magic smoking off of him as he stumbled and wheezed and struggled to find his style.

Something tightened around my heart, but it wasn't the blood rage. I felt no fire in my eyes, only an endless enthusiasm that tugged up the corners of my mouth every time we clashed. I carry no weapon, but she kept blessedly close to me, catching his wrist in her whip and wagging her finger like the spectacular tease she knew she was. A moment to stay his hand bought me the time to shoulder in, driving a heavy bead of shadow into his chest with the force of a dwarven rifle. A clap of thunder knocked through his armor as I hammered it into him, and he let out a yelp of surprise as it drove him off of his feet and dropped him into the dust.

"I yield," he laughed, holding up a hand for me to take. I lifted the dead man onto his feet and yanked him into a full-body hug, knocking on his helmet with my knuckles and barking my thanks into his ear.

His name is Martin Openhand, and he tells me that undeath is the greatest adventure he could ever ask for. The Horde, he tells me, is every bit the army he wished he could have lead in life. I like him. There's no reproach in his eyes when he sees the succubus and I link arms and carry on with our day.

We have made a friend, and that stays the chaos as well. There is a soothing stability in knowing I could come back to him and fight again. These little things are axes around which life can turn.

I am happy for the first time in years, journal, and I will be happy tomorrow as well.

The world is new, and so am I. What remains to be written will be wonder upon wonder, and we will walk together into it without fear.

To live like this, to love and laugh, to seek secrets and feel my heart beat again...

Throm-ka, Azeroth. I am so grateful to know you.

I have my things packed. Everything I need to help me on my way, well everything my mother says I'll need. 172 More Words

I have my things packed. Everything I need to help me on my way, well everything my mother says I'll need. Food, water and my hearthstone. I haven’t ever been without either of my parents. Sure I've gone on hunts where I am separated from them for a time. Nothing like this though. Nothing where I head out into Azeroth and begin my training. No idea when I'll be able to make it home. Soon hopefully.

Mother showed me a thing or two. Taught me a spell or two. I had no idea I could harness powers like that. She says all druids can but I need proper training from a trainer. She sent me to Camp Narache, told me to speak to Gart Mistrunner and that he would guide me properly in the ways of a Druid.

I can't believe it. Just the other day I was a regular Tauren, dreams of being a Hunter. Now I am a fledgling Druid, away from home, embarking into Azeroth. No idea what's ahead, I can't wait though. Now is my time to prove myself. Make Malwai proud and honor the memory of Ahurne.

The sun was more than half way to the tree tops when Heinz was moving again. He began to wonder if he would have to find some bushes to sleep under or if he would reach Stormwind first when the backdrop of trees finally broke to reveal something new. 1555 More Words

The sun was more than half way to the tree tops when Heinz was moving again. He began to wonder if he would have to find some bushes to sleep under or if he would reach Stormwind first when the backdrop of trees finally broke to reveal something new. Heinz could see buildings – some of wood construction, some stone. A town or village was ahead. He quickened his pace.

Several strides later he emerged into the village. People milled about, some bustling from one building to another, others standing near the roadways talking. His own road skirted along one side of the village and continued into the forest. Another intersected it and led north, with several buildings on either side of it. A pair of mail-coated men with long spears and shields and clean, blue tunics eyed him warily. They said nothing though as Heinz approached the village and did his best to appear harmless.

One large building dominated along the road heading north. He read the sign for the Lion’s Pride Inn, and decided to start there. Heinz stepped to the side as a formidable woman in leather armor and a sword strapped behind her back walked out, then he went in.

The inn bustled with patrons and waiters moving about - drinking, laughing, eating. Heinz’s stomach reminded him he had not eaten in some time. He had nothing to pay with, though. Unless this sword would be worth a roast chicken. It might be, if he did not need the sword later.

One of the waitresses gave him a disgusted look as she passed him, her nose visibly crinkling. Even with a quick face wash he must look and smell awful. No wonder the guards had given him such a hard look. He hoped someone would even talk to him.

Deciding the larger bar man was the most likely not to be bothered by his appearance, Heinz wound his way to him behind the bar. The big man gave him his own hard look but said nothing as Heinz approached.

“G- Good day..” Heinz tripped over his first gravelly words. It had been some time since he last spoke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Good day.” Better, if still raspy. The tender watched him and grunted in reply, more dubious than unwelcoming. “I’m hoping you can help me. What town is this?”

“Goldshire.” Came the terse reply. His expression now said the answer was simple enough it was strange for Heinz not to know.

“I see.” He managed quietly. He recalled Goldshire on the list of stops for the caravan, the first after Stormwind. He must be close then. “Has a merchant wagon from Southshore come through? It would have been carrying ale from Hillsbrad.”

This seemed to have helped, the barkeep seemed less severe and more on familiar ground. “It did, came through yesterday morning. We bought two casks, if you care for some?”

“Thank-you, I.. don’t have the coin to pay for it.” A damned shame. One of those casks might help him to lose the mental images of the last two days. “Did they leave this morning then?” If they weren’t too far, he could catch them on the road.

“Light, no. They were gone before mid-day yesterday. They had just been in Stormwind the night before, no point in stopping after such a short trip to Goldshire. They went on to Sentinel Hill in Westfall.”

Westfall..

Something in his expression must have shown the flashbacks entering his mind. “Look, we’re pretty full up, but if you have a copper or two I can find you some space in the stables, and a bit of bread or something. Have you got that much?”

Heinz only hesitated a moment before shaking his head. He hadn’t anything but dirty and stained clothes worse than rags and an old sword. The barkeep’s eyes rested on the sword.

“Why don’t you take that over to the blacksmith and see if he’ll give you a couple of coppers. Maybe the metal will be useful to him. It looks like its days are about done anyway, eh?”

Heinz processed that a moment, then muttered “Thanks.” He stepped away, feeling the barkeep’s gaze on his back. Other eyes followed him as he made his way out.

Back out front he stood a moment, thinking about the bar man’s suggestion. On the one hand, the sword was not much immediate use, and he must eat. He could sleep under a bush again, but he needed food more than he needed a sword. But could he use the sword to get money? Would another merchant take a stranger on as guard? Was there a spot in the local militia? They might not pay well, but maybe they gave out food. Still, he ought to test his options. With that in mind, he stepped over to the blacksmith across the way.

Heat radiated out before he even crossed through the door. He began to sweat once he did go in. Smoke, oil and other scents filled the air. Toward the back, a brightly lit fire glowed a brilliant orange-yellow. Two thick-chested men worked to either side of the large, single room. A third seemed to be sorting through equipment along the wall where tools, weapons and armor were arrayed.

“Can I help you?” The closest of the large blacksmiths asked without pausing his work. The tone of his voice sounded suspicious, likely for the same reason everyone had reacted to him that way. He did not look like he had much coin, certainly not enough to spend on new equipment from a blacksmith shop.

“I was wondering..” he hesitated a moment, then lifted up the sword by its hilt, the point facing down, “how much might this be worth?” He knew it was old and of poor quality, but seeing it near their newly made blades really made the question seem ludicrous. “At least for the metal anyway.”

The smith stared at him a moment, an appraising look on his face as he took in the sword, then Heinz himself. He finished fastening pieces of a tool together, then set it down and stepped over to Heinz. Without a word he took the sword and gave it a glance. His eyes moved up and down the weapon, but did not seem focused. Finally, he handed the hilt back to Heinz, who took it.

“Look,” he said, “I can’t say as I really need the little bit of metal that is in that thing, not to mention the metal’s quality.” He paused. “You willing to take on some odd jobs to earn a bit of coin instead?”

The question caught Heinz off guard. He blinked, his brain trying to process what the guy meant. He certainly was no blacksmith, but what did ‘odd jobs’ mean? “Yes, I would.”

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but there have been a few troubles lately. Stormwind guards keep the roads safe, but some parts of Elwynn just aren’t safe anymore. A few locals and some travelers like yourself are helping out, but they could always use an extra hand.”

Troubles? Heinz’s mind recalled images of red bandanas and call powerful beasts eating human corpses. He nodded, and the blacksmith continued.

“Well, if you want to know where to start, head up the North Road a bit. Lakeshire Abbey is up there. Marshal McBride can be found at the Abbey, and is looking for some extra hands.” He glanced at Heinz’s attire once more. “And he might be able to help you get better set with some things.”

“Ah, ok. Thanks.” Heinz replied, still a bit uncertain. His mind was still stuck on those beasts. Would he have to face those nightmares again? He wasn’t sure a few coins would be worth that. What choice did he have though? “Thank-you.” He repeated, more firmly. He moved his sword hilt to his left hand and offered his right.

The blacksmith shook it, nodding. “Oh, one more thing. Hal, fetch that shield the guy left behind.” After a moment, the shop helper came over with a round shield. The wood slats were bound together with metal bands, but several nicks and gouges decorated the surface. It looked like it might come apart at one more blow, or simply by dropping it. “Here. I know it isn’t much but.. take it. Customer bought a new shield and just tossed this out front. Perhaps you can use it.”

Heinz imagined the materials on the shield were worth even less than his sword, but he took it gratefully. It was a kind act of generosity. “Thank-you again.” He nodded, looking to include the other two men in the shop. After a moment, he turned and stepped back out into the road. Behind min the sounds of work resumed.

Out of the shop, he turned, his eyes following the road as it wound its way north. What awaited him if he went? Where would the road take him? He was already so far off what he thought he was doing when he left his siblings and home behind. How much further would this take him? Could he even get back home?

His stomach reminded him that whichever way he chose, there needed to be food at the end of it. Still not completely certain, he took a step forward. Then another. Tucking his sword behind his shield and carrying them to his left, he began his journey.

I chopped my hair into a bob to keep it more manageable. I laid new clothes out by my bedside, alongside a giant mallet that I borrowed from the stables. 104 More Words

I chopped my hair into a bob to keep it more manageable. I laid new clothes out by my bedside, alongside a giant mallet that I borrowed from the stables.

I can't sleep. The excitement of my first day as an adventuring paladin keeps me awake... but there are noises.

A pack of wolves howl at the moon. There are rumblings at a nearby mine, and not a sound, but i feel something in the night air. Call it premonition, but I have a sense that things are going to be much more exciting around the abbey this coming day.

I plan to wake and perform my morning duties as quickly as possible, so that i can wave farewell to my teachers in good favor, and head into Elwynn.

If only i could sleep!

Dear diary, You shall be the secret tome where I gather my thoughts and hide my secrets. I had the dreams again. 101 More Words

Dear diary,

You shall be the secret tome where I gather my thoughts and hide my secrets.

I had the dreams again. Horrors beyond my ability to transcribe or explain. Yet, the most vile part what that I felt strangely at home. When I woke up, I felt refreshed and energized: an alien feeling after days spent awake. I told my superiors that I was testing my discipline and they seemed to support my test in seeing how long I could go without sleep.

But, I digress.

Rumors tell of writings in the library wing of Northshire Abbey of grimoires on the practice of holy oneiromancy. I am headed there to find and study these tomes in an effort to control my dreams.

Born of the yoke of Elune's blessed sisters am I. Born to walk the path of Elune's light I must to spread her word and her blessing upon Azeroth. 322 More Words

Born of the yoke of Elune's blessed sisters am I. Born to walk the path of Elune's light I must to spread her word and her blessing upon Azeroth. The beloved empire we once held... now in ashes and ruins. All our sins, our mistakes, and our transgressions... leave no more than rubble and remnants of times far greater than the present.


"Thee who would walk the path upon my word and my gospel... may find her destiny. Her place upon this world." Words engraved upon my forearm by scars I've inflicted myself. To not forget as I have told my newly found guardian... and only friend in my coming journey, Ulfrund Bronzebeard. The dwarven compatriots spare no compassion for our kin, but we share no difference in our endeavors as we make our mark upon this world. Ulfrund studies the mountains, the winds, the nature, its beasts, and its bounty. I study the stars and its fates. That is the way of my sisterhood. The sisterhood I was born and raised in and... to potentially fail.

But such paths we walk must one day find a fork upon its road. My brother, my eldest, has turned up missing after a graven battle upon our ancestral heartland Ashenvale. The horde seeked to disturb the balance of nature and thus was he tasked to put an end, but the taks he failed. And in his failure did we lose over a quarter of our territory. Not just to the horde, but to the Burning Legion as well, our oldest enemy.

The times have changed however, today marks the day I finally embrace mine own new dawn. This day I take new steps into becoming an envoy of Elune as all the other sisters have declared to. Whether we succed in our reclamation of all we've lost in the Great War shall be the testament Elune shall bring forth. I pray that we are strong enough to achieve such a feat. But knowing misfortune bears its ugly face upon the kin of the night, it may very well all be lost.

Honor. Honor is the most common word to hear when becoming of age as an orc. 237 More Words

Honor. Honor is the most common word to hear when becoming of age as an orc. From your comrades to your teachers, all they spout is honor and what one must do to achieve it. Titles is the driving force of honor from what I've seen. To become something of the sort of a "Hellscream" or "Deadeye". Others speak of their deeds and how they not only honor themselves, but those who were involved. Honor has made our culture, orcish, into a glory seeking people. When an orc goes to war they will die in the most glorious way possible and we shall honor their sacrifice and carry out their purpose. Titles fuel the ego, but it does something far more than just that. It fuels the inspiration of those who shall succeed you. No one's death is meaningless.

Although I am not born of Draenor, I have been passed down the teachings of the Bleeding Hollow. Their traditions are mine in turn and that gives me the strength to push onward. Ghosts, visions, poison, and blood are all part of my heritage.

A heavy burden weighs down upon those who align themselves with clans. In the end you do not choose your titles, you earn them. One does not wish to earn a title to besmirch their name such as a "Heartbroken" or "Lowspirit". I hope I will live long enough to earn a title that isn't something to learn from, but inspire to.

Seduction. Glamour. 633 More Words

Seduction. Glamour. A little bit of pain, just to motivate. A click of the teeth, fangs against black lips. All these things make the world go round, don't you know?

And none of it seems quite as crucial to how I live and breathe, when I look at you.

You're asleep now, and watching the curls upon your cheeks sway whenever you exhale has me hypnotized. You're so strange. Strange in your kindness. Strange in your weakness. Like a playing puppy you roll over and show me your belly...

...but how little that means, when I feel no will to strike. I've watched warlocks die nearly as many times as I've felt the life slip out of my own chest, but I always fell laughing. With you, I think it would be different.

I've read this entire journal now, and you talk so much about your fears. The chaos of a waking world, the misery and confusion that haunts you so terribly, until at last you wrap your fingers around a delicate strand of life itself and pull, just to know that there is a way to have power over something. Just to know that you aren't helpless.

You could have had that upon my summoning. With my name drawn tight around my neck like the cruelest kind of leash, you could have bid me do anything, kill anyone. Torture was once my specialty, and I performed it with such relish in those days before I knew you. Before time had meaning. Before I knew I could laugh.

What am I, to you? Surely not a minion- certainly not now, if I ever was, and yet here at your side I'm happy to remain, for a moment or a lifetime.

Do you really think me to be your lover?

I balk, and yet I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't charm me.

Just like that funny blue tongue charms me. Just like the strength in your arms when you guide me out of danger- as if you'd even have to! Bid me to turn invisible and I will, but in your heart... you have to be my hero every time, don't you?

What does that mean to you? What are you saying to me when you do it?

When you run your fingers through my hair and kiss me... it isn't just for your satisfaction, is it?

You know, it's terribly vain of you to think you can make a succubus swoon.

And that's why I'm yours. Why I'll fight for you. Why I'll kill for you.

It's why I love you, warlock, and why I'll take this journey with you no matter where it goes. I thought my fate was written in blood immutable a hundred lifetimes ago, and yet here you are, changing everything all over again, every day we're together.

I know none of your spirits, but if they're good, they won't wake you now. Lay there a while longer and feel the sunrise on your skin, and I'll kiss you awake and follow you deep into the high forests, to whatever secrets your heart demands you find next.

One more time. Just one more time before I hide a secret of my own, I have to feel those words upon my lips.

I love you. Forever, warlock, I love you.

Carefully torn from the margins of Bluetongue's journal, removed with such precision that the sinewy bindings scarcely seem disturbed at all, this page- folded again and again and again- is tucked away beneath the coils of oily black felhunter leather in the handle of the succubus's whip, hidden in plain sight under the fingers of her lashing hand. There are some secrets that aren't for sharing.

Sometimes the words in your heart just need a place to call home.

Hello journal, I am writing you as I am currently so excited that I need some way to gather my thoughts. I have finally made it to Camp Taurajo, so this will be the last night before completing my journey to Mulgore to begin my new life among the Tauren, but perhaps I should explain who I am and why that is, since you’re a journal and don’t know unless I write it down. 469 More Words

Hello journal, I am writing you as I am currently so excited that I need some way to gather my thoughts. I have finally made it to Camp Taurajo, so this will be the last night before completing my journey to Mulgore to begin my new life among the Tauren, but perhaps I should explain who I am and why that is, since you’re a journal and don’t know unless I write it down.

My name is Gwawr, Of-no-clan. I was raised communally by all the orcs in the internment camp, for you see, journal, my parents have been dead for as long as I can remember, Isn’t that sad? I had friends, at the very least, and the elders told us lots of stories, my favourites were always the ones about the wise shaman and how they were connected to the land and the spirits of the elements. In the camps we weren’t connected to anything. But get this journal, Thrall came to free all of us orcs from life in the camps, and would you believe it, Thrall is a shaman! The very first of a new generation of orc shaman. I idolize Thrall, I wish to be a shaman like him, and he’s not so much older than I am.

So now I guess your wondering: “If you want to be a shaman why not get training from Thrall?” Well journal, I’m glad you asked. Being a shaman is only one part of my dream, I also wish to live a life close to nature, to feel the grass under my feet, cool rich air on my face, and see and live with the animals. You see Journal, the ground in the camps was hard and dry, the high walls kept out all air and we saw no animals. Life was fine outside the camp but Thrall took us all to a new home across the sea, a new land he named Durotar. but there too the ground was hard and dry, the air brought no relief, and the animals are all tough and cruel.

I was sad for so long, during the war all the adults went off to fight, but I stayed in our new home Orgimmar.The arid gulch that formed the city reminded me too much of the camp I grew up in. Don’t worry journal, for here is where things take an exciting twist! A met a Tauren for the first time! I immediately fell in love, for she was so strong and wise, her fur was soft and beautiful, the cutest muzzle, oh and intoxicating scent I can scarce describe! She told me all about the home the tauren had built in Mulgore, finally I would find a home perfectly suited to my ideals!

So here we are journal, one more day from camp Narache, in Mulgore, the place where I will prove myself worthy of joining the tauren and becoming one with the tribe, surrounded by as much nature and as many tauren I my young heart can take.

So journal, there it is, perhaps I should go to bed early so that tomorrow comes sooner? Oh but I’m far too excited for sleep! One more day! ;)

I knew the wound didn't look right. I knew something was amiss despite how Kyran acted as if that bite didn't bother him in the least. 228 More Words

I knew the wound didn't look right. I knew something was amiss despite how Kyran acted as if that bite didn't bother him in the least. Big, ol' idiot has to act tough even if there isn't a lioness around for miles to impress!

Before patrol, I changed out the bandage of Kyran's bite and now there is a strange green tint where the flesh should be healing. The Stable Master showed as much concern as I felt, but told me he'd be fine with a bit of rest and some special tinctures.

Unfortunately, the woman's stores were running low and she would need a fresh batch to last Kyran the week.

The herbs she needs? Waiting to be shipped by the end of the week in Darnassus. Of course.

But if this is what Kyran needs to be on his paws and by my side, I suppose I can slink in and out of the city. Granted, it's not as if my folks live there...

It's Auberdine and that blasted boat that would be the problem, but what would the chances be of either of my parents going to market tonight? If I leave now, I could catch a midnight ship over to the city and not risk any chance of my parents spotting me.

If I've avoided them for these past four years, one day shouldn't make a difference.

It'll be all for Kyran, regardless. I owe him that much. One awkward run in with my folks is worth his well being.

I grew up a nomad. My home was the road we walked on, the only walls that surrounded me were leather and canvas. 680 More Words

I grew up a nomad. My home was the road we walked on, the only walls that surrounded me were leather and canvas. But the Chief says our people aren't nomads anymore. We've got a home now, and it's supposed to be safe from the Centaur and anyone else who might bother us. Sounds like wishful thinking to me, but if truth be told, it's a relief.

On the road, there's no security except for the strength of your group. You rely on each other for food and defense against enemies. When the Centaur came -- and they did that a lot when I was a short-horned calf -- they came for blood and plunder. It was us or them; no room to question the right and wrong of killing when it's to survive. Now we owe the orcs a blood debt. They saved us from the Centaur, and the Chief says our new pact will protect us from them for good. That means I won't have to worry about holding up the weaker folks while I go out and have some fun bashing skulls.

But seriously, it is good that we found a safe place. Thunder Bluff. The name makes even a pessimist like me feel more secure. At least it would, if it weren't for Hyjal.

Damn demons. I always thought fighting for survival was something I could get used to. It became a part of who I was. But fighting for the survival of an entire continent? Maybe even the earth herself? Five years ago, If someone told me I'd be fighting to defend the entire world, I'd have laughed them off. I'm not the hero type, clearly. I'm the black sheep. I love killing, not protecting. I charge headlong into war and come out bruised and scarred, but still me. War is supposed to change people, but I'm no hero. I'm not a villain either, I hope.

You want a hero? Look at my big brother. Qarn the Sunhammer. He's brave, strong, smart, and well-loved by all. He's got friends among the orcs and trolls, and I hear he's even making a few new ones over in that grim kingdom across the Great Sea. Undead friends, who would have guessed? Not that I'd turn them away if they proved useful. I wouldn't trust them though. I told Qarn he should watch his back around those hairless corpses, but he just smiled that confident smile of his. "Don't be so negative, Kimba," he said, "They need help just like we do. We're all in this together." See what I mean? Heroes are something else.

Hard to believe I'm going to be an uncle soon. Qarn's always been mature enough that being a father isn't something that makes me look at him differently. But Fasha's little baby bump somehow makes me feel different about who I am. I'm not just a brother, son, cousin, and whatnot, but an uncle. Does that mean I've got some responsibility for the little brat? I imagine Fasha will want to set up a home for the family on the Bluff, but Qarn's off in the land of small bald people making friends for our Horde. Am I expected to take care of my brother's wife and son while he's away? Qarn's too nice a guy to ask, but where does that leave Fasha and the calf?

I'm too irresponsible to take care of a family, that's for sure. I'm better off heading back to war. That's why I'm putting in a request for transfer. I won't be patrolling Mulgore much longer. Soon I'll be back out in the Barrens, making sure our less-than-settled cousins are doing alright in the wake of the Centaur attacks.

I'll be able to check in on Laika from time-to-time. Just thinking about it gives me stirrings. We've been apart too long. It's only natural, I guess. She's a few years ahead of me on the warrior totem pole, so the Braves have her taking care of threats too big for one of my rank. We'll see how long it takes before I bridge the gap between us. I've never been one for settling down, after all.

An icy wind is blowing hard, down from the steep cliffs of Ironforge Mountain. the cold air causes the right side of my face and shoulders to ache. 316 More Words

An icy wind is blowing hard, down from the steep cliffs of Ironforge Mountain. the cold air causes the right side of my face and shoulders to ache. though two years have passed since the battle of Grim Batol, the burn scars left by the dragon fires still constrict painfully in cold weather, and It's almost always cold here. The scar should be a badge of honour, few orcs claim to have survived a fight with an adult red dragon, but for me it serves only as a reminder of my own cowardice how I abandoned the fight and was unable to protect my people.

Today I am hunting game with one the clans oldest members, Trongorn our master hunter. While we patiently wait for prey I reflect on the current state of affairs. With the fall of the Dragonmaw there is almost nothing left of the horde. Each and every clan smashed to pieces and sent scattering to the hills, hiding in their huts for fear and more retribution from the humans, and we Howlingaxes are no different. The days of warchiefs and hordes are now over and now it’s up to the likes of us, failed leaders and aged hunters, up to us to claw what meager existence we can form this world that despises us.

Trongorn wakes me from rumination with a hoarse grunt, he’s spotted a bear. We set traps and split left and right. The bear catches our sent and begins to run, I leap out and scream our signature war-howl, scaring the bear and diverting it towards Trongorn. The elder orc belts out a war-howl in echo of my own, the bear diverts again. Together we herd the bear directly into the trap we set earlier. With the bear incapacitated I swiftly end its life by splitting its skull with my axe. The kill is invigorating, blood splatter on my lips leaves me hungry for more blood, more violence.

Will this passive lifestyle of mere survival be enough to satisfy the bloodlust? Only time will tell.

Mu'sha shines on these lush grasslands tonight. The light of the Earth Mother's eye kisses my fur and fills me with vigor for the quest ahead. 360 More Words

Mu'sha shines on these lush grasslands tonight. The light of the Earth Mother's eye kisses my fur and fills me with vigor for the quest ahead. This is the last night I will rest under these stars as a young scout. Tomorrow my rites begin, I become a brave and will honor my ancestors through hunt and memory. The wind carries a sense of purpose, I know I'm not the only one who can feel it. The traders bring tales of conflict and sorrow from across the land, and of our new found allies across the Great Sea. This is a world at war, in need of heroes and brave souls, of feral warriors and fearless leaders. I am young, and told I am to learn.

I don't want any part in this war, but I will do what I must for my people and my ancestors. They call me naive and untalented, but there must be a way to heal this world of its corruption, to heal its inhabitants of the taint left by the demons. We need to learn, once again, the language of the forests. The children of the earth once hunted with the great Cenarius to keep this world safe from the shadows that stirred beneath it, they worked astounding feats of restoration to preserve the fields of life.

We survived the great storm from the west, but we lost much of our ancient songs, the druids that remain are a pale mimicry of our blood right. I wonder now if I need to reach for the Sky Father as the great Apa'ro once did. Do I need to reach the stars to find my power?

Either way I must find my balance, be it beneath An'she or Mu'sha, let it be known that I will make my family proud beneath the gaze of the Mother. The beasts, the plants and the land itself cry for aid, most are deaf to its pleas, but not us, not the Shu'halo, for we are the childrens of the earth, the guardians of the land.

The Age of War is upon us. My rifle and ax lay ready beside my sleeping furs. I will succeed in my trials. I will prove them wrong, And hopefully, I will prove myself worthy of the blessings of within.

I must write down these thoughts, before their tumultuations overwhelm my mind. It has been 21 moons since the birth of our firstborn. 1108 More Words

I must write down these thoughts, before their tumultuations overwhelm my mind.

It has been 21 moons since the birth of our firstborn. Though I am exultant, my mind has turned to the behavior of my dear Kai'mara. With the child, she has begun to leave the confines of our home and explore the tranquil glades of the woods I safeguard. Through the trees, I can spot her walking with the babe in her arms, fascinating it with the small wonders I have found and told of her of, and cleaning it in the small ponds the dot the land. Once, I have even heard her playing the bansuri to it, the bansuri that I had made for her. She practices the notes of a lullaby of her making, creating it with the counsel of the face in swaddling clothes.

When I am not at home, she evidently carries our daughter everywhere. I have seen her holding it nearby as she creates beautiful designs upon the workbench, and whenever she walks. I've been told she enjoys clinging to her mother's hair.

Even at night, she maintains her vigil over the child until she is assured that it has fallen into slumber, and only half resigning then. All of Kai'mara's sprung energy is directed onto the child.

And her face...

I still recall the day I met her. The soft whimpering in the forest brought to mind a lost maiden. As I noticed her untamed mane and unkempt clothing, I began to have second thoughts. When she noticed me, I was assured of her status as a soul with only the trees as their home; they did not speak to her. Her condition was obvious: Though the new order had welcomed all of our people, she had imposed upon herself a personal exile.

I could smell the agitated air that bordered her withering frame. I, too, once wore a similar musk. It is brought about by the inadequacy, the burden of guilt and self-doubt. I had lost my family within the great war, despite all I could muster. But I had resolved to offer that burden to nature, so that it may righten it into amelioration.

It took its time. With an outstretched hand, the fawn tentatively came to me of its own volition. I offered her shelter at my residence, in the hopes of getting her out of a forest that did not recognize her, to bring balance back to one of my discarded people. She once guarded herself with a veil, an assertion that she would not cry around me, but it naturally crumbled. And so came the flood. She did not speak of any action that would not damn her. Of past grievances her hands did not wave amicably towards. Of a forgiveness and martyrdom now drowned beneath the tides. Too many times her hands pressed the blade into the belly of innocents, and let their blood bathe her. Those scars, an omnipresent reminder of her folly.

I, too, told of her what I had lost during the war. How I could not protect the ones I loved, and how I had resolved to amend my past failures. Cowardice would no longer shield me - if I must die for my cause, then may I die with honor. And how, I, too, had once buried the gavel in the bone of my spine. In my words she found clemency. It was never enough to fully stem the tide, but she began to bear humanity once again. It was something to cling to, a suture for her trauma.

Naturally, a twinned reliance fosters something greater. All that remained was the necessary cycle of smiles, tears, and laughter. We had decided against ceremony, for our family was dead and gone, and she was not ready to meet my friends. After all, the ceremony's very nature would recall darker times for her.

There were times of struggle, I must say. Plagues of despair and doubt about whether or not she would ever find peace. Pleas for nature to afford her a justice apart from the cold rationale placed upon her.

That is why when I see her face now, her manifest expression of uninhibited joy... I cannot describe the feeling. Perhaps it is triumph. Perhaps it is the fulfillment of one's purpose. Perhaps it is merely seeing the face of a friend in the glow of the light, after all those years beneath the churning and roiling abyss of the tides.

That is why when I knew her face, and when the weight of tears returned last night, I trembled in dismay. Her love had brought forth a fresh, agonizing worry. Would our daughter be pushed to fall into the same darkness as her young mother had? Would she ever be able to find her place among her people? Would she, too, bear witness to her loved ones falling down around her? If the war would ever return, would she be another of ours to fall?

...I could not answer her qualms.

Recently, the great Malfurion had sent a message to me through an unassuming lark. He has known of my efforts to bring peace to this small slope of the mountain, of my connection. He spoke of the great change that would sweep across the land, for a refuge cannot remain so for their entirety. The hand of the kaldorei would establish a new home for itself, and bring about a new era. It would be men like I to ensure that nature's mandate would last for all generations, how my own hands would aid in bringing about peace. He spoke of mystical things; the shapes of beasts, the calling of the forest, of a place called the Emerald Dream. All of this was coming, and I would play my part.

So how am I to ensure that my own life is safe? That I may be there to protect my wife and daughter? I may die to ensure the growth of my people, but I would forever leave her questions unanswered. She has spent a century relying on me, praising me as a miracle; without me, she would be lost again.

All I can do is to ensure that it must not come to pass. For her sake, her hands must never feel the rush of blood again. I will not fail again. By Aessina, it must not come to pass.

---

I wondered if I would ever see this page again.

Perhaps she was right all along, and her fears were justified and would come to pass. So it goes.

I can write no more. Once this is done, perhaps I will have answers to those questions I asked my younger self, questions even the Dreamway could not answer.

Finally some good news has come, the Valley of Northshire is finally ready for new arrivals for the work that will hopefully turn me from a Scarlet Squire into a Magnificent Knight. On the morrow I shall depart from the Lion's Pride Inn and make my way to the valley, good thing too, because I'm fairly certain the innkeeper is getting tired of my freeloading here. 64 More Words

Finally some good news has come, the Valley of Northshire is finally ready for new arrivals for the work that will hopefully turn me from a Scarlet Squire into a Magnificent Knight.

On the morrow I shall depart from the Lion's Pride Inn and make my way to the valley, good thing too, because I'm fairly certain the innkeeper is getting tired of my freeloading here. Light bless him for his patience, and in fact Light bless me too, I will surely need it if I'm to endure these trials. Signed, Scarlet Squire Penne Brando

P.S. this "liquid courage" the barkeep sold me does nothing to calm my nerves, just empty my coinpurse and make me act the fool, so I should keep the drinking to moderation

The city is breathing. Countless bodies getting things ready for a mobilization. 144 More Words

The city is breathing. Countless bodies getting things ready for a mobilization. I fear war is indeed upon us. And yet there is a sense of calm, of assurance. We have weathered worst things.

At least, that is what history has told us. I fear my interest in past events has rubbed off a bit too much on Daesil- because now he talks of wanting to meet a dragon.

I just hope he doesn't get eaten.

Now to the most important matter. I begin my journey tomorrow, but there has been a wrench.

She moved.

I don't know where or how; but the tracking spell is pointing south, deep into the heart of Horde territory. I cannot immediately venture there; but when the time comes, I will set forth.

Yet she is still alive, at least physically. If my journey finds nothing but a shell, at least I will have my answer after almost a century.

The city is bustling, and sometimes I can barely hear myself thing! Supplies being ferried, legions mobilizing, it's not just a graduation from my book studies tomorrow. 123 More Words

The city is bustling, and sometimes I can barely hear myself thing! Supplies being ferried, legions mobilizing, it's not just a graduation from my book studies tomorrow. No, this is the beginning of something more, a new chapter in this section of history.

I can hardly wait, and even though I know danger and war lurks outside these wood walls, I cannot help but feel the call of this world to see every inch of it!

Nedrian got some bad news; I'm not exactly sure what though. He has been oddly busy. I only hope he succeeds in his journey.

As for me, my path is clear. To continue my trainings as a druid and finally venture out into this wide world!

*after note, I would love to speak with a dragon someday. Sadly, I fear my enthusiasm in such an exchange may very well be one-sided. Perhaps in time.

As I made the journey to Shadowglen today, the roads were absolutely packed with travelers. No one knows why; there's nothing specific going on, very few Kaldorei are on a specific mission. 73 More Words

As I made the journey to Shadowglen today, the roads were absolutely packed with travelers. No one knows why; there's nothing specific going on, very few Kaldorei are on a specific mission. But everyone seems to be headed to Shadowglen. When I finally made it here this afternoon, the glade was absolutely packed. Everyone here seems to be anticipating something, but no one is quite sure what. The excitement is palpable though. I've heard from a few of the locals that even the animals in the area have been more restless than usual. I don't know what's going on here, but something big is happening.

As I contemplate on the light, where I am going, where I have been. The present tries to elude me and force me to relive my past trauma. 92 More Words

As I contemplate on the light, where I am going, where I have been. The present tries to elude me and force me to relive my past trauma. Doubts enter into my mind about even being able to be the defender of Light and righteous zeal. I am but a coward, ashamed, and confused about my purpose. I have one day till I have my meeting in Northsire. The laughter of my children fills my mind. What choice do I have, should I just quit living? Should I succumb to the devastation brought on by the scourge or should I rise up and fight? My mind is weak but I have a desire to train and grow in the Light.

I've been growing restless of late. There is no specific or tangible reason for it, but I cannot shake the feeling that it's time for something more. 48 More Words

I've been growing restless of late. There is no specific or tangible reason for it, but I cannot shake the feeling that it's time for something more. I feel stagnant. Something has to change. I need a purpose, a mission, something to do besides just passing my time wandering the forests.

I think I'll head to Shadowglen and look for something to do. Surely there is someone there who could use a hand with something.

The high pitch screeches pursued him. A short burst of repeating barks, they flailed his legs to keep pumping. 1858 More Words

The high pitch screeches pursued him. A short burst of repeating barks, they flailed his legs to keep pumping. Heinz had never heard that sound until the early dawn of yesterday, and now it haunted him sleeping or waking.

He risked a glance behind, but the dim moonlight did not reveal his pursuers. He could still hear them however. Their feet ripping through the grass sounded no more than a hundred paces back or so, and definitely gaining.

Heinz considered tossing his sword to the side, he would run faster without it. He doubted it would make a difference in the end. The creatures moved as well as Heinz had feared. And he wanted to pretend he could defend himself when that time came. On he pumped, sword in hand.

He ran down the last of the small hill. It promptly bottomed out and began to slope up to the next. He stumbled slightly at the incline. His lungs burned. He wondered how his side did not have a dagger in it, it hurt so much. His legs felt simply unable to push another stride. Yet push they did. One long pace, then another, and another, as quickly as desperation could carry him.

Heinz was only half way up the slope when they reached the bottom and began their climb. Their cackling calls seemed more frequent, filled with glee. It wouldn’t be long now. This hill, or the next. Should he keep running as far as he could? Make a stand? Would it matter?

As he approached the crest of the hill, he could tell the were close. Bits of metal from their scraps of armor jingled in pursuit. The sound of crunching grass beneath their feet taunted him. His lungs prepared to explode.

Then the hill crest gave way to a small cliff. Beyond was dark with the unknown. Heinz did not hesitate, and never broke stride. One lunge hit the rocky surface of the hillcrest, the next went over nothingness. For a moment, there was only a black wind surrounding him as he floated in space. A slight sparkle of the dim moonlight was his only warning before he impacted with a spray of water. He almost lost his sword in the shock of it, scrambling with his free hand and legs to stay afloat. Was it a lake? Did the things swim?

He could hear their shrill calls in the night. He now realized they were further away and growing fainter. He continued to kick and pull himself with his unencumbered arm, but it wasn’t enough to be putting in distance from the things. No, it appeared they did not swim. Or not willingly for prey. And it seemed he was in a river, carrying him downstream. He kept up his own efforts, pulling himself to the opposite shore. He had no idea how large the river was. Those lazy afternoon swims with his siblings made him grateful now.

It was a bit later, with his arms ready to give out as his legs were, when he finally felt something solid beneath him. Gratefully he put his feet to the river’s bottom, then steadied himself when the current nearly swept him back off his feet.

Not out of it yet, he thought to himself. He leaned forward against the current and took slow, plodding steps. Each were exhausted, each became a little easier, until only his feet were in water. Then the rocky shore greeted him as he collapsed. His sword clanged as it fell into the rocks. He rolled onto his back with some effort, then took deep gasping breaths.

If they could cross somewhere, that was it. He was done. Every ounce was spent. His eyes closed.

The next time they opened, grey dawn was giving way to a soft glow on the horizon. The drab clouds which had hung above him were beginning to break apart, revealing hints of blue. The river softly gurgled on its lazy flow past the banks at his feet. He even heard the chitter of birds. It was as if the world did not know the nightmare of the past couple of days existed, he had simply woken up. He closed his eyes again, trying not to remember the shivers that had wracked his bones, Dak’s body dropping in front of him, the first encounter with that beast, seeing another gnaw the toe off his friends dismembered leg. Despite his efforts, his stomach reminded him that the ordeal of the past two days was real. He growled back at his hunger pains, then rolled to his hands and knees. Picking up the sword, he rose on stiff, weary legs.

Heinz had looked at a map back on the ship as it sailed to Westfall. He had paid most attention to Stormwind and other cities, but he vaguely remembered that a river separated the Westfall and Elwynn regions. He thought this must be it, and he had crossed into Elwynn. Really, the only place he knew of to go was Stormwind. Perhaps he would run into the actual caravan there, or on its way back through. He was alone in a strange land with no food or money. He really had nowhere else to go.

His thoughtful gaze settled on the flowing water. He was thirsty, and the water did not seem too dirty, but he decided not to chance it. Elwynn was a forest with plenty of vibrant life. There must be more and better water somewhere. His eyes drifted to the opposite bank, Westfall. None of the creatures were there. He still shuddered.

May I never return.

Turning his back to Westfall, Heinz began to plod up the small slope away from the river.

*

Sunlight dappled through the trees as Heinz trudged along. The sun was not even at its peak and he was beginning to feel warm. He was also completely dry for the first time in days. Although instead of wet, cold and plastered to his body, his clothes were now stiff, stank, and rubbed uncomfortably as he walked. He was also hungry. He couldn’t think of how to fetch any game though. He only had the sword, which would not be much use in hunting. He certainly couldn’t stalk anything with the sword. They’d just smell me coming anyway, he thought wryly. When he found water he might stop long enough to attempt to make a snare. It was not something he was good at. Maybe he could fashion a crude fishing pole, if he could find something to use for string. String from his shirt, perhaps.

Heinz continued along the road he had been following for some time. The sun had reached its zenith and was about a quarter of the way down when he heard it. The sound was a soft babbling, and it made him break into a jog towards the source. He had to move into the trees a little bit of the way, enough that he could no longer see the road.

Rays of light shone down through a crack in the leaf canopy, glittering like diamonds as it struck the surface. Water. A glorious, crystal clear stream of water that flowed from the direction of the mountains.

Heinz barely broke his motion as he went from a jog to collapsing onto his knees by a small pool. He dropped the sword at his side as he bent forward to plunge his hands and face into the brilliantly cool water. He drank deeply, washed his face and hands, then drank again before finally sitting back on his legs. Clear liquid streamed down his face and through the stubble which had grown there. He was wet all over again, but this time it felt refreshing. Heinz just sat and relished in the cool moisture slowly drying off his face and body from the comforting glow of light and gentle breezes. It reminded him of going for a swim after a day of work back home. It was the best thought and sensation he’d had since they boarded that little boat and left the ship.

Distant voices broke the moment before Heinz was ready to let it go. It startled him, his head whipped around looking for the source of the sound. Too far to make out words, he could still discern that this was no animal growl or even a call of beasts, but patterned voices. Could he have found some friendly local farmers or woodsmen? Might they have food?

He could not see the source yet, they must still be in the trees and the sound carried down the small stream. Heinz picked up his sword again as to he began to rise. He shifted the weapon to his offhand, and in an opposite grip so it pointed down. It was the best he could think of to look non-threatening without a scabbard.

A trio of men finally appeared out of the tree line further up the stream. Heinz could not make out details other than that they appeared to wear simple clothes and carried some kind of tools which glinted in the sun. Heinz was just about to walk over when one more detail stood out – they all wore a red band. One wore it as a bandana on his head, the others had something wrapped around their necks. His memory of another man wearing a red headband on a dark, rainy night flashed through his mind. The man had held a bow, had been one of the bandits killing Brak and his party.

Slowly, trying to keep some boulders between him and the men, Heinz backed away from the stream. He winced at the squelching of his wet boots but it couldn’t be helped, and they couldn’t possibly hear that small of a noise. He managed to find some scrub bushes at the base of a tree and began to step behind it.

A pair of crows cawed loudly as they flew up from the lowest of the tree branches, disturbed by his moving behind the tree. Heinz went to the ground, hiding himself as much as possible in the scrub. The birds flew off, one black feather drifting to the ground nearby. Heinz held his breath as he watched it land in the grass. Had they heard? Had they seen? He waited a few tense moments, then realized holding his breath was pointless and exhaled. He decided to risk a look. If they were coming, he needed to know to decide if he should run or prepare himself for a fight, one he would certainly lose.

The three were still further up the stream where they had been, and looking in his direction. Heinz nearly panicked and scrambled to his feet to run, but took in the scene better and stopped himself. They were not moving towards him, and so must not have spotted him yet. Their heads looked to be tilted up at the sky, as if tracking the birds’ flight.

Heinz let out another breath he did not realize he had been holding. He began to creep back further into the safety of the scrub and tree to wait the men out.

I've just received a letter from a courrier from Chief Hawkwind. I'm needed at Red Cloud Mesa. 191 More Words

I've just received a letter from a courrier from Chief Hawkwind. I'm needed at Red Cloud Mesa. There are several minor threats and a major threat that needs some sort of action. I guess I made a name for myself in Bloodhoof and they want my help for this. I don't mind the long voyage back, but I'm having difficulty leaving Tresleches. Her company has been immensely enjoyable this last week.

Not only has Tresleches been an excellent sparring partner, but the perspective she has on life is truly inspiring and has lifted me to a new level of Walk. She truly cares for all living things. Plenty of Shu'halo have a general reverence for life but a specific disdain for several different ilk, centaur and quilboar as an example. But this heifer actually cares. She wants to see the different kinds do well, and she only wants to set the encroachers back to their rightful place in Nature.

She's a rare hide and I wish to keep her influence in my life. While I return to Mulgore and she's off doing Skyfather knows what, I'll be practicing seeing the world in her way. I should make arrangements with her to meet again next moon. Maybe in Orgrimmar.

I now have an understanding of how i can wield the Light to heal myself and others, as well as a holy seal that i can use to bless my weapons. I hear from some of the Abbey's clergy that Adventurers have begun to spread across the realm from their homes and holdfasts. 5 More Words

I now have an understanding of how i can wield the Light to heal myself and others, as well as a holy seal that i can use to bless my weapons.

I hear from some of the Abbey's clergy that Adventurers have begun to spread across the realm from their homes and holdfasts. I aim to join them.

[Ingame RP will start after completion of Rogue class quest; the following is based on a backstory from guild Discord RP.] I've been everywhere and seen everything, but there's still something that always gets to me: one of my own kind, trusting and vulnerable, who may be in the sort of peril that is my daily life but can easily be the end of him. 319 More Words

[Ingame RP will start after completion of Rogue class quest; the following is based on a backstory from guild Discord RP.]

I've been everywhere and seen everything, but there's still something that always gets to me: one of my own kind, trusting and vulnerable, who may be in the sort of peril that is my daily life but can easily be the end of him. Or her. But especially him.

Wim is such, and he has himself caught in a dangerous situation after having possibly been swindled in the marketplace. I have much to do because of the tangle of events his dear poor naïve story told me--and he is blissfully unaware of any of it.

That a swindler cheated him is only the beginning. That swindler must be found and must pay. Yet who sold him that copper ore, and how he came to receive that odd talking-over-distance contraption in the mail instead, is something I don't really know. Was there an error in the mail? Was there instead an intercept by a wrongdoer within the mail service. Or was it a trap for him...

Or for me.

The troll of the Cenarion whom I dare not name said something of great value to me: "Sometimes they stand ya in the ditch, mon, so you'll look in the second floor window." That may well be the case with the sweet and innocent Wim just beginning to use that distance-talking contraption when he conveniently, right away, gets a message that someone is in trouble. A message that Mekkatorque himself understand and replies to IN BINARY CODE.

Poor, sweet Wim relayed the message without understanding it. I decoded it with enough used-up parchment and ink but also don't understand it.

What "dirty deeds" are "done dirt cheap?" And by whom?!

This could so easily be a trap set for me by somebody who knows me. I must tread carefully as every slipup could mean my death forever.

Thus I go to sleep in an abandoned house in this vast, hot-aired city with its waterfall of molten metal in its midst, my dagger to my hand under the bag on which I rest my head. Tomorrow it will be time to plan, which is also a way to act.

I am a stupid woman. An utter fool. 392 More Words

I am a stupid woman. An utter fool. How could I be so reckless? I dared skirt close to those accursed woods, knowing that an infected beast or satyr often would stray close to the path.

My folly brought pain to my beloved Kyran.

I hadn’t been paying attention, far sight caught on something deeper in those dreaded felwoods. I wasn’t paying attention, but Kyran had been. There was a felpaw wolf lurking close at hand. The beast had charged me, but Kyran bowled it over before it could take a snap at me.

Before I knew it, the two were tussling and tumbling, with me with no chance to take a shot with how they were tangled. My Kyran held his own against that diseased mongrel, despite that beast being almost as large as him!

Still, somehow it managed to get it’s jaws deep into Kyran’s main which brought the two to a sort of tug-o-war as Kyran bellowed and tried to twist free while the wolf braced and clamped those jaws harder.

That moment was all I needed to stick three arrows in the beast’s gut, but still it clung to Kyran. Even in its death throes, the wolf kept its jaws sunk deep. I had to pry the animal’s maw from Kyran’s fur, only to reveal that my lion’s mane couldn’t keep those teeth from penetrating flesh.

Concerned about what sort of infections a Fel corrupted beast would have, I tended to Kyran on the spot and cleaned the wound as best I could. Kyran for his part, looked nonplussed about the whole situation and expected praise for almost taking out such a beast all on his own.

The idiot.

He behaved enough to let me fuss over him some more before we returned to Astranaar to bed for the night. Despite Kyran acting as if he’d only been scratched, I plan to keep an eye on that wound. It’s in a bad spot, too close to his neck and a hassle to clean due to his mane.

Before tucking in for the night, I snuck him a few extra fish to make up for being so careless with him at my side. The big oaf keep acting as if everything is okay, but every time I look at that bandage I’m wracked with guilt.

After training all week, today I finally had an entire day to myself. I didn't sleep in. 592 More Words

After training all week, today I finally had an entire day to myself.

I didn't sleep in. Instead, I awoke at my normal hour, around the rise of the sun, and descended on the lift into the valley. I worked from my Apprentice Herbalism & Alchemy handbook and successfully harvested a number of wildflowers. I tied a select few together with a thin strip of grass, and then pressed it between the covers of two other books, binding them with a thin strip of miscellaneous leather I happened to have around.

I needed a new bookmark. They tend to disintegrate over time.

As I stood there in the fields of Peacebloom and prairie grass, Kodo visible in the distance, I could smell the splendor of the Earthmother's gifts all around me. I could hear the wind dance through the myriad blades of grass. Taste the fine, clean air and truly, it was delectable. My hooves sank slightly into the healthily moist grass, even sliding slightly in places upon the morning dew which rested on the countless blades. I bent down, kneeling in the grass, running my fingers through their tickling mass and simply drinking in the beauty of the world.

Earthmother, I know you are there. I know that you are listening when I pray. I know that you hear my woes and witness my triumphs. I know that it is through you that I channel my magics, their essence borrowed from your own. Power charitably donated to my person so as to better serve, of course, you, but also myself and my comrades within the Horde. Amongst Thunder Bluff and all of tauren territory. I am blessed beyond belief, and truly it is to you I must assign my gratitude. Thank you, Earthmother. Thank you for your patience, for the lessons which you bring unto me in a fashion you find timely, both the simple and the obstacle. Thank you for allowing me to carry your love, your passion, your devotion within my own heart every day. I know that your way is the truth, and that to walk with you in the guiding light of your radiant sun, upon your sacred Earth, is nothing short of a gift.

As I strolled through the widespread pastures, casually taking care to avoid needlessly disturbing the local wildlife, looking up from my handbook every few moments to ensure I wasn't about to trip over myself while trying to read and walk, as I do, I wondered what lessons awaited me outside of the serene grace of Mulgore's pastures. I knew the world to be a far larger place than the road traversed from Thunder Bluff to Orgrimmar through The Barrens and Durotar, and further I knew it to be one fraught with perils near innumerable. Would the lessons be simple, or obstacle, I wondered. Though, knowing what I know of the world, I surely expect obstacle after obstacle to be overcome.

But that is alright. I walk in the grace of the light of the sun. My hoofsteps fall in tandem with a greater power than myself. Together, Earthmother, I fear only for the well being of the obstacles that may dare cross our path. With determination of stone, and will of steel, and not a small amount of referencing a book or two, despite my own inexperience, I am confident that we can overcome anything.

Despite. Ha. Perhaps because of my own inexperience, am I confident. Naivety can often disguise itself as such. Only time will tell. Until then, I have been gifted time to stop and smell the flowers. For that and so much more am I grateful.

I did not sleep well last night, and woke up not knowing where I was. The dream I had was the work of the spirits, I'm beginning to think- but which ones, and what they want with me that they'd show me that, I have no idea. 875 More Words

I did not sleep well last night, and woke up not knowing where I was. The dream I had was the work of the spirits, I'm beginning to think- but which ones, and what they want with me that they'd show me that, I have no idea.

I dreamt of columns and snow. I haven't seen snow since we passed the human settlement in the mountains. All around me were strange towers of silver and stone, and in every direction the world was a drowned shade of blue. Doors stood empty in this eerie place, and I found myself looking into open, abandoned homes as I made my way down a tiled street.

Strangest of all was how clean it was- life had gone, yet it was completely undisturbed, as if the masonry had just been laid moments before my arrival.

Fear is becoming much too common in my life. I remember becoming angry at that fact, and the awareness that anger brought gave me lucid control over the dreamscape- no longer was I touring, I disappeared and reappeared from place to place, urged on by my curiosity. As I explored, whatever apprehension I had gave way to wonder.

And then I saw her- unmoving, her distance fixed from mine, no amount of dreamflight seeming to bring me any closer. Only when she turned to look at me did anything change.

I remember her face, but I don't remember her face. Dreams are hard enough to recall, but the more I focus on that moment when her eyes fixed on me, the less I seem to see. Her features swim across a mask of pale blue, all lost save for the steady amber glow of her eyes, fixed steadily on mine.

She looked curious. A part of me was relieved by that- I get in enough trouble while I'm awake, I would hate to have to start defending myself in my sleep as well. There was no hope of me speaking- in dreams, my mouth never seems to move the way I want it to. Hers seemed to work just fine, though, and I contented myself with trying to listen.

Of course, she didn't make it easy to focus. The way her hips shifted as she walked across the open air toward me reminded me so much of my own succubus, and woke a yearning ache in my chest to have that dear demon at my side. Her voice, elven music with a frightful edge- it brought to mind a golden harp, its strings rosined with the venom of a deadly snake- was nonsense to my ears, and it frustrated me terribly to realize that.

Well, it was nonsense until it wasn't. I have been through a lot lately, so it wouldn't surprise me at all if this dream was simply stress running its course in my head. But even if it was only my own stress talking to me, I still remember the words.

"This is not your place. You have to go home."

Not my place? What orc can say they've had any choice in where they are, these past few decades? And I can't imagine going home- not back through the portal. Is it even possible? And if home is supposed to be here... my father might have me, but yesterday made it very clear that there's no home for me if my mother's under the same roof.

I woke in a confused panic and told my lovely companion everything. The relief I felt to lean back in her arms and get it all out of my head as quickly as I could was soothing in a way that nobody else could offer me- and as ever, I find myself grateful to that she's become such a constant presence in my life.

We decided to do the only thing a couple women in our profession can do, when we lack for knowledge. We took a trip to the nearest library.

For our needs, that meant riding on wyvernback. No problem for me, but for her?

I shouldn't laugh, but I can't stress enough that she has wings. And yet the whole time, every moment we were off the ground, she kept her arms tight around my waist and her face absolutely buried in my shoulder as if we'd crash at any moment. Orgrimmar looked small beneath us in the moments before we arrived, and I got her to look up by pointing out our little spot along the east bank of the Southfury, just in time to see it all.

It was so gratifying to watch the fear on her face melt into awe. Hopefully she doesn't hold it against me, because I'll be cherishing that moment for a good long while.

Much longer than I'll be cherishing anything from the library where I'm writing this, I ought to say. There are scrolls aplenty, all written in blood or muddy pigment or burned into the page at wandpoint... but they're from the other side of the portal! As far as I know, no place like the one in my dream was ever built in any orc territories, Thunderlord or otherwise.

Of course, I'm not supposed to be looking for the city, am I? It's not my place.

But imagine the look on her face when we fly over those buildings. A little meddling would be worth it just for that.

Maybe when she sees us together, that dream-elf will think twice about telling me where I belong.

Vile, annoying, disgusting, and worthless creatures. You offspring of fatherless whores need to get the hell out of here and crawl to sea into the deepest of all abysses.

Vile, annoying, disgusting, and worthless creatures. You offspring of fatherless whores need to get the hell out of here and crawl to sea into the deepest of all abysses.

Murlocs are such a pest. And theres barely any stretch of beach where u dont find one, staring at you with those huge eyes; and when I look back at them, I know those bastards are thinking about stealing my fish. 150 More Words

Murlocs are such a pest.

And theres barely any stretch of beach where u dont find one, staring at you with those huge eyes; and when I look back at them, I know those bastards are thinking about stealing my fish.
Imnot huge fan of fish tho, but I think my new pal would want some, so I came down to the beach early in the morning to take a break, and fish some brilliant smallfish for him.

The sea is so calm, and vast... I heard that some orc slaves fleed and went to the other side of this sea to find a new home, you cant understimate the force of hope. I wish they find what they are looking for.

A few hours ago, there was a single murloc watching from behind a log that the waves dragged to the beach... now theres like 3 or 4 of em. Lucky enough, they are small, even for their standars. But the best will be going back, before the number gives em the courage they lack now.

I need to dive into one of those shipwrecks... wonder what items they could be hidding...

Heinz woke with a gasp. The sudden rush of cold air into his lungs caused him to cough for a moment. 2174 More Words

Heinz woke with a gasp. The sudden rush of cold air into his lungs caused him to cough for a moment. It made his head feel like it was split open. The scrambled bit of thoughts and memory which flooded back made him wish he had stayed unconscious.

Grey, early morning greeted him along with a light drizzle. It soaked the long brown grasses and scrub rising all around him. Winds continued to gust up from the shore, bringing with them the coolness of the sea and the sound of crashing surf.

Another sound cleared some of the cloudiness in Heinz’s brain and stilled his breath. Grunts. High pitched and almost like a laugh, they did not sound like any creature Heinz had ever heard back home. The sounds went back and forth, as if some beasts were actually talking. Next came the noise of something crashing along the ground. It sounded like something heavy was being dragged up the slope. Soon a second heavy object joined the first.

Heinz began to mentally prepare himself to lift his head off the grass and mud beneath him. His skull still felt like it was about to come apart, but he needed to move. He did not know what the grunts and dragging noises were or if they were dangerous. If they somehow turned out to be harmless, though, the cold would do him in just as well.

The chime of metal on metal accompanied muffled sounds of feet crashing through wet grass began to get closer. Suddenly Heinz’s need to move grew more urgent. He picked his head off the ground, his eyes giving an involuntary twitch. He did not have time to dwell on it though. He continued to peel his torso off the ground and into a crouching position, still on all fours. Snorts and footsteps grew steadily closer, not directly towards him but ever in his direction. Searching.

That cough. Damn.

How good were their senses? Heinz had no way of knowing. He did not even know what kind of creature this was. An animal? A predator?

A loud rustle of leaves and twigs snapping came from up the slope, a bush being swept aside. He could not escape that way.

What dwelled in Westfall anyway? Brak enjoyed telling Heinz stories of his travels. Heinz was sure most of it was fanciful, and zoned most of it out except the cities. Thinking back, he could not recall if Brak ever mentioned Westfall or what creatures lived here.

Metal scything through grass sounded to his left. So not an animal.. something with a tool. Or a weapon.

Heinz cast about him for a stick, or a rock he could throw, anything. The cliff to his right was solid, no loose rocks to be torn from it. The ground was covered with the grass, bent over from the weight of the rain.

Another guttural noise sounded from down the slope, and his heart skipped a beat. There was no direction to slip away.

Frantically he looked around his legs and feet once more. A glint caught his eye. His sword. It must have fallen with him. He didn’t know if it would be of any use against whatever these things were. It was something.

As he reached out and grasped the hilt, the sky darkened above him. His hand still outstretched, Heinz saw two paw-like feet with claws digging into the ground. His eyes drifted up the wolf-like legs covered with stringy fur. Scraps of cloth and leather served as some kind of armor around the torso of the beast. The nightmare finally ended with a hunched neck supporting a long snouted face, sharp teeth showing in its clenched jaw. Upon seeing Heinz on the ground, it let out a screech. Sounds of crunching grass and brush increased from up and down slope.

Panic overcoming his aches and pain, Heinz backed up onto his feet. He still had to keep his head lifted to look at the beasts’ face. Gripping the small one-handed sword with both hands, he raised it between them. The beast seemed to sneer as it raised a great club that had once been a tree branch. It stepped toward Heinz as it swung the club down. Instinctively Heinz raised his sword, so tiny in comparison to the weight of the branch. The impact smashed the sword downward, yet Heinz had enough force pushing back up that the blow deflected to Heinz’s left.

It seemed a split second before either seemed to realize that Heinz’s head had not been crushed like a melon. Heinz reacted first, drawing his sword back up across the beast’s chest. The leather was sufficient to prevent the cutting motion with his old edge, but it bit into the upper arm as he completed the upwards motion.

The beast screamed, its injured arm flailing out by instinct. A paw caught Heinz in the chest with a powerful force and knocked him back off his feet. His body struck the cliff. His head snapped back into the rocky formation. Once again all went black.

*

He could not decide if it was the ringing in his ears, or the sharp, pungent smell that awoke him next. After the first few moments of thick fog and once memory returned he decided it didn’t matter and it was more a surprise he had awoken at all. What was that thing, and where had it gone?

Memory also helped him to identify what his senses were telling him. The pungent smell was a mix of body odors and feces. As his eyes drifted open once more, they took in a pant leg. Human, thank the Light. Perhaps someone had rescued him.

Slowly lifting his head, his wince had little to do with the pain. The death of hope left a sucking pit in his stomach. The pants in front of him were spattered in mud and blood. The smell of feces came because he had been lying next to the corpse of Karam. The dead man’s bowels must have released. Turning his head, the effort making Heinz slightly light-headed, Heinz saw Grigg was behind him. The old guardsman’s left eye was completely gone, along with whatever is behind eyes. The gaping hole appeared to have been made by some sort of blade, a spear or dagger perhaps.

Heinz remembered the dragging and realized it must have been the bodies of his comrades. The beasts had taken him too, perhaps thinking he was as dead as they. His mind drifted as to why the beasts would want a bunch of dead, stinking corpses. They had not even bothered to strip what few weapons and armor the merchant and his guard possessed. Remembering his attacker, its size and its great club, Heinz wondered if any of their possessions would be of any use to the beasts.

Listening carefully, Heinz could not hear any of the beasts nearby and decided to risk a better look at his surroundings. He carefully raised his head, using Karam’s body as cover as he peered over the fallen man. On the other side of Karam, Aldor lay face up, his eyes open wide and his mouth hanging open. Dirt and blood caked his well-kept beard. Two broken arrow shafts jutted from his chest. The merchant had been holding a torch in a dark night while someone shot arrows at them. Heinz supposed they simply shot at the glowing target. On the other side of Aldor, enough of Jurr’s face remained for Heinz to identify the last guardsman.

Heinz looked further, to what seemed like a ragged campsite. A great fire crackled invitingly, reminding him of the chill rattling his bones that very moment. A large pot sat atop the blaze, one of the beasts tending it. The creature appeared to stand a head or more taller than Heinz. Yet it was also hunched over, its shoulders and neck stretching forward. This one seemed to be wearing some kind of worn cloth like a tunic. Once again, he wondered what it was and how many there were. His gaze skimmed across the camp. A pair of simple tent shelters sat to one side of the fire. They appeared empty. Perhaps the others were hunting or collecting wood for that large fire.

His attention went back to the blaze as the beast picked up what looked like some strips of cloth and tossed them into the flames. It hissed and smoked. The cloth must have been damp. Soon enough it dried and was consumed by a bright flicker. Heinz watched the blue and grey fabric as it burned, recognizing them as scraps of pants and a shirt. His eyes drifted back up to the top of the kettle, where brown fur blew in the gusts caused by the fire.

No, not fur. Brak. Brak’s clothes. Brak’s hair. Brak’s corpse was missing beside him.

Heinz’s stunned silence lasted only a few moments. The beast tending the kettle poked into it with some kind of utensil. A foot bobbed u above the rim of the kettle. The beast calmly plucked the limb from the kettle. It had clearly been torn away at the hip. The beast took an experimental bite at a toe, tearing it off and grinding at it with its jaw. After a moment it spit out something, the bone perhaps, and tossed the rest of the leg back into the kettle.

Heinz wretched. There was little in his stomach to come up, but that did not stop his body from heaving. His head went back down to the ground, the cold wet grass now seeming far better than the warmth of the fire. Familiar thumps and rustle of grass announced the approach of the beast. It must have heard Heinz’s reaction.

He got to his hands and knees, looking around at the corpses. They had not bothered to strip the dead, at least not until they were ready for breakfast. There. Kamar’s short sword was still in its scabbard. Heinz drew it just as the beast’s hairy paw stomped on top of the body. This one carried a weapon which had been fashioned from a scythe. It was already swooping down for Heinz’s head. He clumsily flung himself backwards, landing on Grigg’s one-eyed head. The scythe completed its arc, and the beast took another step as it swung it back through the same arc. Heinz rolled backward over his right shoulder. A horrible scraping sound made him think he had been struck, the metal weapon scraping on his bones, but he did not feel any pain.

Using the roll to stand into a crouch, he looked up at the creature and wondered how to attack it. It took another step over Grigg’s body. Heinz glanced down at the long, dog-like legs, barely noticing the top half of Grigg’s skull was missing. The thing could probably outrun him on those powerful legs. He had to find a way to kill it. Or slow it down.

Heinz took a step back, the beast following with a confident yet measured pace. A predator ready to strike, just waiting for the moment. Heinz backed up another step, and the beast was now well clear of the corpses. He still did not know how to use the sword apart from simple thrusts and wings. One or the other would have to do. A swing took less skill to aim. His plan was decided.

Heinz finally took a half step forward, thrusting the word with his right hand. The beast hardly moved, the tip of the sword so short of its mark and inexpertly done. Heinz could not tell if there was a smile on its long snout, or he was just imagining it. He took another half step forward, now well within the swing arc of its scythe. He jabbed once more with the sword. The beast backhanded the blade aside, striking it on the flat side. The motion brought the other arm swinging down with the scythe. Heinz was ready.

He bent his right knee and his body followed his sword to the right, ducking and rolling forward past the beast’s legs. He could hear the scythe sweeping through the grass where he had stood, but as he came out of his roll and into a crouching stance his focus was on his next action. He spun around to face the creature again, swinging his sword out where he thought the legs ought to be. His sword met resistance for a moment. As he completed his turn, Heinz could see the vicious cut across the back of the beast’s ankle. It screamed, staggering a couple of steps away from Heinz before falling to the side. He did not waste time pursuing the thing to finish it off. Its screams were loud and shrill, doubtless heard some distance away. There was at least one other and it could come running back any moment. He did not intend to be lunch.

Heinz ran.

A light breeze in the night air. The smell of popcorn and the loud noise of carnival rides and wild animals in the background. 432 More Words

A light breeze in the night air. The smell of popcorn and the loud noise of carnival rides and wild animals in the background. Children talking to their parents about how excited they were to be there at the fair, what a moment to be alive. An escape from our realities of everyday activities. That was not why I was at the carnival, No, but to interact with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her name was Gwendalyn Harris. What she could never fathom at that moment was someday she would be known as Mrs. Hamilton, my wife. Gwen’s dark brown hair and hazel eyes always stood out to me. The way she would have just a slight smile all the time with eyes so wide it was as if she could see the world and all it had to offer us. She was like an angel of the light. This was our first date and we did not have a care in Azeroth. We could be flooded with those green orcs as long as we had that moment in that time and space, we would be fine. After an evening of junk food and entertainment, it was time to say our goodbyes. We were but teenagers, carefree, living and working on our family’s farms outside of Lorderon. We just kind of kept running into each other since our farms were so close together. It did not hurt that I would make every excuse possible to see her. Father would ask for me to borrow sugar from the neighbor I was always the first to volunteer my services. I think they all caught on after a bit. We never really planned on marriage at such a young age, but love makes you do crazy things. We were married only a short year after that first date. The children quickly followed. Then her father dies in the first war. Gwen's mother could not take care of the farm so it became ours. My family was basically next door and huge support for our new family. We had a boy first, then two little girls. The names of the children were, Jackson, Abbey, Mariah. It was a simple life, Fishing, Farming, the occasional Hunt. I stayed out of politics and just focused on my family. I knew very little about war, famine, the Light, or anything about the Dark portal. The scourge was unbeknownst to me. Why can’t I write anything without mentioning those bastards? Two days and the Retribution shall begin. Two days and I shall discover my purpose. Two days to take vengeance for my family’s murder by the hands of……My beloved Gwendalyn Hamilton. That is all for today…..

I finally boarded the Deeprun Tram today. After years of passing it by while living with the Dwarves of Ironforge, it's time for me to return home to southern Azeroth. 100 More Words

I finally boarded the Deeprun Tram today. After years of passing it by while living with the Dwarves of Ironforge, it's time for me to return home to southern Azeroth. I think it would be best to visit the Famous Northshire Abbey. I hear they have an extensive library and it would be wise to hear of the histroy I've missed in the past several years.

Hopefully I will finally receive some instruction about the Light as well. Not since I was a boy have I had anyone who could teach me more about it. And now as a man of 25, it's time I begin my own journey. No more shall I continue working for others, or be forced into labor. No it's time for my own Journey to begin.

This valley has been my home for years, but with our mother gone I just can't find the will to stay. Telle and Jera were the only thing keeping me here, but they came to me the eve before last and told me it was the will of the Light that I should leave here and find a path out in the wide world. 136 More Words

This valley has been my home for years, but with our mother gone I just can't find the will to stay. Telle and Jera were the only thing keeping me here, but they came to me the eve before last and told me it was the will of the Light that I should leave here and find a path out in the wide world. They always were more in tune with a greater power. Yet I can't help but agree. I see now how grown they are, wielding power I could never master, and with the strength to look after themselves.

The marshal and his deputy have put out a call to arms. Stormwind's armies fight in far off lands and the guards have become mysteriously absent. Rumours of corruption among the nobles have been spreading, even here. I can't sit idle any longer and wait for enemies to come and ravage my home once again. I have to fight! I have to try and set things right...but I'm still not sure where my path leads. All I can do is hope it will become clearer in time. I go to speak with Deputy Willem tomorrow shortly after midday.

Droma the Sage walked the high road down from Stonetalon Peak today. I know, because I could spot those ink-stained hands and ringed tusks from a few hundred paces in the noontime sun. 898 More Words

Droma the Sage walked the high road down from Stonetalon Peak today. I know, because I could spot those ink-stained hands and ringed tusks from a few hundred paces in the noontime sun.

I- we- resolved to make the most of this moment. Letting her pass in silence would hurt me too much, and it would hurt me worse not knowing how she felt to see us. So we stood and we waited, watching the sun sizzle against the old stones as she made her way down toward us.

That grave look on my father's face swam in front of my eyes as she drew nearer. Whoever you are now, she doesn't know you. I had never seen his face drawn in such misery before that day, and I could feel it creeping into my own expression. I did my very best to put it from my mind before it was too late.

Somehow I found it hard to believe that crying would sway her in any direction.

At first she did try to walk around us, nodding as if we were simply fellow travelers. The indifference of it was convincing, but not convincing enough.

"Droma," I said- quietly, as if the word itself were dangerous. And maybe it is. If anyone knows a thing or two about the value of a name, I'd think it'd be me.

"Mother," I added, scarcely a whisper. I could feel my throat running dry with the effort of making myself say it. Her silence was suffocating.

The ice in her eyes made me feel very small as she finally turned to face me.

"Keep my name out of your mouth, you stunted, ugly thing. I'll not have an honorless, soul-selling coward call me 'mother.'"

Her hand stung a little less than her words, but only a little less. My cheek still has a print from her ring.

Perhaps I had earned that, but I had already come so far, and this was a rare kind of luck, even soured as it was. I never expected to see her again. I had to press the advantage and try to make something of this.

"I will forgive that," I offered, clinging to my shredded dignity as best I could, gritting my teeth to meet her eye. "Because I owe you as much. And so much more. You'd know if you would listen to me. If your honor is worth any more than mine-"

"My honor is worth as many of you as there are stars in the sky. On this world or any world."

"-then look upon me as an orc, now. Not... whatever else you make of me."

She paused for a moment, looking into my eyes- her eyes, the very same hazel, same as my greatmother and her greatmother- and to my great relief, she relented, ever slightly.

"Moxie. By all the spirits, tell me why, and tell me now."

I had to tell her what she wanted to hear. Certain things wouldn't matter- not my motivations, not my thoughts, not my needs.

She wanted the truth, and the truth of all things lives in what we fear.

"I feared the end of the world," I told her. "That we would never go home. That we would die facing foes we need never meet, on a battlefield chosen by sorcerous freaks who knew nothing of our names, but had every need of bodies to burn for their dark cause."

She didn't turn her back, she didn't roll her eyes. That was good. She let me keep speaking. The succubus at my side reached for my hand. From the steely way she looked at me, she was choosing with all her might to ignore that, much the same way my father had.

"The havoc was too much to bear. I let Promise show me the way forward because... much as you mistrust him, a lesson from you turned me in his direction.

Mother, Promise was not Gul'dan, and that was the only peace I had for the whole of the war. Knowing I took my lessons from an unpredictable warlock was somehow better than taking them from a warlock who I very much could predict would feed me to his ritual fire as soon as it suited him.

The only way forward was through."

By then, I did have tears in my eyes, and there was no hope of blinking them away. All of it- the admission, the memories of war, the confrontation with my mother- was a weight on my chest that seemed to only get heavier the longer I spoke.

The suffocating silence returned, but the spirits bid it away sooner than I expected. My mother took her turn to speak.

"There was a Moxie I knew, who died on the other side of the sea," she said solemnly. "Whatever you are- a shade, a face-thief, a living nightmare come to remind me of my failures...

...you cannot be my my daughter."

And then she did turn, leaving my heart a shattered mess in her wake, and resumed quietly walking down the high road, back toward the Barrens.

What do I do now?

Who can teach me what to make of this?

Father? Promise?

I felt a small, silky hand settle on my hip and a pair of inky black eyes turn up toward mine. Standing there dumbstruck, I eventually looked down and found the answer.

My name is Peyote Halfhorn and by three days, I will get to roam through Mulgore and out beyond the plains. I am nervous but prepared to learn through trial and error. 30 More Words

My name is Peyote Halfhorn and by three days, I will get to roam through Mulgore and out beyond the plains. I am nervous but prepared to learn through trial and error. I must master druidism to make my ancestors proud. My clan tells me there are trainers out there who will take me in and teach me what they know.

-Halfhorn

Gorak. The Bluffwatcher who whistled at me earlier this week. 869 More Words

Gorak. The Bluffwatcher who whistled at me earlier this week. His name is Gorak. Gorak Thunderhorn.

I left the Spirit Rise at the usual time after our training concluded for the day. Siln appears to be winding us up so that we are better prepared when we depart for Bloodhoof and the Barrens. That time will be soon. Most of our day was encompassed in religious discussions. We chanted and prayed for our comrades on the front lines of the Horde's conflicts. Many join us from around the settlement for events like these, and communally we praise the Earthmother and pray for her protection and guidance. Thusly, there was a small crowd when we began to disperse.

I focused my gaze toward the ground, shuffling along back toward the inn across the bridge with the other Tauren. I felt a gentle hand touch my shoulder and I stopped, bringing my gaze up to meet that of a younger male Tauren who smiled at me. We stopped as the crowd slowly swirled around us for a short moment, and I felt my cheeks heat amidst the clamor as we made eye contact. He was tall, easily over ten feet, with a dusty grey coat with mottled white spots. One of his long, straight horns was pointed a different direction than the other. It was cute. His hair was cut short and he was unadorned by piercings or jewelry.

"Hello," he started, glancing away as we found ourselves alone on the Spirit Rise side of the bridge, his hand finding a spot on his armor to fidget with, "I uh, I have seen you walking. I whistled after you, one day. I was trying to get your attention but you moved on." He said. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Is that so?" I asked. So he's been watching me. Creepy. Not to mention, was I supposed to be impressed by being whistled at, of all things? Why did he want my attention?

"I erm, excuse me. That came out wrong. I mean to say, I have observed from a distance that um," he paused, shifting on his hooves. I blinked at him, - what was all this about?

"You are a wielder of the elements, correct?" He asked, lifting his gaze to eye contact once more, "A Shaman."

"Oh, yes. I am only an initiate, but yes. Our Earthmother lends me her strength and I am grateful for it." I replied, surprised to be being asked about my training by the stranger. He nodded.

"I have seen you training. You seem to be skillful." He offered, fidgeting with his hands in front of himself. I raised an eyebrow again, my own hands gripping the straps to my pack.

"Oh, um. Thank you. You seem to be observing much, Bluffwatcher." I replied, "Did you need something?" I asked, and he floundered at that.

"Well, I uh, I had thought that perhaps, um," he paused, seeming unsure of himself, "My name is Gorak of clan Thunderhorn. It is an honor," He stammered, stiffening to bow at the waist. My face heated at the display and I glanced around to see if anyone else was around to witness this odd exchange. I wasn't quite sure how to react, if I'm honest.

"I am Sunja." I offered in return with a small curtsy as was polite.

"It is a pleasure, my lady." He said, "I am curious if perhaps it woul-"

He was cut off by the bark of a much older tauren coming over the bridge.

"Gorak, there you are! What do you think you are doing? Do you think this is a social hour?" The gruff voice hollered, giving both of us quite a start. I shrank from the yelling as the tauren came over, grabbed the protesting Gorak by his horn, and began to drag him back over the bridge. Evidently he was needed elsewhere. I assumed this tauren was his commanding officer.

"Flirting with the women when you're due to relieve your comrade at the lift! The nerve of you younglings! I swear, whelp, if I catch you shirking your responsibilities to court some female I'll have your hide tanned and stretched to dry in the sun! You'll be shoveling dung in the Barrens before you can blink!" The commander hollered as Gorak was yanked along behind the larger male by the horn. I was left alone in the wake of the disciplinary action in awe, grateful in a selfish fashion that I had been spared his wrath and feeling a pang of pity for Gorak.

Had he really been flirting with me? Oh, goodness, Journal. A man! Flirting at me? Ha! What an idea!

I returned to my lodgings at the inn and quickly fell into the pages of my book. However, I found it was unable to retain my attention as well as it had, and as I read of the clever, witty, beautiful protagonist and her escapades with her own love interests, my mind could not help but wander.

What an idea, indeed.

Stormwind, what a beautiful city. A city, full of life, love, but on the verge of war. 200 More Words

Stormwind, what a beautiful city. A city, full of life, love, but on the verge of war. In truth the Grande city reminds me of old Lorderon. I can hear the children play in the orphanage across the way. Vendors selling their wares and having random conversations with the people they meet buying their goods. I can hear the ocean faintly in the distance with ships pulling into harbors nearby. This is starting to feel like home away from home. The Dread, it comes and goes like the flu. Like vomit in the darkest of nights. The children across the way begin to change and sound and even look like my children. The haze, my eyes began to blur. I start to feel so small as though I am shrinking into an abyss of misery. The sounds of the city sound like herds of the scourge ready to tear and eat my flesh or worse turn me into one of those, things. The blessing of the priest falls on me like a curse. No hope only despair, then the rage. I hear the voices of the dead. My life has fallen into a hole dug up by the scorge. The time will come…for my Retribution!
Blessed be the Light!
-Viccar-

Master Vi'ji shared an invitation I received today. I am to make my way to the Valley of Trials. 57 More Words

Master Vi'ji shared an invitation I received today.

I am to make my way to the Valley of Trials. Thrall's Horde are in a vicious war against the Alliance and are in need of talented individuals with nothing to lose. There is a special group there I am supposed to meet. Apparently Vi'ji had heard of their plight and thought I was the right Orc for the job.

Whatever happens, I hope to finally meet Thrall.

Icy water sprayed them again as the small boat crashed into another wave. Watching the crew lean forward to give another heave to the oars, Heinz barely noticed the difference from the pelting rain, unseen but felt in the dark of night. 1971 More Words

Icy water sprayed them again as the small boat crashed into another wave. Watching the crew lean forward to give another heave to the oars, Heinz barely noticed the difference from the pelting rain, unseen but felt in the dark of night. Around him, three others watched the rowers fling themselves backward at the same time, propelling the boat still further to the coast. He hoped.

“I bet you miss those green fields now.” Brak yelled from beside him. He had to yell to be heard over the boat crashing through still another wave.

“Just the fire.” Heinz replied, though he was not certain Brak heard. Heinz wiped a bit of his short, blonde hair from where it had been plastered to his forehead. The farm house’s warm hearth taunted his shivering body.

He hoped they reached land soon, or they would have to start bailing. He knew very little about nautical matters, had known nothing at all before embarking on this journey, but he wondered why they could not have sailed the blasted ship even a little closer to land. The boat lurched forward suddenly, nearly throwing Heinz into the rower’s bench beside him.

“LAND!” came the roar from the bow. “Get up! Get up! Get your gear and move it!”

Untangling himself from Brak beside him, Heinz reached for where his spear had been stowed. He checked his waist to reassure himself that the small short sword was still strapped there as well. Both weapons were a bit old. Since he did not have to pay for them, though, he couldn’t complain.

They all exited the boat haphazardly, stumbling into the waist-deep water as the boat rocked from side to side. It rose higher in the water with the occupants out of it. One hand gripping his spear, Heinz grabbed the side of the boat with the other and helped to pull it to the shore. The sandy bottom sucked at his boots, making each step a supreme effort. Further waves first hitting him from behind, then again as they washed back out to sea threatened to imbalance him. Grigg, who had been in the bow, did not help with the boat but kept watch as they dragged it onto the sand far enough that crashing waves would not carry it back out to sea.

Finally, they stood still. Heinz’s breaths were deep and rapid. Days working in the yards had not prepared him for this kind of work. Heinz grounded his spear and partially leaned against it as he continued to suck in air. He shivered while his eyes moved along the coast. His linen shirt and pants, plastered to his body, seemed to trap the frigid gusts of wind and keep him wrapped in them. His stomach tried to complain, but his attention was riveted to trying to pierce the dark around them. The most that Heinz could make out were some rocky cliff faces maybe twenty paces ahead. Did they end because they were not all that tall, or because there was not enough light to see any higher up?

“Light it.” Grigg finally said. Whether the old guardsman could determine that there was not any threat on the shore, or he had simply decided that no one could see them anyway, Heinz wasn’t sure. Karam took a satchel off his back and began to extract items from it.

The oiled cloth wrappings must have done their job, as minutes later a torch lit the dark around them. The glow did not penetrate far. Heinz still could not make out how tall the cliffs might be. Rain hissed as it struck the flame, yet the torchlight continued to flicker and dance.

“Spread out, and keep alert.” Grigg ordered. Karam and Jurr quickly made to the left. Heinz pulled the haft of his spear from the soft sand and strode a few feet to the right. Brak did the same, further to Heinz’s right. The man was usually the talkative sort, but he must have been as tired as Heinz felt. Or cold. Or..

They stood that way for what seemed like an entire night, though Heinz did not think the second boat could be far behind. Fatigue threatened to drown out the chill and hunger. The only good thing to happen in the time it took for the other boat to see the signal and row ashore behind them was the rain let up to a drizzle.

Heinz heard the shouts of the men as they approached. He continued to peer into the darkness as thumps, splashes and rumbles sounded behind him. He didn’t know what he was actually supposed to see in this dark night. Then again, who would see them either?

The shrill sound of a whistle finally sounded in the darkness. Heinz knew it to be the signal for the guards to come back to the boats. At long last, they were ready to move. He tried to unfreeze himself from the spot he had been standing in. It was more difficult than he imagined. Don’t stand still, keep moving, or you will never get moving when a blade is coming for your chest. Brak’s admonishments rung in Heinz’s ears. Brak had not meant that Heinz would literally freeze in his place, but tonight it might actually happen.

More torches lit the murk despite the continued drizzle. The boats’ crew were already relaunching their craft. Grigg and a pair of men waited for the guards to assemble. Grigg and Albor were pointing to what Heinz thought was the east as they conferred. Heinz spared Albor only a brief glance. He was the owner of a merchant group, and Heinz’s employer. Yet his gaze settled on the third man.

Heinz had been hired as a guard to protect one of the caravans Albor had moving to this region. The caravan had been bound for Stormwind, a grand city which Heinz very much wanted to see. Then the caravan was to make its way through Westfall and Darkshire on its way through Lakeshire and back to the docks of Stormwind.

Whatever direction they had been discussing must have been settled. Grigg ordered them forward. He walked ahead, and the guards flanked behind him, with Aldor and the strange man inside their loose formation. Already exhausted from the long night, Heinz struggled to walk through the sand. He did not lose ground on the rest of the group though, which meant they must all be tired too. Despite his struggles, Heinz’s mind continued to wander to the strange man.

Things had changed at Menethil. The other man walking next to Albor, in his simply cut yet rich cloth, had come aboard to talk with the merchant. Before the caravan’s guards had finished speculating on the unknown visitor, the caravan had been unloaded to another ship and bound for Stormwind on its own. Aldor, the man, and the guards were all to sail directly to Westfall. They were to meet with the caravan there.

They had been walking alongside one of the cliffs, but now it broke with a passable gap sloping upwards. The cliffs continued after the gap, as tall and imposing in the darkness as what they had passed. Heinz fingered his spear nervously as he gazed up at the cliff tops above them. They looked too much like imposing fortress walls guarding an entrance. Seemingly oblivious, Grigg turned from the beach and began a steady march off the wet, silty sand and up to firmer ground.

As Heinz followed, his mind still wandered to why the caravan went through Stormwind unescorted while they landed on a cold, wet beach in Westfall. The man had cost Heinz of his first view of Stormwind. He supposed he would see it again once their circuit was completed, but a warm tavern and a good mug of ale sounded nothing short of heaven right now. He wondered if Brak was right and the women of the taverns really-

Ahead of him, Brak suddenly tripped. It was strange that he didn’t even attempt to break his forward fall, his face simply landing in the mud with a squelch. Beside Heinz, some sand kicked up against his boots and pant legs. He looked down, and was puzzled to find what looked like some feathers there. They were attached to a thin wooden shaft, like an arr-

“COVER!” Grigg shouted. Though without a shield, Heinz did not know what he was to cover with. He backed inward toward the formation, scanning the cliffs around him. He still could not make out much of anything on top of the dark cliffs. “FORWARD!”

Grigg’s command cut through the confusion in Heinz’s mind. He did not know what he was doing, nor what he was supposed to do, but his legs carried him forward. He continued to crouch low, now finding cover in some tall grass that began to appear. A few more arrows zinged past but did not find their mark in him. Once away from the torches held by Aldor and the man, no more arrows came close to him. A sharp cry behind him said that not all had missed. Heinz wondered who else had been hit.

His breath became rapid again as he continued to crawl forward. Some bushes began to take shape the further up the slope he went. The cliff remained impassable on his right. He still did not know where the attackers were shooting from. Somewhere around the top of the cliffs. If he could just get a bit higher.. but then what? He had never killed someone before. Never learned to use the spear in his hands apart from thrusting it forward. Brak had given him a few basic lessons on how not to cut himself with the sword at his hip, but that was all. Brak..

The ground began to level off, and Heinz could finally move to his right. No further shouts sounded from Grigg. Was he creeping along like Heinz was? Where were the torches?

Heinz began to creep along the rocky ledge overlooking the pass, the ledge becoming taller with each step into the cliffs he had seen from below. No other sounds penetrated the sound of the rain and the crashing waves. No shouts. No lights. The ledge grew into several paces of cliff.

A man with a bow seemed to materialize in front of him, almost impaling himself on Heinz’s spearpoint before the man himself realized Heinz was there. A moment of shock passed between them both. Heinz was still frozen when the man dropped his bow, then reached out and grabbed the spear below the blade. Heinz tried to hold on as the man ripped the spear to his side. Heinz held on momentarily, then lost his footing and the spear. His arms flailed out as he regained his balance. Looking up, a cruel, toothy grin of delight shone down at him from below a red bandana.

Shuddering, Heinz reached for the hilt of his sword. Failed. Reached again. He pulled the old blade free from its scabbard. The man’s smile faded for a moment. He took a step back and brought the spear to cross diagonally from his body. Heinz tried to move closer to the man, but not fast enough. A simple thrust was easily blocked by pushing the spear haft upward. Heinz’s short sword was not heavy enough to simply cut through the spear haft. He pulled back and turned the motion into a downward swing, but the man stepped to the left of Heinz and used the spear to bat the sword’s tip down to the ground. The motion caught Heinz off balance, his weight too far forward. He felt a sudden crack on the back of his skull as the rear of the spear struck him. Heinz toppled over the cliff, his hands involuntarily scrabbling at the air as the ground rushed to meet his head.

Tonight we sat on a hill for a long time. She could make no more sense of the locket than I could, so for the time being it will remain safe and sound in the bottom of my pack. 600 More Words

Tonight we sat on a hill for a long time. She could make no more sense of the locket than I could, so for the time being it will remain safe and sound in the bottom of my pack. Since the harpies seemed to have no use for our food, we kept it and split it. There's a little bit of orange juice clinging to her chin right now, and I can't help but wonder- does it just burn away eventually, or does she have to know before she can get herself back to that natural state of perfection?

It was a slow, quiet day, getting to this hill. We saw no more harpies, and skirted the "Adventure" goblins a little more successfully the second time around. East of here there's a lake up against the foot of the mountains, and as soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted to swim.

After all, we missed our chance in Durotar- the Southfury runs a little too fast, and the ocean was thick with humans. I still find myself preoccupied with the audacity of that woman who slid down from on high to fire at me. What sort of trickshot nonsense did she think she could pull?

But I digress. It's easy to get mired in little moments like that, but I have better things to think about. Because we did go swimming, and it was everything I wanted it to be.

Today I learned that her armor does, in fact, come off. Now, I know what you're thinking, because this is my journal, and you're me, but I've had over forty years to learn how to behave. So I took a deep breath and made an effort to mind my own business while shrugging out of my own robe. Tonight will be a good opportunity to wash that dusty thing, too.

I teased her about her hooves, asked her if she could swim with them. She laughed and tried to push me into the water, and I just... let her do it. There was something so freeing about that moment, the soothing cold that surrounded me as I disappeared under the surface. For a moment- maybe for more than a moment- I had no need to be a warlock, and she was no kind of demon at all.

When her supernatural warmth broke through the chill, I realized she dove in after me, her exquisite form floating just above mine, inky black hair fanning out in all directions as her wings beat the water. She took my hands and hauled me smoothly up to the surface, the glow of her eyes guiding the way through the murk. After a quick lungful of air, the laughter overtook us again, and we held each other for a long time as the moon looked on overhead- waning, as if she wanted to turn her back on us, but couldn't help looking over her shoulder.

If there's any truth to what the Elves have to say about the moon, I wonder how she felt as she watched us tonight.

What did she think when we kissed for the first time?

Or the tenth?

Ha, or even the hundredth?

I'm warm now, laying on my belly next to the fire as I write this. And as I look over at her, sleeping on the other side, I can't help but wonder what a demon dreams. Does she dream of home? Are there faces and names that linger in her head, like Promise lingers in mine?

Oh, Promise. You'd think me no kind of warlock at all, if you could see me now.

But I think maybe there's something magical about this. Something we've never seen before, because we haven't tried.

I'd like to try.

For her, I think I'd try anything.

I have been meditating and praying daily to the light in preparations for the meeting at the Northsire Abbey. There are flashes of the event, of the screams, of the torment of that day, the Scourge of Lorderon. 66 More Words

I have been meditating and praying daily to the light in preparations for the meeting at the Northsire Abbey. There are flashes of the event, of the screams, of the torment of that day, the Scourge of Lorderon. I can’t erase the image of my wife, eating, dismembering….I have to stop writing. May the light help me overcome these thoughts. I must hide this turmoil within myself. Attempt to show no signs of weakness and fuel my vengeance against the scourge and all evil within Azeroth. Four days and my official training will begin. Blessed be the Light!

Today we sparred with our compatriots once more, however, today we were permitted use of our magics. Rotating through partners, I saved my strength. 894 More Words

Today we sparred with our compatriots once more, however, today we were permitted use of our magics. Rotating through partners, I saved my strength. I knew who I was waiting for. I took and blocked every blow, healed my wounds, and returned, my blows cracking off of shield and shin like minuscule thunder in between being hammered in return. I didn't let any of the previous defeats phase me, I had a goal in mind. I needed to stay focused.

First was Aleera. She sneered down her nose at me, being much taller, and could practically reach over my shield to crack me in the back of the head with her club, but it mattered little when I shocked her in the abdomen with a solid hit of magical lightning, sending her and her freshly charred fur down into the dirt. I panted, lowering my weapon and glaring down at her.

"Do you yield?" I asked, and she spat at me in response. Well, she should have yielded. I cracked her only once more with the club before she raised a weary hand to yield. I smirked, pleased with myself. Only one more.

I lost every fight after that, and I was quite battered after them when Olae finally squared up in front of me. He had fared far better throughout the day's rigorous training, and the look on his face filled my heart with a lance of frozen pain and boiling rage all at once.

"How was fishing, Specs?" He asked with a chuckle. I didn't respond. I knew better than to feed his fire. Remaining silent as he quietly taunted me, I glared over my shield at him as we were directed to begin sparring once more. He came at me first with his shoulder, expecting I am sure to throw off my smaller size and send me into the dirt by shoving my shield, however, I initially had stepped to the side to swing with my hips better for my own initial strike, and instead used my position to shove him with my shield as he charged, sending him off balance but not over.

He cursed at me and I saw him drop his weapon, the lanyard retaining it around his wrist, as electricity crackled within his fists. I didn't have time to cast a heal or my own lightning, so I borrowed his move and charged him. His lightning connected with my abdomen like mine had Aleera, and I clutched at my burns and cried out. He took the opportunity to strike me with his shield, pushing me back, before following up with his weapon once more. I spat blood onto the dirt, tears stung my eyes, and I could feel my fingers trembling. This opponent could easily overpower me. He wasn't smarter than me, though. Gingerly, I put up a meagre defense, letting him gain more and more ground as I backed up, until, frustrated, he predictably didn't take as much caution with one of his blows.

This was my opportunity. I sidestepped, narrowly dodging the attack. Olae lost his balance slightly behind the blow and I shoved him with my shield, throwing his massive form onto the ground. It was no small effort to do so, mind you. Tauren men are absolutely massive and weigh as if carved from granite. I was worn down, though. Too far. I had to risk it. I began to mutter the words to the absurdly long healing spell we had learned the day prior, only completing it just as he rose. I was renewed, however, and with a smirk I began to mutter the words required to summon a bolt of lightning to strike him with as he thundered toward me.

He hollered, his club cracking down on my shield as I raised it just in time to deflect the blow, but jarring my entire body enough that disaster struck. My glasses fell from my face. They do that sometimes. It is unfortunately the case with glasses lacking arms, (as mine do, because they wouldn't reach my ears) that they can be dislodged from their resting place on the snout mid combat. It is a death sentence. It is why warriors with glasses are horribly uncommon.

I spat a curse and lifted a hoof, slamming it down on the ground where I hoped my glasses weren't. War Stomp they call it, the ancestral magic of the Tauren. It can shake an opponent to their very core if they are standing too close, and stun them for just a moment. It was all the time I needed to finish forming the magic around my fingers. I released the lightning bolt into his chest. He did not fall, but he dropped his shield, and grabbed his chest. The look on his face was of pain. He nodded slowly, letting go of his weapon. I wiped a trickle of blood from my nose, and fished in the dirt for my glasses. He had yielded. I had righted the dishonor, the disrespect of the previous day.

After moving through the remaining students I had not yet sparred with afterward, of which there were not many, we tended to one and other's wounds. Olae and Aleera both apologized to me. Such is the Tauren way. I defeated them, and earned their respect. Not without my own contribution of blood and sweat, however.

It appears perhaps I do have a place in this Horde after all. Lok'tar Ogar.

It is my hope that writing in this journal will stave off a descent into madness and bring me to terms with what I have become. Death has eluded me, but I am no longer living. 425 More Words

It is my hope that writing in this journal will stave off a descent into madness and bring me to terms with what I have become. Death has eluded me, but I am no longer living. My senses, once so vivid and powerful, have been reduced to mere whispers. My withered mind offers me glimpses of my former self, and with them mourning and sorrow. Perhaps it is best to start at the beginning, if I am to understand what turned my life upside-down.

I was born and raised in the west of Lordaeron. My mother was a tailor and I knew little of my father. He had left before I was born, but mother did her best to provide for me as she could. Greatfather Winter may have never visited our cottage during the Feast of Winter Veil, but the hardships I endured imbued a practical resourcefulness that would serve me well in my adventures to come.

A fateful day came in my sixteenth year. Mother had a surprise for me. One of the families she tailored for had extra tickets to the Darkmoon Faire! A mysterious showcase of wonders from all over Azeroth. Having never had the gold for such frivolity in the past, I was delighted with the idea that I would finally be able to attend.
The next day I gleefully paraded my tickets around the village chanting,

"Ahead of You, Down the Path
A Majestic, Magical Faire!
Ignore the Darkened, Eerie Woods
Ignore the Eyes That Blink and Stare
Fun & Games & Wondrous Sights!
Music & Fireworks to Light Up the Night!
Do Not Stop! You're Nearly There!
Behold, My Friend: THE DARKMOON FAIRE!"

I look back now and see how foolish I was, drawing so much attention to my recent fortune. I was interrupted by a group of miscreants. "Give us your tickets," I heard in a menacing voice. It was then I realized they were a couple of guys who were up to no good, and they started making trouble in my neighborhood. I got in one little fight and my mom got scared. She said, "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air."
I whistled for a cab and when it came near, the license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror. If anything, I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought "Nah, forget it" - "Yo, homes to Bel Air." I pulled up to the house about seven or eight, and I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo homes smell ya later!" I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there. To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.

She was the one with the Plainstrider who gave me her bed back in Camp Taurajo the night I fled home. She was the kind soul that saw a troubled bull and left well enough alone. 206 More Words

She was the one with the Plainstrider who gave me her bed back in Camp Taurajo the night I fled home. She was the kind soul that saw a troubled bull and left well enough alone. She's been only a day behind me since.

She left Camp T in search of some local caverns in this barren land, which are rumored to be full of life. I doubt it, personally. Her name is Tresleches and she found it in herself to give me responsibility for her bed without any skin in the game. I have a lot to learn from her when it comes to trusting.

Inspired by the orcs here at Far Watch Post, she's become my sparring partner. I sparred with several of the warriors here, but they all prove to be much too masterful against my combat technique to provide me with growth. No, the only way I can learn is to fight a more even match. And this Huntress seems to be a great partner so far.

She's also a great person, and I'm considering making her a travel companion. That is, if she can give up on the caverns. I've got to get to Orgrimmar and heed the Earthmother's call. If she can't afford the time to accompany me, then I might be lucky enough to run into her again some day.

Oh and get this, my mom helped deliver her back in the day. Weird, right?

I had nearly forgotten the thrill of a fair match in battle. Skomag was an old, done creature, and the Kul Tirans of the beach fort were miserable, over-eager things. 1513 More Words

I had nearly forgotten the thrill of a fair match in battle. Skomag was an old, done creature, and the Kul Tirans of the beach fort were miserable, over-eager things.

The harpies lust for combat as if it were sport. They see glory in every slash of talons, and for that, I admire them a great deal. Orcs on the wing, in their own way- not that I'd expect any of my brothers and sisters to feel what I do, looking at those pointed, pretty faces.

Though my shoulder stung, I found myself laughing as they whirled around us, shrieking curses and buffeting us with their wings. One look in those sharp yellow eyes tells you everything you need to know- they aren't insane, but they've forgotten how to make an ally. Our very presence was the gravest kind of offense- and doesn't that sound familiar?

Doesn't it, Promise?

Ha, but I'm getting ahead of myself. We made a serious effort not to kill any of them. They speak some sort of damaged elven tongue, as if their dialect were missing everything but what they could squawk all in one quick sound. I'm a slow hand at new languages, but just as I predicted, that lovely succubus of mine was soon barking recognizable words back at them.

And that's when they started to ease up. It took a few minutes of shouting, but the wings divided and one by one, they backed up to a less lethal distance.

Their matriarch has the most beautiful blue feathers I've ever seen, and a face like elven statuary. Timeless, eerie, and enchanting. There's an ancientness in the way she moves, a kind of intimidating grace that only comes with an eternity of refinement. The first emotion I see cross that perfect face is one of disgust- and I'll admit it here, I felt a little ashamed in that moment.

But no, I am not beneath her dignity, and I was there to assert exactly that. So I inclined my own head and matched her expression, as if we were two generals staring at each other across an unspoiled field of battle. There was a long silence, but I insisted on it- better that she speak first, so that she doesn't take me for some belligerent interloper.

"Invader," she accused, raising a talon toward my face. "You quiet my daughters. Quiet, but not kill, I see this."

She narrowed hawkish golden eyes at me after a beat of silence. "Speak, invader. Then begone."

I felt a little self-conscious as I pointed to myself and asked if she understood my tongue. She only blinked, so the ever-talented succubus offered translation.

"We come to share," she supplied, and I retrieved a bundle from my pack, unrolling it to reveal the little offering we'd put together. Fruits from Ratchet that we knew they'd never had up here in the mountains, salt raptor for provisions during seasons of poor hunting, and a crystal of my own design, imbued with a stable flame of magic that stood vigil at its core.

"A small start, and more to come. We trade for secrets. We wish to know more of you. History. Spells. Wisdom."

Something in the way she said "we" made my silly old heart feel warm and light- but it sank like a stone a moment later, as I watched the Bloodfury matriarch appraise our offering with open contempt.

"We take," she said coldly.

The two of us watched her expectantly. Would there be any more words? Anything at all? The other harpies were drawing closer now, inspecting the goods for themselves. It was kind of funny, the way their heads tilted this way and that- but the tension was too much for me to enjoy a good long look.

"We take," she repeated, and then she clarified. "Not share. Leave now, or die."

I didn't appreciate that. I got shot in the shoulder just to be there! Was our offering worth nothing?

From her perspective, I suppose it was worth our lives, but was that how the world worked?

Unacceptable. We journeyed miles and miles for an audience. The wisdom of the harpies! A people so hard to reach, so dangerous, that their secrets must be deep and ancient! We spoke to them, who else had done that? We saw the face of their matriarch, and who else had done that and lived?

I felt a boil of indignation in my blood, but I didn't let it show on my face. The succubus took my hand, and I suspect it's because she felt it too.

"Die," I echoed in that birdish tongue, a word that came across as quickly and harshly in theirs as it did in my own. Their attention snapped from the goods laid out before us to my smiling face. What did I see there, really?

It looked a little like fear, but I won't pretend- not here in my own journal, anyway- that it lasted. I watched their hesitation crumble and that wild, unrefined anger take over their faces. That one word just kept coming back.

"Die? Die? Die?" they chirped, looking at each other, then at their matriarch, and then at me.

"Die!" the matriarch commanded, and so we gracefully refused.

She had the crystal in her claw, and I could see the beginnings of a spell whirling around those perfect silver talons.

But I set the flame in the crystal. It was mine to command. So I let the beginnings of her fireball pass through those facets, and magnify every bit as they were intended to- and then I felt my soul pitch forward as I gave the captured flame just a bit more fuel...

...Just enough for it to explode. I cackled every bit like Promise as everything below her left shoulder detonated in a shower of sparks and gore, a cacophony of screaming erupting in a ring around me as bone bits and red, wet corpus splattered her sisters and daughters on one side.

When they fell on us, they fell on my exceptional succubus first. And that, too, was simply unacceptable. I whirled with her hand in mine, tossing her out of the melee and then setting my soul alight, torching the ground under my feet as I cast pulsing curls of fire from both hands. It hurt me terribly, and I felt smoke rising up my throat to gag me from the inside, but it didn't need to last. A little time to make a little distance, and we'd be ready to take them as they came.

Coughing, I leapt out of their circle while they screamed and tried to flap out the flames. The diversion worked- if the ancestors still watch over warlocks, then they had to have been watching today. This could have gone critically, fatally wrong at any moment, and yet it didn't, and didn't, and didn't.

And so they came on, and we surged against them- she with her lightning-quick lash and I with Promise's favorite spell spiraling about my knuckles, yanking the living spirits right out of their open mouths.

I came to this valley with absolutely no desire to kill anyone. I feel like I have to say that again, because on this day, I took the lives of a dozen harpies. Burning, confused, likely traumatized harpies, I should admit- but a dozen of them, just the same.

And for my trouble, I did get a secret. Not from the matriarch, who died there in the grass. I offered her what little I could- something to soothe her pain, even to bind her blown-off arm, but that ancient dignity and just-as-ancient rage forbid her to accept any of it. So as she lay dying, I crossed their valley to her perch, and to her little heap of treasures.

I may have to speak with an elf at some point, and I expect that will be many times more dangerous than this noisy, bloody day ever was.

Her treasure was a locket, engraved with the image of a beautiful elf. Ha, "beautiful elf," was there ever a phrase more redundant? I expect they take it for granted- after a few of them take an axe across the nose north of Orgrimmar, maybe they'll appreciate that timelessness a little more.

But this one really did look special. Her eyes were flat beads of amber, staring up from a face that was dangerous and dignified and smiling in triumph. In a way she reminded me of the matriarch, but there was something more to her, some strange magnitude that I can't place with words.

I clicked the clasp, and the little locket popped open without a fuss. Inside was the tiniest scrap of parchment, so ancient that I feared it might crumble if I touched it. Silver-blue lettering, alive with magical light, raced across the middle and disappeared into the tight curl.

Is it a spell? Some long-sequestered word of power, just waiting to be spoken again?

And more importantly, where am I going to find an elf who can read it?