World of Warcraft®

((EDIT: This is no longer only a record of Drakehide's adventures on Cenarion Circle server - this is now an open-ended project and will be "passed" between members of the ongoing story-arc, to contribute to.))

((EDIT, 12/20/2011, PLEASE NOTE: Due to not being able to access the usual site where I had been updating this regularly, I have just done a massive dump of all the remaining entries this evening here.))

If I live long enough to tell Caer'ias Aeddan that I delivered his message, I am also going to kill him. Oh, the task seemed simple enough for a seasoned soldier of Ashenvale: Make contact with Homeland, tell them he's well, and deliver a plethora of useless pleasantries.

This is why, of course, I prefer the company of orcs. Among the many things I despise about my native race it is that need for useless pleasantries.

I digress. At any rate, I have decided to record this account in case I do not make it back alive to deliver word of my journey. Along the journey, should I perish, perhaps someone will find these words and tell tales of my journeys, or sing songs of my exploits. Should they be worthy of song, of course.

Those exploits, after all, are limited so far to being stabbed repeatedly by the recipient of my message and nearly starting a brawl in the Wyvern's Tail Inn.

Without getting into gritty details, I now find myself investigating a string of murders. Until the truth behind a series of strange and troubling events is determined, I am taking a leave from my duties in Ashenvale as a soldier and defender of our territories. I do this because if I should allow harm to come to a close friend of Aeddan's (Aeddan who is, himself, a very close friend of my family and house) then I will allow great dishonor to fall upon myself, and my father.

Hopefully, I will get to the bottom of all this before I find myself stabbed, sliced, scathed, or shanked. Again. My aim, at this point, is to question several members of the guild Homeland and to speak personally to Andaendis, who I am told witnessed one of the many unfortunate altercations in this string of tragedies. Once the truth is uncovered...then perhaps a good and honorable end might be brought about to all of this.

I cannot, unfortunately, shake the feeling that despite all the blood already spilled in this sequence of unfortunate events that unless the truth reveals itself quickly, far more blood will be spilt before this all draws to a close.

I wish to recognize, before I finish this page, the actions of a pair of healers who went far above and beyond the call of duty on this day. Nahrem and Llejna of Da Doctas, this soldier of the Horde will long remember your actions this day.

Yes, I fought, and I grumbled, and I tried to bodily harm your other patient several times throughout my treatment, but I shall never forget the selflessness you showed, the expediency with which you came to my aid, or the kindness that you displayed despite my harsh behaviour. You forever have my thanks - I am in your debt, and one day I will return this favor.

Until tomorrow...Lok'tar!

Caer'ias Aeddan's debt to my father's house grows by the day. By the end of this, I expect that his debt will be so great that I will actually own the mage's life. At which point I will either end it, out of spite, or I will find some degrading, humiliating task for him to carry out for the rest of his days.

Perhaps I will use him as a 'canary' in Warsong Gulch, and send him into the enemy flag room to see if there are any rogues lying in wait. Perhaps I will use him as a pack mule, carrying about my heavy armor and armaments, and groveling at my feet for scraps from my table. Perhaps I will strip him naked, cover his body in honey, and drop him into a silithid hive to whether the beasts are hungry or not. I have not decided yet. All I know is that I am not amused by the turn of events that have thus far transpired, and when I get my hands on Aeddan at the end of this, he will be equally unamused.

My investigation progresses. I say this, and not "my investigation goes well" because it does not go well. For a number of reasons. First of all, one of the elves assisting me with the investigation - one whose life, peace, and prosperity ride on the outcome of my questioning - has decided that he wishes to end his own life. I cannot so much as eat, sleep, or relieve my bowels without him making some new, insane, suicidal attempt.

While this makes me irate, it also places far more pressure on my investigation. If this friend of Aeddan's kills himself, my house will be most thoroughly dishonored. The attempts are growing more severe, more desperate, and the elf in question is making far fewer mistakes. It was only today through the fortunate, timely actions of a hunter I met in the Northern Barrens that his life was saved.

...and, if I might digress for a moment, she was a curious hunter indeed. A goblin, who speaks like a troll? How strange. No stranger than an elf who speaks like an orc, however.

Ahem.

Fortunately, his life was saved. I met this evening with the principal object and suspect of my investigations, after a trip to Silvermoon's archives. The evidence that begins to stack is damning, terribly damning, and the once-wild, groundless accusations of murder and death flung in the direction of the young woman who stands in the middle of this tempest of strange occurences suddenly do not seem so groundless. A body has been found - part of it, at any rate.

I carry a single bone from this body with me. It was given to me by the young woman's lover, in hopes that I might use it to prove her innocence. The bone does not speak to me, however. I am a warrior, not a shaman. I know, however, of a powerful shaman who might be able to assist us...while I hesitate to ask his aid, and while I am not certain he will be completely co-operative, I have no one else to turn to at this juncture. Perhaps the bone, or the spirit inside it, will speak to him in ways they do not speak to me.

The danger that surrounds this investigation is becoming increasingly apparent. A body has been found, and...if many of the accusations I have heard are true, there will be many more bodies to come before my work is finished. I must be careful that I do not let myself become one of them. I must also be careful not to lose my objectivity - I will not try, arrest, or execute any involved until I am certain, without a shadow of doubt, as to their guilt, but I also cannot ignore the growing stack of evidence and proof before me.

I must not become so convinced that the young blood elf woman is innocent that I blind myself to the possibility that she is, in fact, guilty.

I still must question Andaendis and several key members of the Homeland organization. I was present at a gathering of several of them this evening, but...Andaendis was not present, and unfortunately I ended up so otherwise occupied that I was unable to proceed with any serious questioning. Because of a cat. Yes, a cat. And the water elemental chasing it. No, I am not making this up. It was chaos. We lost a lot of good people back there.

Caer'ias Aeddan, if you are reading this, be aware that your importance in my father's eyes, and in the eyes of my house, is the only thing that prevents me from making a trophy of your ears. Remember that fact well. Should you ever lose your importance, I will be at your doorstep, waiting to collect.

Until tomorrow, friends...Lok'tar!

- Drakehide

(( I liked it. A mystery always draws me in. Will keep watching for more.))

((Thanks! I'll try to update at least a couple times a week.))

One of the most infuriating parts of this investigation is that occasionally I reach a wall: a point where, regrettably, I can go no further. An impasse.

This is not a problem I encounter in Ashenvale. If a wall of night elf warriors presents themselves, and places themselves between me and their flag, I remove the wall with the aid of my sharp, pointy blade. Sharp, pointy objects are just useful like that. One, however, cannot use sharp and pointy objects to cut through mental walls that block one's thoughts from reaching logical conclusions.

I am not a thinker. I am not an archaeologist, like Caer'ias Aeddan, nor am I a shaman like...like shamans. I am wise in the ways of the warrior, but...perhaps not so much in the ways of the world.

This brings me to a new direction for my investigation: fishing.

I was unable to advance my work because the suspect was nowhere to be found tonight. The suspect's brother was nowhere to be found. The suspect's lover was nowhere to be found. I still carry a victim's rib bone in my satchel, waiting for a shaman to inspect it, or give me some clue from a world beyond, or from the spirit bound to the bone...

But, until I speak with the accused and those close to her, or until I can speak with a shaman, I am powerless to proceed. It is frustrating. It is unnerving.

I went to a tavern to drink away my troubles, and this is where I encountered a brother orc: Scout Kagran. We spoke for a time - he was no stranger to battle himself, and truly has lived the sort of life that our people sing songs of. Though I have just met him, I feel a firm respect for this orc, and a sort of kinship.

It was his suggestion that I go fishing. Why? To relax. To clear my mind. To open my mind to new possibilities.

Because I have known nothing but battle for so long that, perhaps, the block in progress I experience is because of my instincts. It is difficult for a warrior to stop being a warrior. It is who I am - I live it, I breathe it. But...for a while, at least, I must become a thinker. A questioner. I must adapt to face this new challenge.

I will still kill Caer'ias Aeddan. But I will kill him after I go fishing.

Lok'tar!

- Drakehide

Good people, before you sit down to read this entry in my records, grab a drink. I'm having about twelve. This chapter is going to take a while.

I spoke before of an impasse...and I have again, in my endeavors, reached an impasse, but this time one of my own making. It is a long story.

Needless to say, this entry will have little to do with my murder investigation. Though, on that note, I have reached a new impasse. I finally consulted the shaman on the subject of the bone I was given. It had been my hope that the shaman would reveal something of the circumstances that surrounded the death of its owner. Sadly, it did not. The bones were silent. I was disappointed, but I am still confident that investigation of the body in the Ghostlands will be fruitful. I still must also question members of Homeland on events that transpired recently.

The shaman I met with tonight was not pleased with me. I sought him out a second time for advice. He asked me about the day's events, and I told him truthfully. For the most part. I told him with pride that I had stormed the Spire of Blackrock, and that my companions and I had cut down Warchief Blackhand. I bragged of the blows I laid, of the warriors that I slew, of the path of blood and bodies that I left in my wake. It was a glorious battle, and an honorable victory. I expected him to cheer me on, and drink with me. I expected him to be proud.

And I have never seen such disappointment in the eyes of my father, the Orc shaman Mok'Rukh - son of Rukh - as I have on this night.

"Have you learned nothing?" he whispered to me, with disappointment, and sadness in his eyes. He turned away from me, and retreated into his home in the Northern Barrens with my mother.

Again, friends, I say this: it is a long story.

I was invited by two comrades of mine - Keedriel and Kagran - to participate in an attack on Blackrock Spire. I knew nothing of the circumstances of the battle, nor of the reason behind the attack. I am a warrior - battle is all I needed to know. The odds and the numbers were against us. There were dragonkin, enemy warriors, and terrible Beasts within. Songs would be sung of the day. What more did I need to know?

The chance to fight alongside Scout Kagran also made me...foolish. He has fought for the Horde longer than I have lived in my father's house. He is an Orc of many battles, and many years. I looked forward to fighting by his side...and to be looked upon, by the Horde, by my peers, and by Kagran himself with respect. I have written before that I feel a special kinship and respect for this Orc, and the prospect of a glorious battle with him stirred my warrior's heart.

Truly, the battle was less than glorious...it was a slaughter. They were ill-trained, ill-prepared, and we had the element of surprise on our side. We cut them down in their dwelling places, many of them caught half-asleep. Did I see this as dishonorable? No. They were the enemy. A soldier must always be vigilant - their lack of vigilance, their pride, their foolishness, are no fault of mine. We were stronger, better, faster - this is why we were victorious. The victories, thus, must have been honorable.

Even then, in those halls, I was justifying the slaughter to myself...

My bloodlust was not sated until the last of the Orcs of that Spire were dead on the ground, until the last axe had fallen from the last of their steely grips. All this time, I was filled with zeal, and excitement, and a thirst for glory. I was fighting at Scout Kagran's side. I was fighting alongside Keedriel. I was fighting alongside Roriel, the warrior. I was slaying enemies in the name of the Horde, and surely I was making my father proud.

What a fool I was.

Warchief Rend Blackhand fell. Even before the battle began, I mocked the old Orc, ridiculed him as the rest of my companions were preparing for battle. It was not a long battle, nor an especially difficult one...I do not know whether he had become weak in his old age, if we had caught him off his guard, or...or perhaps, he had simply tired of battle. I do not know. I gloated. Oh, I gloated. I had charged into that arena with proud shouts of "For the Horde!" and I had cut down waves of chromatic dragonkin with zeal. Now, we had slain Blackhand. What glory! What honor, would there be for us! What songs they would sing!

I turned to Kagran, intent on praising him. On praising all of us. We had defeated a dangerous threat to the true Horde.

((To Be Continued))

((Continued from previous))

Yet...

Kagran appeared...almost sad. He knelt at the side of the dying old Orc. When I tried to speak, I was silenced by Roriel swiftly. Now that I think on it...see it in my mind's eye...

The look in Kagran's eyes remind me terribly of the look in my father's. Sadness. Grief. Mourning.

What a fool I made of myself. And, for all my skill in battle...truly, I would have died in that place if not for the assistance of my companions: Kagran, Keedriel, Rorian, all of them. Now, I sit in a tavern. I drink. I think over the day's events. Something, at last, troubles me.

I am investigating a murderess. One who has needlessly taken the lives of at least fifty-two, if the counts are to be believed. Someone unstable. Someone who has made a life for themselves, if the accusations are true, from violence, brutality, and disregard for life and the living world around them.

...I have killed over a thousand. So, am I really so different? When I do not hide behind that frail, fallible ideal of my own honor...when I have not scalps from Ashenvale, or trophies, or accomplishments to brag of...what makes me so different from the murderess?

I do not know how to cook a simple meal, as my mother does. I have never investigated a dig site, like Caer'ias Aeddan does. I know nothing of the natural world or the spirits around me, except for my father's stories. The only skill I have to my credit is that I excel at killing other living beings. That...is all I have. Now, as I look back on the last several years of my life...that does not feel like enough.

My father has a wife, and a house, and a garden. Caer'ias Aeddan has his goblin lover, soon to be his wife. Kagran, Keedriel, and Roriel all have Homeland. And a close friend of mine admitted to me tonight - a friend whose name I cannot mention as his actions might be counted as treasonous - that he has found companionship with one of Ashenvale's own night elves. They are all building families, and lives, and homes for themselves. They are creating a new world, new places, new lives - all that I continue to do is leave a trail of bodies in my wake. Just like Blackrock Spire.

I want more than this path. I learned tonight just how valuable friendship is, and what my friends truly mean to me - I thought, earlier, that I had found a very close friend of mine dead. I constantly rail against him, and his self-destructive tendencies, and often we are opposed to each other. One might think us enemies or rivals to see us in a tavern - never friends. But...when I found him, hanging from a tree this night, I felt emptiness. I felt loss. I felt as if the whole of Azeroth had been pulled out from beneath me. I sputtered, and I shouted, and I cursed him, and Caer'ias Aeddan, and the circumstances that led to the event...but all I could feel was loneliness. Loneliness, and regret that I did not treat him as a better friend while he was still alive.

The little sneak had rigged it all. Staged his own death, just to get a reaction out of me. Mark my words, it was an unfunny joke, and one day I will make him pay for it. Dearly. However...there was a lesson learned through the experience.

No longer do I want to be alone.

One can fight with honor. One can be a warrior with dignity. One can be a defender of lands, and the shield that keeps their family safe from the foe. This...this is not the warrior that I have become.

Deeds once done cannot be undone. Perhaps, they may yet be mitigated.

I will continue my investigation of the murder. But...I have a new investigation ahead of me as well, now. I must learn what manner of warrior I have become. I must learn what manner of warrior I wish to be.

And...one day, perhaps, I will become that warrior. A selfless warrior, like Roriel. A good warrior, like Kagran.

When I am all these things, though...I also hope that I am a good friend. A good friend, like Keedriel.

Until tomorrow, Lok'tar, my friends. There has been enough Ogar.

((This is exquisite writing. Thank you so much for sharing this.))

((I'm glad that you liked it! Going to try and steer this [and Drake in-game] back in the direction of the actual murder investigation soon. Will try and keep updating regularly.))

Humility.

I do not have this.

Yet, slowly, I am learning this. It is not an easy lesson to learn - especially for one as proud as I am, or one as confident in his abilities as I am. If there is one thing that I have learned, this first day as part of Homeland, it is humility.

The murder investigation that is bound to my honor, and that has taken up an untold number of hours from the last week, progressed this evening. It progressed, but not in a direction that I was at all hoping that it would. There were...circumstances...to one of the deaths that complicates matters greatly. With the rest of the killings I still do not have enough information to form an argument or an accurate picture of events at this time.

However...two damning eyewitness accounts - one of them to an almost intimately familiar degree, with the accused - leaves me lacking for hope right now. I was so full of confidence in myself, when I began this investigation. Now, I doubt myself. I doubt my sense, I doubt my abilities, and most of all I doubt my objectivity.

I also learned this evening that I am not the only one to have set out on this line of investigation. I am not the only one to try and vindicate, or redeem, the killer in question. No one, thus far, has been able to accomplish this. Some of them have been trying for months. Some of them have been trying, I would guess, for years.

I assumed, at the start, that this would be an easy task. Now, I see that I am standing at the base of a mountain. A great, heaving mountain. Spewing lava. And fireballs. With dragons circling it hungrily.

Speaking of...dragons...I was humbled a second time this evening. In a drunken attempt to raise my own spirits and the spirits of the comrades around me, I offered a retelling of Caer'ias Aeddan's "Deathwing" story. It went mostly well. Until I mixed up one word - ONE WORD - and the entire story dissolved and came undone. Kagran and Keedriel's shock leads me to believe that I...perhaps...should not tell the story drunk, as Aeddan does. It only leads to disaster.

I feel, as a storyteller, I have shamed my father's house. Which is why I should probably stick to being a warrior and leave singing songs of brave exploits to someone better suited to the task.

As a sidenote, Caer'ias Aeddan, you are a liar, a coward, and a charlatan. First of all, who would EVER believe that you killed the dragon? The dragon still lives - and when he dies, I am certain that it will be REAL heroes disposing of him. Not some obscure scholar in the middle of the desert, digging up bones with pickaxes and tiny brushes. And even if your story WERE, in the slightest, believable, how can you reconcile the number of times...a certain word, describing a certain body part...appears in the tale? I think your fascination with the word is unhealthy and a little disturbing.

(Cont'd below...)

I am not talking to or about Caer'ias Aeddan any longer. As far as I've concerned, after the story I botched, he and I have gotten into a fight and we're not friends anymore. Not that we ever were before.

Finally, when all these things had taken place, I was invited by the warrior Roriel to join him, Keedriel, and Kagran for sparring. At last! Battle! A chance to whet my blade! We split off into pairs - Kagran sparring with Keedriel, and Roriel sparring with me. I was concerned at first - he wore no armor, and carried only a dulled sword and a shield.

I knew, however, I could not lose, and I could not fail. I am Drakehide, son of Mok'Rukh, of the house of Rukh! And sons of Rukh do not fail in battle. We are warriors!

Roriel is a better warrior. By far. Despite my time in fronts like Ashenvale, Arathi Basin, and the Alterac Mountains, Roriel defeated me in six blows. I did not land a single hit. He was also right about my technique and its flaws - I talk far too much, as you good people can attest too, and my methods in battle are...well, a little deplorable. Frankly, on further reflection, it's probably only dumb luck that hasn't gotten me killed by one of Roriel's skill yet.

So...as I have said, it has been a very humbling day for me. I was first "defeated", in a sense, by my investigation. I was undone in storytelling by my own drunkenness and inability to tell the tale as well as Aeddan. I was thoroughly smote by Roriel - who, by the way, is an exceptional teacher. He moves like lightning. I might go so far as to say like greased lightning. Each of these defeats, though...they have taught me something. As an individual, and as a warrior, I have grown.

I have learned that there is far more to the world than just my own opinions and point of view. Just because I want something to be so, or because I want the truth to be shaped by my hopes and expectations of it, does not necessarily mean that it will be. The blood elves - my "native" race - have an expression: "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to..." I actually cannot remember the rest but I do not think it's especially relevant. There are certain things I cannot change. I am one warrior - there are certainly things I cannot do. Especially alone. There are certain battles I cannot win. There are individuals in this world whose abilities surpass my own. I must come to understand this...and I must learn this "humility" that still I lack.

This is...a strange time for me. I am used to standing on top of the world, as master and conqueror. Keedriel, Kagran, Roriel...they are all warriors whose equal I have never seen. They are exceptional individuals. From what I have witnessed so far, Homeland is full of these exceptional individuals. It is...difficult for me to admit that I still have much to learn. I hope, however, in time...and with the strong, wise people of Homeland as my teachers...that I will one day be an exceptional warrior, myself.

Until tomorrow...Lok'tar Ogar, friends.

((Keedriel, thank you. In one single line of dialogue, you have given me an EPIC journal entry to write. ^^ I hope you approve.))

My investigation made no progress this evening. Caer'ias Aeddan, I will cut out your heart with a spoon. Kagran, Roriel, Keedriel, and all my other Homeland companions, you are worthy of praise. So on, so forth.

There. Now all the usual content of this journal is covered, and I can move on to the real content of this journal.

The Stone Guard's Log shall no longer be referred to as the Stone Guard's Log. It shall be referred to as the Log Formerly Known as the Stone Guard's Log. It is an unpleasant and lengthy title, but it is appropriate thanks to present circumstances.

I am disgraced. I am stripped of my rank and title. I am no longer a soldier of Hellscream's Horde.

But...I at least have my honor. I have kept the promise of a once-foe who has turned out, in recent days, to be my greatest friend. That...that is enough.

Let me explain myself, friends. I have learned much, of late, about myself. This is thanks to the effort of my Homeland friends. I offer special thanks to the crafty Kagran, the swift Roriel, and faithful Keedriel. They have stood at my side. I have eaten with them, drank with them, fought with them, sparred with them. There is something of a...a family that I now find myself part of, and this is not a family I ever wish to forsake.

I have had brothers-in-arms before. I have fought with brother Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls...I have laid waste to entire Alliance encampments, and sung songs over their corpses with my brothers. These Homeland brothers, though...they are different. They defend. They protect. There is a sort of...integrity, duty, and honor about them that too often I find lacking in my brothers in battle. And...admittedly...these traits, on great reflection, I have found lacking within myself.

Tonight I was put to the test. It was a simple matter: I was called to Ashenvale to take part in a sortie against a small night elf encampment. I was stepping out of the bar, about to sail on the back of my majestic wind rider - and YES, he is majestic - when a friend approached, and spoke to me in hushed tones. I cannot name him, for to do so would expose him and the...treasonous nature of a relationship that he shares with a certain night elf.

He implored me to...to watch out for her. He told me that she resided in Ashenvale, and that she was a priestess, probably healing the local wounded. He implored me, if I should find her, to...to let her be, and let her live.

Part of me was disgusted at the request. The night elves, over my 112 years, have stolen from me. Oh, they have stolen from me. They have stolen from me, and struck at me, and spit in my face. Why, on the battlefield, should I show them a shred of mercy or decency? They are duplicitious...multiplicitous...malicious...they are wicked creatures, and will behave as such in battle. I do not trust them. I could never turn my back on them. I can never feel anything but contempt for them.

And yet...there was something more that stirred within me. Conflict. I have served the Horde, and I have served them well. I have destroyed homes, lives, and families. I have undone over a thousand - this is the reason I was given my rank, and the reason that I ceremonially hold the title of Stone Guard. My companions in Homeland, though...they have shown me the chance to become something else. Something more. A bastion against the destructive forces of the cruel world outside. A protector. A wall, keeping my friends...my family...safe.

What would Kagran, or Roriel, or Keedriel do?

I accepted the summons, and dismounted at our base. I took a small expedition - including some of my most trusted troops - and we moved in. Most of us were caught up fighting infield, when we first realized that we were doomed. The Alliance, it seems, has made a curious pact...and enlisted the aid of fearsome allies: Death Knights. Rarely, before, have I ever faced their kind. This time, though, they were everywhere. An entire contingent of them, laying waste to all that crossed their path. Especially the small one.

Yes, there were gnomes. Gnomish Death Knights. One of them with bright pink pigtails. It disgusted me.

I digress.

The fighting in midfield was pointless. They had us outdone, by numbers. They had better armor, better weapons. They carried saronite, and they knew how to use it. The flag at our base had been seized, and they were taunting us with it.

What would Kagran, or Roriel, or Keedriel do?

(Cont'd below)

I decided to take the fight to the Alliance dogs, once and for all. It was a foolish gambit, but...if it worked, I knew the songs sung of my death would be glorious. That...and if I could secure their flag, it would distract them long enough for the rest of the troops to regroup. I set off, tearing on foot towards the Silverwing hold and the flag that lay therein.

I was stalking my way up the tunnel, beneath the hold, that led straight into their hall when I caught sight of her. A priestess. A night elf priestess, with all of the markings...I thought...of the young woman that my friend had begged me to watch for, and to spare. It was hard to tell. It was dark, as the lair was coated in shadow.

I was caught now at an impasse. Taking that flag would mean catching the attention of the enemy, and sparing the lives of many of our warriors. Taking the flag, though, would probably also involve taking the life of this priestess. Especially if she was not pleased with the idea of me simply walking into their base, and stealing their flag.

Now, I would have to make my choice.

I placed my sword in its sheath, but kept my shield gripped by and locked against my left arm. Forward, I moved, silently. Only the sound of my thorium plates clanging together rang out, softly, as I approached the priestess and the flag. I would give her a chance to flee. I would ask her to walk away. If she would not...

Well, at that point, I did not know what I would do.

She saw me approaching. She immediately unsheathed a curved, longblade of her own and shakily held it out towards me, aggressively. The priestess had clearly not seen many battles; Her grip on the blade was poor, and her stance was deplorable. I sighed, but did not unsheathe my own weapon.

"I mean you no harm," I spoke, in my "native" race's Thalassian, hoping it would be close enough to her own dialect for her to understand, "I am here for the flag. Step aside. I do not have any wish for us to - !"

She started screaming, frantically, in Darnassian, and backing up slowly towards the flag, her blade still held aloft and shaking. I rolled my eyes. Her speech was so loud, so frantic, so fast that I could not make out individual words, or get even a clue as to what she was saying. I continued to advance, my hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

"I will not hurt you," I sighed, trying to calm her. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt by that sword of hers. Judging how poorly she was wielding it...I wasn't worried about me. "I have made an oath. I cannot harm you. Please step aside, priestess, for your sake and for - !"

The sound of a saronite dagger entering one's ribs, through the chinks in thorium armor plates, is a curious sensation and an even curiouser sound. The best I can describe it is taking a sharp knife and stabbing it into the largest clam you have ever seen, piercing the soft, meaty core. A clack followed by the sick sound of steel through flesh and meat. I blinked, and once the immediate sharp sensation faded I became acutely aware that blood was dripping down my side, and that there was something lodged in my midsection.

I followed the priestess' eyes and turned, facing a rogue. Another night elf. Clever beasts, I had turned my back to them. Given them this chance. Allowed myself to become distracted, and waste time with chatter. From the steely footsteps I could hear marching, in double time, up the ramp I knew that my time was short, and that the contingent of Alliance Death Knights was also approaching. Which meant, either, that my troops and brothers were dead, or that I had given the Alliance just the distraction I'd hoped to. Either case, my next course of action was clear.

My hands clenched themselves around the rogue's collar, not permitting him another moment to strike. I used my greater weight - thanks to my armor - to spin him around, build momentum, and hurl him headlong into the charging Death Knights. Due to the screaming, I am inclined to think he landed on something - or someone - with spikes. It was an amusing and consoling thought.

The distraction allowed me a few seconds to back away, to the center of the vast chamber. The priestess was still half-curled against the back wall, cowardly holding out her blade. Something in me despised the woman, now. If not for her foolish, antic cries I would have the flag. I could not, however, bring myself to strike her...even if she was responsible now for my injuries. I still had my honor to uphold.

They came into the hall one by one, moving to my left and right, slowly forming a sort of circle around me - seven of them total, their leader the gnome. Yes, the one with the pink pigtails. I was probably about to die at the hands of a gnome with pink pigtails. Fate is fickle like this.

I closed my eyes, a moment, remembering my friends. Kagran, Roriel, Keedriel. What would they do?

(Cont'd below)

Fight wisely, honorably and respectfully, like Kagran, I thought. I did not lunge, or take a cheap shot, or curse my attackers. I unsheathed my blade, readied my shield, and slightly bowed my head to them. Those at my eye level, anyway - I can only have so much respect after all for gnomes.

"I am ready," I spoke to them, courteously letting them make the first move.

Three of them charged me.

Their armor is heavy. Move swiftly, like Roriel, I thought. I stepped deftly out of the way, at the last minute, letting my movement and not my shield be my defense. Two of the Death Knights collided - the third I jabbed out at with my weapon, catching him between armor plates at his thigh. He dropped to the ground, crying out and clutching the wounded part.

Another death knight approached, from the left, stalking towards me.

Kagran would use distance to his advantage. Do not let the distance be closed.

I pulled my sword back, over my shoulder, and then whipped it forward, releasing the handle. The blade soared across the room, becoming trapped between plates near the approaching Death Knight's collarbone. I suspect he was a Worgen for how shrilly he howled.

Two more - both from behind. I could see their shadows.

Use the shadows. Keedriel is a sneak, and would act the part. I set down my shield, and realized I still had two weapons at my disposal - a small war pick, and a skinning knife at my belt. The Death Knights approaching me could not see me liberate these from their sheathes. Their shadows on the ground raised a pair of axes high, ready to strike down; I crouched, moved back just slightly, and drove the weapons into their guts.

They were not impressed, apparently. One of them staggered back, the other dropped his axe and then swung at me, with a jagged, saronite fist. It struck me cleanly in the side of the head and I fell forward, dazed a moment, to the ground. I began to make my way up, back to my feet, when a foot caught me in the ribs - still with the rogue's dagger sticking out of them - and I groaned, sharply, and I fell to the ground. I staggered up, and watched the Death Knight's approach.

It was one on one, now - with the exception of the pigtailed one, who seemed just to be observing. At least it was a fair fight.

A glow of white filled the room.

Kill the healer, my instincts told me, Kill the healer!

It would be easy. I was armed, and she had no idea how to use her weapon. She was wearing cloth armor, and I was coated in Thorium. She was vulnerable. Once she was dead, I could finish off the Death Knights.

This I could not do. My honor would not allow it. I still had a promise to keep.

Slowly, the wounded Death Knights on the ground began to pick themselves up, retrieve their weapons, and turned on me. I had in one hand a skinning knife, in the other my pick, and the odds were suddenly vastly against me.

Fortunately, we were in a room where the walls were covered in weapons. I took a shield - a nice one, but not as nice as my usual - and a sword down from the wall, casting the other implements aside. I approached them again, the seven of them standing shoulder-to-shoulder, moving towards me like a saronite wall.

It was then that I realized my fatal mistake.

The light of the room provided the illumination I needed to get a good look at the healer. Her facial markings were green, not violet.

I had spared the life of the wrong priestess.

(Cont'd below)

They descended upon me. My shield blocked many of their blows, and my sword delivered many of its own, but thanks to the healer no sooner would I issue a wound than see it stripped away by a soft white glow, arcing from her hands to the injured destination. My wounds were not so fortunate. One Death Knight pierced my armor near the shoulder with a runeblade. One came at me with a pair of short swords, making slight cuts into my chest and upper arm. Another stabbed at my knee. The usual gunmetal color of my armor was being replaced by the crimson of my own blood. My vision was beginning to haze, and I knew that my time was short.

I lashed out, with the ferocity of a war-wolf knowing death was upon it. My blade punched into them, one by one, in a final bloody approach. It was stained black with their blood. I howled as I moved through them - one, two, three, four, five, six! - when finally the battle ended with a sick crunching sound.

The weapon of the gnome did not penetrate through holes in armor plates. It was an axe, designed for chopping, cutting, cleaving. It cut right through the thorium of my armor, and into my stomach.

So this was it? This was Drakehide's glorious death? Axed by a gnome? Fate is indeed fickle.

I dropped to my knees. After a few seconds, I fell onto my side.

I do not think they realized that I was still alive. Or if they did, they simply did not care.

They spoke with the priestess for a few seconds, chattering back and forth in a tongue I did not recognize. Probably Alliance Common. The gnome barked orders to two of the other Death Knights, and they approached. My body was looted. This is ironic because, in my years, I have looted a great many bodies. It is a strange thing to experience from the other side. They took gold pieces. They took the food and drink I carried. They inspected my armor but left it alone - it was too thoroughly dented and broken to be useful, I suspect. They took hold of the Orgrimmar tabard on my chest, and ripped the black insignia cleanly off in a single motion.

I was lifted from the ground. I was taken to the highest point of the hold, overlooking the battlefield. Then, I was thrown.

I watched the rest of the battle. I had managed, indeed, to create a temporary distraction. It was not enough. The Death Knight gnome, with her black riders, swooped in from the Hold in one organized rush and laid waste to what Horde warriors remained on that field.

As a sidenote, I hate gnomes. Let it be said I don't like gnomes. I'm now a gnomophobic.

When the Horde learns of this...I will be undone. This battle was a disaster. My poor judgment call and my hesitation lost the day.

I am disgraced. I am stripped of my rank and title. I am no longer a soldier of Hellscream's Horde.

I think I am dying.

But...I at least have my honor. It was all to keep my promise, to a friend. That...that is enough.

Please see that this journal in its entirety reaches my father, Mok'Rukh, son of Rukh, in the Northern Barrens. See that it is also shared with Keedriel and Akira, to whom I pass my investigations in the hopes that one day they might be complete. See that it reaches Roriel and Kagran, who I have great admiration for, so that they know what has happened here, and that I fought with honor.

I do not know how much longer I














TO BE CONTINUED...?












((Of course it's to be continued. What kind of silly question is that? See you guys in-game! ^^))

I live.

It is fortunate that the Death Knights neglected to seize this parchment. They left it, conveniently, right where I fell in Ashenvale, when they cast me off the walls of their precious Silverwing hold. The place where I died. Yes, died. Past tense. After I left Aeshi's cave I was fortunate enough to recover it, before stumbling my way towards the Mor'Shan Ramparts, where eventually I was found by Keedriel, and led to safety.

Ah, the troll Aeshi...I do not know how to best describe her. You would think her a druid, if you saw her, because she often takes the form of a large, jungle cat. The way that druids do. If you ever called her a druid, though, I suspect she would become greatly offended. Voodoo witches like Aeshi, and druids don't exactly get along. Typically. Or so I've heard.

I first met her in Eversong Woods, on my way to one of Homeland's Welcome Walks. I did not realize she was a troll. My wolf was chasing her. I made it stop. Later, the cat came back, while I was trying to have a private conversation with Velidraestel and Akira. It was followed by a water elemental. They were playing hide and go seek. Never have I seen such a public disturbance in all my days, and never have I experienced such difficulty thinking straight or developing coherent thoughts - outside of journal-writing, anyway.

Let us consider the record. My worg chased her. I yelled obscenities at her for making merry in a perfectly public place, in what was supposed to be a friendly, group gathering. I treated her like an animal. In fairness, I just thought she was a big, too-intelligent cat. The Voodoo witch thing - by the Nether, even the druid thing - had not once occured to me. In retrospect...I was very mean-spirited to her, and very harsh on her.

And...the more I think on the events of my life, the more I see that harshness. I am rude. I am gruff. I hurt people, through my behaviours, and through my attitude. People, in many cases, who care about me. Like Aeshi.

Songs should rightly be sung of this troll woman. She did not just save my life. She...rebuilt me.

The gnome who killed me - the pink-haired, pigtailed wonder - she cut out my heart, and took it back to an Alliance encampment, near a mass grave. I was put in the grave, my heart was put in a jar. Both my heart and I were under lock and key. Aeshi - who just, by fate, was in Ashenvale - caught my scent, found me in that mound of bodies, snuck into the grave site, and dragged my body out. The gnome came out to stop her. She plucked out the gnome's eye, and swore only to give it back when my heart was given in exchange. And...Aeshi threatened the gnome that if the eye stayed in her possession, she would hex it, and that gnome would suffer horrifying, terrible visions for the rest of her days.

There is something that stirs my heart about this troll woman. It's one thing to resurrect a man. It's one thing to drag a body back from the front line. It's one thing to steal back a body part. But what Aeshi did - sneaking into an Alliance base, stealing my body, cutting out a gnome's eye and then FORCING said gnome to hand over my heart willingly - that takes guts. She amazes me. She made a bold move, the kind that stories are made of. Gruesome stories, true, but glorious ones.

I think I am in love.

She tended my wounds. She placed the heart back in my chest. Yes, she used...darker arts...to do it, but she brought me back to life. She gave me a second chance. And...her kindness opened my eyes to a way of life, and a way of looking at the world that I had never really experienced before. I had done nothing kind, or decent, or friendly to her from the moment I met her. Yet...she went behind enemy lines, stole back my body, and stole back my heart.

Heh...in a couple senses, I guess one could now say my heart belongs to this troll. And I have the marks on my chest to prove it.

After I left Aeshi's cave, Keedriel found me. I walked with Keedriel back to Orgrimmar. As I did, I became increasingly aware of just how much I wanted to be alive. How good it was to be alive, too. I had always wanted a warrior's death - it is not, friends, half of what it is cut out to be. Especially when you're watching your brothers-in-arms in retreat, being slaughtered. Simple things...families, at farms in the Northern Barrens...creatures, roaming the plains...the look of the sun, and the feeling of the breeze on your skin...they are all things we take for granted, until we do not have them anymore, and until we will never have them again.

Do not panic. I am not about to go "Cenarion" or DEHTA on anyone. If I do, please put me out of my misery. But...I certainly have a new appreciation for living things, for the world around me, and for just the state of being alive.

(Cont'd below)

Keedriel, by the way, is a good friend. He went greatly out of his way today to take me to the Wailing Caverns. I had told him about Aeshi and my feelings for her, and he had suggested that I acquire her a Winter's Veil gift. I decided to get her a raptor. Together, we entered the caverns, found an abandoned raptor egg, and now I am keeping it safe for Aeshi, when I see her again. I hope...the gift will be pleasing to her. First of all, because I have become very fond of her. But also because there are moments I think she means to eat me. At least, she threatens to. I don't think she means a word of it.

The last thing I did, with my newfound zeal for life, was give Scout Kagran a big, firm hug. I think he was confused, and a little alarmed. I had that effect on people today.

It was just a good day to be alive. I have a new appreciation for being alive. This is a time of rebirth, and life from lifelessness.

Speaking of life from lifelessness...my worg, he was busy while I was dead. Apparently he is also not a he. And apparently he, or rather, she was pregnant.

I have a puppy. It looks at me dumbly and with admiration as I scratch behind its ears. All is right with the world.

Lok'tar!

- Drakehide

P.S. Caer'ias Aeddan, I am granting you a temporary reprieve. Next entry, all bets are off.

I have not been completely candid on all of my activities. I have bragged often that I have killed many on the battlefield, and that I have brought many scalps to the Warchief. Well, truth be told, given my recent near-death (which was actually a very real death) on the battlefield, my attitude towards war, towards the conflict with the Alliance, and towards night elves specifically has become skewed.

I have never trusted night elves. I have never liked them. I never thought it would be possible for me to stand within ten feet of one without drawing a weapon, or throwing a punch. They have caused me a great deal of suffering, over the years. They are despicable, loathsome, deceitful creatures. Or so I have always believed.

There was an incident when Keedriel and I had retreated from Ashenvale. We were attacked by a trio of night elves. We dispatched them within seconds.

But...then...something felt wrong.

I know these thoughts were treasonous, and I know the actions were even worse...but I could not leave them there, dying, or suffering. Keedriel, I knew, shared these feelings. Inconspicuously, we took their bodies back into the forest, leaving them somewhere where their friends would find them. Somewhere they would get help. Somewhere they would live.

If Orgrimmar wants to hang me for this, let me hang. I am fatigued. This conflict...this unending chaos, this war...it is beginning to wear me down. There must be something more to life - to this world - than endless, pointless, unrelenting war. There must be something better than all this suffering.

I mentioned before that I had a friend who had met a night elf lover, and that they were very happy together. Well...I still shall not use names, for reasons of their safety, but...I had the fortune today of meeting my good friend's better half in the forests of Ashenvale. She was quiet, and shy, and my heavy armor plates frightened her. It might have been the fact that I was covered head to toe in the sigil of Orgrimmar, spikes, and thorium. Not all in that order, but...yes, I can understand on how it was imposing.

We did not speak much, but...my friend translated a few phrases for his night elf lover. There is a mutual respect between us. Which...is extremely odd for me. To respect a night elf - at all - goes against everything I have come to understand of their race, and against everything that is instinct to me.

Nonetheless, there has been a visible difference in my friend ever since he met her. He has been happy. He has laughed. He has also stopped trying to kill himself. Which was, for a while, a real pain in my backside. It is better now, though. Thanks to her.

We stood, for a while, after the meeting and after the night elf had left. We watched the city of Astranaar, and I found myself wondering what was inside, and what it was like on the other side of the proverbial fence. The night elf I had just spoken with had not seemed bad at all. She had also done nothing but give my friend his life back. But...because of the conflict between their races, they are separated. This world will never allow them a permanent life together - I fear they are doomed to chance meetings in Ashenvale, and other contested areas.

War brings honor, and glory, and it is good for business. But what else is it good for?

There are families and lovers split apart everywhere because of this needless conflict. Do not misunderstand - I am a warrior. I will defend my land. I will never stop defending my land, or my people. But...why has this war gone on for as long as it has? What stands in the way of peace? Is a Cataclysm not enough for our world to endure, without...the rest of this, as well?

I have much to think on. Later. Pup is hungry. I should probably feed Pup now.

Lok'Tar!

- Drakehide

P.S. Aeddan, I gave you a second break. Let it be known with my next work, though, that your time is nigh.

Caer'ias Aeddan, I warned you. Every entry I have written from the start has outlined the painful, gruesome things I will do to you if ever I get my hands on you. The only reason I am in the current mess that I am in is because of you - you, and your connection to my father's house, which started this whole misadventure.

Tonight, you have finally received your comeuppance.

After I stole all of your clothes, and your money, and beat you silly, I cannot help but wonder what went through your mind. Perhaps it was great offense. Perhaps it was desperation. Perhaps it was simply a chilly breeze through the inside of your skull - we all know you have a dire lack of anything even remotely resembling a brain. The best part is you did not recognize me. Your confusion delighted me. Almost as much as the sight of you running into the Tavern, screaming desperately for Keedriel and Akira to rescue you, delighted me.

One day, when you least expect it, I will beat you a second time. Until then, I have given Keedriel your pants. I assume he will send them back to you. If he does not, I hope you find new ones soon. Your skin is pale from living in Reliquary buildings, basements, and below airship decks for so long. You'll burn thoroughly out here, in Durotar.

Originally I stole Aeddan's clothes to pass as him, so that we could infiltrate Silvermoon. Why? Because tonight the game was afoot. My investigation made leaps and bounds of progress.

As I have suspected all along, the evidence no longer leads to the principal suspect, the "murderess". Instead, it leads to her uncle, a man who has published work in Thalassian and Eredun on soul magic and on curses. Curses that would allow him to remove souls. Thanks to tell-tale signs of one of the victims' bodies and thanks to certain...known conditions, in both the murderess and her brother...we now have a running theory. A theory!

Soon, this girl will be vindicated. Soon, this investigation will be over. Soon, we will discover the true villain, and justice will be served. Cold. Keedriel and Akira, who are assisting me with the investigation, also seem optimistic. All it will take now is one last string of questionings, to confirm the story that the bones tell us.

Speaking of bones...Pup is digging something up outside of the Wyvern's Tail Inn again. I think this time it is a relative of Gravy's.

At any rate, we have piles of evidence stolen from the Reliquary in Silvermoon. Documents, retrieved through effective use of...stealth, and disguise. Yes, I dressed up as a gnome. Yes, I sang obnoxious Winter's Veil carols. Yes, I posed as Great-Father Winter's helper and used my position as such to gain me entry to hidden files. It was not my proudest moment, but it was done for the Horde - er, for my friends. And for this murderess I seek to free from the allegations constantly slung her way.

One more interview. One more day. Then...it's all over but the crying.

Lok'tar to all, and to all a good night.

- Drakehide

I am thinking about Pup right now.

I am sitting in the Wyvern's Tail Inn.

My legs, up until about an hour ago, were badly broken.

I think I have already drank eight Cactus Ciders and three skins of Mulgore Firewater. The big ones. The ones with the kick. They are not helping my current situation at all.

I was so close. My investigation, my work...all of it...I was so close.

Let us focus on Pup.

Pup does not have to worry about murder mysteries. Pup has no concerns but chasing his own tail. Pup has no care of soul magic, or evil relatives, or conspiracies. Pup is just...Pup. And he is happy being Pup. And Pup, apparently, likes me for some absurd reason. I am glad that he does, because I think in one fell swoop I have alienated and offended everyone else who I sought to help tonight.

There is no point to hiding behind anonymity any longer. Velidraestel is the girl I am investigating. Or I was. Now, I'm drinking and wondering why I took this case on in the first place. Perhaps my father was right...perhaps I have not learned. Perhaps my anger, my impatience, my thirst for battle...perhaps these things will one day undo me. They almost did tonight.

Akira and I confronted Velidraestel. He was comforting her, and I was questioning her. Good-Grunt, Bad-Grunt, as I think the saying goes. I was attempting to gain information on her uncle's whereabouts, on the events that had surrounded the death of the blood elf Welennis, and what the Silvermoon autopsy reports had failed to mention. I kept asking the questions, many of them repeatedly, and she just...kept freezing.

Roriel arrived while I was asking my questions, and looking on with concern. Now I understand why.

My temper got the best of me. Rather, my impatience did. I could have called an end to all of this tonight. We could have reconvened. We could have taken this slow. No, instead, I tried to force Velidraestel's hand. I called her a coward. I challenged her to battle. I tried to make her angry. I tried to make her want to kill me.

Yes, to recap, I am trying to prove her INNOCENT of murder. But there is something about this case that has confounded me from the start, and I can stay silent about it no longer.

She will not defend herself. I know that she has killed - the night elves and orcs she slaughtered indiscriminately in Ashenvale were well-witnessed by Roriel, and by others. She is a fierce warrior, and has the heart of a lioness. Every time, though, I have given her - or anyone else has given her - a chance to further these investigations, a chance to clear her name, or a chance to reveal the truth, she declines. I know from all the evidence that she is innocent. She has to be. There is something very dark, and very devious going on in the shadows, beyond what any of us are able to see. This is not her fault. And yet...she is allowing herself to carry the grief, the guilt, and the weight of all these things. She has carried it for years. Especially in the case of Welennis' murder.

I wanted her to care. About herself, about Welennis, about anything. I wanted her to want the truth the way I wanted the truth. I wanted her to stand up for herself, to seize this day. I wanted her to stand with us, when at last we take the fight to the true villains in these things.

We fought. On a cliff. She kicked me. I almost fell. I dragged her up the cliff face, to the summit. We fought some more. Blows were exchanged.

The object? I wanted her to hit me.

She has rage. She has fury. Deep down, I think she wants Welennis' murder avenged as much as any of us do. Probably more. That is only my theory, of course. But...I thought she wanted this to be done more than anyone, and yet she buried her rage - the one thing, I thought, that would enable her to stand up to her uncle, and give us the information we need to clear her name.

Akira and Roriel tried desperately to stop us. If the fight hadn't ended so abruptly, I think Akira would have thrown me over the edge himself. Roriel...Roriel watched. I did not understand why. Now I do. He'd seen this all before.

I fell. Off a cliff. So did she. Roriel tried bravely to stop us, to catch us, but...it was too late. I could not walk, when I reached the bottom. Velidraestel's injuries were not as bad, but they were still severe. Akira rushed to her side, and tended to her selflessly. He bore her back to the Tail himself. He...he took good care of her. He has become very, very good at cleaning up the messes I make.

I owe my life to Roriel, who gave me his hearthstone, and who let me use it to carry myself to safety, back to the Wyvern's Tail Inn. He fought an entire legion of naga, on foot, to make his way back to us because of that. My respect for him grows every day.

(Cont'd below)

Hours have gone by, now. I received treatment for my wounds shortly after I returned. It was some time before a qualified priest was able to treat Vel.

Truxx, bringer of cookies and good cheer, you were a bright light in a very dark hour. You eased Velidraestel's pain, you lessened my self-loathing, and I think your presence just kept all of us from killing each other. I cannot thank you enough for that.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Pup.

I am writing this journal about Pup.

Pup's mother was a war wolf. She is all fangs, claws, and ferocity. She knows the scent of battle. She loves the scent of battle. She has crushed skulls in her jaw. She has carried me to dozens of fronts, endured dozens of blows, and has always been a faithful companion to me, with the true heart of a warrior. I look at Pup, and I see the great warrior he might be. The songs they might sing of him. The things he might do.

I think of nights like this, though. I think of the sadness. I think of those left behind, the casualties, the victims. War...war is not what I want for Pup. Suffering, pain, sacrifice, hardship...these are not what I want for Pup. Pup will remain with me. He will be an indoor Pup. Or an outdoor Pup, when outdoor does not mean battlefield. Pup does not need battle. I speak to him, and he wags his tail in joy. I call his name, and his eyes sparkle. I scratch him, and pet him, and play with him, and Pup is happier than any creature I have ever known. Pup should inherit this world. People like Pup should inherit this world.

I glance up at Akira, who is still at Vel's side, consoling her. Roriel is sitting with me, and so is Truxx. Roriel and Truxx have talked me through a very dark hour, and a very unpleasant time. We have shared stories. We think we know our next plan of attack.

The battle rages on. My thoughts are not on the battle, though. My thoughts are on what comes after.

Someday, the war will be over. Pup will be free just to be a Pup. I can never go back, just like my old, gray worg can never go back, but Pup will be free. Looking up at Akira, and Vel together, and looking at the way they touch each other...the way they care for each other, help each other, love each other...I am, myself, touched. Despite all their hardships, all they need is each other's company, and it is enough. Once this mystery, this battle, is at its end, the world will be theirs. That's when the real songs will be sung. That will be something truly...glorious.

Akira, you do not know it yet, but many of my hopes for this investigation rest in you. This will be my last entry for some time...perhaps the last. I am passing this old scroll to you. You, and Velidraestel. It is a show of good faith. I hope that one day you will read this, and...realize why I have done what I have done. It does not excuse the mistakes I made tonight, or the harm I caused, but I hope if nothing else it will make sense of all these things.

Also, if I am unable to complete this investigation...if I am unreachable, if I should fall in battle...the task will fall to you. Your faith in Vel is astounding. Your conviction to defend her, and watch over her, it inspires me. Roriel is swift, Kagran is cunning, Keedriel is sneaky, and I am a brute...but there are moments you are truly the heart of our little band. And the voice of sarcasm, but typically the heart.

Velidraestel, I cannot say enough how sorry I am for the harm that I caused you. Should you ever read this passage, I hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Fill the rest of these pages. Pass them on to the others, when these dark days are over and we have happy stories to tell. I'm sure that Roriel, and Keedriel, and Kagran, and the others have stories of their own to tell as well. I look forward to hearing them again, in this same tavern, someday soon.

Aka'Magosh - a blessing on both of you. And on Roriel, and Keedriel, and Kagran, too. I hope happy days will come again soon.

The way Pup is glancing up at me from under the table, wagging his tail despite the dark times that surround us, things look promising.

Lok'tar, friends.

- Drakehide

P.S. And Akira, if you EVER tell a soul about the kind things I've said about you in this entry...you will become the next Caer'ias Aeddan. What happens in the Log stays in the Log. Count yourself warned.

((Here ends Drakehide's account. At this point, the Stone Guard's Log has been passed to Akira.))