World of Warcraft®

The leather cover is black, it appears to have been intentionally dyed, for the inside cover is still a dull white. The wear and tear of its owner's lifestyle has left its mark on the thick book. Pieces of paper and other small mementos peep out of the pages, and a piece of soap on a rope hangs from the binding as a bookmark. The drops of water on the pages roll off, and the paper shows no damage for having been immersed completely.

Kel'tira Sunblaze

I do not have much time to write this. Erunak has given me an enchantment that allows me to work effectively underwater. It appears the charm extends to my gear, for this journal has yet to become waterlogged and ruined. In fact, it looks just as it did before everything started falling to pieces.

When we arrived, our boat was attacked by a sea-monster. A giant squid with tentacles twice the length of our ship. It tore the ship in two, leaving us to sink to the ocean floor. Erunak pulled me from the water, and revived me from near-death in a sunken ship that had trapped a pocket of air. For now, we have remained here.

The legionnaire is speaking to the men before we leave for the assult on the naga --

(The writing stops abruptly, and ink is spread over the page.)

The shipwreck is empty, now, the naga gone and the survivors with them. A book floats in the wreckage alongside a red pack, before sinking to the ocean floor to settle alongside a stone with a glowing emblem of the rising sun.

The journal has a leather cover the color of the trees found in ashenvale. It has scorch marks on the front and is a little torn at the seems.
Fanelmis Sunshatter
I was sent off to find a messenger who was supposed to arrive in the ghostlands yesterday. As I neared the border between the Ghostlands and Eversong Woods I could make out the shape of a forsaken standing over the body of a blood elf. I had found the messenger. He had been poisoned and was slowly dieing, by the time I got he was almost dead. The forsaken thought she might be able to save him and had me gather blood samples from the plagued animals in the Ghostlands. I reached into the nether and began to recite the incantation to bring my voidwalker into Azeroth. Shadows enveloped the ground in front of me and there appeared my voidwalker. "Why have you summoned me?" it said. I retreived the needed samples of blood and gave them to the apothecary. The messenger got enough stregnth to stand he passed his job onto me. After giving me the letter he fell to the ground lifeless. I shook my head and started off for the village. I write this journal in the inn of Tanquillen.
End of Journal entry one

A new tome, this one black leather bound and sealed with silver gilded pages. There is no trace of the owner's name and each word is written in scarlet ink.

I am not who I say I am. I am not who you think I am. Sometimes, I'm not even certain what I will become, but I will not perish in vain.

It has been a while since I have put pen to paper and let my thoughts flow. Mostly because my body has taken sick to the child within me. A true plague, the unborn saps my strength, but my spirit remains in tact. But it is strange. Malathir stands guard over me when it doesn't pain him to do so. He sits with me, we speak sometimes, others he will lie ever so still next to me. Usually, he doesn't draw breath except to speak or sigh.

I made a game out of it, I remember that much. I would see how often I can make him breath. Though I know the unlife fills him and he will not drop dead, it is a worry which nags at me constantly.

I missed the meeting. Slept through it, or vomited through it, I don't recall. Day and night blurred and I hardly recall any of the details after the fact. But while some things have come out of focus, new facts are falling into place, clicking in my mind as I continue my role as observer.

I care deeply for Malathir.

Tyrael is a moron.

Varus will never get a belated wedding present, he is a narrow minded ingrate.

I speak too freely of myself when I feel those I care about are being treated poorly.

I owe Mia an apology.

Tonight will be the first night in a long while that my undead partner isn't resting next to me. Perhaps it was a bad thing to accept a kiss in front of the Ebon Blade. If Varus was so against me being comrades with a Death Knight... Perhaps I'll kiss Malathir in front of him to drive him insane. But back to the more important topic, I wonder if the Death Knights feel the same way about a paladin.

Malathir has laid himself vulnerable to me completely. I have warped and twisted and outright assaulted what his creator did to his mind. I do not think that they will like that a Paladin has become so bold with one of their members. But, unlike Tyrael, I cannot tell them to shut up until they listen.

The last thing I need is to start a war against the Death Knights.

The last thing I need is to lose my Knight.

Light, I pray to you for the first time. Let me be over thinking this.

~An'giel

The haphazardly bound sheets of paper peer crookedly out from between mother-of-pearl covers. The sickly green ink is bioluminescent and emits a faint, yellow-green glow. Upon closer inspection of the inside of the book, it becomes clear that the pages are naught but well-pressed seaweed and they crackle as they are turned. Etched into the inside of the shell cover is a name, “Kel'tira Sunblaze.”

Kel'tira Sunblaze

I am lost. Lost and confused. The small comfort is that I am not the only one who is lost and confused. The Earther Ring beklieves the beast that assaulted out ship was Ozumat. I know not who that is, nor what it means for me, all I know for certain is that there is no way out of the place, Vashj'ir, for now.

I want to be (The word “home” is crossed out) with Nic.

I never understood why, when we keep journals, we re-tell the events of our day. Why relive possibly painful memories? Now I see the benefit. How it could be salvation. I have lost my other book, and can only hope that someone familiar with the Fellowship finds it.

The naga attacked. They carried the Legionnaire and all of the fighters, myself included, away. Erunak saved me. It appears that I will never be done thanking the man.

Now, I do not know exactly how long it has been since the naga attack and my subsequent rescue. The passing of time is slippery. The light on the ocean floor is minimal, and we live in a kind of twilight that is no help at all in determination of the time of day on the surface. My body feels sluggish and tired, and I am covered in cuts, and bruises. There has been no opportunity for sleep, however, so I have continued to push on, not knowing what else to do. Silver Tide Hollow, as is has been dubbed. We are not the first to become shipwrecked here, as the people here have made themselves at home. A bed, if only a straw pile with a linen cover, is a blessing. One I plan to take full advantage of if I have the chance.

It feels as if I have been awake for days. At first the fear kept me moving, but now, I just want to sleep. Sleep or die. I know it cannot have been more than forty-eight hours since we were attacked by the squid, but Light, it feels like so much longer...

Light brown journal with etchings in gold and red are scribed across the leather binding. Wyndd Song tails her fingers across them.

The last few days have been confusing. Tyrael only calls upon me to Heal! of all tings! That Bastard! How could he command me to heal? I'm pregnant and he commands me to switch to another training, becoming something I hate, Its creepy! Feeling the healing powers course through my body, does not apeal to me. It feel slike hundreds of tiny creatures crawling through out my body, pulling me towards the light. I don't hate light, but I hate the feeling that the healing power gives me, Why did father make me train as a healer as well? All idiots! Tyrael has abondoned me, Liar, Cheat! Then after I did his bidding, I'm stuck in a tomb, where I wait to talk to him, exploring and get stuck, He left me in there! The nerve!

Varus came to save me thank god, I told him how Tyrael threatened us, he almost let Malt'ar kill me! I'm affraid now, for this baby. Take me if you will but do not harm something innocent. I wonder how the changing will effect my unborn, To pull all the good and light from my body to heal Mia, How pathetic! We all go off on our own, and it seems only Varus and I can get through life without being captured, tortured, or some other stupid entrapment. He made me heal her! If something happens to this child, I will hold them both accountable! Why is it that I always have to come running for someone else's stupidity?

The ink squirls off the page, her anger seething from her nostrils, her ears twitching, Varus is coming back. Time to go.

A new tome, this one black leather bound and sealed with silver gilded pages. There is no trace of the owner's name and each word is written in scarlet ink.

I am not who I say I am. I am not who you think I am. Sometimes, I'm not even certain what I will become, but I will not perish in vain.

It is late, and I shouldn't be writing.

Everything I feared has come to pass. The Ebon Blade does not trust in me and have come to think poorly of Malathir. The things he complains about, what they have said to him, they confuse me. But perhaps that aids in the fact that he is capable of feeling positive emotions about something apart from killing and torturing.

I really shouldn't attack his comrades out of my own anger. Nor should I pursue the moron Varus. I am burdened with the realization that he will not be the last zealot I will come across. Didn't my time with the Scarlet Monastery and in the Plaguelands teach me anything?

Patience, An'giel. Patience.

I have decided that I will first act with the Argent Crusade, speak to them more, get my name known and spoken. I, who am more than revered with the Argent Dawn, should have very little trouble with such things. And, after the Argent Crusade, I will work directly with the Ebon Blade, whether they want me or not.

Malt'ar is a distant dream now. Kel'Tira has vanished. With my relationship being threatened, I already know that I am helpless to be of use with a search for her. I despite water. But if I am recognized, even I would set foot in Vash'jir at first request to search for her.

But, for now, I have to focus in these problems closer to home. Malathir's worst case scenario... is that they will deem him unsuitable for service and end his existence.

I will not lose anymore people.

Why do those words sound familiar?

~An'giel

Plain, yet sleek black leather binds these pages marked in simple ink together, and no engravings to show it as anything but an average tome are to be seen. The only notable difference would be the bookmark, a silver thread with an ornate pendant lies between the pages to mark where the writer last stopped.

For who I was, I should mourn.. Consider this an insult. For what I was.. I embrace the power that comes with such a fate.

And the chance at redemption along with it.

Disgrace, are you all so impudent? I have faced close-mindedness far too much even for one such as myself, a tool of death, a walking corpse created for one purpose alone. That man.. Vargus, his words are not so far from the truth. I have come to accept such things, but if anything.. That man knows nothing of the individual he speaks of.

Nor does he care, so consumed by his own hatred. His stupidity, An'giel worded it well calling such an illness.

This is not the only time I have been disgraced recently, however.. Something that hits far closer to home than any words a self-righteous Paladin could offer. I am a fool..

But I am not weak.

Not as you think I am, are you so burdened by your undeath that you can't see the wonder in this? My emotions, for a long time since rebirth, are my own to feel.. And I can't shake the feeling she had something to do with it. Ever since that invasion in my mind, small things have come back to me.

Perhaps they are right, perhaps I am a failure in their eyes, in what should have happened in my rebirth, though... I was much like them once. Unable to feel joy for anything other than suffering, but what has seperated me from the fate of my so-callled brethren? I can't help but feel it has something to do with it, this mind not only being my own..

It has something to do with her.

But is this a weakness? The entire Ebon Blade seems to think it is, but they are all ignorant.. So blinded by what they have to be, can they not accept that I have found something other than death to enjoy? No.. This is not weakness, if anything..

I have something real to fight for.

My own cause though unjust in their eyes, this gives me strength they will never be able to understand again. And I wield the power given to me in undeath just as well as the lot of them, in some cases.. I am for more adept at it than many 'perfect' Death Knights.

but no, I am a failure, a mistake was made, that is what was said.. But I.. Am not weak.

She stirs now, and there is much reading to be done.. I have been left alone with my thoughts for long enough.. Perhaps I will go and spill blood, or see if these Gnomes in Dalaran can really teach me a think or two about machinery.

In Silvermoon City, a tall well dressed man was speaking with a rogue trainer. Clearly exasperated, he raked a hand through his hair and tried his best for a patient look.

“No,” he said evenly. “Her name is not Auxilia; her name is…” he broke off and closed his eyes when the trainer slowly shook his head.

“The woman you are speaking of is Auxilia, has always been Auxilia… I think you are mistaking her for someone else.” The trainer paused for a moment, and added softly, “You are not the first person to do that. Perhaps she just looks a lot like this other woman?”

“Alright, I concede,” he said after a moment. He turned and left the small facility and walked back towards the Bazaar.

The trainer looked after the well dressed man with a frown. The man had seen the woman with the brown hair and knew who she was. This didn’t bode well as the woman in question could not remember anything from her previous life, even though it had been several months since she came to. The trainer was one of the few people who knew that the woman had no memory; he also knew that while she was satisfied with what she had and wasn’t interested in delving into what had been her past life, but the well dressed man may very well change her perspective on things.

The trainer didn’t feel bad about lying to the noble about other people mistaking Auxilia for someone else, but he wasn’t about to let on that she might very well be the woman the man was looking for. She was just too valuable to the Horde for her to walk away.

***
New entry in a plain brown leather journal

It seems that once one thing is resolved, another issue comes up. Now that we have found Mia and Aranthil, Kel’Tira has been lost at sea. The ship she was on sank and a survivor brought her journal and stone to Orgrimmar. I retrieved the items and gave them to Nicias. He is understandably beside himself and while we will search Mia, the ocean is a vast place and the Horde is reluctant to send out more ships. We will find a way or make one…

On another note, I have not been feeling well. A malaise has been hanging over me for the last several days and I cannot seem to shake it. My muscles are tired and have a dull ache. I have been travelling quite a bit. The long hours with little sleep probably has something to do with it.

This will put off my training for a short while until I can figure out what is going on. If it persists, then I will ask Fen about it.

(This is unsigned)

The haphazardly bound sheets of paper peer crookedly out from between mother-of-pearl covers. The sickly green ink is bioluminescent and emits a faint, yellow-green glow. Upon closer inspection of the inside of the book, it becomes clear that the pages are naught but well-pressed seaweed and they crackle as they are turned. Etched into the inside of the shell cover is a name, “Kel'tira Sunblaze.” The pages smell faintly of salt, but not at all of fish, and shimmer slightly, telling the tale of the magic used in their creation.

Kel'tira Sunblaze

He found me. Light. Malt'ar found me. If he is to be believed, I was in Vashj'ir for almost three days. He says he pulled me from the ocean along the border of the Searing Gorge and Dun Morogh. “ It seemed.... So unsporting to kill you that way,” he said. He is, was, a mad bastard.

(Blood spots the paper)

I am covered in wounds. To be safe, I drank the potion Auxilia gave me. A bit of of the blurring in my vision has been remedied, and much of the pain has returned. I think, after what I have been through, the pain is a good thing. For now, it means I am not dead yet.

Malt'ar said he pulled me from the sea. All I know is that when I woke, he was sitting there by the fire, watching, waiting. He said he had been tracking me. Tyrael and Auxilia were right... I should not have made plans to seek him out. Even now... I almost died. It was far, far too near a thing for my liking.

For now, I sit here in the Burning Steppes, where I chased him, reliving the past hours of my life. We reached the passage through Blackrock Mountain before he turned to confront me. His movements were vastly different than mine. He was well rested and fed, whereas I had not slept, still have not slept, in days. Light... He came so close to killing me. I could have been the one in the lava, I could be dead right now, and Nic might have never learned if I lived or not.

Nic... I cannot bring myself to take up the stone and call out the the Fellowship. I found Malt'ar's pack, and inside it his guildstone. Even now, the rising sun etched into it is dark. The stone off. I cannot bear to hear their voices yet... I am not ready to speak with them, let alone see them right now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will see them all again. Tomorrow I will feel Nic's arms around me.

Tomorrow –

(The writing stops abruptly and blood stains the page)

Later:

I passed out, there is no other explanation. The only light now is from the lava below, so I suppose it must be late at night.

Later:

The sullen sky hides the stars from me. I would give almost anything to see the stars. Thank the Light Malt'ar had flint in his bag, it made my task of starting a fire extremely easy. The hardest part was finding wood. Another painful hour and I had a fire burning... no food... little water... Once I had hauled myself outside, I think I must have fainted again. Even the smallest motions hurt. I am caked in mud and blood. Salt and soot coat me. I write because I need to put my thoughts on the pages so I can try to begin to forget.

Malt'ar scored first blood. He threw his ninja star and it embedded itself in my shoulder. I have yet to pull it out of my flesh. He wanted me to scream, I denied him that pleasure. He ran. His wyvern flying towards the pass through Blackrock Mountain. We fought. He led me out onto the chain spanning the lava, twice I almost knocked him into the lava before he let himself fall, taking his own life instead of giving me that satisfaction.

But still... he is dead. That is all that matters. Now... I wonder if I can sleep...? No... I think not...

Like as not, I will sit here and stare at the sky all night, thinking.

A royal blue book contains flowing, delicate font, words written in a rich emerald ink. The book itself seems humble enough, though bold golden words are printed across the front:

There is so much potential in this world and the people in it! I'm humbled and amazed every day.

Oh, my first entry, I'm so excited!

Hello, world. My name is... Let's say Shadow!

It's a nickname, really. It doesn't mean I'm related to the shadows in a way that a rogue or priest or warlock might be, no. I study the arts of magic itself, from Flame to Arcane and all that lay in between.

So, why Shadow? I guess I can start with that story.

My first name is Shadira. There's no cute story behind that name, it's just a name. But when I was a child, I was a bit shy. Well, very shy. I would latch onto people and follow then around like a little shadow. So, Shadow!

Now, what am I doing today? Well, I'm taking a bit of a break from my studies. Usually when I take a break, I enjoy some time with my friend Van. But he isn't around, it seems. So, I took a look at the Fellowship's bank...

Who's the Fellowship? Why, they're this group of fun, if extremely odd people. Case in point, the woman An'giel who recruited me by saying she didn't want these guildstones... she gave me one, told me about the Fellowship, and said I was in it! How forceful! But she seemed nice enough, in the way that it's nice to feel a cold chill when you're facing a bitter winter storm.

So, not nice.

But, Van is in it, so I will stay and meet more people.

What am I doing?

I am sorting the guild bank! It is such a mess! There are pieces of armor everywhere, there are herbs touching the fires and I don't even want to bring up the smell in the dusty armor that no one touches! So, I will remove some armor for deconstruction and move the rest so that everything looks better.

I hope they like it!

~Shadow

Tyrael Firehawk

Glory in Death.

Death will find you.

It seems as if in all things I do I seek death or death is a part of who I am. I sometimes wonder if that is to fulfill a larger purpose or just me being a sadistic b*stard. Hope wanes within the Fellowship, Kel'tira is always on the edge of the knife, death near her at all times. Mia is always getting herself caught and it pains me to ask the question but are we really champions of our people? Can we truly be the force the Horde and the Sin'dorei need?

I sometimes question whether Kara Vaelia made the right choice in making me leader. Wyndd questions me, Kel'tira tries to defy my orders and Varus... Bah I cannot even bring myself to speak of him... What should be done is unknown to me. Malt'ar is dead, Vira is supposed to be dead but that is truly unknown... I did not find her body when I went back to Fenris Keep and that worries me. How are we to succeed when our enemies can return from the dead? How can I hold this Fellowship together when it wishes to rip itself apart from the inside?

Kara Vaelia how can I honor your memory?

Her dark tome, this one black leather bound and sealed with silver gilded pages. There is no trace of the owner's name and each word is written in scarlet ink.

I am not who I say I am. I am not who you think I am. Sometimes, I'm not even certain what I will become, but I will not perish in vain.

My first true duty on behalf of the Argent Crusade, of whom I need repute with before I can begin to approach the Ebon Blade... Is to keep vigil over Storm Peaks and report my findings. All night, I sit watch... I saw a large blue dragon, but after hunting and destroying it, I returned to my post, somewhat satisfied.

I haven't heard from Malathir. Perhaps he went to try to patch things up on his end...

Someone named Lock greeted me on the stone. Chatty at first, but as quick to back off as anyone else. Followed by her cousin, Queenie. And Varus... How lovey dovey they were. Though Malathir and I speak with soft nicknames in private, I can't imagine being that way in public. "Love" this and "love" that. I chased them off as well.

Shadow chatted my ear off for an hour or so... then went to sleep.

I return to my lonely vigil, watching the harpies and the occasional passer by. But this land is truly deserted, so I wonder as to wonder the cause.

The King returned to speak, even if just to wake up, yawn at me, chatter, and fall asleep again. But having company that fell to sleep and not to my tongue was refreshing. I recalled why I liked the man in our brief chat. Perhaps it's the pregnancy, but my mood has been eased a little. That, or I'm frozen down to my soul and can't harbor my anger like I used to.

I hope I don't catch cold. A few more hours until sun rises and I can finally rest.

~An'giel

The leather cover is black, it appears to have been intentionally dyed, for the inside cover is still a dull white. The wear and tear of its owner's lifestyle has left its mark on the thick book. Pieces of paper and other small mementos peep out of the pages, and a piece of soap on a rope hangs from the binding as a bookmark. The drops of water on the pages roll off, and the paper shows no damage for having been immersed completely. There are pieces of seaweed with entries written on them tucked into the back of the book, they lend a fresh, sea-salt smell to the tome.

Kel'tira Sunblaze

I think I have spoken to more of the Fellowship face to face in the past twenty-four hours than I have in a week. Nic, Auxilia, Mia, Kalrei, An'giel. It has all made me think again about how fragile life is. How fragile the bonds between the Fellowship's members are...
On another note, I wish I could say what went on between Tyrael and I over the matter of Malt'ar was not my fault. The truth is I was aware of what I was doing. Aware of the repercussions my actions might have had. I am, unfortunately, feeling sorry for Tyrael, not that he would appreciate that sentiment from anyone, let alone me. Nonetheless...

I think that it will go a long way towards repairing bonds within the Fellowship, and his attitude towards me, if I apologize openly. I worry about his attitude towards leadership... And besides, I think he sees me as a child. I must take responsibility for my actions, and must make things right between Tyrael and myself.

I suppose I shall also have to say something to him about my support, and the fact that he should not try to do everything himself. He has the rest of us for a reason.

A simple leather bound journal:

It has been a long uneventful week. I have had to rest due to my serious injuries incurred by those night elf b*tches. My muscles ache and I feel as though I am losing what small skills I had. I hate this inactivity.

I have spent a few hours the past few days with an old friend, Az. Az and I grew up together. Him in his little house with his parents, and I on the streets. He has been talking with me over the situation in the Ghostlands. He has told me not to let the anger and hatred eat me up inside...I think that after a little revenge, I can let it go.

My soul, my body, and my confidence have been affected by these night elf spies. I will wait one more day, then extract my revenge. I shall leave not one of them standing...they all will die by my hand. I need to practice tonight, and stretch my body to it's limits. I will not fail myself in this - I promise.

An simple book with various leaves and plant stems sticking out from it's pages

First entry:

I am thankful for my mother's assitance in getting me ready for the training I needed for attending the acolyte classes. Her skills were without equal, and she taught me more than what I learned in the classes. I will miss her.

Father came home for the funeral, I watched him carefully when I could, he was looking very tired and withdrawn. He seemed more distant than before, and left shortly after the service. I packed what little things I had and left. I took mother's stone pendant as a keepsake, and left the rest for father to do whatever he willed. I will not be back.

Second entry:

I have graduated the school with top honors! And was sent to aid some of our people near Silvermoon City. My skills have increased in the way of the Light, and like my mother before me, I shall seek the way of the Holy, and not touch the Shadows like father. Many of the people I have helped have sent me on to others to aid them, and now I find myself in the area known as the Ghostlands, an appropriate name for the land seems haunting and dark.

Oh, I ran into my old friend Cyaer! He seems to be plagued by something that happened to him in the Ghostlands. I have given him some guidance and hope he keeps in touch with me now more than ever. Whatever it was is eating him up from the inside, and that is not a good thing for Cy. I hold him in my prayers each day and night.

Third entry:

I have vanquished several abominations in the Scar today. They were no easy foes to defeat, but the Light was with me, and I collected their heads for someone in Tranquillien.

I am trying to understand the difference between the undead that wander the Scar and those that are our allies, the Forsaken. I admit I do not feel comfortable around them, their voices sound like death rattles, and their appearance is...spooky. I look forward to leaving the Ghostlands soon, as I have had my fill of the undead and the Forsaken.

Tyrael Firehawk

I wonder what drives us all to be who we are, sometimes I question whether I am who I was meant to be or whether it was stolen from me when the Scourge tore through our lands. Like so many others among this Fellowship... An'giel, Malathir, Varus, Wyndd, Sel... So many of us have been hurt by just one event. What would have happened had Arthas not sought to use the Sunwell to revive Kel'thuzad? What would have happened had Wyndd Song not asked Varus to kill her cousin?

What would have happened had I never met Kara, Mia, or anyone in the Fellowship? What would I have done had I not met Bailey? I have spent the last few months fighting for them. Doing what I could to protect them and to serve them as best I could while still remaining a complete b*stard to all of them. Do any of them really know how much they mean to me? I doubt it, I'm too much of a jack*ss for any of them to really know what I truly feel.

But now I must leave as it is time to wage more war in the name of the Horde and the Fellowship. There is much to do and so much to fix...

Tyrael Firehawk

*All the pages are stained with blood as is the cover which is black and red with the image of the Rising Sun and the symbol of House Firehawk on it*

A slip of parchment written in a shaky hand unlike the rest of the book is tucked into the pages, it appears to be a list.

Alaria.

Kara.

Traly.

Keladryn.

Tyrael

Journal of Karamia

My short term as leader of the Fellowship has turned out better than I expected. In spite of Tyrael's death, we all rallied around the natural leadership of Kel'Tira. Her mind is still reeling from the shock of it as mine is, though her relationship with him was a bit stormier and mine was more personal. But he left a legacy behind and we all remember his stubborn determination. Rest in peace, Tyrael Firehawk.

(A few drops of liquid stain the ink here)

I am requested to serve on the Council of the Fellowship and look forward to helping as I can. ALready we have determined a small Council lead by a strong leader will keep us strong. Light help anyone who tries to break us up now. Every tragedy and set back makes us stronger and more determined to succeed. Where we were once scattered and solitary, we now come together to make decisions to push forward.

My main goal will be to recruit more into our ranks. We have need of strong warriors as well as wielder's of the Light to heal us in our time of need and guide our steps in spiritual matters.

A blood red journal, bond by a simple golden rope. The Journal of Aseria Sunblade

Well....I think my first few encounters with some members of the Rising Sun Fellowship were both hostile and friendly....and a tad sad if you ask me.

I hear that the leader of the Fellowship, Tyrael Firehawk, died on the field of battle. So I am told, he rather it no other way, dieing in battle is said to be a glorious thing, but the present shock and sadness is present within the eyes of those who knew him. Kel'tira seemed to be hit the most hardest by the news when I told her and Auxilia, a rogue I also met, at the Scarlet Monastery in search of a book.

Either way, I for one will be following the words of my sister. When the crap hits the spinning fan, move on, let it slip off your shoulder and not bring you down. This might be harder for most in this Fellowship, but I certainly wont let this bring me down....pfft, I never even met the guy, just heard him dieing over the Hearthstone.

Which brings me to my next point....this, An'giel, woman seems rather fiesty, and rather idiotic if you ask me. Thought poor Tyrael's death was him just making a joke, I would have loved to have seen the shock of her face when she found him dead, maybe that would have slapped some reality into her noggin, or so I hope.

Either way, I think someone should really open her eyes a bit, and that seems to fall down to me. And if there is one thing I'm going to do.

It's me breaking her, there seems to be no other choice in the matter.

~Aseria~

A simple leather bound journal:

I did the deed. However, I feel sadden by the deaths I have caused, instead of overjoyed and relieved. Revenge may not be within the realm of my conscience...it has left me empty.

I kept myself busy fullfilling contracts and aiding others in the Ghostlands. I even took time to explore the Darkmoon Faire today. Made a tidy sum of coin there too.

I'm starting to wonder if being in this Fellowship with all these paladins is affecting my work ethics. I never used to let things get to me. Perhaps there's another reason too. Karamia. Just the sound of her name has my heart racing. And the last thing I need in my life right now is a woman. But she gets to me. Her spirit is strong, and she has gone through so much. Why am I so affected by her?