World of Warcraft®

The woman with the brown hair sat on the desk on the zeppelin. The warm salt air drifted around her, lifting the strands of her hair from her face and causing them to dance in the wind. Soon, the warm air would cool as they crossed the ocean bounce for Orgrimmar. Her head was bent down as she wrote in a journal. Occasionally, she would lift a hand to brush away a few strands of hair that blew across her face.

She wore a calm expression, one bordering on serene; it was something that the orc regarding her from the shadow of the lower deck thought was out of place concerning what she had just been through. He had watched her switch gears, going from a night stalker to an average blood elf woman, shrugging off the black leather and it's mantle like water. She had a resilience in her, and resilience was important for someone in their field of work.

***
(New entry in a plain brown leather journal)

I have been sent in on many missions to recover everything from plans, to jewelry, to missing and captured people. I was obviously successful, but now must put my accomplishment away. I wasn’t there, I didn’t do those things, it never happened. It did not turn out ideal, but when I gave my report, they were not concerned that the humans found me. They were just happy that I was out alive.

The woman with the brown hair paused, slowly pushing the hair from her face. Her gaze was distant, as if she were remembering something.

‘Scarlet!’ the abrasive orc had chortled when she gave her report. He slapped her heartily on the back, nearly sending her to her knees. ‘You, my dear, are a prime piece of real estate!’

(There are several small dots here, as if someone was tapping the quill against the page.)

I will spend a few days in Orgrimmar and then I will be free to head back to Silvermoon and see how the others are doing. When I return, it will have been a little over a week since I left them and there was some concern about several of the members. I hated to leave when so much seemed to be up in the air but this was something that I could not turn away from.

(3/3)

(1/4)

Hmm, what could I take in with me that wouldn't stand out in the Apothecarium? Should I try death weed? No... That would look like a delivery since it's just a reagent. Maybe...

"Do you have any poisons in stock right now?"

Blackmold stared absently at the auction master's back, as he turned around to check among the various boxes and crates for what the undead warrior sought. Though he appeared to be dazed, Blackmold was actually thinking quite deeply on the job he now faced. It wasn't too long ago that Cyaer had approached he and, the Forsaken warlock, Vorix, with the task of spying on Kel'Tira Sunblaze's very own uncle. Yet, though Blackmold initially had doubts performing recon on his leader's family, Cyaer managed to convince the walking corpse that his cause was just; for they had reason to believe that the Fellowship's leader was being slipped the powerful drug Bloodthistle by her own kin.

This was something that the loyal Blackmold would not allow. So, Cyaer proposed that Vorix and the warrior attempt to shadow the uncle and see if they could figure out what the man might have planned. Now, of all times, Blackmold had gotten word that Kel'Tira's uncle was in the Undercity, and was preparing to meet somewhere near the Apothecarium. Unfortunately Vorix was nowhere to be found, but the Forsaken soldier had a mission to do, and he wasn't about to back out of it because his partner wasn't around.

"Hey, will this do for ya?" The auctioneer held out his open hand, showing the warrior a small vial of green liquid.

"What is this?"

"Deathblood Venom. If a person were to drink this and another struck that him, then the poison would react and shoot from the drinker's wound. The effects range from melting the flesh from its victims to simply causing their heart to stop..."

Blackmold took the vial of Deathsblood from the auction master and inspected the tiny bottle of poison as it lie in the palm of his hand. He picked it up with two fingers and shook it around slightly, more for the sake of buying time for his thoughts than any practical reason. The poison would have to do.

"How much?"

The auction master walked back over to his may crates that were no doubt full of the wares adventurer's wished to sell, and had left behind with the man. He flicked through several sheets of paper before finally settling on one in particular, which he made obvious as he used a finger to trail the mass of lines that covered the sheet.

"Four gold and seventy-two silver pieces for one bottle of Deathsblood Venom."

Blackmold fished out a handful of gold coins from his pocket, while also slipping the poison into a small pouch on his belt. "Here's ten - keep the extra and forget that I bought this through you."

The auctioneer fondled the gold momentarily before turning the other way. "It would appear that I've lost one of my items. Sir, I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until I can find my wares before I'll be ready to serve you."

(2/4)

Preparing to walk into the Apothecarium, Blackmold removed the tabard he wore, which marked him as a member of the Rising Sun Fellowship and would no doubt blow his cover if Kel'Tira's uncle - or his associate for that matter - spotted the Forsaken warrior. He neatly folded the red and white cloth and slipped it into the knapsack that he'd taken to traveling with. At the same time he hid away the Fellowship's tabard, he also removed his tiny black journal, as well as an ink-stained quill. Holding onto the poison, his journal, the quill, and a small bottle of ink, Blackmold took to wallking around the Apothecarium.

Aside from the Orcish guards, and a single Tauren, the only other figures in the Apothecarium were the Forsaken scientists slaving away over their latest chemical experiments. Blackmold did his best to look unassuming as he wandered around the sides of the lab floor, which was incredibly easy considering that most of the features on his face had become so deteriorated that any form of emotion had become nigh unrecognizable. He naturally assumed that spotting a Blood Elven blood knight among such a decrepit crowd would prove itself an easy task.

However, as Blackmold milled about within the Apothecarium, it became apparent that the elf wouldn't be showing himself within the main floor. Then again, this was to be expected, no one in their right mind would hold a private conversation in the middle of a science lab, and so the Forsaken went to searching the side rooms. With only two such rooms, and one was actively used to house prisoners for experimentation, Blackmold only had one side of the room to really check. Much like the rest of the subterranean city, the hallway he approached was made from slick stone, but, thus far, the room it led to contained nothing but a single pipe, from which spewed whatever wasted bile that spewed from the muk in the Undercity.

Sure enough, an Elf wearing customary red robes stood in the middle of the far back room, and he wasn't alone; there was another Blood Elf with him, only this one was covered from head-to-foot in dark plated armor. Even from his far away vantage point, Blackmold could clearly see that the sword that this other figure bore runes that with feint power. With such power emanating from the blade, it didn't take the Forsaken soldier long to figure out what he would be dealing with if things turned sour. Unfortunately, the two Elves were too far away for Blackmold to overhear anything they might be saying. Yet, the way the tunnel had been constructed meant that any attempt to position himself closer to the pair would allow the knight to notice his movements.

Bah, this isn't good! How am I supposed to get in close without arousing any suspicion? The death knight will spot me before I have a chance to get in close, and I'm not inclined to start any fights down here. Blackmold tightened his grip on the supplies that he had in his hands. Well, this is technically why I bought that poison in the first place. I guess it can't be helped... The undead took several steps forward until he was within clear sight of the death knight, but the Elf made no move against Blackmold's approach, and so he went to sit down along the wall near to the room where the two Elves now conversed.

The undead sat in absolute silence for a moment and strained to overhear even a slight whisper, yet all he could pick up was the faint sound of some liquid occasionally dripping onto the stone ground, sending a quiet echo down the corridor.

Maybe they stopped talking when the knight saw me. Damn it! I've barely arrived and already managed to compromise the mission! Gods, what will I t- Then one of the men he was spying on began to speak. That's Thalassian - if they're both speaking in their native tongue then I'll have the lamest of reports to give Cyaer upon my return. Shortly after Blackmold started to worry, the one who was no doubt Kel'Tira's uncle began to speak; this time, the language was that of the Horde. Well, it's not perfect, but at least I'm getting half a conversation. Hopefully this will do, because it's all I can get.

The Forsaken warrior set the bottle of ink down on the floor next to him, opened his private journal, and began to write down all that he could overhear from the two men. The entire time that he did so, the little vial of poison was kept balanced in between the pages.

(3/4)

"And what do we have here? Is this a rat in our midst?"

As the death knight, Baelic, departed from his "Shando's" presence he stopped to stand right in front of Blackmold. The undead had hoped he would keep walking and miss, or, at the very least, ignore the warrior's presence, but luck wasn't on his side. Still, Blackmold feigned ignorance, and continued to write in his journal; though, he now fumbled with the vial of poison that previously teetered on the edge of the page he was on. Yet, he wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer, knowing that the two Elves would expect a reason for his presence being so close to where they had been talking. It was then that Kel'Tira's uncle Velin began to approach their position.

"Really? We have an actual rat to deal with?"

Damn... I was hoping Velin would tell his dog to leave me be, but it appears this confrontation can not be avoided.

Blackmold continued to write, even when both Elves were clearly standing before him. The death knight made some comment in his native tongue, which earned a sneering snicker from his master. "Do it."

The death knight went forward and stooped to take the journal from Blackmold's hands, but the undead quickly snapped his private book closed, and rose to stare vacantly at the two men before him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The death knight glared coldly at the Forsaken trooper, yet, this was a response that seemed void of emotion - on all accounts his persona was quite similar to Blackmold's. In either case, Velin seemed as if he were amused by the events unfolding. "I think you should hand over the journal."

Blackmold shook his head. "That simply won't be happening."

He continued to turn the tiny bottle in his hands around in circles, shaking up the vile liquid within. Even the undead was capable of recognizing how tense the situation was as Baelic and Velin's eyes seemed to burrow into the rotting figure before them. While the death knight continued to glower, his master continued smiling calmly, though there was no doubt that he was beginning to become far more sinister. The two Elves traded glances with one another before Velin suddenly lunged forward, pinning Blackmold against the wall.

"And just how long were you listening in on our conversation, rotter?" He hissed to the undead.

Even though he no longer required air for breathing, it was certainly required if Blackmold wished to speak in anything that resembled a normal language. However, the weight that Velin put on the Forsaken's chest as he was pressed into the wall made it difficult for the warrior to speak. Yet, he managed to speak in between gasps of air.

"There...wasn't much...to overhear. You see...I'm quite busy...taking notes on...another matter...entirely... Listening to...your conversation...would have been...a waste...of my time."

With every breathe he took, the undead's chest struggled to rise, only to be pushed down immediately. Velin realized that the conversation would be slow-going at this rate, and released some of the pressure he was putting on the soldier, but not by much.

"And just what were you taking notes on?"

Blackmold couldn't contain his own grin. "Have you ever fought against a rogue?"

"Hmmph...indeed. Sometimes such affairs can be quite messy." Velin said.

"Yes, they can, and occasionally I encounter some who try to use poisons that aren't so typical." At this, Blackmold raised the tiny vial of Deathsblood Venom. "I asked the Apothecarium if I could borrow a bottle of poison for my own studies. Some of the venom I've encountered in my time is capable of decomposing my flesh even further. Since I hate going into battle unprepared, this seemed like the ideal location to obtain that which I sought..."

Velin looked doubtfully at the Forsaken. "Why here?" He asked.

"Have you ever tried to think about your own thoughts while surrounded by a bunch of scientists tinkering with their own devices? The noise is terribly monstrous. This was the only other room where I could get some peace-and-quiet, but you and your friend here were already in the room, so I sat out in the hall. The echoes of two men speaking in hushed tones is much more easy to work to than the rambling of alchemists." To add further emphasis to his point, the undead pointed toward the lab where a great deal of glassware could be heard tinkering, as well as the murmur of over a dozen voices.

(4/4)

Velin stared hard into Blackmold's empty eye sockets. "And the journal? Give it to me so that I can verify what you're saying."

Damn it. I should have ripped out the pages as soon as I was done writing down their conversation...

"You won't be getting this journal from me; I'd rather burn alive than give this book up." Desperate to keep the two Elves from getting a hold of the notes, Blackmold grew heated as he refused them access to the book. "This is all I have left from my previous life, and it's more precious than anything I could ever hope to find on Azeroth. Your kind as lost much, very much, but you still would not understand the things I've written of. Until the day comes when the hard-earned peace you've sought your whole life finally comes to you, only to have it taken away...then I'll share the contents of this journal with you. But until that day comes, and not a moment sooner, will you possess this book of mine."

When the undead finished speaking, he gave Velin a cold stare, making his refusal all the more apparent. He wasn't going to part with the journal peacefully.

"Have things your way then, rotter!" The blood knight sneered angrily, and released Blackmold from his hold.

Yet, as the master backed away from the stubborn corpse, Baelic lifted the massive sword he held onto and moved to plunge it into Blackmold's gut. However, the Forsaken soldier saw the attack coming, and brought his shield to bear. While side-stepping the blade he also used the barricade to slam the sword's momentum off course, which caused it to become deeply embedded into the wall. Instead of trying to free the blade, the death knight continued to try fighting him unarmed, and backhanded Blackmold across the face with his plated glove. This blow caused the undead to stumble backward, which also stopped him from unsheathing the sword at his side. Worried that the death knight would overtake him if he reached for any other weapon, Blackmold brought the crossbow on his back into the fight and aimed it directly into the cowl that his foe wore. Unfortunately, he wasn't expecting Velin to join in on the fight, and the blood knight knocked the crossbow from his foe's hands, and gripped the undead by his throat.

"If you don't wish to die for a second time, then you'll answer everything I ask of you! What is your name, scum?" All traces of civility had left his tone now as he spat vehemently.

"Elron Narus...my lord. Though, some have taken to calling me Blackmold, on account of the rot on my jaw..." Behind Velin, his assistant pulled free the sword that had gotten lodged into the wall. He stared at the undead from behind his master, the look on his face was one of absolution and impassiveness - he acted much like a dog following his master's commands, but possessed the iron dominance of a great war machine.

"Now tell me everything that you heard the two of us talking about. Don't leave a single detail out, or I'll have you killed right here and now..." Behind him, Baelic grinned maliciously.

Blackmold sighed, realizing that he was defeated. "I overheard you talking about some plants, and a paladin, but that's all I could gather. I swear, I was far too focused on memorizing the effects of the poison I borrowed." He paused to gather his thoughts. "I won't give you the journal, but, if you'd like, I can certainly give you the poison I was studying. I'm sure I can always pay the scientists back to cover the loss of their equipment."

The blood knight looked at Blackmold as if he didn't fully believe everything he said, but the undead had spoken enough of the truth to warrant him as dismissive. Thus, Velin slowly released his grip on the Forsaken's neck and let him drop to the ground.

"If you tell anybody of what you heard the two of us speaking about, we'll be sure to find out, and I can tell you now that you don't want such word to get back to us. Now get out of my sight, you filthy deader!"

Blackmold retrieved the crossbow that he'd dropped from the ground, and rose to stare Velin in the eyes. "My lord..." The undead warrior then turned from the two Elves and walked back into the Apothecarium.

Passing by one of the tables, he slipped the vial of Deathsblood Venom among the belongings of the scientists - it's not like he actually needed the poison in the first place, and who knows, maybe the Apothecarium would actually find some use for the venom. Blackmold continued walking up the steps that would lead him from scientists dwelling. As he walked, the undead opened his journal to the last page he was writing on and looked at the last set of words that he'd been able to scrawl on the page before nearly being discovered by Kel'Tira's uncle and his assistant.

The paladin will be taken care of...

A small leather bound journal, the cover scratched and worn, some of the edging browned from dried blood. Some of the pages appear torn and muddy, some appear to be water stained. A small worn sheet of paper is folded and tucked within it's pages...

Secrets. We all have them. Some minor, some major, but we all have secrets. Secrets better kept in the dark and shadows, and never exposed to the light of day. And others held close to the heart, just waiting to be released, to hopefully bring joy to others. Secrets. We all have them.

My plan to murder (let's face it, and call it what it is) the uncle of Kel'tira still moves forward. I cannot let Kel know...it is my dirty little secret. I have talked with Blackmold, and Velin plans to kill his niece, my dear friend and guild master,...his dirty little secret.

And a secret exposed, after nearly sixty years, I have learned that this same man, Velin, may be my father. Father and son, so a like, and yet so different. We bear a close resemblence, he only older and more devious - I suppose I'll get there eventually. We both plot murders of our relatives - one for gain, one for love.

I am my mother's son...I do not have any love for this possible father figure. I am who I am by the choices I have made in my life. He is who he is by his choices. I am the better man, I think. And I will kill him, just as sure as I am writing this now...he will die by my hand. He plans to harm my family, my Fellowship...and this I will not, cannot allow. My family, the Rising Sun Fellowship, means more to me than a blood relationship with this man - he will perish, he will pay for his threat.

On a more lighter note - my precious little secret. It makes me smile when I think of it, and I can only hope...

A small leather bound journal, the cover scratched and worn, some of the edging browned from dried blood. Some of the pages appear torn and muddy, some appear to be water stained. A small worn sheet of paper is folded and tucked within it's pages...

My travels have taken me to some interesting parts of Azeroth. I have trekked the sweltering Swamp of Sorrows, explored the hot canyons and rocks of the Searing Gorge, and the temperate grasslands of Hillsbrad and the Arathi Highlands.

And I have found a little bit of myself as I have gone on this adventure. I am not the same young boy that embarked on this endeavor...I am now a Sin'dorei elf that stands for what he believes in. I am not the shallow, self-centered lad...I have accepted responsibilities, and am deeper in soul than ever I thought possible. The journey and adventure have changed me...and changed me for the better.

And now I find myself moving towards something larger than myself...the Outlands. I am fighting demons of all shapes and sizes, and killing those who carry the taint of those demons in their blood. I fear for my people...and I do my best to fight for the Sin'dorei...for my future...for Karamia.

Karamia. Her very name brings peace to my heart, just as her touch calms me. Karamia...the Sin'dorei woman I love with all my heart. Her eyes captured my heart so long ago, and they still hold me. Her lips, ah, so sweet, the very nectar of love is in those lips. And her embrace makes me weak, hold me Karamia and never let me go. She is my all and all. She is my Karamia.

From a boyish "puppy love" to a deep love that grows each and every day...my love is strong and real for my Karamia. And what makes it so unreal for me...she returns that love. What we have is so sweet and tender...I cherish each moment with her. And I think of her every moment we are apart...praying for her safe keeping, for her health, for her life...for her return to my arms that ache to hold her.

I wait. I wait for the proper moment. And then...I will ask her to be mine forever. I will ask her to marry me, and to be the mother of our children...I wait. And in the waiting, I grow to love her even more. How is it possible that my heart overflows with love and caring for my Karamia? I cannot fathom it, I only know it does. Karamia, my Karamia.

The once-white cover is now black, and wear and tear of 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 entire tome smells of sea-salt and a soft, lilac perfume.

Kel'tira Sunblaze

The Fellowship squabbles amongst themselves, and the loose thoughts I constantly attempt to rein in from my own head do nothing to help me moderate the verbal scuffles. Wyndd prodded nearly every member at the meeting, myself included. It is days like yesterday I wish Varus were there, he seems to do a better job at keeping her tongue in check than anyone else

Speaking of husbands, mine was conspicuously missing last night. Light knows I would like his support, and his love, right now. Recently, Cyaer has taken to visiting me and bringing me outside, a gesture I appreciate greatly. We sit and talk about everything and nothing, or I catch him up on the politics in our house. Our house, by blood, as well now. Two days ago, he signed the documents labeling him legally as a Sunblaze. Yesterday, we put two and two together that he may truly be a Sunblaze, by blood on his father's side. I cannot see how I had not noticed it before, but he looks like a Sunblaze. He looks like my uncle, my father, and me, a bit.

I am worried. Both about him and for him. And for Nic. Velin knows I hold the Fellowship's members dear to me, and I am afraid he will target them somehow.

This development could, potentially, complicate things though. With a cousin, the line of succession falls to him. The House politics drive me insane, I could solve all of this by getting with child. Whether I want it or not, which I do not, is not the question, if it would be shortest, safest way to end the plotting within my House, I would agree in an instant. Politics... I despise the ideas that I must toy with. To have a child... To bring a life into the world I am a part of right now... It seems almost cruel to throw an infant into this, and it is, I think. I would love the child, I know I would, and I want children... Just not this way. Succession would be decided by our customs, my child would stand in the direct line. The question is whether or not it would stop Velin, and whether or not Nic would agree to it.

I do not want a child, not yet, not now. The way I see it, Velin must be dealt with in the end, and with another life, Cyaer's, possibly hanging in the balance of succession lines, it must be dealt with swiftly. I hesitate not for myself, and the consequences of bearing a child, but for the infant's life, for Cyaer and Nic's lives. For the people I would not be able to protect as well if I were pregnant. The Fellowship has agreed to help me, help us, but just how far will that help go? I fear we may be falling apart slowly, and I want nothing more than to draw them together into a whole as we have been in the past.

Walking to the meeting last night was the first I had taken more than a handful of steps since Kel'thul's second cavort in my mind. It tired me greatly, to walk across the plaza, and then force myself to stand most of the night. Cyaer had a package from Velin, masquerading as a Li Bloodblade. Ash's enchantment on my hand worked, it appeared, for the bloodthistle in the package caused my hand to burn as if placed into a fire.

I pity anyone who might ever read this journal. My thoughts flee from me, and I must hunt them down if I wish for any kind of peace or coherency. In addition... I have come to realize the cost of secrets, of deception. The fact that Cyaer very likely is my cousin... My question is that of his parentage. Who is his mother? Is she a noble? A !@#$%? High of standing or a thistlehead from the streets that Velin took an interest in? Did he mean for her to bear him an heir? Was it an accident?

(A list of questions is tucked in a loose sheet of paper between the pages)

Who is Cyaer's mother?
Velin's goals?
What has my husband been up to?
Wyndd's attitude?
Varus's opinions of Alfred and Blackmold?
Blackmold's “spying” on Velin?

(The entry continues on the page behind the loose sheet)

I know my uncle fairly well, thought I knew him... I know he is a greedy bastard, but...

If this whole fiasco is true, Cyaer is a bastard son of a power-hungry, greedy, noble. What am I going to do?

(The next page bears a two-part sketch of Cyaer and Velin, side-by-side the similarities are clear.)

A red journal, bound by a golden rope. The name is printed in gold on the front...Aseria Sunblade

Insanity.

The higher up from Madness, it is a emotion of which the affected person goes insane...almost insane anyway.

Recently, my condition has worsen, I feel...weird....

I had remembered drinking last night, my mind was still swirling with different emotions after talking with Kel and witnessing a strange ritual by Kel'thul. The priest tried to draw what every energy he could from me, but I denied him, only giving him enough that he would need to complete the ritual, nothing more, or less. It had taken a lot out of Kel, I literally had to carry her to Silver Moon Inn so she can rest...thank goodness I know how to make portals is all I can say. Seeing as I was smaller than her, it was pretty difficult over all.

Back to my drinking, I remember me drawing the same symbol as of those the day I met the small child who has seemed to corrupt me with shadow magic, and then I passed out. I had woke up, my head in someones lap and a strange, thin, shadowy being looming over me, with two long arms each armed with five deadly claws. It had gently pressed me back to the floor as I tried to get up, then it raised a glass of strange murky water to my lips. I denied the drink, my head pounding as if someone was useing it as an anvil, then I heard someone speak.

They said it was a seditive that would help with my hang over...and then I realized that it was the same girl that had corrupted me, trying to help..'release'...my insanity that was locked with in me. She had placed a damp rag on my fore head before getting up and gently resting it on a pillow she was sitting on. I watched from the corner of my eye as the shadowy being placed the glass on a small table where I write in my journal and slink into her shadow.

She said that it was almost time for me to shed my fake skin, after I defeated Vira, that it will be time. She also mentioned that doing so might hurt those close to you, including my family and friends.

I suddenly thought back to Kel and others who were somewhat kind to me in the Fellowship. I also thought back to the promise I told Kel to keep, and knew this was probably not going to end well in the near future.

I continued to watch, the girl began to turn into purple smoke, starting from the legs up, slowly. A wide insane grin took over her features, and that was when I heard her say "Become what you are....a weapon, a destroyer of all that oppose you...and leave nothing but ash in my wake. Before I could responed, she vanished.

I feel the insanity crawling with in me, waiting to be realeased, trying to force its way out...and for some scary and strange reason....

I enjoy it.

A small leather bound journal, the cover scratched and worn, some of the edging browned from dried blood. Some of the pages appear torn and muddy, some appear to be water stained. A small worn sheet of paper is folded and tucked within it's pages...

Listening to people has become my forte. I don't just listen, I hear what they are saying, and I'll even repeat what they said just to be sure I heard them correctly. Sometimes it's not what they say, but how they say it. Their inflection, their body language, and even the volume of their voice all tell me what they are truly saying. It's an art, and my trainers have said I have a gift in doing so. People will pay well for conversations overheard in crowded bars, or in secret rooms.

Tonight, I talked with Karamia. I needed to talk to her, and let her know where I stand in our relationship, and in our future. I want to be real and honest with her, holding nothing back and just being open with her. She's a good listener too.

I wanted her to know I would never hurt her, that her happiness was important to me. And I told her of my growing love for her, and that someday...someday, I wanted her to be my wife. And she told me with tears in her eyes, that she loved me too...and someday she would want to be my wife. I held my future wife in my arms, and kissed her passionately. Our hearts becoming one, as we just sat and made small talk.

Karamia was not able to make our guild meeting the other day. So I told her what had happened. And I told her that Kel'tira's uncle may be my father. We got into a discussion about that, and I also learned that as his son (bastard son), I was next in line of succession in House Sunblaze...me, a noble? I laughed the first time I heard that...but Karamia warned me that if he was willing to drug his neice, and even go so far as to wanting to kill Kel'tira (Yes, I finally told her of my plot to murder Velin too - I said no secrets, remember), that my life would, and could be in danger too.

I 'm walking a fine line. I must call into focus all my training, and be prepared for the unexpected. Death could be around any corner...and I worry that this could affect the Fellowship. It could affect my Karamia. I hold in my anger as I think of him using those around me to possibly control me...I let it burn inside me...focusing that anger incited by these actions. But then, my mind is focused on Velin, what if Vira is meddling in these things too? The line I walk is a fine one...which is the lesser of two evils?

I placed the ring in my bank. Was I disappointed? Maybe a little, but I see the wisdom of waiting. And I'm glad I chose that route, as it will allow Karamia and I both to learn to trust and love each other better. Is it the easy route...no. Is it the better route...yes, by far, yes. I look forward to becoming her husband, and having her as my wife.

Life is a wonderful experience. I am living it to its fullest. It is good. I like my life. It just keeps getting better.

A pale blue book with silvery lettering sits on the nightstand next to Lilli. If on were to open the book and peer inside the letters would appear as flickering silvery shadows. Not sitting still as letters normally do, but dancing across the page in neat rows. It is nearly impossible to read dancing letters, unless you are a mage with focusing lenses and a steady hand.

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The news I got today was startling. Cyaer is a Sunblaze! Albeit a bastard, but still, I am surprised none of us noticed it before. It must be because of his different hair coloring from Kel'Tira's bright red. His raven locks and green eyes do not match the standard Sunblaze profile that I remember. I wrack my memories of past Council meetings and summer gatherings. Somewhere in my buried recollections is a clue, a key to finding out how in the world...

Then I have it! A Fire festival many years ago, yes it matches Cyaer's age...a lovely raven haired elf dances in the light of the fires. Her moves graceful and sensuous, more than one male follows her with his eyes. And yet it is Velin who manages to tempt her into the shadows. Who she was, I will never know. But we never saw her again. A fleeting memory of a bewitching elf who danced off with Velin.

My efforts to dig into the past of the Sunblaze family are met with much resistance. A lot of gold later I manage to find the records. Kel'Tira is head legitimately and her offspring are next in succession. Her uncle Velin is the next in line since she has no children. Oddly enough Cyaer is placed higher according to the tenets of the family history, since the line of succession is passed to younger members.

Now for the kicker, my efforts to report the shennanigans of Velin are met with hard eyed stares. It is not my place to get involved in House politics, I argue the safety of all of us depends on definute rules and regulations. Allowing siblings and relatives to murder their way to the top of a House will decimate our numbers and make us weaker. I propose a ruling, it is met with open skepticism. It is needed to curb the viscious genocide crippling our people. If a family member is found to be deliberately undermining and subverting they will be barred from succession.

The votes will not be tallied for weeks as word of the proposal goes out into the various Houses. This will stir things up I know, as many have already done this to get where they are. And yet we must fight the constant loss of our people! The wars take so many, and the threats we face from the Amani and the Alliance take advantage of our dwindling numbers. To be strong we must nurture and encourage more children and stop the maddening grasp of power. The Sindorei will rise again and be strong!

(1/2)

I attended my first meeting with the Fellowship as the week drew to a close. Naturally, everybody but myself was one of the Sin'Dorei, and I couldn't help but feel that I stood out like a sore, bleeding, thumb - one that has perhaps been smashed by a hammer and left to heal on it's own, only to invite a festering rot that strips the nail from flesh. Oh...it sounds like I may have just described myself. There was an assortment of them actually: some wore the plated armor of warriors and paladins, others seemed to have more guile - such as Cyaer - and there was at least one mage in there.

The only reason I was able to learn about what area of the magical arts she was focused in was due to an unfortunate attack against one of our comrades. A lithe woman, who had all the appearance of a ranger - or as the Orcs called them, a Huntress - fell ill to crippling visions which forced her to kneel on the ground. There was mention of a warlock being the culprit, in fact, the attacker was none-other than one of the Forsaken; as if I wasn't already daunted trying to get within the good graces of my Elven allies already, now this traitorous warlock is no doubt causing the majority of the Fellowship to question whether or not it was right to accept one of the Undead into their midst. Still, I have made my loyalty to Lady Kel'Tira clear, I can only hope now that they believe my intentions sincere and my cause just.

It would seem that another head must be put on my list now: Velin and this warlock. Disturbingly enough...I believe they mentioned that the culprit was Vorix, the man who was meant to be my partner during my attempt to spy on Kel'Tira's uncle.

While we're on that subject, I can't believe that I almost ruined Cyaer's plan to tail Velin! When Kel'Tira asked me to stay behind after the meeting had concluded, she asked what business I had in the Undercity the night I followed after her uncle, the damned snake. However, instead of keeping the nature of my business secretive as Cyaer asked, I blabbed that I had been following after a man in a red robe - the very same type of robe that Lady Kel'Tira's uncle likes to wear. As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that I had blundered into error, and the look of shock and surprise in Kel'Tira's eyes was enough to warrant my shame. I was worried that I had failed Cyaer, and was already preparing for the lie that I hoped would get him out of this mess. Fortunate for me, she had other matters to attend to first with Cyaer and the mage, Lilli...alas, her full name escapes me at the moment.

Luck seemed to be on my side even more, for Kel'Tira's headaches were beginning to get the best of her, and our leader required rest - she was unable to speak with me about following after her uncle. Perhaps I will simply tell her that a Forsaken watchman approached me as I entered the city and asked that I follow the man. I will have to hope that whatever I tell her sounds believable, and that she does not press the subject further. Cyaer trusted me to work in the shadows for our Lady's best interests, I can't let her wrath come down on him now.

(2/2)

After Lady Kel'Tira departed from the building, and Lilli finished her business with Cyaer, the two of us were allowed to speak in private. We moved to a curtained area overlooking where the Fellowship had gathered, and Cyaer had me speak in hushed tones and whispers. Clearly the information I possessed was valuable, and he did not want to risk it being overheard by anyone. The news I had for Cyaer seemed to perturb him, and, after the meeting today, we were able to fill in some of the holes that had been left in my notes due to the half conversation I overheard. Unfortunately, to me it seems that we still have little to go on, and even more questions to answer. All we have truly been able to confirm is that Velin wishes for Kel'Tira to die, that he has wishes for his son to be brought before him alive - something I'm sure Cyaer will make sure does not happen, and the mentioning of Karamia. This bit of information seemed to shock Cyaer, and he grew quite animated when I told him that her name was brought up. Alas, I had nothing else to give him, other than that her name was heard.

Cyaer told me that the work I performed was excellent, but I have my doubts. There's more to this puzzle than meets the eye, I'm certain of it. I merely hope that I will be able to pull my own weight when things are brought into the light.

To add further problems to our plate, I was approached by Baelic after all of the Fellowship had departed. I continued to pace about the area, admiring the health of the trees in the Blood Elves fair city, when the death knight approached me. He brought dark tidings that warned me to steer clear of his master, and to refrain from any action that may inhibit their plans. Of course, my loyalty to Kel'Tira was much greater than whatever fear Baelic wished to fill me with, and I walked away without heeding the warning.

- Elron Narus "Blackmold"

A large plain black tome sits on the center of a small table, a list of words in a dark purple ink can be read..

Respect
Tenacity
Power
Death
Compassion

I've taken back to my old quarters in the Undercity. My mind is completely clear now, the block that those damned Priests put within' my head has been destroyed and all traces long gone. I no longer feel groggy. My mind is my own once again, and things will continue the way they once were in my life. But there is one small problem. I gave my word to Lady Kel'Tira that I would help her with this problem of hers, with this Uncle. And the people working with, for, or above him. I told her I would find a man that means nothing. I found the man, I found the Goblin that hired the man. And I've learned much of this Lord Velin, and I've done more research on the dog of his that has taken the name of Baelic Maluvious.

There is much I have learned about all of this, and there is much more to be learned. I will continue with this... "Investigation", or whatever it may be. I shall approach a Goblin information dealer by the name of Giltrik next.

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The information I have... Gathered. Has lead me to a rather disgusting place, Orgrimmar: Home to the Orcs and other such uncivil and disgusting creatures of the Horde faction. I would have preferred not to return to this place for quite a bit more time, but it seems there are things that must be done. And I am not one to shy away from things that need doing.

My meeting with the Goblin didn't quite go as I had hoped, it was hasty and ended badly. The Goblin being an information broker of sorts seemed rather picky, and requested information for information. Not the most effective way to keep a business running, or whatever it is the Goblin may be doing. But I'm sure I will find a way to get the information from him. For he does not know of my... Past, of my reputation. If it comes down to it, I will have the upper hand and I will simply tear the thoughts out from within' his little brain.

Giltrik would appear to have grown wiser in our short time apart, or perhaps it was the herbs that I smelled upon his clothing?. It matters not. He sought me out within' the Undercity. His contacts and resourcefulness not disappointing. I went for a short walk with the Goblin. Many useless words were shared between the two of us. The Goblin eventually got to the point. He wishes to set up a meeting between me and this Lord Velin, I do not know his motive. He says there is none really other than seeing Velin against someone he can not compare to, or something along such lines. But he is a Goblin, and when in the line of business he is in.... There must be another motive.
But the Goblin understands respect, and would appear to have at least a slight grasp on the power that courses through my veins. Perhaps he did some research before approaching me?.. It matters not, if all goes well at this meeting... I shall be getting what I need, perhaps more? We shall see if I get anything at all.

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The Undercity falls quieter than usual, I find myself standing in the Magic Quarter once again. Reading more of the books that this Undead Hannah Akeley keeps in her private collection. It didn't take much... "Persuading." To get the Undead to let me look at her collection, the information I received was correct. She may be a nobody, but this woman has many interesting books. Books that contain very dark secrets... Very dark secrets indeed...

After spending quite some time reading more of these books, I was able to convince this Hannah Akeley to sell me some of them. Taking only the books that held secrets I did not already know. There were only few as it turns out, but more than enough to keep my attentions occupied when not doing other things. As for after all of this I entered the War Quarter and held a conversation with the banshee known as Aelthalyste, she remembered my face even after all these years and all the changes. Perhaps it wasn't my face she recognized? Though I suppose if it was I shouldn't be surprised, these creatures of Undeath tend to have greater memory than those of the living.

We spoke of many things, the only thing we spoke of though which held true value... Was the "Ascension", it seems further progress has been made by not only me on this topic. But the progress of others means naught to me. Now that I have regained myself after all of these years. My quest for "Ascension" shall pick up where it left off...

A small leather bound journal, the cover scratched and worn, some of the edging browned from dried blood. Some of the pages appear torn and muddy, some appear to be water stained. A small worn sheet of paper is folded and tucked within it's pages...

I lost my focus. The demons, the imps, the blood tainted orcs, and killing them all...I have lost my focus. My skills come into play and they are sharpened by the combat and in the killing...yet I feel lost.

I harvest felweed, and find fel is strong here...I am assaulted by it from all sides. I feel almost defeated before I go out to continue the cycle...get contract, kill, reap my reward.

My mind is not focused...only one thing scares me - the dreaded giants that roam the plains out here, and their terrifying roar. And I find myself watching them, studying them, trying to detect a weakness, a chink in their armor...and then I will no longer be afraid. They will fear me.

I have sold my weapons and talents to many forces - they begin to blend together, all the same, just different faces, wanting the same thing - kill this or kill that. My hands are covered in the blood of those I have slain. I grow weary of the crimson stain I see on my hands, weapons, and my mind. I see blood every where.

I rest in the rope hammock in the inn. My thoughts are busy thoughts - the Fellowship, Karamia, House Sunblaze, Viragona, Kel'tira and Nicias, and Velin. More blood on my hands, more death...I fall into a fitful sleep.

Today is a new day. The sun rises on new possibilities. And try to remember why I do this - I do this for the Glory of the Sin'dorei, to bring our nation back into power, to show the Horde we are not a weak link in the chain, and to build peace for our world. A world where my son and daughter will be able to live without fear, without war, but in peace. Someday.

I spent several hours in meditation and weapons sparring. There are several young orcs and taurens that are here to war with the humans and demons here. They are quick and strong, and I enjoy the workouts with them. They in turn seem better for the experience also.

My strength is growing and my weapons skills better each day. I can see the difference in the time it takes me to slay my foes before me. Sometimes I find myself stretched when several attack me at once, and I defeat them efficiently.

Outland is a place of death. I find myself a reaper of souls as I kill and slay each opponent. I need rest from this hole. It saps me of my character, my morals, and my heart.

I am death, and my blades grow red from the blood. Fear me.

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

Time in Silvermoon City passes quickly. I occupy my time with healing, cataloging the various plants I have come across, and even finding time to read. I grow bored.

I received a disturbing letter from Cyaer today. He finds himself fighting in the Outlands, and growing tired of the killing. This was not so much what bothered me...it was the references to blood - blood on his hands, seeing blood everywhere. I believe he may be suffering from weary warrior syndrome or some call it combat fatigue.

I cannot help thinking he's in trouble, serious trouble and I have no way to contact him. I can send him some of those delicious muffins or rolls they create at that inn he so likes to dine in...the Wayfarers Rest, I believe. Things from home may aid him in getting over this serious thinking of death from his mind. Oh light watch over Cyaer, he needs you now.

The once-white cover is now black, and wear and tear of 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 entire tome smells of sea-salt and a soft, lilac perfume.

Kel'tira Sunblaze

I find myself enjoying the talks I have with Cyaer. He sees things differently than I do.

It also shames me to admit that I lost this journal. I had tucked it away in my desk, not all too surprising in and of itself, I suppose, seeing the state of general disarray I have been living in the past week or so. I wish I could drag my head into more order, and write what I am thinking, but I have no desire to relive the gray haze of days.

One or two events stand out in my mind. My talks with Cyaer. My flight through the woods and my drinking...

Neither of which I wish to go into any detail about now.

The past is behind us.
The past is behind us.
The past is behind us.

Light guard me, guard my people, guard my family...

A small leather bound journal, the cover scratched and worn, some of the edging browned from dried blood. Some of the pages appear torn and muddy, some appear to be water stained. A small worn sheet of paper is folded and tucked within it's pages...

I have never felt prouder than when I handed over the head of the Hand. I honestly think they thought I would fail, but I did not. My weapons wove a pattern of death as I walked into the little grotto they all hid in. But they could not hide from me.

Light, I need rest, and lots of it. I asked about a comfortable place for one to decompress, and the overwhelming response was - Shattrath. As I flew towards my destination, I looked out over this place appropriately called Hellfire. I had slain many here...and I would return to take down the giants that roamed the area...it was an oath I had made with myself. I will fear nothing.

I entered into the city proper, and was amazed, there were Horde mingling with Alliance. Much like my time spent with the Argent Crusade...it gave me some hope for a world of peace amongst the races. I took a tour of the city, and found myself finding a kinship with the faction known here as the Scryers. I joined their ranks this evening. (I liked their story and history, it felt similar to my own.)

As I strolled the lanes and avenues of the Scryer section, I felt I had found a home away from home. And the beds are soft and restful.
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I will stay here for a few days. I received the care package from Az, the rolls were still soft and delicious. And I read his note...and I concur, I need to rest and revitalize.

My only wish, that my sweet angel was here with me. She has a way of calming me, to give me a moment's rest in her arms, and a sweet surrender to her lips. I think I will lay down, sleep some more, and dream of her. I always have pleasant dreams when I think of her...ah, Karamia, I love you so.

Sitting in a corner of the large room, away from the magic addled Elven magisters who seemed to be suffering from some withdrawal, Elron Narus seemed to stoop dejectedly. However, this saddened appearance was far from the truth, for the body of the Forsaken warrior was tense with rage. As he sat huddled with his legs crossed, Blackmold gripped his black journal with two hands, seemingly using the flimsy, leather-bound booklet as an anchor to the real world.

The pages were open to an event that had been scribbled down only a few days ago.

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What in all the twisting hells has that damn shadow done to me? HOW DID HE DO IT TO ME?! That filthy, wretched, pathetic little cur! How dare he pry into my mind as he did! The miserable scoundrel is going to pay for this! When I find that infernal shade I'll tear through whatever magic safeguards his body, AND FLAY THE FLESH FROM HIS BONES! I'LL TEAR THROUGH WHAT MUSCLE AND SINEW HOLD HIM TOGETHER, AND FEAST ON HIS INNARDS; ALL WHILE HE WATCHES!!! Yes...I'll crack open his bones on the cold earth and sip his marrow as if it were the richest of wines... Then I'll shove the shards of what remains into his eye sockets!

How dare he...how dare he show me that... How did that wretch send me back to that day! I know she was dead, she's been dead, I can't fix it! Nothing I do will fix things! How dare he show me my wife?! The woman I loved and failed! HE HAD NO RIGHT TO BRING SHOW ME HER AGAIN! NOT LIKE THAT!

Not like that...

The Defias...those damned, Defias bastards! Damn the whole lot of them! Those sons of !@#$%s took everything from me; they took my life away from me! Damn the light, the gods, and anything else that watches over this world! I was good and decent, I fought for the good of others and only asked to keep my wife happy, and then they took her from me! I can never forget the day I found her! How those wretched bandits pillaged my home and ravaged her! How I walked through the door to my house to find everything ruined, my wife's unclothed body lying in a pool of her own blood, and a deep cut stretched across her throat... I'll never escape from the memory of seeing that look of terror in her wide, beautiful blue eyes; nor as I cradled her corpse in my arms, her bloody hair clotting together and staining my hands as I screamed into the heavens...

But I avenged her; gods did I avenge her! I tracked the worthless scum back to their hovel of a cave. I traced their footsteps from the crushed foliage around my house and down to the shore, where they left prints as clear as day in the soft sand. I carved a path through the murlocs swarming the beach with my two swords, found the ravine they hid in, and I butchered every last bloody one of them; and bloody it was. By the time I was finished butchering the worms I was covered from head to foot in their blood, flesh and cloth hung from my blade and blood dripped down the length of the metal; the paint of my own armor was utterly ruined with the stain of their filth.

I left Westfall that day; how could I stay in the land? With my wife dead I had nothing left, and so I made to return home to the Tirisfal Glades. In truth, I had hoped to die on the road back to the land I was born in; oh how I desperately craved for someone or something to kill me. How I longed to die so that I would be free of these accursed memories, of the way I failed to protect the one thing that mattered to me...

- Elron Narus....Blackmold

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The Forsaken soldier stared at his name for several long moments, his frustrated thoughts fueling a desire to die, but knowing that there was no way he could go so easily. He deserved punishment for what he'd done, for letting his wife die, and now for failing to protect his own comrades by allowing the shadow to turn him against them. He needed atonement and pain, pain was all he deserved.

Blackmold quickly sprang to his feet and closed the journal, pressing it flat against the wall with his left hand. Keeping the journal safe from himself, he who was forsaken slammed his head viciously against the wall, followed by his own fist, which then released a sickening crunch.

It's been trouble trying to make time for gathering skin from the animals in Azshara; you'd think such an endeavor would be easy considering the quantity of stags and basilisks in the area just asking to be killed and skinned, but that isn't necessarily the case when you business calls. After all, I'm only a tradesman for appearances.

Honestly, the other day started out pretty damn odd though. I was preparing to meet with Velin to discuss some plan of sorts involving his niece, her lover, (or maybe it was her friend and his lover?) gah, who cares?! These damned Elves get so caught up over their titles and houses so much they'll go to asinine lengths to acquire some manner of power to their name. I don't even see why they bother with such foolishness. True power comes from coin, not names; it would do Velin good if he realized this fact of life and stopped wasting his time on frivolous assassinations, poisonings, or whatever it is he wants done.

Oh, yes, the start. Anyway, some bloody Elf - not even Velin mind you - waltzed right up to me, and just started asking for my client's location. The balls of this man! He proclaimed himself some manner of priest, something involving shadows and what-not; bah, as if I didn't deal with enough crack-pots already! Well I couldn't have this Kel'Thul Deathweaver interfering with the business I had with my client, so I told the man to just bugger off! Yet, since I've done that, I haven't been able to shake off this terribly cold feeling in the back of my mind.

Perhaps that could be the reason I turned Velin over to him? Bah, I shouldn't be so foolish. I introduced Velin to him to make one thing clear to that Elf - you don't cross Giltrik. I'll bet the arrogant bastard had more than half a mind to disregard our deal should his niece no longer be fit to remain head of the Sunblaze house. I've invested quite a bit into getting this front for more business established, and I won't have it ruined by this Kel'Tira or her uncle's power mad schemes!

And what the blazes was with that mad Forsaken?! One moment I'm keeping an eye on Velin and Kel'Thul's meeting, and the next some walking corpse comes barging into the room. I had no idea what to expect when that happened and high-tailed it out of there! Probably a good thing too; as I was slipping away I heard the thing's rasping scream from all the way down the halls. I found it odd that the guards didn't do a damn thing to stop him - could that have been the shadow priest's doing? Is he so powerful that he can cause trained soldiers to turn a blind eye toward bloodshed in their midst? What about the warrior? Where did he come from? Was that Kel'Thul's doing as well?

No matter the case, I want to know who that corpse was, and why it seemed to be aiding Kel'Thul. Based on what I could hear from the scream, it sounds like that undead bugger would have put up quite a struggle - I can certainly say that I'm glad I wasn't the one to deal with that creature.

Gods, this means I'll have to pay that Elf who was standing guard for me extra for actually having to fight something! Oh I can't believe this load of.....