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I told Striker that I had meant to fulfill the promise of taking him out to Tirisfal Glades. He was strangely silent along the way, eyeing the Forsaken from my Hawk's back, looking over the ruins of human civilization without a word. It was hard to read his expression because he sat behind me. I didn't trust him to be able to guide my mount without proper training. He might be a master of tongues, but that doesn't make him perfect at everything he does.

I brought him to a corner of the land which didn't seem as corrupt. The grass grew green and the trees were lush with foilage. I wouldn't hunt here or stay here for long, however, for the deer were obviously contaminated. Varying degrees of rot seem to affect their hides, and at best, they simply move in a strange way with a sick and lifeless gleam to their eyes.

Soon, I found what I had seen once before. A ring of giant white mushrooms which pulse with a strange light. I told him about the Darters. Sprites. Fey dragons. Whatever you want to call them, he seemed quite amused and mistook them for actual dragons. Though I tried to correct him, claiming that they were merely about as smart as a dog… that can talk… Usually, you don't see them much bigger than chest height but since they fly, it's hard for one to judge. The most common breeds don't seem to be horrendously big, compared to an actual drake. Or, Fel forbid, a fully grown dragon.

Just as he seems well traveled and well-versed in many things pertaining to the world and warfare, I am of things of this land. Its magics, its wonders, its tragedies. Speaking to him more, I came to learn that he loves such things, and I can't help at pity him a bit, for he said that he prefers myths and rumors to stay that way, to not be experienced, least they take away the magic. In fact, he assured me that he didn't want to see the Fey dragons sing for that very reason.

At least, until he finally saw one for himself.

He seemed quite captivated with the strangeness of them. Speaking in quiet whispers, though the creature didn't seem to mind us at all. Still, I took him to a nearby tree to settle down, least we get in their way or scare them off. And when I say they, I mean it, for not long after the first had arrived, a second flew quite close to us. It reminded me of the first time I had come here, though I had only seen the event at a great distance. Suffice to say, I might have misjudged the size of these creatures. Up close, they seem to be a big bigger than I recall.

I suggested that we could leave, since he didn't want to ruin the mystery of their song. To my amusement, he changed his tune quite quickly and began to investigate the ring and kept a respectful distance away from the Fey, even though I assured him that they mostly ate berries. Perhaps he, too, was afraid of scaring them away.

For some time, we sat in relative comfort among them as they flew, and spoke of many things. Things ranging from the fact that he would teach me to fight, to what I thought, what I felt, what I had been going through. He kept rather tight-lipped about his own thoughts, but that might be because I did the same.

The Fey sang, and we didn't return to the Spire. I do not know when we will, for it turns out we are to head to Stormwind City. He wants to spend some time outdoors, he had missed the stars, it seems. And I cannot disagree to the request, though now I feel sick again. To be in the presence of one tolerable human was one thing. To suffer the entire race, and Fel forbid I see any Quel'dorei… I keep asking myself what is going through that head of his.

He built a lean-to and we stayed out there, simply talking. I find that I am scaring myself, however. My own thoughts betray me and I feel sick to my stomach half of the time, but I conceal it as best as I can.

It doesn't have to mean anything when someone kisses you.

From the Journal of Zakia Sunblade

Friday

It seems I will be stuck in this spire for quite some time, the thought drives me insane, I am not a person made to be cooped up in a room. I need to be outside to smell the grass, and the flowers, to hear the calls of wild animals, I am made to be out there, surviving. Yet here I sit, writing in this damned journal, a cast on my leg, and no one to talk to, unless you count the doctors. Being in such a predicamnet is frustrating, I know the Fellowship are preparing, for the final battle with Garrosh, I heard Ratheron's call for all members to go to New Dawn, and the thought of the others fighting while I sit here, and do nothing drives me insane. Yet I can do nothing, Master Stormfury, for whatever reason did not have the young druidess heal me the best she could, why I do not know, as Kye said it is a question only he can answer, and I doubt I will see him again for quite some time.

My one saving grace is my love, Kyetah, if not for her visits I probably would have gone on a rampage by now, she is a constant calming prescence in my heart. It is for her, that I will not cause anymore trouble for the doctors, for her happiness, and for the hope that doing as they say gets me home that much sooner. I have to remember what awaits me outside this spire, a home, and the love of my life, with those things to look forward to how can I allow myself to let the darkness take hold. I feel it daily, the boredom is eating away at me, and the darkness wants to kill, I have kept it at bay by throwing my dagger into a piece of wood I found. I fear though, that that is only a temporary measure, hopefully the knowledge of Kye, and the home we will build together will keep me sane.

I can't help but wonder how Rhannah is doing, and Leon, and Medrah, I knew Rhan was into some dark magic, but a warlock, not even I could have guessed that. Admittedly I am curious, about the demons she may be able to summon, what are they like, I know I shouldn't think this way, but I have always wanted to speak to a demon, to find out what life is like for them. It is a silly notion, demons are the enemy of all of Azeroth, to think I could speak to one normally is a foolish thought, because the only one in my mind worth talking to is a succubus, out of the demons I have seen warlocks summon the succubi seem to be the most intelligent. Of course that only comes from my limited knowledge of warlocks, and even if I were correct, if Rhan lost control for one second, what might a succubus do to me.

Perhaps I will talk to Rhan about it if she ever comes to visit, I haven't seen her since I was put here, I hope she is well. I never thought I would say this, but I miss the outside world, and the people I have come to care about that dwell there.

Kyetah returned to the Eastern Plaguelands with a confusing mixture of emotions. She tried to make sense of it all, but there were too many running through her head. Wrangling them all into some sort of order gave her a headache that would not quit.

At least she had a lot of work to do. It would occupy her mind for a few hours at least. Until the setting sun meant that she could work no more.

She worked long and hard through the afternoon, pausing only to take a drink or have some food to keep up her strength. It was hard, tiring work. Cleaning out the old inn meant a lot of lifting as she moved the broken furniture and rubbish out of the building. The furniture and wood were placed in a separate pile to the rubbish. The later was destined to be burnt, buried or both. The broken furniture and wood was set aside. She would sort through them when the clean out phase was complete. Anything worth saving would be reused in some form. Everything else would go towards stretching her supply of wood for the fire that cooked her food and kept her warm at night.

The dwindling light drove her inside, but it didn't mean the end of her work. She sat by the fire as she ate, using its light to work on her plans for the guest house. In her mind's eye she could see it already completed, brilliantly lit and welcoming guests. She just had to work out how to transfer that image onto paper so that the builders could help bring it to life.

Her vision for the guest house was simple. The ground floor would be left in the same basic layout that it had at that moment. Visitors would walk in to a large open plan area that had a small dining area on one side, and a lounge area, complete with large open fire place on the other. Towards the back of the area, on the right hand side there would be a large staircase that would follow the walls up to the second floor and the bedrooms. Under the staircase would be closed in and used for the storage of linens. On the left hand side, she would keep the existing bar, replacing it with a new one if she had to.

Behind the bar was the door that led into the kitchen and down into the basement. The kitchen would get some extra storage in the form of cupboards and more work benches. She would also put in a stove to make cooking a large variety of foods possible. The fireplace would be kept for foods that required slow, gentle cooking.

The basement was going to have a lot of work done to it. She would expand it, sectioning off one area for her private apartment and closing off a further three areas. One would be a cold storage area for the meat. Another cold area would be for storing things like milk, butter, eggs and vegetables. The third area would have a lock on the door and be larger than the others as it would be the area for storing the alcoholic drinks. Although she trusted most of the members of the fellowship, she had seen many times what alcohol could do to otherwise respectable people and could not afford to take risks. The rest of the basement would have an area devoted to messy work with a sink for washing dishes, pots and pans, and the like, as well as an area for storing less perishable items such as root vegetables, jams and preserves, grains, sauces, oils used in cooking and so on.

Upstairs would be the bedrooms. She would have ten in total. One would actually be a suite with a small lounge area as well as the actual bedroom and slightly more elaborate furnishing than the other rooms. The upstairs floor would also house three bathrooms. One would be at each end of the guest house and the third would be a private bathroom for the suite. Kyetah would have a bathroom of her own in her own apartment in the basement.

Outside the guest house would be a small garden for guests to enjoy, complete with a gazebo and bench should they choose to sit and a table with two more benches for them to enjoy a meal outside if they chose. On the other side of the building she was planning a vegetable and herb garden. Her plan was to use as much food produced in the area as she could. It would ensure that the food was fresh, as well as reducing transport costs.

Satisfied with her plans and work for the evening, she put away her notepad and laid down to sleep. Her jumbled thoughts returned the second she closed her eyes however, and her sleep was disturbed by nightmares.

The worst came just before dawn. She saw herself as a young woman, sleeping in an alley off Murder Row, a disused oil barrel having been converted into a makeshift fireplace providing warmth to the small group of men and women huddled around it. Beside her was the small form of a six months old baby. Her younger self woke, smiled at the baby and stroked her cheek. The smile changed instantly as the cheek felt cold. Kyetah woke, sitting bolt upright, a scream on her her lips. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cried. Lily, why'd you have to die...?

My mind is haunted. Even though I've made a choice in this matter, I'm not certain if I could handle anyone else knowing. I almost told Kel'tira about it, but thought better. She is still a noble, she is still a well-respected member of the Fellowship. And I'm loathe to find myself alone once again. Even Zakia, who promised that he would always stay by my side as a friend? No. I cannot believe that.

My beliefs might put distance between myself and the Fellowship, but I do not mind it. And when I do not worry on it, my mind is quiet. I'm actually at peace with myself when I am not at war with myself. Sometimes, it wonders if, perhaps, the general acceptance of people like me, Lineron, even Striker, means that they would not despise me for my hypocrisy and treachery. But, for now, I will simply do what I believe to be the right choice for me.

Though Ratheron's words creep into my mind. What might to be the right choice might not be the right thing to do. Words I shut out, if I want to keep my sanity.

On a brighter, related note, Ratheron's obstacle course was fantastic to witness. Though Tyrael looked a bit strange, flailing around and shouting, trying to be a distraction, I soon found the true purpose of such a thing as Striker made everything worse. Screaming at Kyetah and Fyn. Their loved ones were dead, they were dying. It was all their fault, they were leaving them behind.

My amused expression was wiped clean in a heartbeat.

If they thought it cruel, if they thought Striker a horrible person, I would pity their naivety. He approached each of them after they had completed the course and spoke softly to them, though I'm not sure what he said. It isn't my business, though if I want to know, I suppose I'll have to do the course, myself. Which I plan to do, after the war.

My wound have not yet fully healed. And, as I had told Ratheron, if someone were able to make it so I could do the course, that I would be healthy enough to do so, I wouldn't. My priorities are to myself and to the battle to come, not to completing some obstacle course. I will be going, with or without the Fellowship. I have a hunting partner going into this war, I simply need a bow.

Striker had better not disappoint me on this weapon. Else I might cram it down his throat and have to purchase a few cheaper ones. I know I'm liable to break them if they're not crafted to my specifications.

We set sail, soon.

War is upon us.

I usually don't pray, but may the Light have mercy on us, and may my arrows pierce all those who oppose me!

I keep thinking back to the last time this had happened. I feel no more pity in me, and I wonder if I'm growing cold and heartless. It scares me, but at the same time, I believe this is necessary. Not for my sake, but for the sake of everyone around me. The last time that we went into battle, the last time that we fought, so many things had happened. And, once again, I believe that we will be out numbered. Despite everyone's efforts in the Barrens, Orgrimmar stands tall and we are still so few. Perhaps even less than before. There are so many voices I haven't heard over stone lately, so many faces who don’t show themselves, even when our own are in times of need.

Does loyalty mean nothing to people anymore?

Though I do not know either Zakia or Shade that well, I've seen them a few times in the Spire, mostly in passing. My days have been so busy, preparing for the battle to come, but soon I will meet with both of them on my own. I am also a healer, though my attentions have been elsewhere. I haven't even been able to be a proper teacher, and I wish I could say that it was because of some fickle reason as preferring to stay in Ratheron's bed than to make a life for myself.

No, I've been spending most of my time looking into things. For Zarina's peace of mind, for Kel'tira's. However I can help them, even if I am not asked, I will do it. If I can find an answer to what happened, then Zarina might be able to heal a bit better. Kel'tira might worry a bit less. I saw it in her eyes, one of the last times that we spoke. I had told her where our… ah… beloved foul-tongued lady had gone to, and it was a shock. But I have no time in my life for pity.

I have to keep working to improve myself. To learn about how to safely bring life into this world. Others may abandon us as we try to save each other, to fight for the Horde, and ourselves. Ratheron has already learned what has happened when you thrust those who are unprepared for war into conflict, but there will be no miracles. Our numbers are fewer, and I might just have to have fliers posted around the various cities, letting others know that we are recruiting. We have need for those who are strong of spirit and understand our love for one another means that we won't abandon each other. I won't abandon them.

Until my dying breath, I will fight for the ones I love. And I won't… I won't cry for those who leave me alone out there.

I have to smile. And remind people of the good in life. Because it's so easy to forget.

The ache in my chest won't fade, no matter how I will it to. I dream of holding him, still, and I wake up grasping at the air which I could have sworn had once been an infant, wrapped in cloth. My son. But it is a dream, and I live the nightmarish reality. He is gone, and there is no miracle, no magic, which will bring him back to me.

Tyrael is lucky. His body was old enough, capable enough to handle what befell him. A child could not, even if I had the heart to rip his soul out and keep it. But I couldn't. I couldn't make myself, though the thought did cross my mind. I was too weak, too spent, and too stricken with terror at what had happened.

I cannot change this. But I will not be defeated by it. Battle is coming, I've been listening to those flitting around the hallways. Making preparations. Shifting supplies. My clothes are clean, pressed, it's all that I need. I've grown steadily stronger since it had happened, and I do not plan to take no for an answer. My magic has gone nowhere, I have not gained any students, I have no one to look after or worry about except for myself and Varus. And only him because he is a hopeless moron.

I plan to meet with Tyrael today and inform him that he should expect a warlock, hungry for destruction, and his House's Master of Arms to be ready to move out as soon as the ship is ready. If he says no, I will burn his study until he agrees. I'm not in the mood for people or their idiocy, and I'm ready to go back to doing what I do best.

Burning. Everything.

I haven't spent a lot of time writing in my journal of late. I think this might be the last time I get a chance to write in it before we set sail to Durotar and the siege of Ogrimmar. I can't say I'm not excited about the prospects of war. I have spent my whole life readying myself for something of this magnitude. I have spent all my life following the tenets of the warrior way in the hopes that one day I can use them to help my people and my family.

Now I will get to.

But not in the way I imagined as I have responsibilities. I have to lead the Firehawk forces and to stand as a leader. I guess it is no different than it would be if I was not the head of my House. No one would be able to tell me that I could not lead the charges, lead the offensive. They would be foolish to try, but I cannot be as gung-ho, as reckless as I would like I suppose. I think Eve would have words for me if I tried.

It brings a smile to my face to think of her and she occupies much of my mind. But at the moment my mind is clouded by preparations for war and thoughts of my dear friend Varus and his fiance.

He came to me late last night after the women had gone to bed and I was soon to join Eve in bed. He found me before that, looking pleased but concerned at the same time. He told me of how Zari was progressing, how she was feeling. Of all the men in the world I knew Varus had the biggest handful of a woman by far. Yet the way he spoke of her told me just how much he enjoyed who she was. It was the fact that he knew her so well that gave him the ability to read her with just a single glance.

It was how he knew that she planned on going to war. She wanted to drown her sorrows in war. He spoke to me of how Ser might become a target again. He warned me of how she might be someone who needs someone to hate so much that they come out of their sorrow. He implored me to find such a person that would be far enough away and strong enough to survive her wrath.

I think I know just who can fulfill that role, I assured him that for Zari this was probably the best way to move forward. She is a furious inferno and without anything to burn it withers and dies. He then wondered if perhaps it was her forced bed rest that caused her to lose the child but I assured him again it was not. For while Zari was an inferno, she was so metaphorically and not literally. Most of the time.

From what the doctors told me her body had a freak accident of nature. The child came too early due to some complications of some sort and Ratheron believed, wrongly, that the child would be better off outside the womb. But it was a no win situation and I told him as much. To keep her from having the child would be almost nigh impossible and it risked Varus losing both his son and his fiance.

Ratheron made the choice that was, I guess you could say, the lesser of two evils. But to say that is callous to the lost Astinos. I told Varus that places will be reserved for Zari and him on the ship and that their presence would be a welcome sight on the field of battle.

He thanked me and left. I hope for his sake they have a child soon.

They desperately need some good in their lives.

Life and Death.

Which is the constant and which is the momentary and fleeting flash? It is hard to say for certain, but my mind and heart ache to say Death is the constant. Yet that is my own pain speaking out. I hurt. More than I let my fiance know, because it would not do to show her how much I hurt. She is not the type to offer solace and comfort with sweet words and caresses. While she has of late it is not in her nature and I know what she would rather do.

I know what she would rather be doing with our time right now. Furious and angry love-making. The woman is insatiable in that regard and I too must admit I am as well. It is why we started this in the first place. Our intellects and flirtatious behavior pulling each of us to the other and from there sparked this whole relationship. I smile as I think about it, but I have lost my second child and I wonder if I am destined to forever lose my family.

No. I cannot think that. Zari is strong. Zari cannot be killed.

She will not leave my side. This I am certain of and it gives me hope for the future. So I push forward, growing stronger and letting the ache in my chest slowly dwindle with time. Speaking to Tyrael truly helped in that regard. He set my mind at ease and assured me there would be someone for Zari to lash out at, to hold her hatred far longer than any other.

I'm curious to know who this person is that will bring my fiance fully out of her sorrow. I wonder if battle is what I need as well. A re-awakening of my early fire through battle. I think it is exactly what I need.

I think it is exactly what we need.

She shall burn our enemies and I shall cut them down. Droves will fall before Zari and I and together we will heal. Together we will reclaim our inner fire.

I smile with that hope.

But now I chuckle as I remember a turn of phrase that seems to fit here...

For hope is indeed rekindled.

Here I sit.

In a tree.

Writing.

It seems odd for me to write when I'm more inclined to music than I am to prose, but I must confess prose in this regard serves my purposes better. War is coming and I find myself once again readying for the coming storm. My mind flashes with different memories, ones that are vague of battles fought on another world yet I cannot hold on to them. But the majority of my memories that come to mind are of the Invasion of the Scourge.

When my homeland was forever scarred and tainted by the Scourge. When our beloved Ranger-General fell and when all hope seemed to fade from existence. Not even when we fought the Amani did we lose hope as we did then.

I wonder at why it is that I am being reminded of the Scourge invasion as we ready ourselves to march on Orgrimmar. Is it because another powerful leader has fallen into darkness? Or is it because I am foreshadowing events to come?

I cannot say I know the exact answer but what I do know is that the hardest fight of my life is about to come. Orgrimmar is a fortress-city. Almost nigh impregnable and within stands the host of Kor'kron and dark creations of the 'True Horde.' I scoff at the name but I remind myself that such phrases were used in the First and Second Wars.

The Second I fought in. The First I did not.

Yet again the Dragonmaw are on the opposite side of the field from me. Yet again I must turn my arrows on those I once called friend.

Perhaps that is the reason I am remembering the Scourge the most. Friend fighting friend, brother fighting brother, father fighting son. Dark days approach and I sober my mind, I temper my normally outgoing and cheerful attitude for the tasks ahead.

War is coming and I must be ready to do my part.

I must confess to wondering if marching on Garrosh is the smartest of plans. But the whole world marches on him. As he sits and waits for them. A sense of foreboding grips me as I wonder if this man Garrosh has yet another weapon of mass destruction up his sleeve. I heard tell of the Mana Bomb he dropped. I have studied all I can of it and I must say it is a work of art.

A dangerous work of art and now I grow concerned that others are forgetting how dangerous this man is. Why does logic fly in the face of abject fury and vengeance? Why does reason and calm heads flee at the sight of atrocities?

It serves no one but Garrosh to rush blindly forward. But I cannot stop them. They are undaunted and determined. So I travel with them.

Not out of some emotion or desire to see justice done. But to make sure that they are protected against whatever magics Garrosh brings against them. Justice is an arbitrary entity. A neutral mistress that comes as it pleases.

Garrosh will face justice, as will all evil men.

All that is needed is time and justice has an infinite amount of it.

From the Journal of Zakia Sunblade

Sunday

Once again the cruel hand of fate has thrown me for a loop, why is it just as you think you are on a straight, and narrow road, fate deems it neccessary to throw two opposing paths in your face. I met with Shade today, it had been the first time we had really got to talk, after I had made my decision to be with Kye, I worried that she would hate me, but it was a foolish worry. She seems to have begun getting past this particular pain rather nicely, but of course I cannot know what is truly in her mind. She took me out of the spire, it was wonderful to get outside, and smell the clean air, to see the trees, and the grassm and to hear the sounds of wild animals. Yes this is my world, not a world of luxuries, like what I have available to me in the spire, no I am a man of the wilderness, just at home sleeping in a tree, as a bed.

We talked about many things mainly how my recovery was going, truth be told I wish it would go faster, but fate also deemed it neccessary for me to meet Illisadel Shadowfury, a man without mercy, who would flay his own mother alive if she crossed him. I can still remember the sick smile on his face as he beat me to within an inch of my life, there was no joy behind that smile simply malice, and hatred, for everything good in this world.

As we talked she asked me a strange question, that has now put two paths before me, she asked me if when I was healed up if I would fight her. My first reaction was one of shock, why, why would she want to fight me, was I right, does she just want to hurt me, because I didn't choose her? Even I admit now that that was a foolish notion, but still why, she said it may teach us something, the only thing fighting teaches me, is to fear the darkness deep inside. It's why I have abandoned my desire to fight Ratheron, for I know if I lost control he would not hesitate to kill me, and where would that leave Kye, she has been alone long enough, and I will not let foolish pride risk my life.

So why, why does Shade want to fight me, the Light knows I do not want to fight her, I don't want to risk hurting her, or risk myself being put back on the injured list. I voiced my concerns about what would happen if the darkness took hold, and her response was to shove flowers into my face. According to her lavenders, had a calming effect on people, and I admit as I sat that smelling those flowers, my stress, and annoyance were reduced significantly, but the other me, is not so easily calmed I fear. She said should it happen she would not have to kill me, that she would subdue me, and take me somewhere where I wouldn't hurt anyone, and that she would be there when I woke up. So what should I do, my body is itching for a fight, and yet I do not want it to be against Shade, what should I do? I look at my bedside table to the lavenders, Shade had put them in a vase when we returned to the spire, and I smile sadly, knowing that I may not really have a choice. Shade is stubborn, and I doubt she would let this drop with a simple no, part of me is excited at the prospect of fighting Shade, for I am first, and foremost a warrior, and I learn through battle. Still another part of me is frightened, at the many outcomes of such a fight, whether the darkness takes hold or not, whether I win or lose, if I win so what, what did I gain, but can my heart take another loss, I have so little to gain in my mind, and so much to possibly lose.

Why oh, hand of fate, why must you be so cruel to put this decision in front of me?

So tolls the marching drums.

After I spoke to Striker I wonder what exactly to expect. The way in which is absorbs knowledge and the speed at which is deduces things is uncanny. He is an oddity and I wonder what it must be like for him on his own world. I sit here writing in my journal in free flowing form as usual, simply writing what comes to mind so as to have a recollection of events in a very unbiased and uncontrolled manner.

It helps keep me calm I guess you could say. But I digress from that subject because it is one I have discussed at length previous. Striker however is one I have yet to truly delve into.

I watched him on the obstacle course the other day, he ran it first and ran it quickly. I wonder if part of his knowledge is from his own experiences, but how can one who looks no more than twenty five have that many experiences? Unless his body is deceptive of his true age. I wonder too about that. I wonder about many things regarding this stranger. Yet I hold back my questions, I hold off from bombarding him with intelligent debate and discussion because more important things require my attention.

Such as the coming war, or as Striker strangely put, "War Cometh."

I didn't truly understand the phrase and he said it was an 'inside joke,' whatever that means but he explained to me that after studying Garrosh's battle tactics he believed Garrosh to be a supreme field commander and a man not to underestimate.

I wasn't sure what he meant for if this were true why was he waiting for his enemies to gather? Why had he alienated his allies? The forthcoming answer was one I had not expected and I think back on it now with something near awe.

"His allies were alienated not because he wanted to alienate them Ratheron, but because they lacked the same drive." Striker started out saying, smiling grimly as he picked up the glass of whiskey that I had set out for him. "Garrosh would fit in well on my world. A commander, a leader, who is willing to do whatever it takes for his people. For his side. He would alienate my world as well but his reasons are simple."

I raised my eyebrow and motioned for him to explain further, "What stops you from doing something Ratheron?"

"My consciousness, those I love and someone strong enough to stop me." I answered after a short pause, thinking of the things that could indeed stop me.

"What would you as a leader be willing to do if you believed your people were in eminent danger? What would you be willing to do to save them? To help them prosper? To help them grow stronger?"

"Anything." Yet I grimaced as I said it for when he put it that way, when he put it in that light Garrosh's intentions and reasons became clear.

"Exactly. Yet I can see by the look on your face you are not willing to do anything. You say it but you don't mean it." He held up his hand to forestall the torrent that was about to come out of my mouth. "That isn't a slight on you. It is a good thing. You are not an evil man Ratheron. You are not even a necessary evil man, by that I mean you are not me. You are not someone who has no boundaries."

"You hold yourself to a moral standard that I cannot hold myself to, for the things I fight would have long since defeated me had I such a moral standard. Yet that does not mean I fight for power or anything evil. I fight for the greater good. I fight to better the world and give to the next generations of people a world and universe free of the taint that is Darkness. I cannot, therefore, have rules when I fight. I must fight and use whatever strength and advantage I can gain to win. Victory is the most important thing."

His words caused me to pale slightly as I realized what he was saying, slowly of course but I began to understand how far Garrosh would go for his people.

"Garrosh is not like me. You see unlike me, he is trying to live up to this perfect image of his father, the dark deeds he did are forgotten and only the good remains. And yet Garrosh remembers, Garrosh hears, and Garrosh sees what the Alliance has done to his people. He knows of his people's imprisonment. He knows of the Alliance's abject terror and fear that gnaws at their bellies over the next time the Orcs rally." Striker pauses and takes a sip of his drink, looking at Ratheron seriously.

"Garrosh came into power with his people in need, half their male population had been decimated by the Northrend campaign, they needed lumber, water and food. Ashenvale was ripe with it and yet the Kaldorei wouldn't give it to them. So he took it. Yet it caused uproar within the Alliance, so he pushed them back. He challenged them. So war began."

"But-"

((1/2))

"Shut it and listen. Garrosh needed machines of war, he needed to take Ashenvale because now he needed more lumber for war machines to fight off the Alliance and after the destruction of Taurajo he had enemies on two sides so he took the fight to the Kaldorei, pushing them out of their lands. The goblins muddied the waters of Azshara making their war machines and so Garrosh needed more fresh water for his people."

Striker laughed, "It is an endless cycle really. Yet all Garrosh wanted was to feed, house and clothe his people. Not so bad hm? But the Alliance responded with hate and so they got more of it. Sure Garrosh was forceful and not diplomatic, but have you ever met a diplomatic warrior?"

At his words I had to laugh for I have not ever met a tactful or diplomatic warrior. They didn't exist. Warriors fought. Warriors were blunt. They were straightforward thinkers and while logical they didn't think of talking out their issues first.

"As the war progressed Garrosh grew far more dangerous, as the war started to grind out the resources of the Horde he turned to far more unconventional methods of war. Weapons of mass destruction. Artifacts of great power and other supernatural ways of winning the war. Thus we find ourselves here."

Striker leaned back in his seat.

"So Ratheron remember this. You fight a man who has no limits on what he will do for his people. You fight a man who will go to any length to win. While you and every other leader, faction leader or otherwise, have boundaries you won't cross. You are fighting an uphill battle."

I thought on his words for a moment, "What do we do then?"

"You pray he doesn't have another weapon like his Mana Bomb."

I then watched as Striker left the room, leaving me with such thoughts. It was hard to tell if he was kidding or if he was serious. But what I knew of the man was that he didn't joke around about such things.

He wasn't the type to make light of such a serious discussion, albeit I didn't know him very well but I decided to take him seriously and so now here I sit. Worrying over what weapon Garrosh might possible have up his sleeve.

((2/2))

The huntress is dancing barefoot with her Dragonhawk in a dark corner of the Enclave so as not to be seen. Someone in New Dawn is playing music…a light airy tune. A breeze carries the sound across the land. Fynnariel and Wings dance around each other in a most graceful union of moves. Twisting and twirling around each other…Fyn loses herself in the moment.

The journal of Fynnariel lies open under the starlight:

I froze.

When the mage I killed set off his explosions, for an instant I froze. In that moment I forgot where I was. In the briefest of seconds it felt as though I was back in Quel’Danas. Then the avalanche hit me.

For that reason, if my fidgety nature, jumpiness and nightmares weren’t enough, I was hesitant to answer Ratherons call. To be fair when I am focused on a goal I am as steady as I ever was before the Third War. However, the battle with that Forsaken mage shook me and left me doubting my skills and usefulness.

Even so I answered the call and met Ratheron and Kye in New Dawn to begin the Trials. A small audience had gathered to watch us. It was easy for me to tune them out and focus on the tasks at hand. The first was a test of strategy and logic. How would we infiltrate Orgrimmar? Two huntresses going over every possible detail and multiple scenarios, I will admit it was fun…and nostalgic.

After that we went to a brilliantly prepared obstacle course. Some of obstacles I had never seen before but the objective was remarkably similar to trials I have faced as a Farstrider. Excitement tore through me when Ratheron explained the course. This, this was definitely something I could do.

Tyrael and Striker were waiting with distractions. Striker’s strange contraptions and explosions were indeed effective. They simulated the sounds of war accurately. Oh how I wanted to punch him in the face when he started threatening Carinoth and Rhannah. He certainly did his job well. Afterwards he even spoke to me to apologise, and I understand why he did it. I know war and its cost.

The end of the trials left me pale, shaking, and hard of breath but not from the excursion. With the explosions and the sounds I wondered if they had noticed…. the scars of my old mental wounds trying to open. Though I maintained focus I could feel it.

At heart, I love nature and have an appreciation for all things living, that is not who I am. The truth of the matter is I am a woman of action and violence. The fight is what I have always lived for. These days a part of me longs for peace, for I cannot trust the murderer inside of me. Not with the ghosts of my past trying to break through.

I expressed my concerns to Ratheron. No one needs a broken weapon. I do not wish to be a liability in combat. Rath encouraged me to trust in my comrades, to not let doubt cloud my mind. He is right.

My focus now must be on what is coming, not on what has been. The Fellowship goes to war and I go with it…

What on Azeroth am I doing? I'm no soldier. I'm not even a Farstrider. It must be the height of arrogance for a street rat like me to even think that she can take part in war.

What skills do I have? Aside from the ability to use a bow and command animals to do my biding? Could I honestly say that I would be able to handle the chaos of the battlefield? Would I truly be able to kill another person? If I was back on the streets I would say in a heartbeat. But the battlefield is not the streets of Silvermoon City. There the battle was one of survival and I fought because I had no choice. If I didn't fight to survive, I would have died.

I'm no stranger to killing. Many times I have had to kill another person. On the streets it was a matter of course. If someone tried to get nasty, they could do it without recourse. I often had to kill to save my own life. I also have killed people that weren't trying to kill me because the reward for their death would be enough to feed and keep me warm for the next month, I even earned myself a nickname among the people of the streets. I was the sweetheart assassin. I traded on my looks as a way of getting my target to drop his guard, allowing me to kill him.

Looking back now, I'm disgusted at the way I used sex as a weapon. At the time I didn't care. It was a matter of survival. The only thing I had going for me was that I was attractive to men and knew how to please them. Sex was a means to an end. That being survival. All I cared about back then was getting enough money to buy food and possibly a warm place to sleep for the night. If that meant selling my body so a drunken noble could get his rocks off, then so be it.

Wow. When did that change? When did sex stop being a commodity? When did it take on a meaning, a value of its own?

The tests that Ratheron put me through took me back to some dark places. The only thing missing from the obstacle course was the sound of sirens and someone chasing me. When I was asked how I enjoyed the course, I shrugged and described it as Saturday night in Murder Row. I was lying. It was like Saturday, Sunday, and every other night of the week in Murder Row. Barely a week went by when I wasn't running from the city guards every night.

After the test, Striker told me I had a tendency to over think things, to always be planning my next move before I had made the current one. I guess he's right. But back when I was on the streets I had to as a part of survival. I needed to have a back door, a way out of any situation. If I ran from the city guards, I had to know where my next step was going to land so that I didn't land in a hole or run myself into a dead end and allow them to catch me. I guess it got to be habit. One that I can't break even now.

But are my old habits, the things that kept me alive as a young woman, enough? The battle field is not the streets and I have reclaimed my morals, my pride and self worth. Can I abandon them so easily this time around? Will the things I learnt on the streets even translate into skills that can help me survive the horrors of war? I do not know, and yet I know that they must. For now I have a reason to come back alive more powerful that just survival.

A blood elf, his rugged features suggesting that he was somewhere closer to middle age than young adult, moved through the archway of the inn at Binan Village and emerged on the back porch overlooking the lake. Sitting against the outer wall of the inn was the woman he had come to know as Auxilia, her arms resting easily on her knees as she watched the moon’s reflection on the rippling water. Around them insects hummed and chirped their unique nocturnal music, underscored by the gentle lapping of the lake’s water against the shore and the dull drone of voices from the few patrons inside the inn. Most of the quiet village had already gone to sleep.

His friendship with the rogue had slowly bloomed over the past few months. At first, he was simply a sympathetic ear, then a friend. Now he wondered if he could move into something more. Slowly, carefully, each step would need to be measured and weighed as she was beginning to see the world past her late husband. A world that, maybe, just maybe, had a place for him. It was too soon, he knew, but he was patient. He had waited this long, what was a little longer?

He came to a stop beside her, offering a small smile and a glass of wine as she looked up at him. She looked the offered items with murmured thanks. He sat down beside her to watch the moonlight flirting with the water.

“Have you thought about what I said?” He was referring to a conversation they had had several nights ago.

She nodded, the wine glass lifted to her lips for a small sip. Her gaze was on a small group of fireflies that had sprung up on the shore line. The tiny glowing cloud dancing in mid-air weaved in and out, creating a complex pattern that was reflected on the surface of the lake.

She slowly lowered the glass to her lap, “I think you are right. It is time.”

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

For the longest time, I felt as if I was standing still and the world was moving past me in a blur. I couldn’t see anything past the end of my life with Sol; there was no future, simply an existence that I passed through day by day.

Friends have helped, so have strangers, and a few of those strangers have become friends. People who didn’t know Sol, have no connection to him, and bear no reminders. I won’t ever forget him, and I don’t want to, but sometimes knowing that I have a fresh start is balm for the hurt.

I can see so many paths before me, so many options to choose, and for the longest time, it was overwhelming. Now, the paths have pared down considerably as I figure out what I need now and where I want to be later. One thing keeps coming back to me over and over again, a decision that I have put off for quite some time now, although I think I may have already made it. Yes… I have… I just need to go through with it.

I wonder if the Fellowship was always like this.

I had heard rumors throughout Silvermoon City of its activities, their semi-public gatherings and rather happy antics.

It seems that Tychus has changed all of that. Perhaps he did win after all.

Coming back from a long vigil with Dalen, I found myself seeing so few faces of those who had stood by our side at New Dawn. Listening in on what has been going on, I use my wits and Shadow's cheerfully casual demeanor to determine that Ratheron has a new plan. He will separate those who would go to war from those who would not.

Voluntarily.

Perhaps, I think to myself, I will approach Ratheron on the ship taking us to lay siege to Orgrimmar. Perhaps it is time to re-define the Fellowship, for it seems that there are fewer answers now than ever before.

His last answer does not stand very well these days. Though he would probably not see a value in dividing our group, I think that it ought to be more publically known that we will not segregate those who refuse to fight, we will not shame them. Those who would fight ought to be given recognition for it, deemed as warriors. Something that anyone can do, or not do, but that it is not required. That it will never again be required.

We are a group who will look out for and protect each other. And those who fight need those who will not just as much as the other way goes. Too often, people forget that you are not useless if you do not hold a sword in hand and march into danger. We need the ones who stay behind to support us. Without them, we are lost.

I myself have come into semi-retirement from the Blood Knights. Though I wear their colors and I go to war, I do not do it because my history calls for it. Because they call for it. I do it because Dalen loves his family dearly and would not be left behind. I go to war because they need the Light with them. I will not make my lover go into the darkness alone. Not again. I am not the person who abandoned him to his fate, left him alone like this, and walked away from him again.

I am not weak like that.

I will safeguard our future. We will have our home in Eversong Forest, where he can be close to his family and I can work alongside the Blood Knights from time to time. Where we can dedicate ourselves to the Fellowship and to the family we're building.

This, I vow.

The constant bang of hammer on metal sounded from the temporary anvil that Striker had set up. He was nowhere he'd ever been before, taken here by Tai Stronghammer. The Death Knight having proven to be an invaluable resource of knowledge when it came to smithing. Striker pounded away, the metal moving to shape the curve that he wanted, yet it needed to be more pliant.

"More fire!" He shouted and the Death Knight gave it to him, the heat of the Firelands. The realm of fire had been the perfect choice, hot enough to heat the metal to the perfect degree to craft and with a bit of magic it proved to be the best spot. Tai marveled at the man's skills and yet he realized that while he knew more about crafting and materials than the Death Knight, Tai had just as much experience.

"Hold!" Striker called and Tai ceased pouring the flames onto the metal, using magic the strange human pushed the flames off into a circle around the anvil and himself, yet another ring of flame surrounding the work. It seemed to hum with energy and life, runes danced barely visible in the flames. Striker spoke in a tongue that Tai could not understand but it made the hair on his arms and legs stand on end.

He banged away and as he worked the metal began to morph and change into the shape he wanted. As if his spoken word gave it form and the banging was merely to push it faster. He worked for what seemed like days, the work progressing quickly as each of the three metal 'strands' were finished and placed within a cocoon of energy. Tai wasn't sure why but the process reminded him a lot of his own weapons and how he crafted them.

Tai watched as he finished the final 'strand' of metal and set it into a cocoon of energy as well. "Now we wait." The man said and Tai raised his eyebrow.

"Wait for what?"

"We wait to let each strand soak up the energy encompassing them, once that is done I will combine the pieces together and the weapon will be completed." And so they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Tai and fallen into a meditative state when he heard Striker's exclamation. "It is time!" The man cried as he jumped into the ring of runes that was the only sign there had ever been anything done here.

The three strands hung in the air on their own accord and now Striker moved them to start conjoining them, bringing each of their tips together before melding them into one at the top. He then weaved them about each other, the entire thing looking graceful and elegant as he reached their other end and conjoined them as well. Once he had finished he took the bow in his hand, took his forefinger and middle finger of his left hand to his lips, whispering words that caused them to glow, brought those two fingers to the top of the bow and then in a straight line down to the bottom.

As he did that an almost imperceptible silver string came into existence and Striker smiled as he beheld his work, its color was perfect. Its form graceful and fierce.

"Behold Stronghammer, a bow without equal."

From the Journal of Zakia Sunblade

Tuesday

Friends, once again I have been reminded how important that word is, friends are people who will stand by you, in your moments of weakness. Friends are people who will be there to help pick you up when you fall, they are people who will help you, even if your stubborness refuses at first to accept it. Friends are an important thing to have, they can be equally as important as family, or the love of your life, yes tonight I have been reminded just how important those people called friends are.

I was sitting in my room at the spire, feeling, lonely, and down on myself, as I have been for the last couple of days. I was not expecting any visitors, but fate decided to finally cut me a break, with a visit from the ever cheerful Shadow. Her mere prescence lifted my mood tremendously, even more so when I saw what she had brought. Shade cam ethrough on her promise, and had a dozen vases of flowers delivered to me, which Shadow proceeded to arrange around the room. We talked about mundane things for awhile, eventually though we came to the subject of my leg, I couldn't lie to Shadow, so I admitted to wishing it would heal faster.

She seemed to understand my desire to get out of the spire, and told me she may be able to help speed up the healing process enough to allow that. Of course I will need someone to stay with me, just in case, I plan to pen a letter to Rhannah as soon as I finish with this entry, asking her to do just that, I am sure she would be happy to look after her favorite little brother again. Shadow seemed satisfied with my choice of having Rhan stay with me as well, whether she will want to speak to Rhan regarding my care after I am home, I do not know. I will not lie I am hoping I will be well enough to see everyone off as they leave for Orgrimmar, but I cannot hope for too much. After Shadow had finished with her therapy, I must admit I felt a little better, maybe this will work, she said she would come visit tomorrow to see how her procedure went, and if it is the correct course. As I feel right now, I believe it is, but I will leave the determination up to Shadow, she is my doctor now, I simply her patient.

Still as much as Shadow's visit, and offer of help lifted my spirits, my heart is still heavy, and I feel as though there is a hole in it, that only one person can fill. Oh, Kye, my heart, my love, I miss you so much, not a day goes by with me in here I do not think of you. Would that I could bring myself to ask you to stay with me, and not go to Orgrimmar, but I cannot make you choose between me, and ending a great threat to Azeroth. I pray you come, and see me before you leave, if I am still in the spire, but if the fates allow, I would also wish that I could spend one night together with you at home. I need to see your face before you leave for Light knows how long, I need you to reassure my heart, and mind, that you will come back to me, if I lost you, I know not what I would do. My heart is heavy with worry, and sorrow at not being able to fight by your side, at being stuck back here, I do not pray often, but please Light let her come home safely.

From the Journal of Zakia Sunblade

Thursday

Loneliness, it is a feeling I have become all too familiar with, isolating myself from others, to avoid risking the darkness emerging, and harming them. Friends were something I did not make, I kept people at arms length, for both their safety, as well as mine. Even the majority of the Fellowship I still keep far away, I have opened up to very few, besides my family, only Shade, and Kye know about my darkness. Though I do it for fear of being judged, it has also made the Fellowship see me as a cold person, the only one who actively tries to talk to me is Shadow. Still despite her nightly visits, and our talks, after she leaves the loneliness sets in again.

Everyone has gone to Orgrimmar, to fight, to risk their lives defending Azeroth, I wonder if Master Stormfury has gone to Orgrimmar as well, but something tells me he feels his brother is a greater threat than Garrosh. Whether that is right, or wrong doesn't matter, both need to be stopped, whereas Garrosh wants to dominate Azeroth, and eliminate all who oppose his "True Horde," Illisadel, I believe, simply wants to watch Azeroth burn to the ground. I do not believe the sorceror cares for domination, I believe he simply want to destroy everything, it is a frightening thought. Everyone is out there fighting the battles they believe they must, and I hear I sit fighting against myself. Fighting against my injuries, but more importantly fighting against the darkness, loneliness is a perfect opportunity for it to try, and take hold.

Showing me dreams, of the Fellowship, their bodies impaled on the spiked walls of Orgrimmar, of Garrosh killing without remorse. It has even shown me dreams, of Kye abandoning me, each time I shrug the dreams away, it will never make me doubt the way Kye feels about me. Still, some people say one man can be the difference between victory, and defeat, what if I am that one man, what if because I am not there the siege fails, and Garrosh wins. It is not arrogance, simply a what if, I find myself preoccupied with what ifs lately, what if I hadn't been injured, what if I had chosen a different path. So many what ifs, that they begin to make me doubt myself, which gives the darkness another opening, being alone, has also made me start to be slightly paranoid I think.

After Shadow left tonight, I could have sworn I saw something scurry out the door behind her, not a mouse, no it was too big to be a mouse. Even as I sit here writing I hear noises, like shuffling feet, and light chuckling, and I cannot tell if they are real or imaginary. Am I going insane from the loneliness already, when it has only been a few days since everyone left, or is there something, or someone watching me.