World of Warcraft®

March 15th,

ONE IS COMPLETED.

ONLY FOUR REMAIN.

I WILL WALK AMONGST THE STARS.

- Jay Brooks

The baroness sighed as she made her way through the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale upon the reanimated raptor. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder as the bones carried her through the gates of Zul'Gurub.

"Now where did he put that damn book," she spoke aloud, not having much of a clue as to where to behind looking in the Gurabashi ruins. Dismounting, she made her way deeper and deeper into the lush vale. Finally her eyes settled upon a weathered tote, "He didn't even try to hide it," she chuckled. "Though I suppose looking for it wasn't going to make me happier."

As she knelt down in the mass of fine cloth that hugged her form, she clutched the book bag to her, tossing the strap over her free shoulder as she headed back to the undead raptor, remounting upon its form. Giving a strangled screech, the raptor took off and they headed out of the ruins as fast as possible.

______________________________

"Where to begin," she announced to everyone and no one as the enchanted cerulean carpet carried her over Ashenvale toward the book's next destination. She had began thumbing through it, reading over the last entry made by the acquaintance. Though half the entries evaded her foresight, she was intrigued overall by the collection. Without much more hesitation, she removed a quill from her own satchel.

I barely knew you.

The first time I saw you, there was something that was just.. so familiar. Familiar in the best way.

Like we shared something.. like we had a secret.

I just wanted to know you. I didn't know why, I just.. did.

The writing came to a complete stop as she peered at it, as if making this important. During her pause the carpet hit an air pocket, Ellorah's finely manicured hands losing grip on the book as it fell into the decimated trees of Felwood.

"You've got to be kidding." She simply stared as the carpet halted. Using her wand, she directed it downward in a spiral around where she might have guessed it landed. Both she and the cloth made it to the land safely as she dismounted the awaiting vehicle, hiking up her robes.

"You've really done it this time, Elly. Really, rea--" She stopped as she spotted it. The intricate binding was splayed out as it had landed upon one of the pages, the very edge having touched a slime pool. Hobbling over to it, she removed the precious book and examined it, making sure the words were intact.

"That's a miracle, only the top left corners managed to be damaged." Removing a handkerchief from her person, she wiped down as much of the fel green ooze as she could, the damage barely noticeable.

Sitting right where it had landed, she removed the quill once more to finish her inscription.

We swore to the death, but it was never good enough for you. You made me your weapon of destruction, of decimation and gore. I sought what was insurmountable, and cured it. You wanted torture, they received it.

You then became a bigger threat to yourself. Foolish.


The only thing real is illusion and the only thing that stays the same is change.

- The Blightcaller

Blowing upon the ink, she waited for it to dry as she began to walk back to the magic carpet. As she sat upon it once more, she waved her wand to take off toward the next appointed destination, tucking the book back into its rightful bag. Taking greater altitude, the demonologist soared above Felwood unto the book's destination.

The Moonglade. The aquamarine hue of the area always seemed to calm her, though now she had wondered of where precisely to leave Brookslandia. Then she spotted it.

An open area between the dens and the flight path were a pair of bridges. Choosing the closest tot he flight path, she landed upon it, hanging the bag upon one of the posts that held it together.

"That ought to be easy to find," she nodded, pleased with her selection.

March 16th,

TWO ARE COMPLETED.

THREE REMAIN.

THE GREAT DARK BEYOND WILL BECOME MY HOME.

- Jay Brooks

The runes on the spine of the book have begun to glow in a faint light. The light rises and falls weakly, like a pulse.

March 19th,

Why are you not hurrying?

With every hour, they draw nearer. With every hour, we grow closer to missing our chance.

I've helped you, all of you, in ways you may never understand.

But now is your time to help me.

Help me show them that they were wrong. That all of them were wrong. That all of you were wron

The end of the n trails off into a long line that quickly fades away.

HELP ME PROVE THAT THEY WERE WRONG.

ONLY THREE REMAIN.

HURRY.

- Jay Brooks

"What's this?"

The young druidess removed the bag from its post, its weight hanging heavy in her hands. Its contents seemed to shift, as if whatever inside could not be contained for much longer. She opened the bag and withdrew the book. Curiosity getting the better of her (as it always did), Daimhin slowly began to read.

So many funny, cryptic and downright strange quips and exchanges! The kaldorei felt compelled to make her own mark, standing still for several moments while she thought and thought about what to say. This book did not belong to her. She only recognized a bare handful of names. And yet ...

WRITE.

Quill found hand and on the next empty page, the words were written:

"The world is filled with suffering, but it is also filled with the overcoming of it."

Directions were clear. The Sunwell. Followed by Ahn'Qiraj and the Nexus.

Daimhin traveled to the isle. And while she'd performed her duties for the Offensive and they extended a measured respect for her presence, the increased presence of blood elf wardens and even the sight of high elf pilgrims made her feel uneasy.

Determined, the druidess waved down one such pilgrim. "I have a strange request - please, hear me out."

While she talked, the pilgrim studied the book, occasionally glancing in the direction of the plateau. Eventually, Daimhin offered a deep bow, which the pilgrim returned.

In this way, the book made it to the Sunwell, housed in its bag and placed near a collection of belongings, but separate enough so that someone - someone - might notice it and look. Open. Read. Think. And help deliver it to its next destination.

And while this was being done, Daimhin went to the isle's inn and sat at an outside table, which offered a grand view of the harbor. It wasn't too long ago that the isle had been under siege. All of the work that she'd assisted with was still fresh in her mind.

So much had changed. So much had changed ...

"It continues to change. Everything changes, whether we want it to or not."

On the table was a piece of parchment. In her pale blue-gray hand was the quill. Daimhin smiled. This felt right. Hand began to move, slowly and deliberately spelling out a name, then more letters to form the words:

"I am writing you just now to apologize. I ask that you find it in your heart to forgive me ..."

The runes' pulse has grown stronger. Steadier. More rhythmic. The book lies where it was last left, waiting.

March 19th,

That's three.

There is a crude map of Azeroth drawn here. On it, five corners of Azeroth are marked: Zul'Gurub, Moonglade, The Sunwell, Ahn'Qiraj and The Nexus, with a check beside the first three.

Why do you think there have been grand civilizations at these corners of our planet? Was it their skill? Dedication? Willpower? Their desire to better themselves as a people? Maybe it was their thirst for blood. Power. The need to be on top.

I don't think so. I believe these civilizations, these groups of people that lived at these places, were simply at the right spot. I'm not sure if they lucked into it, or if by some primal need we are drawn to these locations, but I believe that they were simply at the right place. I believe, from my research, that here, at these five points, are major ley line nexuses.

I believe that these grand civilizations that lasted for decades, whose remains we can see today, succeeded only because of their place in the world. Throughout all of their years, they never even realized that they were connected to the other civilizations by threads unseen.

Sometimes these civilizations fought, and they never knew. They never knew that the only reason they were fighting was because they were helped by forces they probably didn't know even existed.

But if they were all birthed and helped by the same forces, why did some survive while others fell? Zul'Gurub is a shadow of what it once was, while the Night Elves are thriving. They fought, and they recovered. In time, some civilizations continued. Others fell.

Every good story must have an ending, as they say.

But why do some civilizations live on? Is this proof that we, as beings, can somehow overcome powerful forces such as a fated end and make our own destiny?

I pose the same question to you.

Will you act?

Will you combat forces unseen?

Will you throw off your lethargy and take this book to its next destination?

Will you help me make history?

Only two remain.

Don't waste any more time.

This story's end is growing closer.

- Jay Brooks

Grommet Cogswaddle drifted down to the mailbox outside the Blue Recluse. Among the chatty letters from former patients was a plain envelope whose outside was stained with the spidery traces of "tattle tale" reed from an improperly opened seal.

Grommet checked the seal, whoever had opened the letter had done an excellent job of replacing the wax with an exact duplicate of her Uncle's seal. She started to look nervously around and then remembered one of her earliest lessons from her covert ops trainer. When you know your're being watched is when you need to act the most normal.

Grommet willed herself back up the ramp into the Blue Recluse, taking a table where she could see the front entrances. She allowed herself to read through a couple of the thank you letters, cheery updates on the progress of the babies she'd recently delivered. None of her patients had ever understood that she had no interest in their babies after they were safely delivered, so she'd stopped telling them. She sighed, and seeing no one particularly interested in a tired looking Gnome, broke open the letter from her Uncle.

"Dearest Sprocket Baby,"

Grommet grimaced but quickly brought her expression under control. Her Uncle never called her that unless he was about to do something dangerous, or foolish, or both.

"As you know, Mr. Threadneedle and I have been tracing out the Ley Lines as laid out in the Brookslandia Book we told you about. A chess experiment of sorts, hoping Mr. Threadneedle would perhaps be inspired to greater ability based on his connection with the arcane and the nearness of great power. Sadly, that experiment has been inconclusive. (I still win 9.4 of 10 games.)

It would seem that we are not the only ones. Upon the conclusion of our games at the Sunwell, we spotted the book I have described earlier. It was much worse for wear, and there were many more entries, along with a palpable feeling of frustration mixed with a hint of desperation. I do not trust the Jay Brooks fellow. But Met (scratched out) Mr. Threadneedle seems to feel some sort of kinship with his plight.

Mr. Threadneedle feels the need to escort the work on its next leg of its journey, after making yet more repairs to the binding. To be honest, it is fascinating watching him ply two needles with hands that are mostly clawed bone. He worked from Karl's back the whole flight across the continent. I don't know how he does it.

I suggested that since Mr Threadneedle had carried the book most of the way, that perhaps we could wait and I would take it to it's next stop. On further contemplation, we decided that might violate the intent of the rite. However, we plan on making our way ahead of the book, as we have another series of chess matches to play for our experiment anyway.

We intend to leave the work just inside the entrance to the ruins. I have to cut this short, we are being shadowed.

Keep 'em spinning counter clockwise,
Uncle Axelpyre"

Grommet rubbed the small drawing under the signature, smudging it a little, the scent of Liar's Wort drifted up from the page. Whoever had read the letter hadn't rubbed the drawing.

Which meant that they didn't know that two arch mages were still at the ruins. Waiting.

If anyone were to be watching the journal with the even stronger pulsing runes as it rested in the ruins of Ahn'Qiraj, it may be quite a shock to them when the journal disappeared for several minutes, only to reappear in the same spot with a new entry.

March 23rd,

One more. Hurry.

They near my destination, convinced they will beat me. They do not know I am already here. Waiting.

I want to take the time to teach you, the reader, at least one more thing:

Everything is connected.

Do you not believe me?

Below is an intricate diagram of the ley lines of Azeroth. The diagram contains the thick, powerful, main lines of arcane energy to the miniature threads that create spiderwebs underneath the world.

Everything in our world is in some way connected to eachother.This includes every living, or unliving, being on this planet, much like the ley lines beneath our feet. Regardless of the how, we are all connected. From the shared gift of life or consciousness, to the bonds between the members of the Alliance of the Horde, or even the shared bond of those who have picked up this book.

Yes. Even this book connects all of you. I didn't misplace it. That's not why it sat upon a table in Orgrimmar. I left it there to attempt to teach all of you something that you keep forgetting. We share this world. We can't afford to forget that. It will divide us, and it will kill us. We are the people of Azeroth.

Even without knowing the reasoning behind this book or my request, many of you still helped. This book has been carried to the corners of the world, attuning it to the ley line nexuses there. But why? A simple desire to help those in need? Or curiosity? A drive from the threads that connect us all?

It doesn't matter. It's something to figure out at a later time. What does matter is that you did it. And please, continue to. We're almost done. Just one more nexus and I can prove all of them wrong. I can prove the magisters in Dalaran wrong. I can prove The Six wrong.

Or at least I can try. And that makes all the difference in the world.

- Jay Brooks.

P.S. When they get here, I suspect they'll ask me: "We defended her. You fought us. What would you have done if you had ever caught her for yourself?"

I'll chuckle. I'll find it laughable that this is what the chase all started from. They're simply upset about events that happened a year ago.

"Why, I wouldn't have done anything to her. But I would have killed you."

I know you're curious as to what am I talking about. Do you want to know?

Memory is the key.

Look near the front of the book.

She flipped through the last few pages, frowning with confusion at the last page. Ley lines, mages, Dalaran, the "Six" -- whatever that was. It made no difference to her one way or another.

Magic was just another random cause in Azeroth.

Fortunately, random causes were something she was intimately familiar with. She flipped through the oddly glowing, pulsing book one more time before placing it in a thick bag, taking care to insure none of the runework was glowing through the fabric, and stood, squinting in the sand and dust of the desert ruins.

There had been a war here, long ago. Or so she was told. It was before the sin'dorei's time, before they had reached their hand out in desperation to the Horde. Some day, she made a mental note to herself, she should return. As it was, the graveyard of the Old God held little interest at this precise moment. She left, the footsteps trailing behind her quickly vanishing in a whirlwind of dust and sand.

----

Later -- much, much later, a leather-clad foot stepped off the giant zeppelins that were commissioned for the war effort in Northrend so long ago. The hold of metal and steel greeted her with cold efficiency, just as it had her first day in Northrend -- she hadn't ever really considered that this hold, large and foreboding much like its former warlord resident, would become the basis of all that Orgrimmar was now. No matter. The orc guarding the zeppelin port eyed her with frank mistrust, a look which she ignored entirely as she headed down the great ramps to the lower level.

Minutes later, she was squinting against the cold, bitter winds of Coldarra, her destination clearly in sight. She pondered for a moment where to take the tome, and settled on the Eye. Magic he wanted ... magic he'd get, as the lair of the former Aspect was reeking with the stuff. The rest of the world disappeared in a display of stars, endlessly turning about her, the solitary platform the only evidence of its former tenant's power. As the floor glittered and glowed, she removed the book from her bag, frowned at it a moment more, then set it unceremoniously in the center of the platform.

There. Done. Whatever would happen, would happen now. The ramblings in the book indicated strong emphasis on Azeroth's survival, so it was unlikely participating in this odd goose chase would result in unpleasantness.

She pondered for a moment, staring at the book through narrowed eyes and wondering just what, exactly, the thing was supposed to do.

Moments after the book found its place in the center of the platform, the runes began to glow stronger than they ever had before, flashing in a steady, even pulse.

It waited, for just a few moments.

And then the book vanished.

Meanwhile, back in Karazhan...

“You're out of your jurisdiction, boys.”

Alcander and Alanos Duskweave paused in shock as they stepped out of the door and onto the open roof of Karazhan. Jay stood across the way, clad in his usual elaborate, ash-covered robes and hood, Notes from Brookslandia open in his hands.

“It's quite interesting, you know. How popular this journal is. The two times I've left it out, it's been quite a success. Numerous people write in it, and this time they even did exactly as I requested. No questions. No qualms. Just obedience. Maybe it was the false deadline I kept pushing. The only 'deadline' was the arrival of you two, and you're no threat.”

The elves took their chance as he shrugged. Alcander drew his axe, charging the Forsaken. Alanos did much of the same, raising his open palm and quickly beginning to channel a spell toward Jay.

Jay scowled beneath his mask, closing the book. The runes carved along its spine glowed brightly for a moment and with a wave of his hand, Jay froze the two attacking elves in place. The runes only glowed stronger as he continued, each wave of his hand adding another layer of ice onto the each of the elves, freezing them from shoulder to foot.

“Oh, I am just so glad the Duskweave brothers are back together.” Jay laughed openly behind his mask. “That's right. Lectril's below us. Not that it matters, as you both seemed to have missed him somewhere in the labyrinth of staircases down in the Master's Library where he was studying. Or rather, I should say, back in Karazhan.”

The corpse laughed again, staring at the Blood Knight. “I'm just glad this part of the plan worked. I'm sure Lectril would be pleased. A small taste of revenge on the family that chases him relentlessly after he attempted to put them behind. I was wondering if you'd come out of the hole you ran into in shame after we were set free.”

Alcander attempted to shout something, but his words never had the chance to become coherent. Jay silenced him in an instant. After a particularly ugly glare, Alanos suffered the same fate.

“Idiots. You cannot win. You're both too young and inexperienced as fighters. It's why you failed the first time you pursued me. It's why you've failed again. Don't you two understand? I am a ley walker. This is my domain. Every ley line comes back here. And this?”

He raised Notes from Brookslandia in the air, tapping it with a skeletal finger.

“Every line I've made through this comes back to it as well. Every bond, every friendship, every connection, it all comes back through this to me, strengthening me. The other reason I had them take this book to those five nexuses? I was getting it attuned to this world and its power through them.”

“Most people don't understand the threads that bind us. They don't think about them. They think of themselves as a member of the Horde or the Alliance, a Tauren or a Dwarf, an arcanist or a paladin. They don't think of us as a whole. As a group. As a planet. We aren't just all of those things I named. We're the denizens of Azeroth. Too many people forget that.”