Lady Praetor,

I wish to ask you a few questions regarding the resolution, at a time of your convenience.

Sincerely,
Arrish Osric
 

Brie--

It is done. Expect a debrief in full later this week.

--Wasp
 

The handwriting is smaller and more back-slanted than usual, and labored. On the envelope: Ash Lady Praetor.

Ash--

You have a remarkable friend in Archmage Thsay Threadwright. As she is a primary target, I have been taking steps to teach her some basic techniques for avoiding capture. While she is a power in her own right, her recklessness and warm-hearted tendencies could be used to lead her astray. She is, however, applying herself to this situation, and I also trust in Mairona to guard her well.

My likely rather biased sense of your former master is that he does not readily recover from setbacks. Rather than following offense with fresh offense, he seems most likely to have dropped out of sight to nurse his pride and hatch fresh plans. Please disabuse me of this notion if I am wrong and you believe that his reactions may be quicker. It changes the tactical situation if he will go on the offensive again before you have settled this matter, and before Thsay has recovered her equilibrium. I do not specifically know how much he knows, but he had the ability to learn anything that lay within my understanding, which might alter his own plans.

I know that I have shown little trust in you. In these circumstances, I am not capable of feeling it. This would be so regardless of who you are. I trust so very few, and that only after years of faithfulness. I also cannot abide being helpless. If my thoughts and feelings dwell on that, it is natural to me as it is to any animal in a trap. But unlike an animal in a trap, I understand both future and past, and that the future need not mirror the past. I can understand, as well, that you are working to free me from this trap, and that whatever my worst fears might tell me, that your actions have all led to this goal. At great cost to yourself. When you rescued me, I could not separate emotion from reaction from intention from action. Recovered, though, my actions are guided by logic. My intention is to allow you to see this through, and to facilitate that as best I can. My emotions and reactions will gust like a storm, but they are irrelevant because they will not control my behavior.

If you have gleaned anything from me that is of potential harm to others, I will trust you to keep silence. From what little Thsay said, I know that you understand these things.

If it helps at all, I do not lay any of this at your feet. Without your former master, the traitors would have found some other way to forward their plot, or they might well have simply killed me out of hand. In a way, if a very dark way, it was luck that they used him, as they might have done something that could not be unraveled by anyone.

If it helps at all, I understand what it is like to bind oneself away from certain acts.

--Arrish
 

Brie--

I know you've heard by now. There are still loose ends, but the housecleaning is almost done. Hawk will not be well-pleased, but I could not mother his nestling in his absence, not with my own absences required and with insufficient authority. I realize that -- if in fact he lives -- he will cavil about my methods, and I have only this to say: I was here. I used the resources I had, and I could not trust our network, so I had to turn to friends. They rose to the occasion, and the floor is swept, if not yet mopped.

It will be at least a week before I can work again. I am still deliberating on whether I will be visiting the old man, hat in hand.

I will see you when I can, to learn the new drops -- if any -- and to be debriefed in greater detail.

--Wasp

---

Moth--

Stay under cover for now. I will send word when it is clear. I'm making other arrangements for the contingencies; at this point they are no longer a burden to you.

Rest assured that there is still employment for you, albeit both less risky and less lucrative. I think however that you will be satisfied with the arrangement.

--A
 

These letters are all different, tuned to the recipient, but more or less of a piece. An example would be the first.

Brother mine,

You have likely noted my long absence. I know that I left on short notice and was unable to warn you in advance. Then my absence drew on far longer than I had intended.

I ran afoul of problems, but now I am in good hands and recovering from the situation. I am safe, and will see you as soon as I can. But that may not be for a few days. If resolution takes longer than that, I will write again. Please give my love to Trinn, and let her see this letter.

Love,
Arrish

Similar letters, varying in tone as appropriate, though not substantially in content, are sent to the following people:

Samuel Osric
Sir Eustace Chanticleer
Ellyee Ryland
Mairona Tindadger
Eironan
Meriane and Corduin Banner
Lord and Lady Therradon and Nimmora Lockridge
Veilla Skylark
Laynne Torrind
Zannis Greyton
Danice Moth
Trell Briestadt
Dalewind Wildbeard
Lythonis, care of the Shattrath netherdrakes
 

Sent through a very circuitous route, sometime near the beginning of July.

Brie--

You have my full report. In summary, the investigation into the Sin'dorei noble house was little better than an overly time-consuming and dangerous pastime. The risk of discovery meant that even useful information gained could have been outweighed by positive proof of our agency in their midst, and if there had been such information to be found, then the risk would have been grave indeed. Even worse -- a contact I am in the process of developing is associated with them, another potential for indelicacy. Luckily this house is innocuous as such institutions go, with nothing of real interest to us. Is there truly no better use for my training than this? Yes, all went well, but you and I both know the odds on missions so far extended and with such ad hoc support. If I am to be sent on such I would prefer that the advantage to the Alliance be of real worth, rather than the simple quelling of an unsubstantiated rumor.

At least it was not entirely a waste of time; while preparing to return from the cold I found an unrelated lead in the Undercity, and since I was at my discretion regarding time I pursued it. I think you will be pleased with the results. I am not as certain that the old man will be, so use your discretion in conveying them to him. I think that handled with great care, this intelligence is of real benefit, so I can at least not consider this entire venture a waste of time. There is more to uncover there. I suggest a follow-up investigation but am not certain that I can handle it with what remains on my side of the wall.

I have served uncomplaining in these uncertain times, taking direction from you and from the old man through you, and going beyond duty if intuition or experience guide me to, but this investigation is only a sign of worse to come under the new set of ministers. Have you any word of Hawk? What of H.? We both know Hawk's propensity for taking resources into the field without warning, but both have been absent entirely too long for comfort, and therefore do the remaining eight suffer. With closer leadership, perhaps we would not be squandered so. In fact, the chaos seems to be having typical results: several times on this last mission alone, I had difficulties reaching my designated contact. It is one of the normal problems of a joint operation, but in this case the absences were glaring, and I finally resorted to building some of my own support with my own resources. You will find that detailed within my report. I will be investigating upon my return, as even without leadership I should be able to expect these basics needs to be filled. Clearly we are overdue for some housecleaning. You can imagine that I will live up to my name upon my return, though I have little in the way of authority. Too little, if he is going to stay out in the cold.

So that you, at least, may benefit from my travels in the north, please enjoy the enclosed bottle, imported directly from Silvermoon.

--Wasp

(( Occurs May 25th. ))

"It wasn't just the lies you knew about." She's not speaking out loud, but the words ring loudly in her head, forming into structures, arguments, things she might say to try to justify lost years. She is walking through a dark forest, the boughs of the old trees arching over, sheltering. Her feet are automatically deft on well-known paths.

"A poor start. Don't start with the lies."

"Where do I start, then?"

"Where he says to start. From the beginning."

Her eyes go blank and the night blurs past. "I can't start there, either."

"Nearer, then."

"Strand needed me."

"And now?"

"I wasn't made to just wait."

"Better."

"You wouldn't let me be a soldier too."

"No. No old grievances. That fight was lost long ago."

"I have a duty, greater than to you. You taught me duty. I learned it."

"And kill for hire."

"I kill for cause and need. I'm no mercenary, no hired blade."

"Attacking from ambush, using dishonesty. Spying."

"What do you want me to do? Speed and surprise are my only advantages. Do I fight fair and die? Or use what tools I have and succeed? Soldiers use ambush, too."

"Be a nurse. Do some good. Shed blood only to try to save a life."

Implacably: "Sometimes shedding blood does more good than saving lives. One death, just the right death, can save hundreds of lives. I have saved more lives through killing than I ever could have as a nurse."

"It's the low road."

"You know I've never taken the high road."

"Softly, softly. Why hurt him more? Why fight?"

"It is the best way for me to serve. I'm good at it."

"Then why wait so long to make this right?"

"There were other factors, too. So many. They threatened his life. I can't even tell him that, not even now. If he knew that -- the only way to keep him out of it was to keep him in the dark. And then--"

"The paladins."

"Not just them. But yes. He will never understand."

"Especially not now."

"Especially not now. Do I just... not discuss it? They are part of my life."

"There is enough matter simply with what he's already uncovered."

"He might know about Eustace, given the proximity."

"Wait for him to bring it up?"

"I don't know what I'll say."

"Then why go and speak now?"

"This one is bad, and I know that in advance. If the elves uncover me... extraction will be difficult, to say the least. And-- I owe it to him. I'm so long overdue. This might be my last chance."

"It will only worry him. A night-time visitation, fear and doubt, and then gone again."

"I'm a coward for not having gone already."

"Yes."

She has arrived sooner than she'd hoped. Even though the night is late, up there in the attic window is a candle. The rest of the cottage is dark.

Drawing in a breath and holding it, she approaches the door. Within her now is only silence.

She knocks.
 

(( Placed on May 25th. A withered apple leaf is folded into this letter. ))

I have become entirely reticent because I do not wish to explicate these things, even in retrospect and without fear of rebuke.

Or perhaps because there are things which are too dangerous to commit to page. No doubt too dangerous to live through, as well, but that is a nettle which I cannot release. I have chosen this. Nettles are healing herbs, too.

We made a pact once upon a time, that you would rescue me, or avenge me if rescue was impossible. This was my surety against the darkness which I feared would consume me. This is no longer desirable. I only leave this cache unburned because I know what it would do to you, to not know. So all of these husks of fear remain, rattling like dead leaves, and as useless as dead leaves. I bid you now, read only because you cannot bear to not know, but let it be, whether my fate be lost or found. I thought that death could serve life, but look instead to your love. Life serves life. Life, love, and Light. I learned that too late, but you have known it all along. Do not follow me. I no longer care for vengeance.

My legacy is not a futile hunt that would only endanger you and others you love. It is simple: it is a young tree in an improbable place. It needs water. If you are reading this, you already know where it is, and will understand at least a little of why it is precious. That is all I want.

I do not regret the actions which led to this latest departure. They set me awry but I survived, and I believe (I pray, even) that I helped set right what I had hurt. Paradoxically, I have been healed by it, through the guidance and sacrifice of my loved ones. I drank deep of a poison I had only sipped at before, and now I no longer crave the dregs. Finally, I am free. And if I am punished for straying, it is nothing compared to what would happen if they knew the full truth. It is nothing even to the deed itself that they are punishing. The full truth -- they will know if the hawk returns to the hand. Unless he elects to settle it for himself. What will I choose then? I cannot know. Nor can I live in fear. I can only follow duty, and follow my heart, and try to hold death in one hand and life in the other for as long as that remains possible.

I apologize if I speak in riddles, brother mine. Do not try to solve these. Just remember that I love you. Remember that I am finally at peace with my choices. Remember the tree.
 

I finished this a while back, but forgot to post it.

Cover: from sxc.hu (I haven't had time to put in the titles, but I'll use this image in the cover.)

Time frame: from the wars to the opening of Northrend

1. Belly: Trust in Me (song player embedded)
   
2. Lonah: Keep Walking
   
3. Heidi Berry: Up in the Air (lyrics) (download at epitonic.com)
   
4. Sarah McLachlan: Elsewhere (I used the track from The Freedom Sessions, but I can't find that online; the lyrics are right, though)
   
5. The Blow: True Affection (lyrics) (on Youtube)
   
6. Berlin: The Metro (on Youtube)
   
7. The Beatles: Blackbird
   
8. Kula Shaker: Hey Dude (on Youtube)
   
9. Dance Hall Crashers: She's Trying (from the Live Album)
   
10. Girlyman: Bird on the Wire (lyrics) (clip)
    
11. Suzanne Vega: If I Were a Weapon
    
12. Moloko: The Time is Now
    
13. Dar Williams: After All (live video)
    
14. Annie Lennox: Little Bird
    
15. Morphine: You Look Like Rain (lyrics) (on Youtube)
    
16. Corrina Repp: Finally (lyrics)
    
17. Over the Rhine: Birds (lyrics)
    
18. Lorna: He Dreams of Spaceships
    
19. Jethro Tull: Wond'ring Aloud
    
20. Lamb: Gold
    

I do not want to write of this, even here. Yet there must be a record of some sort.

I have skirted close to oblivion before, but this went closer still. But for the ingenuity of one I might have had no recourse at all, if it had gone for the worst for me. Looked at in retrospect, it was plain recklessness -- foolishness, as she put it. Yet I cannot see how I would have done anything else. Now there is little left to do but try to pick up the pieces of lives shattered beyond repair, to mend the lives that still might mend.

Start at the beginning, you would say.

We had both picked up haunts in the invasion. Shades that could not be purged by normal means, so attenuated was their touch on reality, but they would always find us, and watch. We knew that increased the risk, but he had important work to do -- the grimmer sites in Lordaeron were waking to new activity after the invasion. I only wanted to help. Which is, of course, exactly what the witch Vylera said to her sister. How many grave mistakes am /I/ allowed, I wonder? Am I granted more because my malice has been less? I wanted to protect him, so I wanted to be there, and that put the weapon directly into their hands. I've always been weak to such things, and resolve against it and horror of it has not strengthened me. I knew the banshee could possess -- the wisest thing I could have done would have been to stay away.

He promised me once he would not die. He kept that promise so long, through so many horrors that they drove him mad. He kept it even though I had given up on him. Despite everything. Everyone is mortal, I know. But I could almost believe. The flaw in that was me. When she possessed me and attacked him using me, that was it for him, pulling the linchpin of his promise. I could watch, and I watched in horror. We had a priestess and a paladin with us, and both of them tried to call him back, but he was gone away on his final breath. Gone to the Light, they said. Then I tried to call him back -- more recklessness, but I could not believe he was truly gone -- and that is what left him unattended. In finding and administering to me, they left him, and the Scourge stole his body away.

The rest of this I do not care to tell in any great detail. I went searching for his corpse -- as I would for yours. I would not leave anyone I cared for to the Scourge if I could avoid it. The priestess did not understand; to her, his most essential part was safe in Light's bliss. But he would not have it so, if he had a choice. When I found him, it was too late. As has now become clear, the Scourge have been taking special care to raise certain of our fallen, then training them as an army and blooding them on a hidden encampment of the Scarlet Crusade. He was now in their thrall. I did what I could -- I did my best. I do not know if it would have been enough, but as Arthas betrayed their order, it was taken out of my hands. Would I have gone searching if I knew of that impending betrayal? I don't know. I think I would have -- I would have needed to be certain. I searched intending to destroy him, but if he was not Scourge, but merely undead.... I am, indeed, a sentimental fool.

So, what is left?

He was made into one of the more powerful varieties of undead, a death knight. You will know his order as the Ebon Blade. He has no soul, and I am now far more qualified to understand the difference that a soul can make than I ever should have been. He still has his memories -- he says they are even clearer after death -- but some of them he cannot understand, and some of them are missing altogether. Things of the soul, apparently. He has decided to carry on the work he intended, though he can no longer feel the mission or the need for it as he did before, nor feel the difference between right and wrong. He likens it to being blind. I feel that it is something more profound by far than that. But he has decided to become a monument to the man he was.

In my darker hours I sometimes wonder if it would be easier if he had simply died entirely, or if I had destroyed him without trying to free him. But I, too, have been blind. Who am I to judge? I have destroyed enough.

When he was alive, and perhaps mad, he told me that I would destroy everyone I cared for. Madness or no, it had the clarity of truth. I've always hated destiny, but I can't help but feel that as mine. I was as complicit in his death as the knife is in a murder, perhaps, but I could have avoided being made into that knife with forethought. What next? What will I fail to see next? Who will be the next to fall? It would be safer for those I love if I did not love them at all. Yet, having taken it up, I cannot put it aside again. You are all hostages against me, and Athratir was right all along. If it comes to the worst, know that I have tried to avoid it. Avoid hurting anyone at all.

I've injured my writing arm and must make do with my off-hand until it mends.

This and other events have kept me overly busy; nor have I been nearby for some time. Yet I would be remiss if I did not update on the situation regarding Vylera Skylark.

Some weeks back she took it upon herself to poison her sister in order to "help" her overcome her pesky inhibitions, tainting her drink with succubus blood, which is known to inflame and increase passions of all forms, particularly the darkest ones. The results of this brought woe to all involved, including Vylera herself, when her sister returned and, in a rage at her prior actions brought on by the blood, slew her. This being Vylera, however, it is of course not so simple. The body has vanished and I am certain that she has revived; she has as many lives as any cat.

Unfortunately, even if in her warped view she meant it earnestly to help her sister, the terms of our agreement do not leave room for lack of forethought, even if it was not in fact out of outright malice. It would be obvious to the smallest child that only horror would ensue. So in the midst of everything else, all of the things which are happening, I must add the hunt for the witch again. I assure you that I will not treat her as carelessly as did the Butcher. She knew and agreed to this when she bargained with me for her life, and there was no room for mistakes of any kind.

Because I cannot see her refraining from the use of demons, I have set a demon hunter upon her by the name of Draymar. Our old friend Cielas Moonshadow has also offered his aid. As well I have spread my net in the more civilized locations where I might have some effect. She's elusive, but the forces arrayed against her are formidable, even with the current events.

The irony, of course, is that at long last I was ready to speak to her again, putting what had gone between the two of us personally behind us. I would never forget what she had done to her sister, to her family. Yet I thought I had the ability to forgive her treatment of me. It seems not, when she has cast those I love into ruin with her eternal recklessness. This needs to end before she harms someone even worse, as if this were not bad enough.

Veilla has submitted to the dubious mercy of the Church, for the crime of murdering her sister -- even though murdered she has not remained. She cannot entirely blame the blood for this; it needs a seed of anger or hatred from which to sprout the deed, but the blood is mostly to blame; it can turn a mere slight into murderous provocation. They have taken into account Vylera's deeds, and put her under scrutiny -- which it is my belief she can actually use -- but other than impairing her freedom and forcing her from solitude, they seem to understand that she does not require any graver punishment. A great relief, as well we know after the circumstances of your own trial.

T-

As I am certain you are aware, the Lich King's attack of Stormwind Harbor advanced the plans to open Northrend. This has changed certain elements of my mission here. I'm afraid I have no more pictures to send at the moment; the device was damaged in events that will likely be amusing later but certainly were not at the time, and in fact it's been an overly eventful handful of days.

The good news is that with regular shipping, the mails are now opened and you can write me normally care of Valiance Keep. I will be moving around but should receive it with only limited delay.

-A

T-

I wasn't able to see you or write about these before you left for Hillsbrad and then I for the north.

Tiffanna should be well. Laynne Torrind, Xenkore -- who prefers mystery and does not care to grace us with his surname -- Araashan -- I do not know if many Draenei have surnames -- and Laynne's brother Kaen Torrind all contributed to her restoral, far more than I could have, so if you wish to thank anyone it would be them. Draavisha as well for her unfailing care of your friend.

Unfortunately, because of investigation into her rather dubious library, she has lost her house in the interim, and I do not know where she is staying now, but you should be able to find her either through the Archmage or the Cathedral. I suppose it could have gone worse for her if the library in question had not been stolen, but I fear that she may attempt to collect anew. Perhaps you could help persuade her against such rash actions.

Also: have you ever heard any legends of a spectral hunt that chases the spirits of the dead? I heard a few snatches of quite hair-raising stories in my childhood, and nothing further after we moved south. I wonder if it is a northern story only? Related to Hallow's End, when bogles and specters of all kinds come from of the woodwork? Or something to do with the increased Scourge activity? Sometimes it is so hard to know. Given how much reading you've done on the subject, I was wondering if you might have run across them. It was much like any other great hunt, with dogs and horns, but the quarry was a man. Fortunately for him, they released him after running him to ground, but the implications were that this was but a whim.

I have managed to work out a way you can write in return, if indirectly. Simply leave any answer where these letters are being left. You can also leave word there if you are going to be moving to Chillwind Camp or the like. If you are moving north by now -- I wish you good hunting.

-A

( (Minor Wrath of the Lich King Spoilers) )
 

T-

I write this from the north. If you receive this, then as I hoped I was able to establish a channel back. I will not be able to receive anything from you for a while yet. I only wish I had had a chance to say farewell in person, but at the end I could not sidetrack without inciting comment, and I had little enough time to pack and prepare. I've good warm gloves, at the very least.

The less said about the journey the better -- it was not so much dangerous as uncomfortable, as I traveled along with a shipment of supplies. Once out of Lordaeron the trip was uneventful. I anticipate greater mobility and a better base to operate from soon, as E. owns a small ocean-going vessel and will be joining me after he finishes preparing it for icy seas. What he considers unseemly haste in preparation and "roughing it" will likely seem like overt luxury to me; I have certainly never had recourse to any such amenities while out in the field before. This will make a solid base from which to scout farther afield. His skill at mapmaking will be very valuable -- generally speaking the lag time between receipt of my notes, production of maps, and my final check can make errors last uncomfortably long, if I am sending them back to a more central location. Using his boat will speed the process.

I have not been asked to make real contact with any of the natives or forces on the ground, but to observe only, which will hopefully mitigate the risks inherent in a mission into nearly unknown ground -- there are also outposts a-building in various strategic locations for continued support, so know that it is not entirely a bleak wilderness.

Something to keep entirely to yourself: I have been allocated an interesting device that can capture images and is relatively portable, in that I am grateful that I can bring Cliffjumper to pack this cumbersome and fragile thing around. They had a gnome train me in how to extract the actual images from the device, and have given me sufficient supplies, so I am taking the liberty of sending a few examples your way. Needless to say, please do not show these to anyone or mention their existence! This is a very advanced device with unsurpassed visual quality past what can be provided by illusion (the problems inherent with that should be obvious), and while gnomes are generally poor at keeping secrets, I know that you are good at it.

Another thing which I share only with you, though it is really only repeating the obvious: the opening of Northrend will happen very soon. Valiance Keep is in furious activity to prepare for the expected influx. While they are limiting general access only to those who have served in some capacity in the Outland, to keep the casualties and liabilities to a minimum, there are already many builders and other non-combatants on site. Even behind the lines is threatened, so these volunteers are all the more brave given their lack of combat training. The good news is that it may be possible to arrange one of these positions for you, if you wish an alternate route to the north. Sad to say they likely have need of an enbalmer; I would be surprised if they are doing anything more than the bare minimum on that front. I would prefer to have your battle prowess, of course, as I know you would prefer to use it, but the recruiters are quite choosy so you must prove yourself to them if you enter as a combatant.

Expect major activity as soon as within the next two weeks -- and an undertaking of this size cannot possibly go without notice from the Lich King, which explains the recent Scourge activity as he seeks to distract us from our assault. So what I am telling you is not any real slip, but simply a quiet advance view of the front that will be common knowledge very soon. But as that certain one is so very prickly about these things, I do appreciate your discretion.

-A

( ( Wrath of the Lich King Screenshots and Descriptions Within; Minor Spoilers ) )
 

(( I have beta access to Wrath of the Lich King and I thought it would be fun to post an IC exploration and preview of Northrend in screenshots and letters.

I'm basing the "technology" off the Super Snapper FX.

Anything spoilerish will go behind cut tags in case people dislike seeing even sepia-toned and blurry screenshots of the upcoming expansion. I don't anticipate any major spoilers -- this is exploration, not questing.

I'm maintaining both an IC set, which has been photo-manipulated to degrade the screenshots, and an OOC set of the original screenshots. ))
&nsbsp;

A letter, penned in Ellyee's neat script on cheap parchment. It is smartly folded and addressed to Arrish via local Stormwind Post.

Arrish Osric --

Since I am sure you value the virtue of efficiency as much as I, I am equally sure that, given your frequent wanderings from the city, you will have no trouble chasing up another thread in this curious little mystery: the previous owner of my charming trinket.

Lest such a task be made too easy -- thus denying you, of course, the opportunity to revel in the adventure -- you will be pleased to know that I can offer scant information about the orcish individual who carelessly let such a jewel slip from his incompetent fingers. Extenuating personal circumstances at the time and such. You understand. Best try the Worlds End tavern in the dreary city of Shattrath -- the all-too-uninspired site of the silly game of chance which ended so fortuitously. Look for an orc not-too-much-taller than myself, with a bald head and a depressingly garish number of golden rings in his ears. One suspects he is a local -- or at least a local to the Outland.

He may recall not me, but me. Really such unnecessary complications.

Do try to enjoy this curious little mystery, dear Arrish Osric.

-E.R.

---

Notes in Arrish's hand:

This is unlikely to be of concern for you, but I've learned -- quite understandably! -- to be cautious where she and her acquisitions are concerned, so I'll go ahead and provide details which will hopefully be completely unnecessary.

There's some delay while some arrangements are worked out for future work, and I must admit that aside from my native and always troublesome curiosity, I like the opportunity for some light, low-stakes field work. It's also provided me an excellent opportunity to test the quality of my not-so-local contacts, again in a low-stakes manner.

The instigation of this is a curious little music box, won by her while she was in the dream, in a game of chance played at that tavern in the Lower City. The most curious thing about it is that every one who listens to it hears a different tune! A fascinating enchantment. I don't recognize mine; when we determined some of the others, they proved to be established tunes, not something unique. So far it's possible that all of us have previously heard our own tunes, though given the difficulty of transcribing them we haven't collected many. Obviously it is magical, which I've verified, and am now looking into the provenance. I'm sure it's simply some strange toy, though it doesn't seem of draenei or orcish make -- but could it be from one of those many worlds that the draenei visited on their flight towards ours?

The music box was staked by an orc, and -- also intriguing -- he found it in the heart of Oshu'gun, out in Nagrand. I don't know if you've been there, but if you haven't, and you ever do visit (do be cautious if you do), you will understand how this is a curious place indeed to find a delicate little toy.

Baubles and toys, yes, but one of the other items -- or set of items, really -- won in that same game was not a toy, but a strange Eredar creation. A magical bracelet, and because of the warding rune on it she felt it would be least unpredictable in Draenei hands. Unfortunately, the Draenei she gave it to, a certain Ilivarra in the pay of House Nightstone, is herself unpredictable! So that's an interesting situation to say the least, and I'm interested in -- cautiously, of course -- learning more about it, and if it needs to be neutralized.

As a side note, this same Ilivarra disguised herself and provided me with a weapon (foisted it off on me by "forgetting it" in fact) which included some of that skyfall ore in its forging, designed to trap me deeper into my dream. So she's rather naughty, though seems to play on the more gloved level, much like the chimera. She does not yet know that I know this, et cetera. Anyhow, the location of the weapon has gone onto the list of contingencies, though I would treat it with extreme care, as it was designed to be a trap. Fortunately, the thing was so gaudy and outlandish that I never tested it, as it did not seem to be a sensible weapon at all! I don't know what she thought would appeal to me, but she rather missed the mark. I wonder if her payment for the forging included the bracelet that has the potential to cause the chimera so much trouble now? That would certainly be poetic, a trap set against her for a trap set against me, though the fact that she warned me of it now says much for her honoring her promise. It is a delicate and almost entirely unacknowledged truce we have made, but a relief to no longer be at open war. Ilivarra, on the other and, has been very eager for the her death, though she's made no moves to effect it herself -- rather expressed disappointment when I told her I was no longer seeking it.

Given how I met the draenei (and I wince at the precarious position I allowed myself to be cornered into, where having made a threat I then needed to follow through on it when pushed) this might surprise her, but really it was unusual for me to be so extreme in my reactions. Now that the situation is more stable, I just shake my head that I allowed myself to be provoked so far. I've always prided myself in taking the minimal solution. Trying to slay the worgen, before witnesses -- strangers in fact, where I could not judge their reactions -- is hopefully the greatest lapse I will suffer for a long time to come. In fact, I would likely be wanted in Stormwind right now if one of the witnesses had not intervened, and I prefer not to leave anything to chance and the kindness of strangers. I'd also prefer to keep my good name in Stormwind, if at all possible, and a little patience would have been in order -- given a moment's thought I could have brought her away from those witnesses.

Anyhow, I digress widely. The other items include a well-bound book with blank pages, which is currently being looked over by an arcanist I happen to know, and a little figurine.

I am now off to investigate a certain manor in Lordaeron. Some Crusader movements in that area have kept me from delving in too deeply -- they were billeting far too close to the manor for comfortable investigation, though for some reason leaving the building itself untouched -- but they were breaking camp last I checked by so should no longer prove an interference. I do not eagerly anticipate what I might find out there, but secrets will out, and I should stop delaying myself by writing of baubles, toys, and mendacious draenei, and return my thoughts to obfuscatory paladins.
 

I have collected all of my notes and speculations on the skyfall ore, known as "mishun kieldaz" by the draenei, and the glass which can be fused out of it. They are included herein. One trailing thread is that our friend the paladin has a sister who has turned purveyor of strange goods, and she has a shipment to him that may well contain more of this ore. As her nautical perigrinations make her difficult to track or contact, I will simply have to keep patient and hope she turns up eventually. Her line of work is not amongst the most secure, but I hope for his sake that she is simply otherwise occupied -- though not too profitably so, given the nature of her work.

The situation with the visions themselves, at least, has been resolved. The dreamcatcher worked as proposed, catching the exuberant overgrowth of our dreams, and since then I have slept soundly, if dreamlessly. My desire to free the north was not unaccountably pruned back, though I awoke very weary at first. This weariness passes, and it is my hope that I will soon return to the normal nonsense of dreaming, rather than the always uncomfortable and sometimes apocalyptic visions which I had been suffering.

In greater bulk are all of the papers which I have collected, or copied, from various sources mostly to be found in the north. It is alarming already and I still have much to collate. I already had collated much of it in my notebook, but so much of that work was done while biased by the strange state I was in that I wonder at its use. I am a bit in awe -- and dismay -- at all of the industry I see piled before me. I think after I have threshed the wheat from the chaff I will simply take these to Brie, or return any that prove to be awkward to have out of their normal homes -- I suppose the notebook would help in this endeavour, but in a strange way I almost fear to see the distillation of all of that directed and rather mad work. It sobers me that perhaps the true kernel of my heart's desire was to have no remorse. I can still feel the shock of stone shattering, through my arm, through all of me, when I think of remorse. How odd, to realize that after all I wish to be something more than a sword in hand.

The location of the dreamcatcher is among my contingencies.

Another contingency: There is a little patch of new life in the village where we lived until Mother died. I am keeping an eye out for it, and so will another if I become unable to tend to it. But if that other should also become unable? Simply put, please keep an eye out and gift them with water if their leaves wilt. Mother would have approved of these maybe-hopeful lives, so near to where her garden once was.

I know I told you not to be alarmed by the new stone for our grandmother's grave. I know it is not as polished, and the name was not chiseled by expert stonemasons. But it is whole again, and was put up and tended with respect and honor, and it is a gesture that could not be wrought in the finest Kalimdor marble. I can still imagine it, in your grandchildren's or great-grandchildren's time, weathered and with green grass growing around it. Whether kept neat or neglected, it is only the green of the grass that matters, that I can see it still, and I desire this fate for it. No longer to the point of madness, but with gratitude that I can still see it and wish for it.

The oddest part of this, of course, is the clearer vision I have attained of the one who perpetrated all of this on me to begin with. I cannot even describe what it means, other than to say that it is very tangled, and far stranger than the relatively straightforward, if dangerous, games she was playing with me before. I no longer desire to shed her blood, even in a stymied fashion -- the desire itself is gone, not by any magic but drawn by circumstances. I have never been long on forgiveness, but perhaps I am learning how, or perhaps learning more about her led me to an understanding that, while I cannot condone the games, leads me to at least forgive the games played against me. I can no longer refer to her as a worgen, as now I see method behind her madness, whether that is new or was obscured; she is something less eldritch and unthinkingly malign. No wolf or worg, nothing so straightforward, and anyhow I know a wolf who would growl at me for giving his epithet to another. But something of the world, if uncanny, with obscure motives and desires other than base hunger or desire for destruction. Say chimera, if I must choose an epithet now.

In other news: I have been little in Stormwind so know little of the current "political" situation there, which does not bother me in the least. However, less politically and more personally, there has been little progress with the stricken archmage. Difficult as it seems I wish to find someone adept with shadow magics, who will not exploit her situation to his own ends. The anchorite who is caring for her is very clever, and has some breathtakingly selfless (and inordinately risky) ideas of spells to try, but seems lacking in understanding of malice, which I think would go farther in unraveling this knot.
 

An amplification upon the enclosed letter from Miss Ellyee Ryland, regarding an imbalance of dreaming which she inflicted on me, for which I returned the favor, as I believe -- perhaps too much -- in parity. This was done by use of the powdered glass fused from an ore which the Draenei use in some sort of vision rite. The directed dreams resulting from breathing this powder have grown stronger and stronger in both of us, until the dreams themselves have started to wake -- they act on their own volition while we sleep sometimes for days on end. The dreams are each unique to our natures; I dream of a green Lordaeron, including what feel like presentiments but are likely fantasies of ever more actions I can take to ensure that. She dreams of her past, of the apple orchards in Alterac.

Following a "discussion" which she had with with the being at the base of the Exodar, Miss Ryland informed me that the dreams would eventually fill all of our waking hours until we went permanently to sleep, leaving the dreams to walk, or sleepwalk, in our place. But also that this would not be sustainable, and that without the dreamers the dreams would then die. She has since started taking action to prevent this eventuality.

Sent to my friend the paladin in Stormwind, not by my hand or seen by me: one sphere, called a dreamcatcher by Miss Ryland.

Sent to my friend by my own hand: six dried apple seeds given me by Miss Ryland, which are the symbol of her dream, and a stone, part of a gravestone, which is a symbol of mine. These symbols, when used with the dreamcatcher, are purported to serve as "bait" to our individual dreams, allowing the dreams to be trapped by the dreamcatcher.

Sent to my friend the paladin in Ironforge, whom the priestess can identify if you've trouble with the matter: a notebook containing much useful information, some of admittedly tenuous provenance, regarding the ruling classes of Lordaeron in the eventuality of a renewed state there. It is mostly concerned with information that these individuals would not wish known, or exonerating information in the absence of such, and this means that it is very touchy. It also contains dossiers on those important to the war effort in Stormwind, as obviously that is significant to the future of Lordaeron. It should go to Brie if it is no longer of use to me, as even the portions collected while dreaming at least give attribution to their sources. The bulk of what sources that I was able to keep rather than merely view is handled by the more usual arrangement.

Other recent business:

The former butcher has returned. He is not forthcoming about who raised him, or much forthcoming about how he spent the past time, other than "in the nether." He seems much diminished and aged by whatever he has been through. He does not seem likely to return to his former activities.

A personal matter that has become potentially somewhat political, a nobleman of Stormwind has decided that the woman in armor who visited the Archmage at her home in the trade district must be the same one who bothered his home recently. While he cannot bring to bear the powers that be, he has my name from the Archmage's home, and has no little personal power through wealth, repute, and assiduous donations to the Church, though his title is not great. As I have been informed by reliable sources that he is also a contributor to the Slaughtered Lamb's not-so-charitable fundraising efforts, it is not clear how much he wants to bring to light, but it can certainly cause greater complications. Brie knows more on this, and I have enclosed a copy of a list obtained from sources -- of arcanists and others whom he believes can be swayed to the cause of this cabal of warlocks in Stormwind, and of known enemies to their cause, in which your name was listed, brother mine, amongst others of Winters End. Sad to see, though, how many of those numbers have dwindled.

Perhaps related to this, my attempt to have a scryng placed in northeastern Lordaeron, in order to have some forewarning of any unusual movements of Scourge there, failed when apparently the spell was turned back upon its caster, the Archmage. Since then she has been in a state with an uncomfortable resemblence to that of your betrothed's mother. While she is being cared for by hands other than my own (my own are turned to too many other tasks for that, and unreliable besides, given current events) I have been able to discover little of root causes other than that someone laid shadow magic over the scrying rune she placed. A professor of the Stormwind Academy, as well as a Draenei anchorite, is looking into the matter but there has been little progress so far. I do not believe it to be the Stormwind warlocks behind this, but more likely a northern-based necromancer or warlock. For all of their illegalities I have not yet been able to ascertain direct links between the Stormwind cabal and the Cult or the King.
 

So quickly does the loss of one dream lead to the next. Except here the problem is a surfeit of dreams.

I have said how my dream is of the future, and hers is of the past. Her dreams have been dragging her underwater, down beyond whatever happened in that boat on Lordamere Lake. The dream itself is waking, and she spends more time sleepwalking than awake now. But dreaming, she met the creature in the depths of the Draenei ship, and it spoke to her, and woke her up, though I think she is still on the edges of another nightmare. And perhaps it is true that the Naaru can commit miracles, because she has shown remorse for what she did to me, and has even asked my forgiveness. I do not know if I can forgive. But it is clear that we are in the same position.

She asked me for a meeting in Alterac. I did not go alone, but brought a friend with me, a Draenei paladin. This paladin, Friga, mediated the meeting, which was for the best; I am still quite short-tempered with Ellyee, not quite certain if her remorse is real or if she is just a worgen wearing wool.

She told me that the Naaru had revealed some insights to her: that the dreams would only get stronger over time, which was something we both knew already by the evidence they left behind. But worse: eventually they would strengthen to the point where the dreamers -- we dreamers -- would never wake. As no man can live on dreams alone, that would be our fate: they would consume us, then wither and die, without the dreamer to nurture them. I know that my dream is only one of my dreams, and how narrow its focus is. It is not enough to be whole. Not even my teacher can pare himself so fine and live, and he has pared himself to the bone.

There is a potential solution. She has somehow acquired what she calls a dreamcatcher, some sort of magical orb, which she thinks can capture our dreams. I have to admit that this gives me pause. This dream, as out of balance and consuming as it has become, is something so needful to me that I almost cannot bear to see it sealed away. She has said that the seeds will remain within us to sprout again into normal growth, but -- I do not think that is something she knows from the Naaru. I think it is only something she hopes for. What if the dream goes forever? What do I work towards then? It is this dream that has justified my crooked work. Perhaps there is no justification after all.

At the cost of my life? At the cost of those I care for? I have dreamed the ends of many of those I love, though so far my blood kin at least have been spared. But could I go even that far for this dream? For a vision that may not even be true? It feels so very real when I dream it, and does not fade when I wake. But leaving aside visions of the future, what do I think of the heart of the dream?

When we finally were able to survive the experience, the two of us went and made right what we could, made graves for those we could name. Burned the bodies of those we could not identify, and buried their ashes. That was one of the things we wanted to do, as well as the New Stormwind, wasn't it? We wanted to make things right, or as right as we could. They were purified by your fire so they could never be used again as they had been used before. That is the heart of my dream, those gravestones grown soft-edged and crumbling, generations from now, under a carpet of grass. Within earshot of a living town, so our people can lie as they ought, rooted in the earth of their home. Likely unremembered and unkempt, perhaps with no direct blood ties to any who live there in generations to come, but honored as graveyards used to be before they were turned into hostile territory. Quiet dead under green Lordaeron. Righting the great wrong that was perpetrated.

I was so young, and knew them so little, that I don't even fully remember their real faces, or true voices. Only snatches, and I likely fill in with wrong details from the one I do know well, her fussiness that they would never share, her precise diction, her white hands. But they are larger than life to me, even if they were real to you. It seems a great wrong that I was never able to return, no doubt at odds with them about my wild plans to... whatever I would have wanted to do if the world had not changed for the worst. Or perhaps settled in with them to the slow turning of the seasons. I'll never know what they would have made of me. And oddly that is why they seem so much larger than our living kin. Green Lordaeron, a child's eye view, and with childish selfishness I want it back for myself. And with a longer view I want to take whatever small steps will see it freed for your grandchildren, perhaps. Great-grandchildren.

That is the heart of the dream. And the symbol of it is the gravestone of our father's mother, whom we buried. Our name on the stone we set up, trying to set things right.

After speaking to her, and realizing that I might give all of this up to be trapped in her dreamcatcher, I went north to pay my respects, and only found out afterward that I had been lost in the dream. She found me there, and woke me, and had me fetch out the heart.

I am so sorry.

If you go north to pay your respects, it is not the Scourge or some idle vandal who broke the stone; it was me.

Assuming that all goes well, I will set it right again. If not, I hope you will understand that I tried. I hope that they all will.

I fear that the dream will not be as easily mended as the stone.

On my way here I saw the candle in the window. Some dreams are stubborn and will not die. I wish that I were worthy of that.
 

Brother Mine,

I've given up your dream. It was never really mine -- I saw too clearly past it for it to be -- but for a while I could at least pretend. I pretended that we were trying to build a future that was not safe merely from demons from without, but from our very personal monsters as well, the ones we see in the streets. The ones we live beside. The ones that live within some of us. The irony is that I still live there -- at least some of the time -- and you do not. You have found safety in a town too small to ever become a city, in the fog and the cry of seabirds. Or a keep, also befogged and usually quiet other than the howling of wolves and the work of men. I envy you. I cannot bear living here all of the time, for more reasons than one, but I can no longer leave for good, not while I am chained here, and for more reasons than one.

I know what laces the mortar in this city, and I no longer can even pretend to dream the dream that it could be cleansed. The rot is too deep. For whose sake would I be pretending anyhow? Almost all are dead or fled, and I'm tired of lying about such things.

You know personally how old the stones are in certain parts of the city. The city was razed to the foundations but some parts were below the foundation. The stones are full of chill, water seeping like tears between them. The worst were consigned here. Back before this was our city, when the orcs swept over, a simple decision was made.

If you had been the gaoler, would you have thrown in the key before you fled the city? Or would you have left them to the invading Horde? I think you would have given them a chance at better than what they faced from the Horde.

I do not know what I would have done. I could not know unless I was there, with the key in my hand. I wonder now ... I sleep so often too near the Stockade. If the alarm bells were ringing, the Horde or the Legion sweeping down on the city, would I think of them? Would I have mercy? Or would I think only of my own? That's not something I can know outside of the moment.

Thieves and murderers, they were left behind bars. Some of them survived, won free, at great cost.

She told me this, though not in words. She gave me a piece of rock, and a number, which turned out to be the number of a cell. At the time its occupant was named Ryland, her name. The rock fit a gap in the wall. From there I could learn the rest, that some survived. That they named themselves revenants, because of what was done to them. That they swore undying revenge on the city. In more than one way they have achieved it, too. They've proven elusive, but they've left a bloody trail.

She is too young to have been in that jail, but I think she was raised behind those bars, with the Horde closing in, regardless of where her actual rearing took place. Raised for vengeance, and to carry the fight on past their lives. I believe that they took haven in Alterac, either as part of the Syndicate or coexisting with them, and they raised their children, and they dreamed of revenge. These are the real dreams that Stormwind engenders. The dreams carved in stone, and the blood in the mortar between those stones. I don't know if she visits now to enact that revenge, or for reasons of her own. It almost seems as if she cares more about discord than about revenge. She cares about having freedom to act, to break free of all restrictions. I think she is still an instrument of revenge, however, whatever her goals.

I don't know what brought her friend Baydon Ardinn to the Council, though I know what broke him from them. I don't know what brought them together, though I believe I met him before I ever met her, and possibly before he met her. It seems that there was a time that he was not on whatever strange path it is that he pursues, though he fell in with them early on. Did they corrupt him? Or did he come to them corrupt already? There is more than one way that a paladin may fall.

I have also finally made a declaration: their interference in my life, and the lives of those who touch me, is no longer something I can tolerate, whatever their motivations. She has seemed fascinated by my friend the paladin, to the point where she has put spells on him and tried to alter him from himself. She turned her attention to me, then, and made similar attempts.

She has found a curious stone which either came in with the Exodar, or is formed when the Draenei ship impacts upon a new world; she calls it "starfall ore" no doubt due to its otherworldly origin. This ore has the ability to grant visions, though it does not seem intrinsically magical in nature -- it may have powerful alchemical properties, but I have never had enough to experiment, or the ability to experiment safely with it. Fused into glass, it is able to grant visions by proximity alone, even when sealed within an airtight box; she gave me a small piece of it and it began to affect my dreams. Touching it would seem an even poorer idea, which is borne out by the advice of a Draenei shaman and jeweler whom I consulted. He thinks it would be very dangerous to touch the glass made from this stone.

So when Baydon forced me to inhale some dust which he ground from a piece of it, I was in dread at what the results would be. And rightfully so; the nightmares still follow me despite all of my attempts to shed them. Worse, I have come to realize that the nightmares are true. It is only a matter of time before what I see will come to pass, and at my hands. It would be easier to not know this, and to let it come when it comes, and to have some peace before it happens. That is what they have robbed me of.

But nightmare or dream, it is something which I cannot run away from, and would not even if I could. We need this to come to pass. Let Stormwind be Stormwind, rotten to the core. Lordaeron has been purged by Scourge and plague, its survivors winnowed terribly until only the hardiest remain. There will be nothing left when we retake it, and we should not make the mistakes that Stormwind did: we should tear stone from stone until not even foundations remain. No hidden cells, no oubliettes. Perhaps we should even rebuild Lordaeron elsewhere.

And in the New Lordaeron, we will pay our debts. If we cannot afford stonemasons, then we will live under thatch until we can.

I think you would approve of that.

Whatever I may be, I pay my debts in full.

And so now she has breathed some of the dust herself. My retribution or recompense. I do not know what she saw, though it harrowed her, and even changed her for a time. It seemed to put her into the past. Still fairly formidable, even at a loss and without context or knowledge, still able to place herself. Perhaps I should have exploited her weaknesses, but it seemed that I had done enough by sharing with her the cruel enlightenment she had forced upon me. My teacher would call me a fool for letting her go, for not using her to the hilt.

So be it, I am a fool.

But I have paid her in kind, at least. And I will pay her more if she continues her attacks, or even feints in our direction.

I did not wish it to come to this; she is a distraction I can ill afford while I am busy with laying the groundwork for the future. But she is too disruptive if ignored, and so I must resort to extremes.

In a sense, I should be grateful to her for showing me the way. In a sense, it is good to know. Unlike the hooded hawk, I have never been content with being blind. I have always needed to know, to see.

But I can never forgive her for not letting me find it for myself. I would have; it would still be there without the knowledge or the vision or the certainty. She forced upon me what I knew already, and what I didn't need to know -- not yet. It would have been better to go step by step than to be pushed from a cliff.

There is only one person I have forgiven so far for that, and she is not he.
 

Propped in the bristles of his hairbrush where he will be sure not to miss it, this letter is in a small, neat, hand.

My Dear Eustace,

Our impatient late-night visitor was able to effect a reversal, and so our dinner guest is now back to her unpleasantly worgen-clawed self. Be aware and be warned. I have warned her as well: no more will I tolerate her encroachments, and I will meet them as forcefully as I deem fitting. Indeed, she is fortunate to not find herself decorating the Soothsayer's apartments in gaudy shades this evening. I have more compunction than is wise, but there is a limit, and I have reached it. If she so much as touches either of us in the future, or discommodes us in any way, I will repay it threefold. At the minimum. I know that you abhor even strong words, but I am done with softness. That goes as well for her friend; if he is drawn in on her behalf then he has made himself fair game.

I apologize for any confusion this evening. I considered it a brief truce, and fitting that you should treat her with the kindness that you have always wished her to accept. However, that is the last time it will be possible to even attempt it. If either of them attempts to cross your threshold again I will meet them with opposition, whatever your opinion. If you object to this, then you may turn me out now. I will not stay in a home where they are welcome. I do not wish to encroach upon your hospitality, but I do not find that either of them deserves it, and so you will find that we are mutually exclusive.
 

"Yo! Are you Baydon?"

There's a goblin at Steamwheedle Port who is scrutinizing anyone who arrives there, either coming or going. If Baydon answers in the affirmative, the goblin asks, "What's your last name then?" If he answers 'Ardinn' then the goblin hands over a sealed letter. "Here you go!"

The letter is in a small, neat hand.

Baydon Ardinn --

Your friend has had a similar experience to the one which you imposed, and it seems to have affected her memory. Due to the nature of the animosities which you two have created for yourself in Stormwind, her safety is in question if she remains there unaware and careless.

If you were to seek her, the likeliest places would seem to be either Stormwind, in the vicinity of the Stockades, or in some apple orchard in Alterac. No doubt you would know better than I her former haunts.

I consider the debt which you previously incurred to be paid in full, but take care not to assume new ones, as I will not be even a fraction as lenient for any future impositions.

In lieu of a signature, a tiny amount of sparkling dust, ground from purple glass, is embedded in a spot of glue at the bottom.
 

There have been sporadic additions made to this location in the last several months, mostly pertaining to activities on Draenor, with specific scouting reports on Legion base camps, the disposition of the naga, and the strength of the Sin'dorei. There are also some rather acerbic observations made about the Scryers and the Aldor both, as well as notes on their disposition in almost the depth as the notes on the enemy.

In the spring, reference is made to the formation of a shell company named Outland Trading Company, partially from the remainder of the assets of the disbanded Maelstrom Trading Company, and contact information is given: for a woman in Stormwind, and a drop location in Ratchet. There aren't that many personal entries in these months.

There is also a short entry with an oblique reference to a visit to Felwood that has a possibility of repercussions, and a contact name for more information in case of such, but only in case of such.
 

I've been so focused on the Outland that everything has seemed fairly quiet. Not in actuality, where the seige we lay is very serious, but there is not the disconnect between what I can tell you and what I am doing. Not as much.

Matters of some note:

The worgen has invited herself over for tea. Not content with marking our paladin friend, she's taken it upon herself to make my life more interesting. I shall hope it is mere idle talk but be watchful of her next move in case she carries it out. My life is not so dull as she thinks, that it needs any enhancement of hers.

My friend himself raised something of a stir with his speech to the convocation at Winter Veil. I attended and it was something I think you would agree with, akin to your thoughts on the Mage Tower, but it was not well-received, touching on many controversial matters.

When did we give up on the New Stormwind? Well, he has not. He is not completely without protection at the Cathedral, but you know that it is not in my nature to be overt, and he is nothing but. I worry that he has made new enemies. He says that it is not his voice he wishes them to follow, merely that he and others be allowed to speak. Many voices. There are those who would silence any voice which does not sing to their tune. I am keenly aware that my own association with him adds to his vulnerability, discreet as I try to be. These things are impossible in Stormwind, and he is not one to hide from anything. So I watch for developments, and I worry. As well, I admire him for taking a stand. If only there were more like him.

My association. My associations. I know that you would never approve. Yet I'm happier than I've ever been, when I have time to breathe and reflect. I never thought to deserve any of this, anything more than brief respite. I never hoped for anything but duty done. As you well know, there is more to life than that. I am only now discovering, and it still seems like it is something that could melt away at any moment, as fragile and transient as a snowflake on my palm, and as beautiful as its interlocking symmetry. I could never explain any of this to you, when I can't properly explain it to myself. But this life now is precious to me, which it never was before. I will stop denying gifts freely given.

My birthday was not easy for me, which likely would not surprise you. Even more than the feast of Winter Veil it makes me reflect how far I have diverged from who I ought to be. I can never be that woman. Obedient daughter, safe sister, diligent wife, nurturing mother. I can see the shape of who I should be, and sometimes I wish that I could fit it. But it would only be a mask if I tried. You at least have always let me be who I am, as oddly formed as that is. You let me follow you out into the wider world.

I think I could speak to Father of those things now, of what I am. That I have more of him in me than of her, though I was born a girl, and though I favor her. That this world is too close to oblivion for him to reserve either of us from risk. That he brought me up to do my duty, and this is my most pressing duty. I wish I could speak to him.

But he would never understand the rest of it, what gives me the joy and strength that makes it possible to do my duty willingly. Neither understand nor approve. I can't even speak to you of it, you who have always forgiven me; how could I tell him?

Recently, on duties for the bronze, I crossed paths with my own small self. I never let her see me, but I saw her. I do not know if I even could or if the dragons would prevent me, but I yearned to speak to her, to warn her of the mistakes she was going to make when she was older, and to regret bitterly. I could set her right if she would only remember a few things. Would she then become who she was supposed to be? Or was I meant for this life in a deeper pattern than I could ever change?

By not meddling have I condemned her to my own fate? Does that mean that I am to blame, in full knowledge, for all that lies before her? Have I damned myself even further?

I find I cannot do it, though, even if staying my hand transforms accidents into destiny. In the lives I have touched in the aftermath of those mistakes, there is at least one I have saved. More, if changed I would not take my current path. More selfishly, I could lose everything I have fought so hard for in this last year, all of the personal victories over myself and over my fears. Even if I then never had to face those fears again, because the cause for them was evaded, I could not face the loss of what I have now. And so I leave her be, unsuspecting of what the future holds, and I do not test the limits of draconic patience.
 

The Gray Tiger Shipping & Freight Company

I've known peripherally about this organization for some time, but given the state of affairs with the Maelstrom Trading Company (detailed in another report) I've recently decided to look further into it. My first impression of them is that despite their affiliations and activities they are not a major security risk, but rather a useful channel for information and other valuables across borders which are sometimes less permeable than would be useful. With this in mind, I am approaching them for useful services, to develop long-term contacts to our mutual benefit. To that end, please restrict the access of this report to my superiors and direct associates unless the security situation necessitates otherwise.

Several years ago I learned of them and floated a test importation through them, something minor and not illegal but difficult enough to test their efficiency. They performed well, but there were a few factors which precluded later close association. One thing I noted at the time was that their leader, Tai Jiang, is quite cautious about lines of loyalty; while he will contract outside for necessary services, he compartmentalizes carefully and preserves his core work for those who are full employees. While they are discreet, the implications are clear in their manner and their caution -- in addition to the shadow that they cast amongst those in the know -- that this is an organization with greater scope than a mere shipping company. Smuggling is almost a given for any large company that trades between the continents, but it is my belief that they offer more delicate services as well, given their general caution, discipline, and demeanor. They are also careful to not tread upon the toes of the goblins. Most intriguingly, they employ members of the Horde as well as the Alliance. Despite this, the first loyalty of these employees appears to be to the organization itself; if there is any activity on the political front they are playing that very silently indeed. An organization based around the profit motive, with no great political goals, will in most cases seek stability. While they might try to exploit the status quo, they are unlikely to try to make notable changes.

Since my earlier encounter, the organization has matured. The employees I have met or sighted have not had military or similar discipline, but their discipline is reasonable for an organization of this nature. They also display a fair amount of tactical readiness; for example their leader is almost never without an employee visibly in the vicinity, presumably to serve as support in case of need. Others may well be on hand.

Most of my interactions have been through Tai Jiang. He is a sharp negotiator -- and I would suggest, if we ever needed to employ this organization for anything substantial, to send a better negotiator than I; I am too goal-oriented to be more than adequate at such tasks.

Kennia is his wife; I know her more by reputation, sight, and proximity than through direct introduction.

I have contracted with them for translation services, as it is a direct way to get a view of their affiliations with the Horde. To facilitate this they are providing me with the time of Shisou, a Sin'dorei who is well-versed in Common. This is not surprising in a former ally, but it is far rarer to find one of the estranged high elves who is still willing to speak to us. We will be meeting in Ratchet in a weapons shop, as it is easily accessible neutral ground; I'll be taking normal precautions when traveling there. In an interesting display, they brought him to Stormwind for our first meeting. His more typical work is as a courier, either of interestingly valuable items or of euphemisms. He is, I believe, a rather recent hire.

In my second recent meeting, I overheard Tai Jiang and Shisou speaking a language amongst themselves that I could not identify. I am fairly certain it was not Thalassian, but I have not heard enough of either language to be able to say that for certain.

Another employee I have met is Syff, a female Kal'dorei. She has referenced a comm and was immediately hushed, so I presume that they are using one of the gnomish-style devices for long range communication. This displays a sophisticated level of access and coordination, though a lapse in discipline. Syff and Shisou had no obvious animosity for each other. I've exchanged little more than common politenesses with her but she seems diligent and experienced.

There is also Shinro, a male Kal'dorei. Another recent hire and personable, it seems that he was recently removed from leadership of another organization -- rather violently, by his underlings -- and then rescued by Tai Jiang. I believe that he is also used in courier services.

There is another that I am scheduled to meet, but as I am offering help of a medical nature there, I see no need to detail any more of that matter unless ethical considerations make it imperative.

Included are physical descriptions and times and dates of interactions with and sightings of Tai Jiang, Kennia, Shinro, Syff, and the Sin'dorei named Shisou, though the description of Shisou is notably hampered by the fact that he was wearing a large hat and dark glasses.
 

In the first location, this letter accompanies the report.

Brother Mine,

A mutual friend of ours, one with whom I am quite close, was instrumental in drawing the fangs of an organization that strays too far across the borders in the course of its trades. I place this here in case there are any repercussions from the remnants of the trading company. Hopefully this will not happen now that there are eyes watching in that direction, but prudence is better than hope.

Our friend was put to no small risk and inconvenience, and was rather ill-suited for the role, drawing attention from other branches, but it was in a good cause and the matter resolved well enough.

---

This letter was dropped with the original report using the usual means.

Brie--

Regarding the Maelstrom Trading Company, they have had a significant setback of late, losing holdings in Feralas as well as some other consequences that will likely make them not of any great concern for some time. As well, the example they have set will cause greater alertness for similar bottlenecks on critical resources in the future. They were attempting to play both ends against the middle, with predictable results when this was brought to light.

My full report is enclosed.

--Wasp
 

I'm not going to do it. I refuse.

It goes against my experience and training to let this pass uninspected. So be it.

What if he is bleeding our own troops by diverting medical supplies? But he must have a good reason. A more pressing need. I know that procurement is always inefficient. But what could this need be? Why does it require hiding, dead of night meetings, attempts at skullduggery?

I find I cannot sleep in his house and also treat him as a subject of investigation at the same time. No, that is not it at all. Were he almost anyone else, I could sleep under his roof and ensure that what he was doing was sound for both him and for the Crown's purposes. It is love that stays my hand, that makes me turn my eyes away. This is always my weakness. I should be dispassionate and cold, but no, I will listen to his wishes even when I suspect that he is embroiling himself in something dangerous. But I cannot turn away when it is right before me. This is what is meant by conflict of interest.

He's -- willingly, as near as I can tell -- activated the sigil on his hand, and felt its effects. Participated in a long and bloody battle, by all appearances. Or did it start small and become protracted because of the rune itself? How am I to know when he will not speak to me of it?

Killing her won't remove it, though.

I can't entirely leave it. I fear too much that he is falling under the sway of... that woman, or of someone else, someone new. The one who came to speak to him in tonight's midnight meeting. I've left word with Creel to help, to at least see to his hand. It's still meddling, but Creel is not biased as I am, and will hopefully stop short of meddling if it is not warranted. I can't trust myself in this.

But I can refuse to become directly involved. I can step away so that I do no more harm.

The eye of the storm passes over, and the winds begin again. At least they can't blow me along with them, now.
 

I am so certain of release, of victory, of glory.

I burst free roaring exultantly, silenced no more. I have real flesh, with claws and teeth as strong as steel. I see, I smell, I hear, I feel, and I will taste when I can close my jaws about something. That will be soon, soon.

I leap upon him.

He is ready for me.

I know too late that it is an ambush.

Damn all Lightbearers! Damn them to--
 

I do not know how long it has been. Time stretches out forever when nothing changes. It closes too fast over the best moments.

I no longer remember even the heat of his blood. Only hatred remains and hatred does not avail in this prison. I try over and over again, waiting for moments of anger, of weariness. The reforging holds. There is no pattern in his minor lapses. I cannot tell if it is hours or years between them. I only know that if he still stands we have not yet conquered. I will be trapped in here forever if we win before I break free. I must not fail.

Time begins passing again as the scrap gains awareness, learns how to exist in this prison we share. She tests and paces the boundaries. She wants free, too, I can tell.

I so want to make her suffer, even if it is beyond my power to destroy her. Even if one cannot squeeze blood from mere spirit. But almost as soon as she can see me she learns how to block me. I who was her master! She fights me now, countering every attack I can muster. When she is not blind she is faster and more sure, formidable. I hate her more now than when she was weak. Oh, her rage delights me, is the only thing that contracts time. She rages at being imprisoned here with me. Around and around she paces. She never speaks to me, never looks at me unless she has to. She strikes dagger-swift when I get too near or try a new ploy. I cannot die but if I were not bound here, were we embodied, she would have banished me many times over through sheer brute force. Her will is more focused than mine now, in a place where will is all that matters, and I cannot dull her edge. Again I am defeated. From without and within.

I hate them all. My captor and my rightful victims. I can only dream of escape and revenge. I can shake the walls with roars of hate and anger and my captor does not bend. He does not even always listen.

Then a new thing happens, another mark in time. She changes, wavers. Loses focus. I do not test right away. I have learned patience. Caution. And yes, her defense is less vigorous. Perhaps she tires, in her mortality. I begin to hunt again. She defends but it is only a matter of time.

And then I hear her voice. She is not speaking to me. She never speaks to me. She speaks to herself. No! She has a plan to escape and she focuses again, I try with all my strength and speed to catch her and she is gone like that from between my claws. Gone! Beyond my reach, the one thing I could possibly revenge myself on. I hate her but I wanted her in range of my claws and teeth.

I lose myself to blind rage.

Time stills again, a gelid pool.

I do not know how long it has been. Time stretches out forever when nothing changes.

But suddenly now... oh yes. Yes! Anger, a weary anger, from my captor. Mortally sick, mortally weak, mortally tired. Something has happened to him. He is too weak to lay his safeguards against me. There is a crack in my prison door. It is time, time for me to burst free. Kill him, kill everyone he loves. Kill them all. Feast on hot blood.

I rip the walls asunder.
 

The matter of the hand is still unresolved. In a more stable state since he will take some precautions now, but I worry she may try more forceful means. He will not see it treated. Creel thinks he can mend it, though.

There is also the son of our friend the healer, the nephew of -- he walks, he runs, he speaks, though not with any great sense. But he is her son. I keep remembering the last time I saw him. How long will his uncle consider him malleable? How long is he willing to wait, before he thinks her rearing might overcome the patterns he feels he must impose? If he cannot break the fate he rails against?

Where they are is no bad place, but they must hide from someone who may only be biding his time until the child is older. I must not become distracted from that point. Both of her suitors have gone missing. She is another I cannot bear to have in danger.

There are too many of those, and too much danger. But it cannot be helped.

I wonder this: can one stone really take two birds?

But I am almost always a bird to those who name me. Careful, Arrish. At least one of these winged creatures is actually a dragon. It would have to be quite a stone.
 

This letter is left on Chanticleer's bedside table, over some essential such as his keys or coin purse so he cannot fail to miss it before he leaves. The handwriting is not Arrish's usual, but rather clean block printing with some words boldly underlined.

Dear Eustace,

I apologize for the spoiled dinner that you worked so hard over, but this matter is far more pressing.

I must try to impress upon you how great your danger is. That mark on your hand is only the slightest taste, a crude attempt to lure you into accepting what she wants to do to you. Do you know how addictive pleasure can be? It is adulturated with sickness in the bottle, but there are less muddled forms available, and they destroy lives as easily as grief or pain, or more so because they are more easily embraced. It is an attempt to control: she wants you to ask for more.

She has admitted to me that you are her target, and as much as admitted that she will not give you up. She says she will give you the choice: I believe that she will attempt to twist anything you say into "choosing" her to "free" you. You have already seen how much choice she gives you. She plays upon your kind nature and your good manners, and you need to stop treating her as some wayward girl. She is nothing better than a worgen: mad, cruel, and murderous. You would not have a worgen in for tea, and you must not continue allowing her access to your person. It only encourages her. You must say only no, and no, and no, and give her nothing with which to work. You must deny all contact with her, any, or with her lover. I would hope you would tell me immediately when either tries to contact you. You must not allow yourself to be trapped by politeness or social conventions into dealing with her. Think of her as a worgen, or a demon, if that helps, but stop giving her openings.

I have spoken with one of her former victims. She had him for a week, and tortured him throughout. She was just learning these runes then, and practiced them on him in great detail. As a culminating move, she drove a hot poker entirely through his chest and left him for dead; that he lived through this is something of a miracle. You need to understand that she wishes to do even worse to you. She wishes to take you apart bit by bit. He tells me that she wished how to carve the marks inside the body, so they cannot so easily be removed. Can you imagine if she carved fear or hatred into you?

If you cannot count the cost to yourself, then let me be explicit about the price we will have to pay. He thinks he may be able to remove the mark from you, but at a cost to him. If you continue to treat her as a social acquaintance, she will harm you again, and I will attempt to kill her, even if it means shedding blood in your own house. I cannot believe she will be dissuaded by any gentler means. Anyhow, if she marks you again after my clear warning, then she is something too venemous to be allowed to live. One note: I've no idea if I can succeed; I don't know the measure of her and have never seen her in action, though I know she is very quick. If I fail, it is not likely that I will survive. Or consider this, if you still care for her life despite all her plans for you: I could succeed, and she will not survive. This is in your hands; if it comes to a confrontation, one of us will very likely die.

You must learn how to defend yourself from these attacks. I cannot always guard you, and I fully realize that you do not you even want me to. I will not always be around to help. You have to learn to fend her off, deny her.

Eat or drink nothing she sends or gives you. If you can avoid it, touch nothing from either of them. Anything could hold a trap. Tell her you will have nothing of her, and nothing to do with her,

-A

P.S. You need to invest in better locks. You need to bar your door every night. You sleep so very soundly. And she could enter as easily as I.
 

I've seen the healer recently, now that I dare to again, and I've held her child in my arms. That small living weight, full of spontaneous intention... I wish for him a future unmarred by destiny.

I must not leave a backtrail. They have such peace now. I have taken every precaution.

And I have found an old friend of us both, your former comrade-in-arms, who has wandered far away on his travels. It was so good to see his face again, but I would not have disturbed his own peace but for the acquisition of another precaution. Sad times, these.

Slantways apropos: One of my paladin friends has had something quite nasty inscribed upon his right hand, by someone you might remember, a certain Ellyee Ryland. She has some connections to the Council. I am looking into it to see what I can do. I've warned him quite strenuously against her but I fear that he will be stubborn: he seems to feel that he can redeem her. Redemption simply isn't as easy as kindly thoughts can wish it to be, even from one such as him.

More pieces will go, one by one. Things are falling out.

Falling is flying.

At least, for a while.
 

Through the archmage of fire, I have met an aspiring assassin. She believed thought that I could be a help to him with his rather scattershot life choices. I have had a little chat with her about which parts of my life I enjoy having shared. I may kill, but it is never wanton.

He's not so very clear on the distinction between pirates, assassins, bounty hunters, scouts, rogues, hired blades, and spies. Actually, I'm surprised he has the precision of thought to be able to practice magic, given his muddy and overly romantic reasoning. According to him, as long as he gets the frequent opportunity to place a knife between someone's shoulderblades he will be happy. Not exactly a recommendation for his character, though sadly he is the main type of man who presents himself to the old man. Even rusted tools may serve in the absence of the strong, and so on. I would not recommend him even to the old man, though he's not exactly finicky.

This one has in fact come to some prominence in smaller venues. He led a group known as the Cobbledogs of Kingswood Alley, in Old Town. It is no mean feat and indicates that he is strong, cautious, quick, ruthless, clever, or some combination of these. Also that he is not so ruthless as to drive away his inferiors, no matter how he came to the command. I even knew of him in that other life, as he had some notoriety even years ago. But age is not something easy on the streets -- a miracle the cinder still survives -- and it's true that he has a problem of where to go once he's run his course. Or, perhaps, been plucked from it. It appears he has some magical talent and has been strongarmed into the Tower for training. Yet he wants to turn his back on it because he thinks he will be more free in the shadows. When he could be a mage.

I prefer to stand aside and let others make their choices, but I'm afraid I've had enough when these would-be assassins are directed to my own doorstep, as it were. No more Butchers. No more. If this is a budding Butcher, then I will nip it in the bud. Foolish to warn him, perhaps, but he's young enough and bright enough that perhaps he will listen to his brains and not his bravado. There are other paths open to him even if he deserts his talent, and better ones than the uses the weak put to their talents. There are even ways to kill for hire that will not excite reprisal, if he is so very hungry for blood.

If you are reading this, and at least a year has passed, and he has not obviously gone down the path of piracy or wanton murder, then I owe him a favor. I do not bequeath such things, but fulfill it if that is your desire. He may even be worth recruiting in a year, though his rebellious and self-serving nature speaks against that. If he comes looking for a favor within a year, well he knows what bargain he will be striking then. I care little otherwise as long as he does not excite attention. His name is Connlach Ashworth. If he has chosen the path I warned him against, well, it is no longer any concern of mine, but I mention all of this to you and you may do as you will.
 

I have known where he was for over a week, but now he is able to come home.

I can almost see you frown as I write this. Yes, I helped him return. I made a promise, didn't I?

You would say that he did all of this to himself, but I know who is culpable. Oh, he had a part to play, and there are some things I may never be able to set aside, and there are other factors, other fools, who contributed. But I was the one who pushed him to this, careless of the results until it was too late. Carelessness or malice? Perhaps some of both. He thought it was what I wanted at the end, which is the keenest cut. Carelessness on his side as well, though no malice that I know of. But carelessness is worse.

It's been almost two years. All of that time wondering. I knew he was alive even though supposed dead, but little by little that last belief crept away. I think part of me expected him to return when everything was darkest, and when that didn't happen -- that is when I gave up. Dead or alive made no difference; he was gone forever. I almost wanted that to be true when the story changed. One of his unit made a deathbed confession that cleared his name. That gave me a thread to pull, and pulling it unravelled the whole story. Why didn't I walk away? I couldn't. I needed to see, even though I knew it would make nothing better in any real sense. I might have unravelled it even without my promise.

Here are the circumstances:

His branch of the service did not trust to more experienced organizations to gather some desired intelligence, and instead decided that they would grow their own operatives. You know what Father has always had to say about military intelligence. Well, it is all true, and more. Then they realized the risk of their situation and chose men not primarily for their fitness or dedication, but based on their lack of ties to families and friends who would advocate on their behalf. These "volunteers" were sent out on schemes of extremely dubious worth. They were given no experienced command but instead assigned someone raw and unseasoned.

Of the eight men sent, there are two survivors. Three if you count the one who fell recently to a lingering disease contracted on that mission. Two if you count the one declared a traitor, declared dead, and harrowed to the point where he may never be fit for any useful duty again. One if you count the only one who made it home cleanly, but who was no longer fit for real duty himself. A profligate waste, for information that could have been gained more easily, with no losses, by professionals. Two were captured by the enemy and tortured to death. At least one suffered a fate that should never be told to his kin. I have found less overt ways to neutralize those responsible for this wonder of a mission, but I must admit I suffered a nearly overwhelming temptation to leave their heads somewhere prominent as a warning to their successors. I am none too pleased with the old man, either. It is his high-handedness that breeds this distrust and leads the military to make such idiotic decisions. But they should have known better before they spent lives like this. It is their duty to spend lives where needed, not on ventures such as this.

He was captured by the Crusade and tortured along with the two others scouting with him. Unlike them, he came through, or most of him did. They "cured" him and, always hungry for manpower, sent him on patrol, but when his patrol encountered humans -- ironically, his own unit trying to free the captives -- he broke free of their indoctrination. Only one of his unit knew, the one who later confessed after letting him be declared a traitor for these almost two years. That man is now dead, but I would have greatly appreciated a chance to speak to him before he passed away. Since all of this was done under a cloak, my first awareness was after the confession, when they contacted me again to let me know he was no longer considered a traitor.

He died in that battle... in truth. But death is not always permanent for everyone in this world, and he has always clung to life, moreso because I bade him to when I discovered just some of the elements of his mission. Perhaps that is the worst thing I have ever done to him. Death is surcease and ending, and the promise he made me, and that he clings to with insane determination, has held him here beyond any reasonable limits. He rose again and I do not know much of the time right after that, though I know he starved for a while, and I believe that he was more mad than he is now. I suppose you have always considered him mad, but he is far less lucid now than he ever was before. Still... himself, but less anchored. He had to retreat into an imaginary life to be able to survive in his actual one.

Eventually he found a new life of sorts, but he never made contact with his old. When I found him he was on a remote farm in Hillsbrad. Through a series of logical steps that could only make sense to a mad paladin, he had married a woman he did not want, in an attempt to help and protect her. He had stepped into a dead man's life, replacing him and losing most of his own. I find that I hardly even care about what would have sent me into a rage two years ago. I don't know what I think or feel. Shock, I think. In a very clinical sense.

I didn't really believe he was alive until I actually saw him. I can't describe what that was like. Perhaps relief is the best name for it, that he lived despite it all. But that is not all of it, not even half. It is a gathering storm. He is so changed, so battered... I should walk away forever now. Leave him to rebuild his life. Perhaps even to decide that this stranger he married is worthy of him. She is direct, honest. She isn't capable of hurting him the way I do. I should leave him to her and to Veilla's uncomplicated, wholehearted, love and healing.

The first thing I did upon seeing him again was demand his most prized possession. He gave it to me, too. After all of this, after all that has happened and all that I have done to him, he forced himself give it back to me. And I tried, but it is not intent that matters, but results. I returned it to him but he will always be a thief, no matter how much I tried to change it from theft to gift. All I did was indulge in vengeance. No lessons taught, either, so a purposeless vengeance. He doesn't even understand. He doesn't know that he traded me -- difficult, dangerous, but striving, willing to fight even my own worst fears for him -- for something silent, safe, and lifeless. The only part of me he can truly understand. To him I have no more weight or value than a hank of dead hair.

Perhaps that is true after all. I tried to deny it since he left. But now, when I look at myself clearly, when I judge my own actions....

He is out and free, and he needs me for nothing. He made his choice. And whenever I -- so foolishly -- see him, I hold my breath, afraid it will begin again this time and knowing it grows closer to inevitable with every meeting. When I see him, I can barely bear to say goodbye. Not until I know it will be forever, though it should have been already. To be less than a dead thing to him, scorched earth, scorned love, that I can bear. But I miss his understanding of me even though I know it was a lie. His patience, which was not. The wordless friendship before we destroyed it by speaking, by caring too much. I cannot allow myself to want any of this. Not when I know that every course but one will lead to further betrayal. I'm so afraid for him. He still has things he could lose. I still know him well enough to see them, no matter how much he's changed.

I have not changed at all. I am the wolf in the story.
 

I thought I could do some good in the world, but when is it enough to balance the scales?

I thought we could hold back the tide, but is it pushing us back?

How many more good people will I hurt, even destroy, before the end? Why can't I stop?

I used to believe in New Stormwind. That being fast enough, strong enough, brave enough would see us through.

I used to believe that love was simple and brought only happiness.

I used to believe that the Light would protect us.

I used to believe in Mellor.
 

So close.

I tasted him, but all I can remember now is the heat of his blood. Not the savor. Nothing left in my memories though at the time it was my finest reward and a precursor to the pleasure and power to come. Curse him. He let me in. I had beaten him! But it was a trick. He invoked the name of my master against me. Me! Curse him curse him curse his name curse his blood curse his bones.

I scrape against the walls of my prison and can do nothing.

He lured me out of my possession, but he had not given up as I thought. He was not drawn by the dreams of power he spun for me. How could he not be? He was in position to shake the mortal world. How could he give that up? Lightbearers should not lie! This one did not follow that rule. My destiny bent against me. He lured me out and into himself and then he struck himself down so our shared pain would drive me out. In my master's name. He invoked my master's name! How dare he! May he die choking in his own blood. May my master stir and coil at this outrage, and rend him inside out.

May my master never learn of my betrayal. There are worse fates even than this. Is this fear, this hollow spreading ache? At the time I was so sure. But now I have nothing but time. To reflect.

He drove me out by making himself unfit. Dying. How did he have the strength to do that to himself?

Then that little bitch tossed me into the sea. I should have killed her faster.

Someone will find me, I knew. I willed it. Patience. I could be patient if it took years but someone would find me. Then he did but recoiled from my touch and refused to wield me so I could wield him and he took me to another Lightbearer who knew me, another one linked to my thrall, my weapon, they have stolen her away from me and she will not help me any more.

I tried. I tried. I tried. I failed. Even when he touched me to examine me, hefted me in his hands, I could not force my way into his desires. Not even knowing that he would destroy me.

Banishing, breaking... I would have welcomed. Back to the Nether. Nothing but pain but then back to my old form. Laughing at fleeting pain. Free. I tried to make him break my jail. But he wanted my utter destruction and I am bound in the sword and when I am in this world to the world. Yet he stayed his hand. Not because I could be a mighty servant (I serve him and he will serve me). Not because I could bring him power beyond his paltry dreams. Not because he feared that he could not destroy me, but only release me again. He had no good reason. But there was a shred of her left behind, from when I forced her into my prison so I could use her eyes, her hands, her weakling body. I kept the best part of her behind so I could always call her back for my use. I still had it when I fell. That is why he did not destroy me. Not anything to do with me but for a scrap of worthless mortality.

Instead he reforged me and now I cannot leave at all, I am trapped in a tighter cell than I ever was. I can only hate, and he is untainted by hate. He refuses despair which is stronger even than my hatred. Anger, oh, he feels that, but it is not enough. He wields it as a weapon as he wields me. I can no longer taste blood, trapped in more cold metal. It does not stop me wanting to shed it but it is ashes, ashes, everything is ashes. All I can do is share my hate in the only way I have left, the edge.

The reforging twisted me into a new shape. I am not what I was. I am hidden, broken, bent.

I cannot even destroy the nearest part of my enemy, even if I wanted to die along with it. I can do nothing he does not allow me.

Patience. Patience. Patience.

I have nothing I can do but wait.

But I have no way out. I have nothing to wait for.
 

(( I've put more backdated entries up on Tahoma's Log: Singing to the Moon and Listen. Slowly but surely catching her up to the present.... ))
 

Liase Greyton
Wand and Quill Guesthouse
Stormwind

Dear Miss Greyton,

I apologize for needing to leave so abruptly, but after a quiet night's accounting, other duties came up which were rather consuming.

I do not wish to leave you at loose ends in a new city, but you may reach me by letter if I am not available in person. I think you will understand what I mean when I say I cannot recommend anyone in Stormwind to you without an introduction so you may draw your own conclusions first. However, if you are at a great loss (though I do trust you to be creative in occupying yourself) you may find that Mister Creel of Stormwind is an enlivening conversationalist. Feel free to show him this letter by way of introduction if you find yourself in need of such.

Sincerely,
Arrish Osric