Letters to Strand

A letter, sent by indirect means

2009-11-16T18:55:42Z

Lady Praetor,

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

Sincerely,
Arrish Osric

A letter, sent through indirect means

2009-11-16T18:36:35Z

Brie--

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

--Wasp

Letter sent through general post

2009-10-08T22:11:19Z

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

Letters sent through indirect means

2009-09-15T15:48:34Z

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

Letters in a small hand, its normal precision tarnished by exhaustion

2009-09-13T01:43:44Z

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

A Letter to Stormwind

2009-09-06T16:20:39Z

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

[Story] Past Due

2009-09-04T17:14:38Z

(( 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.

Location B: In a Small, Scrupulous, Hand

2009-08-24T09:40:30Z

(( 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.

[OOC] Music Playlist: Birds

2009-03-03T15:52:14Z

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

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

Location B: Written in a Looping, Careful, Yet Shaky Hand

2008-12-22T16:31:30Z

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.

Location A: Written in a Looping, Careful, Somewhat Shaky Hand

2008-12-22T14:47:48Z

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.

A Letter Slipped Under a Door

2008-11-13T09:20:43Z

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

A Letter Slipped Under a Door

2008-11-07T02:34:33Z

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

Riplash Strand

Lacking your abilities, I'm having trouble determining if these are undead or not, though they look -- and smell -- as if they've been drowned. Not very pleasant. They seem to have an eerie ability to draw in the mists about them, and some of them even walk on mist. They use these dragon-headed boats.

Tundra Wolf

The wolves here make ravagers look small, though they are also gazehound-lean, or perhaps starving.

Tundra Wolf Fangs

And this is when I found out one of the so-called "advantages" of my portrait-making device. In the approaching twilight it flared a light, attracting the attention of my subject. Luckily the device was not truly harmed in the ensuing fracas, though the case was scratched. Both the gnomish technician and I have had words over this, and he's taught me how to disable the tell-tale light.

Lich Exhorting the Troops

Apparently one of the Scourge strong points, this is not far from Valiance Keep, though they seem to be pressing the Horde encampment from here -- they may be directing the attacks on Valiance Keep as well, but not with these troops. This powerful lich was casting spells to enhance its army, and seemed to be lecturing them. There is also a floating fortress that is spreading what I fear to be plague -- I did not approach it closely.

(( Explorations of Northrend Series ))

2008-11-04T23:05:43Z

(( 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 Packet Slipped Under a Door

2008-11-04T19:29:50Z

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

First Approach to Valiance Keep.

It is not as cold as I expected, though it's definitely very chill, with mountains and boulders of ice floating in the water. I wish that this device captured color and subtlety, as the aurora borealis is gorgeous. Those dark specks on the left are birds, right out on the ice!

The shell of the keep is mostly finished, and the lighthouse is already operational. The inn hasn't received any furnishings yet, though, so I've set up in a tent near the workers.

Scourge Attack at the Sands of Nasam

Furnishings seem trivial -- I am grateful for the stout walls, as the keep is being harried by Scourge attacks night and day. Batlike creatures rain fire down on any exposed wood, crypt fiends skirmish with their insects, and these huge beetle-like creatures are used as shock troops. Despite these attacks, morale seems good and even the workers are resolute.

Valiance Keep from the Borean Tundra

Again, this is rather wasted without color, given the sheen of the lights. I was not expecting so much plant life here -- but I was also expecting it to be entirely covered with snow. There are hardy plants resembling heather, and kodolike creatures that seem to enjoy grazing on them. It's somewhat reassuring to see this all within sight of the Scourge attack; the Scourge has no resources to spare to blight this land, but must focus them upon the keep.

Location B: Two Notes

2008-10-13T21:37:38Z

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.

Location B: Enclosed Letter

2008-10-13T16:57:14Z

Enclosed with a brief notation: "From the heart of her dream."

A neatly folded letter on parchment bearing the letterhead of the Stonefire Tavern in Ironforge. The script is Ellyee's, albeit slightly sloppy, as has been normal of late.

Dear Arrish --

Will you get this letter? I hope so. It's been days now.

I know I had a duty; I'm sorry I didn't follow through, but I had to look for you. Please don't be upset: Ironforge is on the way to Stormwind anyhow, and it's only a short delay. You know I'm mindful of the timeliness of things -- perhaps even more than you.

Can I tell you about Ironforge? It's wonderful. I wish I could show you everything I've seen. There's great falls of liquid metal, and an underground lake. The ceilings are so tall, too. I had heard stories before, and even saw a drawing once, but it's really more wonderful when it's real. Then again, everything is, isn't it? I'm starting to understand that now.

When this is all over -- not just this, of course, but your work as well -- I think I'd like to see more. I mean, what good is it to have a chance to retell your story, if that story is still coloured by false illustrations? Maybe you'll come with me, too -- when Lordaeron is green, again. I know there's still an awful lot to do before that day, but when it comes, wouldn't you like to see what other green fields lie beyond?

There's so much that's waiting for us, I think, past what we can currently see. I want to reach it, don't you?

Please come back soon. I miss you.

-E.R.

Location A: An Enclosed Letter

2008-10-13T16:40:26Z

A letter, crisply folded and penned in Ellyee's neat script. The postmark bears the stamp of Southshore and at the bottom of the letter is a tiny, hand-drawn map, indicating a location in the Alterac Mountains.

My dear Arrish Osric --

Do you remember? Do you remember that night I asked you what you what you wanted? What you truly wanted? What wishes and desires tumbled and turned in your mind as you dreamed? That night, Arrish Osric -- that night you asked me the same, and I responded in kind.

I dream deep, Arrish Osric. I dream of apples, fresh and sweet from the trees in an Alterac summer. I dream of the rustling branches, the rough bark under foot, the cool firmness of the fruit as it graces my outstretched fingers. I dream of treetops, of horizon, of a limitless world that the warm breeze whispers belongs to me. I dream, Arrish Osric, of being free.

But you are cynical as I. You too know that dreams cannot persist. That however much the dreamer may not wish to wake, wake he must, lest the dream itself rot and grow sour like fruit left unpicked on the tree. And so too the dreamer: one cannot subsist on rotten fruit without growing rotten oneself.

Yet time grows short, Arrish Osric. The summer wanes and the chill fingers of fall begin to creep upon the orchards, brushing the fragile fruits with first frost. Do you not feel it, Arrish Osric? I know you do; you shiver in its wake the same as I.

Come, then! Let us seize this fading summer while we may! The invitation is mine and I extend it to you. Will you not accept it? Will you not hasten to join me in the fragrant orchards of Alterac for one final harvest? Or will you let all that has grown waste away, left to spoil where it hangs on the tree?

-E.R.

Location A: Written in a Small, Neat, Hand

2008-09-22T10:11:12Z

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.

Location A: Written in Haste

2008-09-15T10:10:18Z

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.

Location B: Written in Haste

2008-09-15T09:27:19Z

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.

Location B: Written Meticulously

2008-07-25T08:39:12Z

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.

A Letter on Chanticleer's Dresser

2008-07-25T07:01:32Z

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.

Letter Delivered in Steamwheedle Port

2008-07-25T03:53:25Z

"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.

Location A: Summary of Notes

2008-07-23T08:53:13Z

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.