IC

I don't know how I did it, but I summoned the courage to head out to the Riverstone place in Elwynn soon as I found out Ascar had taken up residence there aside from his place in Ironforge. Hell, I could've figured that out myself even without looking at the Crusade records. Felt kinda foolish for wasting the time, but regardless.

Something is terribly wrong.

“Something happened.”

Demitri didn’t have to pick his hat up off his face to know who it was. “Too right you are,” he mumbled, stretching his legs out to soak up the sun.

“Someone hurt you?” he asked after a lengthy pause.

“Just the past.”

“I thought we talked about this, Calanor.”

I debated this, writing down my thoughts. I'm giving it a try. We'll see.

I came back about a week ago to Silvermoon. I don't know what I was expecting, if anything at all. I figured my duty to the Horde was done, and really that no one would know me in Silvermoon anymore, so what the hey? Expectations firmly locked away for another day, I have to admit that I was surprised that on day one of my (not so) triumphant return to the Golden City... Gaige found me.

It happened slowly at first; she would look back on it and wonder how she missed the signs - a forgotten name here, a slipped important date, the pause he would take sometimes before he addressed her. Each death had stolen precious memories of their life together. When she realized what was happening, she tried with all her might to fight it, writing down and reciting to him all the important memories he still had and wanted to keep.

    Llevelys sat, quiet and composed, in the room he shared with his twin.  The bed was immaculately turned down, and there wasn't so much as a carpet fringe out of place anywhere in the chamber.  The pale-haired elf had lit a profusion of candles; they sputtered and danced cheerfully, the scented wax filling the air with an intoxicating mix of sweet and spice.  Llev had always adored candles; most elves saw them as primitive, fit only for the lesser races that lacked the elves' deft artificer's touch.  Their light was warm, and it helped him forget that h

No one knew who the woman in the portrait had been, if indeed she had ever existed outside the artist’s imagination. The painting had been purchased from an estate sale some years before because it matched the colors of the room and was the right size to fill a small alcove that would otherwise have been bare. Netha loved it. She had wiled away many a lazy summer afternoon stretched out on the rug across from the alcove and studying the painting.

Dear Lichin' and Bitchin',
For the most part, my parents and I have a great relationship. In fact, they do way more for me than they're legally obliged, so I feel bad complaining at all! But there's one thing they do that just drives me batty, and I'm not sure how to convince them to stop.

((Mads normally has a hellish accent when speaking common and her writing in it is always less than stellar. But when keeping notes in her own journal it is in Draenei and therefore less accented.))

Dear Little Book,

I had bought you with the intent to keep notes and such for my work at the Society. I am thankful now that I did so I have somewhere to jot down what is in my head. So I prevent myself from looking the fool anymore than I already have today.

He awoke, the World had change for the better. The Old Ones had risen from their watery and subterranean prisons and gripped the survivers of Deathwing's second Sundering in a chokehold of dominance. The world was Theirs, and for his work he and his Forgotten had been given high places and citadels of their own. Each lord held their powerbases from their citadels and armies of revenants and cultists.

Niami and I finally took our relationship farther last night, and I'd love to say that it was fantastic and perfect and everything I could have hoped for, but!... Well wait just a minute there, journal. You always make me want to write the best part in the beginning and then it's all out of context! I have TWO WEEKS' worth of stories leading up to mediocre sex with Niami, so let's go back to last Monday...

Sparkle Jockies....

Aye, you gotta love their ego. Their boastin' 'bout protectin' Silvermoon City. Their ego.

Makes me sick, mate.

HE SHOT ME!

TAIRE REN'ALAR SHOT ME!

I don't even know what to-----HE SHOT ME!!!

I was wandering about the city, and spotted Nikki.  He was in an argument with Taire and Avenrue.  Big surprise.  So I took Tundra in their direction.  Swords out, guns drawn.  Over a cup of coffee?  Oh, look, another day in Silvermoon.

Avenrue was yelling at them to shut up and settle down.  I walked up. 

 Anna stood with her head bowed. Shoulders aching, muscles burning, heart thumping, blood racing through her veins. The Light sang through her slight frame with its own peculiar song. A nimbus of gold surrounded her, making the black and red armor she wore gleam. She raised her sword again, the runes on its surface catching the Light as it arched through the air.

It made a solid, sweet sound as it buried itself in the target. 

_{[[The following may not make any sense at all. Dr. Bogblossom is a senile old man and I am not responsible for any confusion you may feel. Three pieces of paper, along with the 'cake', have been left at the Azeroth Ale Society office door. ]]}

Ms. Kára,

 Mentally Laiyne tracked her progress that morning.  Auction House, Bank, Home.. Auction House, Bank, Home… She would not linger in Silvermoon any longer.  She knew better.  She understood now the danger was far too great.

I don't even want to share this with you.

Dearest Fnor,

I have had a busy day but I wanted to write as soon as I could to let you know that I made it home and things are not as bad as I thought.