From the journal of Reverand Corvenus Winteroak:
It seems fitting to start a journal of my thoughts and experiences on the evening following our first… well, “deployment”, shall we say? That word, “deployment”, it feels clunky, you don’t “deploy” simple folk, civiliians. I suppose “excursion” might be more apt.
I sit here at the Argent Tournament grounds, admist the snow and sheer cliff faces of mountains you can only see for they stars the block out behind them. So many fond memories cling to every corner, every tent. I’d spent many months here years past when I was a Cleric of the Argent Crusade, having been a cleric of the Argent Dawn before it. Helping to set up the tents, build the collisum, helping training the chmpaions of the Horde and Alliance, from Darnassus to the Undercity… so much has changed, and so little of it for the better. Never again will either city field Champions here, their banners hang now in the cold wind as tokens of a different time, where we came here, together, in persuit of honour and the means to destroy The Lich King and his Scourge.
Perhaps though it is here that the seeds of rebirth will continue to take root and grow. Last night I shared a fire with several others, some Horde, some Alliance and others Neutral between the factions. Two Kaldorei sat on a bench around the fire, and did not move to strike me down, even bidding me a “good night” as I left. There is so much pain to be had following the end of this Fourth War, and so many share in the suffering caused by Sylvanas, perhaps that is enough to bring us together.
It is Ironic that she who sought to divide us and make war is the focus of our hatred and that which might just help to bring us together. Still… her stain upon the fabric of my people’s society and honour will be with us for generations, hanging over us like a bloody battle standard and memory.
Here with me are the men and women of The Tirisfallen.
I had not expected what my brother and I set out to do two months ago, which was little more than getting supplies to our people in Tirisfal and Orgrimmar would have turned into this community of like-minded undead.
Do you know what I find most remarkable though? How something so little as simply listening to their worries, or listening to them talk of their struggles, and even their former lives does to raise their spirits.
Had our people in undeath learnt not to listen, or had we learnt not to speak? I leave my journal on that question for tonight, and leave this page open on my desk for any who wish to read it.