[N-RP] Evermore Entries

What would we read if we could get a tiny glimpse into the journals of our characters as they live out their daily lives on the adventurous paths of Azeroth? Small snippets on their comings and goings? An ale at the tavern? Mischief managed? Or perhaps in time a thousand tales of heroes and monsters, lovers and infidels, battles and tragedies? After all, it is a dangerous business going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. If I show you mine, will you show me yours?

‘My travels have brought me to Coldridge Valley in Dun Morogh, where I was well received by the dwarves of Anvilmar. This evening I enjoyed a peculiar meal consisting of a mild cheese served with a steaming dark brew called ‘scalding mornbrew’. I have dearly missed the snows of my homeland, but also been warned to stay inside the station during the night. However, the dwarves are diurnal and so is their advice. The cold never bothered me anyway.’

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Hello and welcome ! :wink: I play Rainblood an human war female just like that one much yet younger.

I am revisiting her past, hope to see you in game someday !

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I’ve never kept a journal before. Life at sea did not allow for it, at least not for one of my lowly status, but out of sheer boredom I’ve decided to give it a try.

I’ve not been in Stormwind for long. It’s strange how many people seem unaware their city has a harbour but then again it’s nothing special compared to the rest of the city’s splendour. I was told plans were being made to build the rest of it. Something that never happened due to the builders not being paid. There is more to that story but I see no point in wasting ink on it.

Some folks give me strange looks. I don’t mind since I tend to ogle anyone in shining armour that crosses my path but my next step will certainly be to acquire a more proper attire. Not to avoid the attention, mind you. The other day some children asked if I was a real pirate and I found it delightful. No, this place is in fact quite chilly.

I just have to make some more money first. I was sure my cargo would buy me more but at least, for now, I have a roof over my head.

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‘After the blizzard of yesternight we finally awoke to an argent sky. Currently, I have established camp with my local guide, a dwarven mountaineer named Thura Thunderbrew, who has been commissioned to observe and register wendigo activity near the Grizzled Den in Dun Morogh. Mostly we take shifts in our chores as I sleep during the day and she during the night, but we have also enjoyed sharing songs and stories in the tent while the snows roared around us. In the evening we shall travel to Kharanos where Thura will introduce me to her family. Perhaps they can aid me in my search?’

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‘I have come to understand that the art of brewing is more to the dwarves than mere means of nourishment: It is a profound matter of exaltation. As dwarves and elves both are social and hierarchical creatures, I can relate to their ardent approach to ale. Yesternight, Marleth Barleybrew of Brewnall Village asked me to secretly switch a cask of Thunder Ale with her Barleybrew Scalder in the Thunderbrew Distillery in Kharanos. I managed to fulfill her request without Jarven Thunderbrew noticing my presence, but I cannot help but feel ambivalent about this kind of aid. May Elune guide us through pride and prejudice!’

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It was nothing special. And why should it be, the grave was empty. Just a little something for others to remember him by. This would not have been done if Jonathan had not been a champion to his people. His crusade against the crusade was valiant but bound to end like this. I play the widow’s part and pretend to mourn. I can only hope he did not suffer in his final moments.

I don’t know what kind of man he was in life but he had taken to undeath like fish to water and a liking to me even faster. The moment he professed his love for me and proposed felt so surreal I could only say yes, so for the second time, I became a corpse bride.

“You were the only one who could make him laugh,” said a familiar voice behind me. It was our dear friend Leonard, whose magic I depend on to sustain my withered frame, come to pay his respect.

“Kind of you to say, but that cannot be true.” I curtsied.

“It’s true. The man was serious to a fault but I think he can rest now, knowing he fought well and secured you lands and titles.”

“He secured me a cage,” I spat.
Leonard turned to look at me with confusion in his eerily glowing eyes.

“You know better than anyone that I am dying, again. I would already be gone if not for you.” My voice was even hoarser than usual. “Yet I’ve never lived, I never used this second chance we have right now, I’ve just been wasting away, literally!”

I fell to my knees, trembling. Surely tears would be streaming down my cheekbones if I still had eyes. Leonard said nothing as he knelt beside me, his hands on my shoulders as I writhed and wailed.

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‘Today, I finally reached the mountain where Thura described her grandfather to dwell. Tundra MacGrann greeted me warmly by the entrance of his cave and offered a steaming pint of beer. I tried my best to socialise with what little Dwarven I have learned so far, but I did not dare to ask about his reason for bringing a huge cauldron and barrels of gunpowder to a snowy mountain top. There is so much I still do not understand about the people of the Eastern Kingdoms!’ :mountain_snow:

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I want to tell someone but fear of losing the connection again prevents me from doing so. Hence I, Thungor Cloudquaker, write it.

I’ve spent a full decade trying to communicate with the elements once more but to no avail.
They have been as silent as my ancestors and for many years I simply accepted it as punishment.
But this new Horde has given me hope. Not hope for regaining the respect I once demanded as my clan’s farseer, I was never worth such honor for I failed and damned my people. No, I hope that I may atone for the past and guide the young in the ways my generation almost robbed them of.

Last night I made a breakthrough but it was not without aid. Help arrived from the least likely source; one of the Forsaken, as they call themselves. I tend to avoid their kind, not out of hatred but of shame as they remind me of Gul’dan’s Death Knights. Something I need to reevaluate.
The cheerful living-dead man was a traveling merchant. I had no interest in his wares and least of all the “food” he offered until he brought forth something he swore was a delicacy among his people; mushrooms that looked similar to those I had gathered back on the old world.

I had not allowed myself to hope it would work but at least the broth tasted good. I laid down, feeling it’s warmth in my gut as I gazed into the night’s sky and then beyond it. It was as if a door had opened, I felt the earth, I felt the air and I felt truly alive as shapes and colours not of this plane danced around my very spirit.

Then I heard them. Those voices could not be my ancestors, I thought, they sounded so very young to my ears. But that they were. I simply had not realized that I am now older than any of my predecessor had lived to be. Hence they had no wisdom to part with besides the fact I will indeed join them once the time arrives.

I woke up in the baking Durotar sun, feeling an unfamiliar calm. My legs were shaking a little as I rose and dusted myself off.
I felt thirst but it would be some time until I reached the river. Without really thinking about it, I asked for rain.
And the skies answered.

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‘Astarii told me that it would happen sooner or later. When we sacrificed our immortality during the Battle of Mount Hyjal, we quickly learned that mortality leads to aging, illness and death. For an entire lunar cycle I have been pathetically bedridden at the Thunderbrew Distillery far away from home. Thura, who refers to this ailment as ‘stone fever’ has kindly tended to me all this time and even escorted me this morning for a small walk in the newfallen snow in Kharanos. I must continue my journey. Elune, give me strength!’ :face_with_thermometer:

‘The foreboding whispers of whiteout howled in the distance as I reached the Gol’Bolar Quarry. There I enquired with foreman Stonebrow who was clearly frustrated by the quarry being infested by a type of creatures he referred to as ‘troggs’. One of the miners, a sturdy man named Grothor, offered me a bowl of tundra soup by the fire and remarked that all their excavated artifacts were still stored in a crate within the mine. Albeit perilous, a closer inspection may be required. Fandu-dath-belore?’ :bowl_with_spoon: