‘The mail arrived at nightfall. Nymia received word from her brother, Fhyron Shadesong, reporting that the entire sky above Icecrown has somehow been torn asunder and that the Scourge is once again running rampant and wreaking havoc. Furthermore, I have just received news from Maji that the Phoenix is currently anchored at a hidden cove on Tel’Abim while Captain Belore Brightsun is leading an elite party towards Northrend. Somehow these events are all connected and their outcome will no doubt have far-ranging effects across the face of Azeroth. In my heart, I already know what has happened and that the Ebon Blade is the key. I should not abandon my duties within the Cenarion Circle in this uncertain hour, but if Belore Brightsun aspires to travel beyond the eternal veil I must join her.’
Two weeks of moppin up Scourge in Durotar [the text is scratched out] well it didn’t pay off, but it got me something. One a those Urgent Crusade people came with our new CO here and just pointed at me and ten other troops, and poof, we be goin to Icecrown. Just like that.
Fon be goin to, so I not be too worried about the cold weather no more. I just wish the Urgent people would tell us more about what to expect on the ground there.
I forgot throwing dynamite is not socially acceptable. I had a lot on my mind. At first it was just crazy worgen wanting to infect the whole world with the worgen curse… And then the Realm of Death and its denizens, seeking to destroy our world (and us with it)…
But coming face to face with an army of feral worgen, and a huge, dreadful, nightmarish tentacle monster… Oh, and the cannibalism…
That made me forget about the dynamite rule.
This recent journal entry looks more rushed than the previous entries.
Ebon Blade made portal. Bolvar? Sent heroes through to find the missing VIPs. Forces in The Shadowlands want to destroy Azeroth and all its inhabitants. I joined one of the Ebon Blade squads sent to aid the heroes however we can. It’s crazy here.
For my family.
My journey to Ashamane’s Fall was disheartening. The scourge are here too. With luck, the Hand can aid rid these cursed creatures from this sacred place.
Northrend be cold as [the words have been scribbled out].
Fresh corpses don’t smell too nice, but undead corpses smell like [the words have also been scribbled out].
I be doin this for Azeroth, but damn, I hate Icecrown. This place be [yet more words have been scribbled out]. At least they assigned my lady to an outpost here. Those nights where I can sneak outta camp be a little less chilly. That be an even better reward that gettin to chop up undead minions all day.
In a somewhat enchanted personal journal, there is a recent entry.
Holy sh#%. We’re going to the Maw?! Or the Shadowlands… Or both… The Maw is in the Shadowlands, I suppose. But even being in that relatively pleasant Oribos place, gave the creeps. Bigtime. This where we’re supposed to go when we die… And I don’t want to do that anytime soon.
I didn’t get a chance to talk to John. He already went there, several days ago. I will try to get in touch with him through his Ebon Blade buddies.
Oh, Ebon Blade… Of course! Marshall can go in my stead. Perfect!
Squishy eyeballs and piglets on a stick!
The…
The line is filled with simple drawings of skulls whose faces are contorted by strong emotions. Some in horror, some in furious anger, and some in mad laughter.
We have been attacked by Sargeras himself, and The Burning Legion - twice! It almost seems like every few months, or maybe even every few weeks, some band of heroes saves the world from utter annihilation. Like that crazy wolf cult… Then the sky shattered above Icecrown, and word is, the ruling power in there wants to kill Azeroth’s world soul.
And now… Some mad super powerful) mage or whatever somewhere created … something that can devour the entire UNIVERSE.
In the end, I think we made the right decision.
[A journal with only half the pages filled lies mostly buried under the snow in Icecrown. Corpses of Scoure, random undead, and Argent Crusade volunteers litter the desolation on an icy spire marked by portal runes burned into the ground. Survivors mill about, carrying away and blessing the dead to prevent their reanimation and taking tally of those present. Unseen is the journal’s owner, along with the most recent entry.]
Urgent Crusade people say there be some sorta bad business goin on in the Shadowlands…I usually don’t believe a lotta that mumbo jumbo, but I signed up. Some leaders be missin, and I heard another volunteer say they be trapped in the SL. I seen a lotta stuff, but I dunno if this be legit. The Ebony Sword people be tryin to start a portal
[The entry remains unfinished. As more soldiers fill out a final report of a ritual gone wrong, they retreat to a more fortified position, leaving behind the journal. Snow falls on the last bits of the cover exposed to the open air, burying it along with the fallen forever.]
When I read about the Winter Veil feast, I immediately wanted to partake. I noticed an orc reading a similar post, but it was labeled Horde. She noticed me looking at her, and she smiled at me.
I went to visit Aimee and place an order for cakes, and I saw the same orc talking to her. This time she gave me a friendly nod when she saw me, and waved goodbye with a smile before leaving, when she had placed her order.
When I told Aimee what I wanted, she laughed softly and asked if I knew the orc.
I said no, and the elf grinned knowingly, not inquiring further.It has been a rough year, with the war, the old god nightmare, the Scourge resurgence, the shattered sky above Icecrown, and the Shadowlands; the very realm of death, suddenly opening up to the world…
I regret not having time to spend the entire evening with the Winter Veil celebrators, but I gave them the cakes before I had to leave.
Here’s to hoping next year will be less dramatic…
I do not regret crossing over into the Shadowlands. I am already noticing… that something’s not quite right. I offer soulstones and healthstones to adventurers and champions, in exchange for information.
I am at a loss for words. That poor, haunted druid did it… He somehow - quite strenuously and elaborately, from what I hear - made his way to the Shadowlands.
Alone.
Although supposedly, some allies will meet him there.
That poor, tormented soul… Well, I suppose that is the reason why he did it. To save a special soul from undeserved torment.
I hope I will see him again some day…
Light see him safe.
it’s official, the druid went insane.
wanting to save your wife? that’s one thing.
going through a veil which should not be crossed and risking forever being tormented with her? that’s another. this meeting with him was emotional, and seeing his loved Alorel ashen and crumble into dust hurt my soul. I gave him a rose to give his wife,either when he finds her or joins her.I hope the next winterveil will be less dramatic…
A series of frantic entries in the journal of Deezle Geargreaser.
Something’s changed. Don’t know what, but I can feel it.
Heard rumours that Council members have been taken by something. Alliance? Her?
Dead attacking everywhere. Scourge? I have to try to help fight.
Orcs don’t like fighting alongside a Demon, but Ziggy’s enjoying himself. Glad someone is. Tired.
Fighting’s stabilised, but Argent’s are calling for aid. Something about a hole in the sky? Can’t be good.
Worse than I thought. And more fighting. End of the world?
The last entry is a tad more coherent.
Got a moment of peace finally. Turns out the [inkblot] Queen beat the Lich King (Apparently there was one still?!) and ripped a hole into the afterlife. A rescue attempt apparently failed but now we have portals to some city on the other side. Don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I’m going to volunteer to head through. I might not be a big hero like some, but I might be able to help a bit.
Besides, there might be knowledge or something to gain. We all die sometime, so might as well make a head start on sorting out a good afterlife for myself.
The Champions of Azeroth have definitely not been idle, since venturing into the Shadowlands.
They have made contact with several “factions”, each situated in its own region of the Shadowlands.
I hear they call themselves ‘covenants’, and that they cooperate closely with the Champions.
Oribos is the hub that connects these ‘covenants’, and somehow someone there managed to open a portal back to Azeroth.
‘Alunaria!’
Even if the sound of his voice would did not give it away, she knows something is wrong.
There is no softness in his gaze as usual. The glare alone feels like an act of violence.
‘How…What…?!’
He regains his composure. Looks at her like never before.
‘You. I trusted you. You told me, they would never reveal the altar to anyone. Your friends. You vowed it would never be used for personal gain. You promi-…
I trusted you! For our friendship! For your display of care towards nature, for your devotion to druidism. This was meant only for that! How could they?! How could…’
‘…You…Is this safeguarding the land to you?’
His failed attempt to sound even remotely kind settles across his forehead in deep lines of concern.
‘Have you seen the state they have left it in?’
He gestures in despair towards the mountain.
‘Keep. Up.’
He is already on his way. She follows. Passing by the guardian of the Shrine. Nothing but disappointment in his eyes.
It echoes in her head. Betrayal of her trust.
What meets her eye when they arrive is surreal.
Sheer anguish rips through her core.
The shrine. Shattered beyond recognition.
Much like her trust. The trust she placed in them. And the trust he placed in her.
He begins to pick up a few pieces. Tosses them quickly aside in hopelessness. Shouting at her, much louder than he first intended.
‘The altar breaks upon being used for own personal gain, if not blessed by the spirits. You know this!
Nothing about what took place here was natural. Look to the sky. Nothing is as it should be. They are in a neverending state of torment now…’
He shakes his head in disbelief.
‘…I will find it hard to forgive this.’
As it begins to dawn on her, what has taken place, her anguish turns into rage. Concealing what other emotions are too difficult to handle.
He tears her crown of antlers off of her and tosses them in the snow. Regrets it a moment after.
She drops to her knees. Frantically picks them up. Reattaches them. Secures them in place. Now, more than ever. He gives her a hand. She rises.
‘…So will I.’
…The snow beneath her feet turns to water. For them. For her. For him. For the spirit animals.
For nature… 
[The handwriting is rushed, as if the writer was distracted. Rather than ink, the entry is written in dried troll blood.]
The Maw. That be where we ended up. I got this book from a refuse pile and tore out the used pages…gotta record everything in case I don’t make it outta here. They be destroyin souls in here, like sacrificin people forever, and they not be comin back…we be outnumbered, stranded, and outmaneuvered, but that not be what scares me the most.
I was supposed to have dinner with my lady on the day I got stuck here. I be more scared to go home and explain to her why I didn’t show up than anythin down here.
Between crumpled up pieces of parchment lie four almost identical letters. Surprisingly few words have made it into the final versions, considering the apparent number of trial runs it took to write them, which is indicated by the wasted parchment littering the rickety table and the floor around it.
A large black spot on the opposite wall and broken pieces of glass on the floor below it, bear witness of a temper flared, which sent the ink pot flying across the room. The fiery haired dwarf picks up one of the letters from the desk and re-reads it one last time.
Dear Kuhuine,
It saddens me to tell you that Dulvarinn has entered the Shadowlands by choice. The druid passing the veil may have severe repercussions for the Band. Not least, because of the timing and manner in which he chose to pass it. The ritual he used to prepare himself for his voyage was witnessed by some Band members and associates, none of which knew of the significance of the place he performed it, except for Dulvarinn himself. I do, and so do you. Given the ‘nature’ of the place, damage may have been done to it’s ‘spirit’.
Since there is nothing we can do for the druid himself at this stage, those committed to the future of the Band must focus on that which we may influence. We need to discuss any repercussions of Dulvarinn’s passing. Please indicate by return letter if you would be able to meet in the Greenhouse next day of the moon, so we may discuss these matters. I shall invite Alunaria. Given her connection to the druid and the place, she may already know.
Sincerely yours,
Helgi Helstrøm
Post Scriptum
I shall arrange for those that witnessed the ritual to give account of it.
He looks at the headings of the other three letters.
Dear Sharon,…Dear Uda,…Dear Alunaria…
In a journal worn by travels, and (poorly) carved with skulls, there is a relatively recent entry, in functional, but crude handwriting.
It has been an eventful evening.
It bothered me for a long time, that she dropped me into the Dalaran crater all those months ago. In fact, I mentioned it to her just before we started out on our mission tonight - sort of as a warning to our new crew member.Then she told us her mother is a demon.
I know I am not a model citizen, myself… And as far as I know, my mother was fairly normal. I suppose this explains some of the … erratic behavior.
We went to the demons’ lair, and slew about a dozen of them, working our way deeper into their lair.
We saw a fel murloc, of all things, in there. It seemed to be more or less indifferent about our presence, so we left it alone.There was a chamber with exquisite music and partying demons, which we ignored. Our goal was to slay the leader, and she was not attending the party.
We finally found the demon leader, and apparently they were working to free Sargeras, so we attacked her.
She was quite powerful, so we took some damage, but she cowardly escaped through a demonic portal before we could end her.She ordered one of her minions to kill us - a big, fiery thing.
We whittled him down, still taking some injuries ourselves, but cowardly like his boss, he hid behind a shield when we were about finish him.As we were wondering how to work around his shield, that fel murloc came back, and broke the demon’s shield with what seemed like a combined fel rush and infernal strike.
Our demon-mothered mage froze the unshielded demon, and our new member shattered him.
I must remember to ask John to get me some of those invisibility things, they would have been very helpful tonight, to bypass some of those demons.
Although I suppose the universe is a little bit safer since we slew them.
I recieved an invitation from The Botany Band, to a meeting in the Greenhouse in Dalaran, on The Broken Isles, this evening at eight. It seems Dulvarinn’s going away was even more dramatic than it initially seemed… Which is really saying something.
I will attend, although I am unsure how I can help.