'Bamboo Blackbeer, our galley master, has suggested that we remain cloaked and maneuver close enough to Plunder Isle for the amphibious squadron to intercept a dusin kegs of azerite-infused gunpowder. Duke Falrevere is going to be furious – I like it!
2 Likes
‘The cactus sample from our expedition to the Blasted Lands appears to be from an Efa’dara, which in Common is known as the Bittersap Cactus. According to Kuhuine they are native to Tanaris and is known to contain large quantities of sap. Fascinating.’
2 Likes
I opened an account at a bank in Orgrimmar today. I don’t like banks. I haven’t dealt with any in three years, I think. The problem is, Orgrimmar be too far from Dustwallow to send my money home. I can’t keep hauling around a bag full of other bags full of coins, either.
My account number is 356D. I sure hope nobody ever finds this journal.
4 Likes
Written in common:
“Tonight make Botanist second time. I think Sharon memory fog from drink. We had good trip. See many plants and Dark Portal. Talk with Mairead after. Learn new Common words. Mairead made of drink but memory not fog like Sharon. Why?”
4 Likes
‘I have received a letter from Elgin Clickspring informing me that she is currently preoccupied aiding something called Operation: Recombobulation, but otherwise willing to help deciphering the coded scroll within the fortnight. Efa’dara is on my mind.’
4 Likes
‘I spared her life. Still I do not know why. There was something in her eyes. Remorse? Fear? Dispair? I have seen it all before, but I let this one go. She was wearing the tabard of the Scarlet Crusade and her scent was somewhat anemic, but her soul seemed gentle. It was hope. There was hope in her eyes. May we never meet again.’
3 Likes
‘Elune, did you lead me to meet with this very troll this very day? We first met almost during another life. Our conversation was mutually furtive. Now back in Thistleshrub Valley. The cider is bitter, but not bad. It is time to return to Dalaran.’
3 Likes
It is only proper for a lady to keep a journal. Lady Linaria Duskweaver has exactly eighty such journals (which sounds a little less impressive if you know that they contain mostly research-related ramblings rather than juicy secrets or private thoughts of the magistrix), and every single one of them is a thing of beauty; clad in lacquered leather so smooth and glossy it looks like a surface of a black mirror, adorned with thin lines of silver ornaments and equipped with dangerous spellwork strong enough to rip off a full set of thieving fingers. Bleached pages are home to countless notes, all written in the same beautiful handwriting that can only be achieved after decades—if not centuries—of careful practice. All eighty of these journals form perfectly uniform black lines on the shelves of the lady’s study, rigid and stern just like their owner.
The new journal, number eighty-one, is different.
For starters, it’s not black. Instead, the glossy surface had been painted a vibrant shade of aquamarine. On the shelf it sticks out like an otherworldly bird-of-paradise lost in a murder of crows. A herald of change.
The mysterious and menacing magic of Sylvanas Windrunner eludes me still.
It has been yet another day full of hard work and no tangible progress to show for it. I had such high hopes for the most recent attempt at inter-wave scanning, and so the disappointing failure of this method stings deeply. What annoys me most is the fact that I have absolutely no clues, no leads, and no results to act as a reference point for future spellwork. Is the spell calibrated poorly, or am I simply going in the wrong direction? Perhaps the location is the reason why my scrying spell failed to register any traces of Sylvanas’ magic? Is there some other variable that I am missing? I cannot tell. I am grasping at smoke, both literally and figuratively.
No magic has the right to be so powerful and yet remain undetectable.
5 Likes
‘My thero’shan is in my dreams. I worry about Alunaria, just as Elerethe used to worry about me. These nights I long for the guidance of my shan’do. I shall hibernate to seek her out in the Emerald Dream. My quill will remain dormant until I return.’
3 Likes
‘There’s something wrong, there’s something wrong with me’
Inkeri pauses, takes a deep calming breath, and crosses out what she had just wrote with one bold stroke.
"Calm down," Aluneth’s (not his true name despite his claims because Aluneth was gone, destroyed, but it was still his name) deep voice chides her, echoing in the back of her mind and she feels a sense of awkwardness not her own, a sense of concern, and a phantom feel of a hand squeezing her shoulder.
Aluneth had been more, there, she supposed was the best word of it since her small episode at the Greenhouse.
She didn’t know where she was, she couldn’t see, but she could, but it didn’t make sense, and she was afraid because she didn’t know where she was, and then a voice, familiar, friendly, calming, and she had clung to it like she was drowning.
"I’m here," Aluneth offers in the back of her mind in the most awkward attempt of comfort he had tried yet.
“I know,” Inkeri doesn’t let the spark of annoyance–it’s easier to be angry then afraid, she had recently learnt–taint her voice. “Thank you.”
She stares at her words, the letters neat and not clumsy like her first attempts of writing when she had woken up in New Tinkerown, stared at the bold stroke that hid her admittance from the world, and she focused.
'Sharon seems to be relieved by stepping down from being the ‘Elder’ and it feels right that Dulvarinn is once again leading us.
There has been no more mention of the Old God, not yet, but I have already offered my help and I will help Sharon and her allies against it.’
Inkeri makes no mention of her fears, of that her recent confusion and episode may be a warning that she won’t be able to help, that she would be a hinderance instead.
She had sworn to help Sharon without hesitation, a few moments of confusion, of her memory being slightly worse than normal, that meant nothing.
She was fine, she was fine.
Aluneth was quiet, but she could feel how unconvinced he was by her repeated assurance.
There was an explosion–for once an welcome distraction–followed by the quickly becoming familiar burst of laughter of Ellinor Firespinner.
"What has she blown up this time?" Aluneth asks with some amusement and dread–the same mix of emotions the young gnome had invoked when she had cheerfully informed Inkeri that she was going to create her own Felo’melorn.
Because obviously the young gnome didn’t cause enough damage with her fire-magic at the moment.
Inkeri closes her journal, and heads off to see just what Ellinor has destroyed now and if she would have portal away a flood of water–again–because of Water Elementals’ attempts to help put out whatever Ellinor set on fire had gone a bit overboard.
She was fine, she reminded herself firmly.
5 Likes
I’ve been here in Uldum for over a week. It is really hot in the dessert. Things not be too boring…I met someone I never expected to see again. Very random place and time, but I guess that be how it is in real life instead of stories. I’m gonna go eat some desert.
3 Likes
‘For the record, I do not drink.’
Ayasha stares for a moment at her written declaration for a moment before she reached out for the mug of alcohol that Gravy had placed on her table, an understanding look at her expression–apparently he was well familiar with the Hand and the expressions that that exposure put on peoples’ face–and took an almost defiant sip as echoes of her teacher’s words “A Healer must always be ready, Plainswalker” ring in her head.
The Earthmother knew that she deserved this drink–and maybe a dozen more–and she was going to drink it, damn it all.
‘The Champion has been infused with azerite (because the woman wasn’t terrifying enough as she was), the Commander seems to regularly take most of her records, Keeper Ironglow (a paladin) was allergic to the Light, and Keeper Sunrose used to be a woman (what pronouns am I meant to use now?)’.
And that was just the highlights of what she had learnt.
‘And Kimble,’ Ayasha pauses as she tries to think of a way to describe Kimble.
Kimble, who had the shade of pink hair that Ayasha had only seen on Gnomes before and pink bunny ears to match.
Kimble, that messed up a spell, turned himself into a bunny, somehow turned himself back but with bunny ears, and decided to keep the ears because he liked them (and they strangely suited him).
Kimble, who declared that Ayasha had to join just because she handed him a sweet after healing him, who was polite and sweet, and–
‘Kimble was very much a mage,’ she finally decided to write, because mages in her experience were a special brand of crazy, and Kimble didn’t disapprove her theory.
‘The Hand seems to be filled with reckless, semi-suicidal idiots that the Earthmother blessed with truly impossible luck, and for some reason I still do not understand, I have decided that they are my idiots,’ Ayasha scowled down at her words, her admittance, and downed half the ale that Gravy had given her in one.
Ayasha should have taken one look at the special brand of sanity that the Hand played with and changed her mind, but Ayasha had been stubborn, had made her mind up, and had maybe already infected by their recklessness because she didn’t hesitate, had joined, and now refused to think about leaving.
“Earthmother,” she realises with a jolt of horror. “I have become one of those reckless idiots.”
Gravy gave her a sympathetic look as he placed down a second mug.
“I’ll keep ‘em comin’ for ya, mon,” Gravy informs her.
“Thank you,” Ayasha says with great feeling.
7 Likes
‘I have returned from the Eye of Ysera. It felt as if I was away for a few hours, but apparently a week has passed on Azeroth. The counsel of Elerethe was comforting as ever. She speaks the words of wisdom. However, I was also confronted with my urge to leave Azeroth behind and stay indefinitely within the Emerald Dream. It frightens me. When you gaze into the Rift of Aln, the rift also gazes into you.’
3 Likes
‘Tonight I travelled to Starfall Village and met with Rayne and Lyranne for a cup of tea. I am glad that they are both relatively well. My intention was to purchase a jug of milk from Lyranne, but she already knew for what purpose and gave it to me as a gift. In a way her sorrow resembles mine. Some of us lament the children lost, while others lament the children never had.’
4 Likes
‘Today the crew and I delivered the shipment of azerite-infused gunpowder to Madam Goya in the Underbelly. For this we received a score thousand of Sightless Eyes and a new contract. Within the Cantrips & Crows a group of drunkard warlocks rudely remarked upon my apparent lack of armour. Humans can be so stupid. They are getting themselves intoxicated within a floating city where the adept can conjure fire, frost and food out of thin air. Still they lack the imagination to understand how I may survive the melee skirmishes of seafare. A demonstration was in order. Imbeciles.’
2 Likes
‘I arrived at Dalaran during dawn. There were no vacancies at the Legerdemain Lounge, but ‘A Hero’s Welcome’ lived up to the name. There I bought a sack of gold wheat flour from Derek Odds for tomorrow. At this time of autumn there is a certain electricity in the air. It used to inspire serenity. Now I only feel melancholy. You can get addicted to a certain kind sadness.’
2 Likes
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get accurate measurements from a Night Elf? They’re so tall and twitchy! I had to get my step ladder out to get the right length for this dress. I’m going to be drowning in mooncloth over the next few days trying to make this thing. Don’t get me wrong, the dress is a beautiful design but… They are so TALL!!!”
5 Likes
I camped with two other people on guard duty for the last few nights. One of them be human, from Westfall. Family of farmers, just like mine, so we can talk without arguing about politics or anything else.
Loa, why do humans smell so bad? No matter how nice they be, I feel like I can’t breathe when they get close. He be big for a human, not like Kul Tiran, but big enough that if he stands near me, his scalp be close to my nose. That, and also every time he lifts his arms, I feel nauseous. I be a troll who lives in a swamp; it takes a lot to make me nauseous.
Then I thought: maybe I smell bad to him too? Do humans think trolls smell bad? Maybe all races smell equally bad, but people just get used to the smell of their own race.
4 Likes
‘On this special night I honoured the memory of my little Ithiluna. It was just Alunaria, Helgi and I solemnly united before the serenity of the afterlife. In a gratitude of what has been. Sometimes it hurts in grief, but sometimes it lasts instead.’
4 Likes
(Be nice to me, it has been a long time since I RPd and my hunter is kinda weird character…)
Raylen holds an old book which has been chewed on, either by him or his cat companion. For him, it was strange to write his memories into a journal, but his friend made a point. She said he would go crazy without it and that se would read it when he visits.
“I’ve seen the most weird thing today. Almost as weird as me taking NOTES. I spent some time exploring. My rations were low, so I had to replenish some at nearby town. I don’t like towns. They are full of people. But back to the point. I was on my way through the forest when I heard voices. An Orc and troll, I found out. I had my bow ready, just in case and I watched them as they walk around bushes I was hiding in when I noticed something odd. Not that they were alone in a contested territory, that was just stupid. But they were holding hands. Friends I thought. Out of curiosity which didn’t kill my cat, I followed them. I didn’t understood what they were saying, but they looked so relaxed. I wanted to shout at them that there is WAR going on. People are weird. So I tracked them to the to a point where they split up. But as they were saying their farewells, they KISSED. They could be attacked by any second and yet, there were they, kissing. Dear diary, book or whatever, if I start kissing you, send me home. I might be crazy. Oh and I lost another hearthstone, how expensive are those things?”
8 Likes