Through the Eye of the Quill - Lucius Walker's Private Journal

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Lucius, once a celebrated priest of the Light in Gilneas, is a man of quiet strength and dedication. His dark hair frames a face marked by time and experience, while his piercing blue eyes reveal a life spent in service to others—though his right eye, now clouded and sightless, hides something unspoken.

To the world, Lucius is a steadfast figure of faith, offering clear and candid advice to those who seek it. He is known for his unwavering commitment to his duties, guiding others with straightforward counsel. Yet the blind eye, though it sees nothing, may conceal a truth Lucius himself has yet to fully comprehend.

In his quieter moments, Lucius is a scribe, diligently keeping a journal to track the people he meets, the events that shape his path, and the twists of fate that guide him through Azeroth. His writings are concise, yet they hold much—scraps of information, thoughts, and fleeting observations—an ongoing record of a life lived on the edge of light and darkness.

Journal Entry 633: Whispers in the Ruins

I’ve spent the past few days combing through the ruins in the Gilneas. It wasn’t an easy trek, but the sense of anticipation kept me moving, driven by something I can’t quite explain. There was an artifact, ancient and weathered, buried beneath the ruins of a forgotten tower. The moment my fingers touched it, something… stirred. It was as though a shadow, subtle and fleeting, whispered in my mind, urging me to examine it more closely.

The artifact is a single, blank page, its edges worn and frayed, yet somehow pulsing with a faint, unsettling energy. Resting beside it lies a quill, its surface smooth and almost unnaturally cold to the touch. The quill’s ink seems to shimmer in the light, and its tip, though perfectly sharp, feels like it’s almost alive. Together, they exude a sense of dark power, as if they are waiting for something—or someone—to give them purpose.

I’ve been cautious with it, as I always am with unknown relics, but there’s something about it that’s different. The feeling is difficult to describe—like a connection to something distant, something older than the Light itself. For the first time, I can almost hear it calling to me, beckoning. It’s as if it knows my secrets, my doubts, and it wants to reveal them. I’m not foolish enough to let it consume me, but I must admit, part of me wonders what might happen if I let it… guide me.

I’ll continue to study it, but I can’t help but feel that this is more than just another artifact.

Journal Entry 806: The Cost of Knowing

Sebastien and I sat in his study, the quill and page laid before us. The mystery of the artifact had eluded us for weeks. We had tried everything we could think of—looking for patterns in the quill’s movements, observing the way the page reacted to our touch—but nothing had come of it. Every time we picked it up, it remained inert, a silent, mocking presence between us.

Today, though, something felt different. The air was thick with anticipation, as though the artifact itself were urging us to uncover its secrets. Sebastien, his brow furrowed, stared at the page. I could see the same frustration mirrored on his face as I felt within myself.

“We’re missing something,” Sebastien muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “There has to be more to it than this.”

I nodded in agreement. The quill had always moved, but it never felt like it was doing anything useful. It was as if it required something more—something we hadn’t yet given it.

That’s when it happened.

Without thinking, I took the quill in my hand, feeling its weight as if it were pulling me into its orbit. Without consulting Sebastien, I wrote the simplest thing I could think of: What is this artifact?

The moment the words appeared on the page, the quill snapped to life. The ink glowed a faint purple, and before I could react, the question was gone—erased in an instant. But something had changed. The quill was now writing of its own accord, the answer appearing in front of us.

The words were a riddle, cryptic and unsettling:

To ask is to see the path. To question is to bear the weight of knowledge. A heart of flame, a path unseen. A curse, a gift, a price to pay.

I looked at Sebastien, unsure of what it meant. Neither of us could make sense of it, but it didn’t matter. We had learned something important: the quill and the page only responded to questions, and once a question was asked, the answer was written, regardless of our will.

The artifact was alive with power, but at what cost?

It didn’t take long for the riddle to make sense. The page had given us a clue, and with it, I understood. There was a fire, a house burning with children inside. The path to save them was hidden beneath the blaze—if I could find it, I could rescue them.

I didn’t know how the artifact had shown me this, but it was undeniable. It was as if the very answer had been burned into my mind, as though the riddle had opened my eyes to the truth of what was happening.

Without speaking, I grabbed my cloak and headed out of Sebastien’s house, leaving him behind. The artifact had already given me the answer I needed, and I was driven by it. Sebastien didn’t fully understand, but I knew he would follow if he could.

I found the house, its flames stretching toward the heavens, but I wasn’t afraid. The riddle had guided me here, and I followed it down into the cellar, where the children were hidden. I carried them out, saving them from the fire that consumed the rest of the house.

But when I returned to Sebastien’s home, a horrible realization took hold of me. Sebastien was on the floor, his body unmoving, his eyes wide in fear.

I had left him behind, but the artifact had not.

The moment I saw him, I understood. The artifact had cursed him. Sebastien was paralyzed—his body frozen, unable to move or speak. The cost of the knowledge I had gained was not just a riddle—it was the price of Sebastien’s health.

I had been so focused on the answers, so eager to follow the path the quill had shown me, that I hadn’t realized how much it was costing him. The curse was already taking hold of him, and now I wondered: was I too late to save him from it?

As I write this, I feel the weight of what I have done. The artifact’s power is undeniable, but the consequences of its use are far greater than I could have ever anticipated. And now, with Sebastien gone to shadow, I must ask myself…

What price am I willing to pay for the answers it gives?

Journal Entry 1397: A Journey Begins Anew

Years I’ve spent in the quiet corners of the world, shrouded in solitude. The flicker of candlelight, the scratch of my quill, the endless echo of my thoughts—this has been my existence. But today, as I closed another tome filled with half-answers, I felt an unfamiliar stirring. Restlessness.

It’s not enough anymore to sift through relics and texts, piecing together fragments of ancient truths. My path leads elsewhere now. The answers I seek may not lie in dusty ruins or forgotten libraries but among the living. Their stories, their experiences, their struggles—they might hold the key to understanding the artifact and the shadows it carries.

I’ve decided to go to Stormwind. A strange choice, perhaps, for one like me, but the city calls to me. It is a hub of knowledge and opportunity, a place where scholars, adventurers, and wanderers converge. Surely, among them, I can find those willing to lend their skills—or their stories—to my quest. And perhaps, in helping others, I’ll uncover allies who can help me in return.

There is unease in this decision. The artifact feels heavier tonight, as if resisting my resolve. A whisper brushed the edge of my consciousness as I packed my tools, faint but undeniable: “You’ll regret this.”

I won’t let it stop me. Whatever this thing is—whatever it wants—I cannot let it dictate my choices. Stormwind awaits, with its sprawling streets and endless possibilities.

Tomorrow, I set out. For the first time in years, I’ll leave behind the silence and step into the unknown.

Journal Entry 1407: Arriving Among Stories

I stepped off the ship in Stormwind Harbor, the scent of saltwater and stone mixing with the air. Adjusting the strap of my leather backpack, my fingers brushed the edges of my journal, a familiar comfort.

As I made my way through the crowded streets, the city’s charm hit me as it always did—history and progress intertwined in every corner. I found my feet carrying me toward the park, drawn by the hum of life that echoed through the trees. There, beneath the shade of a few scattered oaks, people from all walks of life moved about—merchants calling out their wares, children’s laughter ringing through the air, soldiers taking a break from their duties. I paused for a moment, taking in the scene, the vibrant mixture of faces, the ebb and flow of lives intersecting. Finding a quiet bench, I pulled out my journal, the pages creaking open as I began to observe.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the stories of those around me, stories that, perhaps, I might one day write.

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Journal Entry 1411: Of Wizards, Wanderers, and Whispers

Yesterday was… peculiar. My day began with an elf who appeared to be following me for no discernible reason. At first, I thought perhaps she mistook me for someone else, but when I confronted her, she simply shrugged and gave no clear explanation. It was odd, to say the least. Her demeanor—bright-eyed and strangely innocent—gave me the impression she wasn’t the sharpest blade in the scabbard. She introduced herself as Blue, though whether that was her name or a nickname, I didn’t ask. I’ve learned that such details often don’t matter when dealing with certain types of people. What caught my attention, however, was her impulsiveness. I suspect her curiosity stems from an underlying insecurity, a need to prove herself to others. A useful trait, perhaps, should I need it.

Our conversation attracted a wizard, a peculiar man with an air of quiet arrogance. Blue, in her curiosity, asked if he could perform a magic trick. To my surprise, the wizard obliged and shrank himself to the size of a mouse. The sight was both comical and unnerving. Blue immediately wanted to pick him up and perch him on her shoulder like some kind of pet or trophy. I’m not sure what surprised me more—the wizard’s willingness to humor her or her sheer audacity. When he returned to his original size, I managed to ask his name: Ardimor. He admitted it wasn’t his birth name, but that hardly matters. Names are mutable, as is the truth. What matters is that I can now reach out to him when needed. He claims to dabble in several schools of magic. Perhaps his knowledge could be of use in deciphering the secrets of my quill and page.

Blue, for all her apparent foolishness, revealed a few things about herself. She prides herself on her strength and claims that men often challenge her to fights. She doesn’t win often, which she admitted with a mix of shame and defiance. Her self-awareness is… curious. She’s very conscious of her appearance, mentioning she is tall but has “skinny elbows.” An odd detail to fixate on, but it speaks volumes about her. She seems to be the sort who seeks validation in strange ways, whether by picking fights or seeking attention through her unusual antics. Her strength, combined with her impulsive and curious nature, could make her easy to manipulate if the need arises. Still, I’m not sure if I have much use for her beyond amusement.

As for Ardimor, I will keep an eye on him. His casual display of magic and his claim to mastery over multiple schools intrigues me. If he’s willing—or foolish enough—to entertain Blue’s childish whims, then he may be open to discussing more serious matters. I wonder if he could provide insight into the workings of my artifact. It is a risk, of course, but if he can shed light on the quill and page, the knowledge gained may outweigh the cost. For now, I’ll observe and consider my next move carefully.

As I set the quill down, its nib hovered briefly above the page, and then, as if stirred by its own volition, it began to whisper words into the silence:

“Trust neither too deeply. Seek Ardimor again; he is useful. Avoid questions about the artifact. Blue watches more than she says. Be wary of her.”

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Journal Entry 1412: A Kind Stranger and Nessie’s Tale

Yesterday, I was graced by two encounters, both unexpected yet memorable in their own ways.

While standing near Lion’s Rest in the Mage District, lost in thought over my notes, a kind woman approached me. She offered me the shelter of her umbrella as the rain began to fall—a gesture so simple yet profoundly warm. She spoke fondly of the rain, of how its scent and sound brought her peace, and how it encouraged her to move and stretch freely. I found myself sharing my recent story about the elf and wizard, which seemed to amuse her. Her laughter lingered even as she departed. Yet, in my preoccupation, I neglected to ask her name. I hope for another chance to meet her, to thank her properly and learn more about her.

Later, while praying in the cathedral, I heard the sound of a stumble. A woman tripped and fell nearby but quickly got to her feet, brushing it off with an air of practiced resilience. She introduced herself as Nessie and spoke briefly of being accustomed to hard surfaces, even mentioning her hard bed with a tone of indifference. Our conversation turned to reading—a skill I hold in high regard but which she dismissed as unimportant. She favors novels, yet I believe there is much more she could discover through reading. Perhaps, should I meet her again, I might guide her toward other realms of thought and imagination.

After my time in the Cathedral of Light, I took a walk through Stormwind, following the path from the cathedral to a quieter back alley. Along the way, I was struck by the surprising number of Dracthyr scattered throughout the city. Their presence was far greater than I had anticipated; clusters of them stood in conversation, their imposing forms drawing the eyes of passersby. Their draconic features seemed out of place among the familiar stone streets of Stormwind, yet they appeared calm and assured, as though this was a second home to them. Further along, I noticed two gnomes deep in discussion. Though their words were lost to me, their animated gestures and occasional sparks of excitement suggested a topic of a technical or engineering nature—perhaps some grand invention or peculiar contraption. Their enthusiasm brought a small smile to my face, a reminder of the many layers of life bustling within the city walls.

As the final word is written, the quill begins to move on its own, tracing new words across the page in a flowing, deliberate hand:

“Return to Lion’s Rest when the rain falls again. She will come to you. Bring Nessie a book—one not of fiction, but of wonder. Show her the magic hidden in the mundane, and she will see beyond her self-doubt.”

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Journal Entry 1413: Whispers of Hollowfall and Curious Stone

This morning, I strolled through Stormwind, from the cathedral to the harbor. The streets were eerily empty, save for a few workers quietly attending to their tasks. I couldn’t help but wonder where everyone was and what occupied their time. There’s a stillness to the city I don’t often appreciate as much as I would like—an unsettling yet peaceful calm.

As the morning wore on, I encountered a knightly figure who introduced himself as Lainder Ignis, Paladin of the Secret Flame. He seemed to be a traveler much like myself, staying at inns and northern barracks. Lainder revealed that he and his kin were in Stormwind to study history. He seemed well-versed in a wide range of topics—fel and demons, the Horde, undead, naga, and even the histories of humans and dwarves. An impressive breadth of knowledge, truly.

Lainder spoke of his origins in the Arathian Empire. His current mission involves an expedition to secure a place called Hollowfall, a holy site. His words hinted at their struggle to stay in contact with their empire—an isolation that made their mission feel both noble and dire. He recommended the inn in the Dwarven District as a good place to stay. We parted ways soon after, but I hoped we might meet again.

As fate would have it, we did. Later in the afternoon, while out for another walk, I ran into Lainder once more. He spoke of how the Alliance reminds him of his homeland’s military and faith—a respect he holds in high regard. Our conversation turned again to Hollowfall and something called Beledar, a massive crystal lodged in an underground cave. Lainder explained that the crystal emanates power, its song and flame sending visions. Their emperor, and others among the Arathi, have been guided by these visions. They believe Beledar could bring victory against someone, or something, called Renilash—an enemy I know nothing about.

Lainder’s familiar, Ella, joined us briefly. Her cheerfulness lifted the mood, though Lainder’s words about Beledar turning to void, thinning the barrier between light and dark, lingered in my mind. Could Hollowfall hold answers about the cursed quill and page? Perhaps Stormwind was a wise stop after all.

Taking Lainder’s advice, I made my way to the dwarven inn to book a room for the night. On the way, I almost collided with Nessie, who was rushing about as usual. She told me about a tall traveler named Sigmund who had invited her to join him on his journeys. She seemed hungry, so I gave her a few sandwiches from my pack. I regret not sharing one of the old books from my collection—perhaps next time.

Before Nessie rushed off, a peculiar dwarf made of brown stone with green crystals embedded in his body approached us. Nessie introduced him as Gondrek, a “good man,” though I’ve never seen anyone quite like him. Gondrek seemed curious about his surroundings, asking for directions to a field. I accompanied him partway, guiding him toward the area near the inn. Along the way, he stopped abruptly at the sight of a large rat and began scribbling notes. His fascination amused a passerby who chuckled as they walked by.

After showing Gondrek the fields, I finally settled at the dwarven inn, the Golden Keg. It’s been a long, eventful day, and my thoughts are heavy with curiosity. This Hollowfall—this crystal—may hold a connection to the void and light, to secrets I have yet to uncover. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will begin piecing it together. For now, I will rest.

As I close the journal, the quill stirs to life, gliding smoothly across the page to form new words:

Your path begins where stone meets flame.
Uncover the name forgotten in ash.
Follow the shadow that does not move.
A question unasked will light the way,
And only then will the crystal call you.

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Journal Entry 1414: Wandering Stormwind’s Clues

Stormwind is bustling this afternoon. I walked from the Golden Keg to Lion’s Rest, letting my thoughts drift to the clues I’ve been given. Crowds fill every street, as though the entire city has poured out into the open. It’s lively, yes, but overwhelming. I cannot recall seeing it this busy before.

At Lion’s Rest, I spotted Nessie, moving briskly as always, this time accompanied by a man. Sigmund, perhaps? It hardly matters. My mind is fixed on the first clue: “Where stone meets flame.” What could it mean? A location? A metaphor? I’ve been circling the possibilities but cannot yet pin it down. A book might help, but where does one even begin to search for such obscure guidance?

I returned to the Cathedral of Light to pray, hoping to quiet my thoughts. Oddly, it feels different here—less connected, somehow. Is it the Cathedral itself? Or perhaps it’s the city’s ceaseless energy that mutes the voice I seek? A strange notion, but one I cannot shake.

Lainder’s advice about the Cathedral’s study bore no fruit; their tomes yielded nothing useful. I tried asking around at the Shady Lady—a decision I’m not proud of—but the patrons there had little insight beyond their drinks. Stormwind Keep’s archivists seemed a promising avenue, but when I arrived, the office was empty. Recruitment posters scattered throughout the city suggest they are sorely understaffed.

Am I pursuing this the wrong way? Perhaps my old notes hold some overlooked fragment of wisdom. I will head back to the Golden Keg, have some tea, and revisit my research with a fresh eye.

As I sipped my tea, I overheard a dwarf and a woman talking. Their voices carried easily in the lively air of the tavern. The dwarf mentioned Gilneas—my homeland—and spoke of a secret underground fighting ring called Rival’s Den, led by someone named Yazmin. He urged the woman to keep it quiet, though his booming voice betrayed his request. Typical.

Gilneas weighs heavily on my heart, though I doubt this “Rival’s Den” has any bearing on the artifact. I’m relieved it’s nothing worse. My homeland has endured enough strife already.

For now, I will press on. The answer lies somewhere, waiting to be uncovered.

“Where stone meets flame, a shadow waits. The cost of questions is always paid.”

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Journal Entry 1416: “Where Stone Meets Flame”

After the unfruitful search two days ago, I’ve decided to approach this differently. Instead of diving into books and losing myself in endless theories, perhaps I should turn to others for insight. The mysteries of the quill and page may be too vast for one mind to solve alone. Stormwind is bustling with people, after all. Surely, I can find someone willing to help.

Still, I can’t deny a hint of hesitation. Since Sebastien’s passing, I’ve avoided forming bonds. Trusting others feels… difficult. A warm cup of tea might give me the courage to venture out and see what today brings.

As fate would have it, I ran into Lainder and Nessie again. The two seem to cross my path more often than chance should allow. Nessie has been learning potion-making under Doctor Mei, I assume an alchemist of some renown, and today she was entertaining herself by playing with Scamp, Lainder’s lynx. I briefly considered giving Nessie a book about alchemy—perhaps “The Elixirs of Eternity” or “The Alchemist’s Ecplipse”—as a gesture of encouragement in her studies.

Together, we discussed the riddle left by the quill. There’s always something unsettling about speaking the words aloud, as if doing so might invite more than I bargained for. But I needed their input, so I relented:
“Your path begins where stone meets flame,
Uncover the name forgotten in ash.”

Their insights were intriguing. Nessie’s first thought was of a blacksmith. Lainder suggested places like a volcano, the cathedral, the mage district, or even the docks. He thought “flame” could symbolize sunlight or even the Light itself. Nessie hesitated but eventually mentioned the catacombs—an idea that holds some weight. Ashes of the dead might be what I am supposed to find. An older man named Grimsain, who joined our conversation, fixated on light sources like lanterns and candles. Perhaps his mind wandered, or perhaps he saw something the rest of us missed.

Lainder then reminded us that not all names are on the memorial at Lion’s Rest. His suggestion carried a somber weight I couldn’t ignore.

In the midst of this, I learned my name had been mentioned at the Stormwind Academy that morning. Grimsain claimed the words were mostly positive, though accompanied by the inevitable whispers of gossip. The thought of being noticed by such an institution is both humbling and disconcerting. Perhaps it’s time I pay them a visit myself.

More faces joined us as the day unfolded. A married couple—Caellun and Willow—entered the scene, their attention focused on Scamp. They shared a lighthearted debate on the reliability of blimps versus ships, while Lainder offered some unexpected insight into the Arathi’s use of airships to cross the Storming Sea. Grimsain proclaimed, with dramatic conviction, that he would rather face a horde of demons than set foot on an airship. His aversion was unshakable, even when Lainder jokingly asked if he’d reconsider should Nerubians attack him. Grimsain’s answer was resolute, accompanied by a visible shudder.

Amidst all the chatter, Nessie’s attempt to throw a stick ended up sending Scamp and Galahad, the couple’s dog, straight at Lainder. The poor man was toppled to the ground, much to everyone’s amusement.

Before long, two elves—a Kaldorei and a half-elf—joined the gathering. Their presence added to the lively atmosphere, but I decided it was time to excuse myself. Tomorrow, Lainder and I will start investigating the riddle’s locations. Either the memorial or the blacksmith seem like a good start.

For now, I’ll prepare for what lies ahead. Maybe the Academy holds some answers as well. I should pay them a visit.

“Beneath the hearth where shadows dance, a forgotten name begins to stir. Seek the ashes, but beware the flame.”

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Journal Entry 1417: “The Whispered Path”

Today, I embarked on a journey led by the suggestions of my newfound companions. My steps first took me to the Dwarven District, where I passed the ever-present giant rat. Its unremarkable presence reminded me of the Earthen’s innocent curiosity—a humorous thought as I made my way to the blacksmith.

The blacksmith’s forge was alive with the ring of hammers and the glow of molten metal. It was a sight that instilled a rare sense of optimism. Hard work and determination, I thought, are the cornerstones of a steady future. Yet, despite my thorough inspection of every anvil and fire, every pile of ash and ember, the whispers I sought eluded me. There was nothing out of the ordinary—no secrets, no shadows, only the honest craft of smiths.

Later, on the bridge between the Cathedral and the Dwarven District, I crossed paths with Lainder. We spoke briefly about my lack of findings at the blacksmith before setting out for Lion’s Rest. Flame and stone had guided us here, to the memorial where names etched in stone stood as a testament to the past. Lainder’s conjured torch illuminated the plaque, and as I reached to clear the dirt from its surface, a familiar chill raced through me.

Then, the whispers came:

“Beneath the ground where legends rest,
The path lies dark, a silent test.
Among the tombs where echoes call,
The hidden truth awaits us all.”

Lainder, who also heard the whisper, declared without hesitation that we didn’t need to ponder further. To him, the message was clear. We had to venture into the catacombs. Outwardly, I agreed, but inwardly, I wrestled with unease. The simplicity of the riddle gnawed at me. Rarely had the artifact offered such a straightforward clue. Its riddles were typically cryptic, their meanings buried beneath layers of metaphor.

This felt different. Almost too easy. The artifact never revealed anything without exacting a price. In the past, clarity had come only when I had specifically requested it, and the cost of asking was too great. Why, then, had the quill provided such a clear path without me asking? Was it guiding us to truth, or to a trap?

I couldn’t voice these concerns to him, not yet. He didn’t know the truth about the quill, and I wasn’t ready to share it. Instead, I resolved to follow him and remain vigilant.

The descent into the catacombs felt heavier with every step. The air grew colder, the shadows longer. Lainder and I searched through one of its chambers with care. Eventually, we came upon a small enclosure lit by a single torch. He entered first, carefully inspecting the walls for any markings or clues. His efforts yielded nothing at first—until I noticed a small pile of ash on the floor. Upon my prompting, he knelt to examine it and rose swiftly, whispering aloud the words he had heard:

“The path is barred to hands unfit,
Only the crafted may unlock it.
A shadowed art, a hidden key,
Awaits the one who holds the decree.”

I blinked in surprise. For the first time, the artifact had whispered to someone else first. Kneeling where he had, I felt the familiar shiver, followed by the exact same words.

This moment unnerved me. Why would the artifact speak to him first? Its nature was always selfish, secretive, and possessive of those it bound. Yet here it was, sharing its riddle with another before sharing it with me. Kneeling down, I experienced the same shiver, the same whispered verse. It was an unusual twist, one that unsettled me.

Lainder and I went over the riddle’s meaning. We speculated that “hands unfit” might refer to a craftsman, artisan or builder. “A shadowed art” could hint at a spy. For now, we agreed I seek out individuals who might possess such “shady” qualities. He cautioned me to approach such people discreetly.

A wise reminder to heed, indeed.

“Blend the right elements with care. What can be created will uncover the truth, or obscure it forever.”

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Journal Entry 1419: Lines of Conflict and Fate

Stormwind’s Cathedral Square is meant to be a place of peace. A sanctuary of faith and reflection. Yet today, it was anything but.

A mechagnome, two dracthyr, and a man, at each other’s throats. I don’t know what started it, but it escalated quickly. One of the dracthyr, still in his draconic form, refused to leave despite the urging of his companion, who seemed embarrassed enough to walk away. The man, called a warlock by the dracthyr, drew steel first, only for the mechagnome to intervene. A moment later, the dracthyr struck the gnome down with his hammer.

Then came the spells, the tricks. The warlock vanished and reappeared behind the dracthyr, blade in hand, but the dracthyr countered with a savage kick, knocking the warlock to the ground. The sword clattered to the cobblestones, only to be lifted back into the warlock’s grasp by the gnome’s magic.

“This isn’t over!” the dracthyr shouted before storming off.

I thought it was done. It should have been done. But the warlock called him back, and the dracthyr returned. Reckless. Irresponsible. The fight continued until, in a final stroke of violence, the warlock severed the dracthyr’s hand. That finally ended it. The dracthyr fled into the sky, leaving his severed limb behind.

What madness. To display such savagery in front of the very house of the Light. To fight so fiercely, so brazenly, with no regard for the people who walked those streets. Stormwind is many things, but I expected more restraint than this. Should I have intervened? Would it have made any difference? I don’t know.

A few hours later, I crossed paths with Lainder and Nessie. It was good to see them again, though it didn’t take long to realize that much had changed since our last meeting. Lainder, at least, seemed well enough, steady as always. But Nessie… something was different about her. It was in her posture, the way she carried herself, the weight in her words. It took time before the story unfolded, and even now, I do not know if I remember it in the right order.

She spoke of an undead creature, one that had harmed her, though the details of how or why eluded me. And then there was the curse. The worgen curse. That part struck me the hardest. The affliction is not an easy one to bear. Some learn to live with it, to control it. Others do not.

She did not dwell on it, though. Instead, she pressed forward, speaking of work, of learning new skills. Adapting. If nothing else, she is resilient. In some ways, her determination reminded me of my younger self, when the curse had not yet settled so heavily upon my shoulders. That was when I remembered the book I had set aside for her. “The Alchemist’s Eclipse.” She took it with gratitude, though her mind quickly shifted to other things.

The riddle. The one Lainder and I had found in the catacombs. She had thoughts on it. Ones I had not considered. Rather than looking for a spy, she suggested seeking someone versed in dark magic. A logical approach, given the nature of what we had uncovered. I should have expected her to offer assistance, but after all she had been through, I did not want to burden her further. I declined. If nothing else, she asked that we involve Lainder, should we need strong hands. That, at least, was reasonable. I agreed to reach out to him when the time came.

Perhaps there is wisdom in many hands.

“A book changes with its reader. The hands that hold it will shape its meaning, though not all hands are meant to turn its pages.”