((Well, that was fun. Wait, no it wasn't. What wasn't? Verizon shutting down my internet connection on a bad assumption we owe them a substantial amount of money... when we don't. So we just got it back. Yay! During that time though I finished a three part blog thing. Double yay. Any and all, enjoy.))

So much to do, so much time. And so many obstacles to overcome. Does it seem too easy? A bit.

 First, there was this cult of Forgotten Shadow. He met two members some time after the event called...The Dragon's Crotch? Mortals.

( I would recommend listening to this song bere/as you read this blog, and keep the mood/message alive: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1YM476Pa4o )

Do you fear them, my son?

                                     … No father.

Then why do you hesitate?

                           …They are strong, I make no mistake, so I must rally my allies.

Emotions faded, Shackles released

My pain is my power.

Help me?

No… release me, this is your reward.

Through the attempt to help,

You released me, now deal with me.

Your price to be paid.

The seal was broken, but the teaching remained

Ava would be proud, though perhaps she knows

Perhaps she already is.

The cool breeze graced her cheeks as she looked out from her new home in fairbreeze village; People busy with the usual business of the day, Children laughing and playing outside in the sun causing a smile to creep over her face. Turning inside she looked upon the room she had been staying in, a large comfortable bed with silk drapes against the far wall, a few bookcases littered with various study manuals and even a few story books were taking up each side of the entrance. "Never took you for a reader Junior." She though to herself as she moved to the small dressing table elegantly made to fit perfectly against the red and gold pillars on each side, mounted between them upon the almost gold colored wall was an elongated mirror framed with a golden design. "Fine taste too ..." she muttered looking upon her reflection the lightly fitting white gown she had bought seemed to fit her form well, even with the noticeable bump of her growing child.

Cad pushes his hat up and moves his bangs aside while he assesses his work. His bony digits spider along the schematics, his other hand moving along the newly-manufactured shotgun as though retracing the steps leading to it's completion. A nod affirmed his satisfaction as he moved both his gaze and his hands towards the amber crystals piled next to the new firearm.

"Hmm," he sighs, picking up one of the crystals and turning it between his fingers. "Started out as a hired gun in Ratchet. Moved on t' Silvermoon an' worked under the employ o' demons. Moved on t' dragons." He flips the crystal back into the pile and rolls his eyes. "An' now, back t' demons." His fingers reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose in slight agitation.

"Smashing...."

For years this soul has scarred itself raw

For internal wisdom and mind in a war

Personal triumph to personal lost

The selling of morals for the price of their cost.

These arts of mine wrecked from personal flames

There's nothing to lose, though nothing to gain

For these stories of mine fall on deaf ears

Personal Trauma, hopes and the fears 

A baring of soul is not needed these days

For there's more to this world than personal pain

So burn it away and cast it aside

For we all live short on limited time

Cleanse yourself clean from a mental decease

The weight of our baggage makes us crawl on our knees

So leave this behind for it burdens the soul

Nothing is necessary, that's all one need know

Feel the removal of desire and shame

It's the key to rebirth in a world slightly sane

Prison in Silvermoon was better than prison in Kezan...

But prison, is still always going to be prison.

It just occurred to me that the words "thank you" are hardly ever said these days. I asked myself why this was true? I know for certain that I do not say these words enough, especially to the ones that deserve it. Perhaps it is time for me to do so.

Thank you, Falcrius. My best friend, and cousin. You have without a doubt been that older brother I never had. You've always been there during my toughest times, and I wish you were still here today.

Thank you, Saiyanore. My other best friend. You gave me a sense of humor. Before I met you, I was like any young, aspiring Magi; trying to be all mature and serious. But then I met you. You were the one who truly taught me how to laugh at myself, and how to get in trouble!



Already, I seem to be forgetting… Everything I could observe first-hand, everything I could study in detail. Eyeing purposefully or frivolously, it didn’t matter back then… And here I am, forgetting. Do I regret my decision? Sometimes, maybe… But this was not one of those times. I just don’t want to forget, because if I do then everything from that part of my life fades to Oblivion. All I have left is a means of navigation and identification, even the colors that flair against the dull, murky background don’t seem to be anything more than pigmentation that allows me to know.

Sighing lightly, the large male reaches up and runs a finger slowly across the smoothed, plain, leather blindfold. It was beginning to warm in the intense heat.  Ra’dreyan frowns and shakes his head, thinking back to the days before.

I can't believe this is true, I wish it weren't real!

I was Lady Ava's adopted son,

Rosalynn walks into the new home in Stormglen Village. 

Her walk is slow as her icy blue eyes look around the dimly lit house for Cad.

As normal she beat him home or maybe something caught him up?

 She drops her heavy bag of books on the floor.

The thud echoes in the house by the front door.

     "Meeting with Ava, to ask permission to follow me heart and take sweet Revi out on a date was indeed nerve wracking." The Death knight said aloud to himself.

Raveian ran her finger tips lightly over the unsheathed dagger as she look down over a settlement of Almani'trolls. She runs her tongue over her filed razor sharp sharp like teeth tilting her head in consideration of which to attack. The wind picks up over the ledge she is perched on and her hair flies over her shoulder as she slowly stands. The will to attack leaving her she turns walking from the edge over to a small pond. The ebony haired girl sits down crossing her ankles bringing her knees to her chest as she rocks slowly. "What is wrong with me?" She thinks to herself as she gazes over the water.

              The newly resurrected Baron paces the floor of his home in his new hideout. The room is light by a roaring fire in the hearth of the once decrepted building. The new hide out is the ruins of Pyrewood Village, Thanks to the larbor of the baron's goblin engineers and order members, the town has been repaired and upgraded. Sprigge the goblin along with Periwinkle and Jin have added modifications to the homes including running water and eletricity. The town sits in the shadow of the ruins of Shadowfang keep.

               The clock strikes midnight and chimes throughout the Sanctuary. Grexan sits in the corner of his dormitory room. His doner body beaten and bruise. He sits in the feetle position facing the corner as he grips his crimson hair. Thoughts racing through his head. "I'm not a monster House volanthius is...they are evil not me!" He whimpers to himself in the darkness of the room that he shares with others of his rank. His cursed sword Warmonger had been dealt with and its hold on Grexan's mind was severed, but the damage was already done."

       At the stroke of midnight, the howl of a wolf echoes through the night. Gothran peers out of his tower window into the night. The Baron looks down at the grounds of the sanctuary where he and his order have taken refuge. Candles burn throughout the tower giving the room an eerie lighting. Gothran is wearing a gray robe embroidered with deathly purple designs. The tired baron walks over to his desk which is cluttered with books, documents, potion beakers and a polished skull or two.

The heat was what first met the druid as he awoke, blistering heat that burned his lungs and eyes. The Orc was gone, as was the watch tower, instead Helfentt was under a fallen tree at the bottom of some great rift in the earth, lava flowing extremely close to him, had he been a little bit over more, he'd have been dead. A sharp pain shot through Helfentt's leg as he shifted. The Tauren managed to unwedge the shattered limb from under the downed tree with his remaining adrenaline before drifting off.

Up and down, in and out. Fyodora hummed softly to herself, needle threading carefully, deliberately through the square of embroidery as she sat on the cushions.  Such calming effects this place has, she thought, looking at the elves around her draining power greedily from the fel crystals.  She smiled, looking at one fallen to the ground, overwhelmed.  Weak, that one, he probably wouldn’t last too much longer.

“Ms. Weaver,” she heard a voice from behind her.  She stood, tucking the embroidery away, turning to face the speaker, a young elf woman, heavy armor bracing up a smooth face framed with red hair.  Next to her, a dark-armored elf man.  The two stern-looking Blood Knights stood with their weapons drawn, the young Lord Xannivard Ral’kas between them.  “Silvermoon calls upon your aid.”

((Explicit once again for torture. Oh and the letter is translated because the random letters and numbers would be silly to write for others to read.))

"Their runes were unacceptable! Were you blind or attempting to betray us?" The Draenei man winced as Lyst glared at him with a slightly raised voice. "How are we to function to Mistress Volanthius' standards at the very least, when you are sabotaging our elite?" Lyst sighed and shook her head. "I'm not permitted to kill you... Write an apology that you will read to your fellows and the adepts in fifteen minutes. You will go back into training and replaced by a more reliable reanimator. Be thankful that we are not in a position to simply toss the defective out like trash." The reanimator bit his lip as he nodded. "It will be done, Commander." The Dark Warrior turned and left rubbing her temples.

In the frozen reaches of the Azerothian ceiling, lay a citadel of former terror and intimidation. Nestled within edges of the barbaric arctic glacier, Frostmana Citadel had another guest tonight. Finishing up on business delayed a few nights behind, Duke Starscythe and Matriarch Avaraelia met upon the chilled veranda, discussing the benefits of allies within the Silver City. Next to them was some five-hundred year old ale, carefully crafted for the frigid air.

He stared into her soul, wondering if that -is- the truth. "Call me what you will. I will be here for all time."

Avaraelia matches his gaze calmly, quietly. Black-spiraled violet stared just as deeply into blueish-white, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. "There is a difference, my lord, between friends and -friends.- True friends are those whom one can safely entrust their darkest, most dangerous, and most damning of secrets. Such trust however, is difficult to obtain and return, these days.

Tyi'jin fell over into the snow, his blood speading in a pool around him as his eyes faded. His chest was cut open and soon drained of blood. The armored knight smiled at the troll as he shakily reached for the curved blade, but fell short, his life leaving in a quiet breath. The Death Knight knelt over him with a sly smirk.

He opened his eyes, looking around the fortress of Acherus. Fellow Death Knights were busy following teachings of their masters. Tyi'jin adjusted his gloves as he walked towards the ledge overlooking the razed Scarlet Crusader's lands. The cut across his chest was stitched by thick cloth string, binding the flesh back together. The Death Knight smirked, it could have been his head on the bright side.

So...yeah...I'm fucked.

Bend me over the gateway to Stormwind and screw me sidways, I'm fucked. Ya'd figure that, with all my ingenious plans, they'd niver back fire. Ha. Yeah, 'bout that. Turns out, I'm no' ingenious! Nor, do I know how to hide bo-A large black scribble covers the next few sentences- And those fuckin' Volanthius minnions found him before I could do anything! I'm getting rusty, I swear...

It is 3 in the morning, Delamontre was leading a raid subtlely into an Alliance Outpost.

"Watch out for any Spies, Shandria." Delamontre said quietly, though firm and commanding. "On it, Coldy." Shandria Firearrow, the Marskman of the raid, and second in command there as well, nodded, climbing a nearby tree for a good position. The Death Knight present himself in  matter of peace infront of the guards, as to make them confident and mark himself as bait.

Shandria quickly fired five arrows at once, eliminating the guards from the rooftops of the Outpost swiftly. Once Delamontre saw there were no guards, he quickly grasped Bryntroll in his hands and rushed towards the guards with an strong scream.

General Sidoran Sunlash,

Per your orders, sir, I have been monitoring Felsworn activities within Silvermoon City.  Here is a report on their activities throughout the week as I have observed them.

Monday - No noteworthy activity, they're still getting used to not being able to initiate bloody duels on the streets

Tuesday - observed them in discussion of various foods, complaining about various food's tastes.  (Note: Investigate possible Felsworn reliance on other food sources)

Wednesday - A vicious game of tag ensued, instigated by the Felsworn; possible Felsworn influences among the children of Silvermoon.

~A Fresh Start for a Demon in Disguise

A finger curled around the very tip of her strawberry hair as she looked across the Royal Exchange. Feeling out of place, especially with her tail that seemed to involuntarily wrap around her waist while nervous, she bit her lower lip, fangs drawing blood ever so slightly. Persephraia decided the only way to become accepted was to socialize- Atleast, as much as she could in this restricted city called Silvermoon.

Entering the Inn with caution, she met a woman whom went by the name of Avaraelia Volanthius. Seldom did she speak so freely to a stranger, though the demonic energy the woman relinquished made her feel at home. The conversation was brief, and at the same time so deep. The words were vague, and Avaraelia assured Persephraia to seek her should she need anything.  After that strange night, Persephraia was in hopes to gain a power she was subtley craving... The power of Fel.

    I’ve never stepped foot into Shadowmoon Valley before.  I had heard the skies were green both night and day.  I had hoped the rumors I had heard about this territory were exaggerated.  The ground was rough, the air in this wasteland was thin.  I could feel my skin chapping in the harsh climate.  Every so often gusts of wind blew by, blowing the coarse pale ash up.  If there ever was a place that personified despair and loneliness; this was it.

There was a throbbing pain that laid just behind her eyes, a pain that lingered since she travelled to Stormwind and dealt with the shadowy presence that had settled inside her.  She reached up with one hand, absently rubbing the bridge of her nose in hopes of easing it somewhat, but the throbbing remained.  Though the Scourge shard had been dealt with, the fix was temporary, and it had become clear that a more permanent solution would have to be found.  To that end, Aelberyn was leaving, and in the leaving she was leaving behind everything she loved, everything that had ever been important to her.

 A very old, battered and what was once a little black book, but now mostly faded back to a pale, tamer sort of gray book were found on a desk in a hidden location somewhere in Undercity, its contents exposed, pages filled with neat, formal handwriting torn out in places or blotted out, with one freshly inked entry. 

Dear Diary. There was a slient pause, as the next words filled a few lines after the title

It's been a while. There has been so many things happening, since the last entry, that I have had not managed to fill the pages with, and it would be far too much to fill the pages, and not only that, there are things I'd rather forget.