Side Project

The Regent tasked me with a small matter. She wished initiate an exchange of literature with the library at Tyr’s Hand, where Nemeiah is the curator.

I calculate that one of the motivations behind the Regent’s request was to distract and keep me from fretting overmuch regarding her personal affairs. Truthfully, I do not mind if that is so. Sometimes it is best to keep a soldier busy, or else they begin looking for less constructive ways to express themselves. D.A. employs this tactic with me often when I am restless, in such a way that I do not realize it has been initiated until well into the task. Though I confess I do not mind that, either.

Nemeiah agreed to the literature exchange, and I learned that the Regent reads and speaks Common. I do not, of course. Nemeiah was gathering up appropriate texts, and the Regent has said that she will retrieve Shu’halo stories, translated into Orcish, in return. Nemeiah is quite excited to see them.

Or she was. I visited Tyr’s Hand yesterday and it was closed off, quarantined. The Bishop assured me that Nemeiah was undamaged, but declared that no one could enter or leave. This is a complication.

Fronts

This is the place where one faces an opponent. And, the appearance given to others in order to not provoke ill feelings. Both are applicable at this moment.

I search for information on the enemy. The one that has caused all of this destruction, more than I was aware of. And, I try to continue public activities as possible (though the last few days this has been strained), to show that nothing has altered. This is not just to prevent interference, but also to protect those that do not know the danger.

Because thus far, I cannot calculate the commonalities between incidents. Aside from Mirtai, and myself. And Mirtai has not yet awoken from her slumber.

The Game

There is an intricate tapestry that everyone weaves about them. It is not visible, but is made up of threads of emotional investments, friendships, lies, deceptions, and goals. Recognizing individual threads and manipulating them, both on oneself and on others, is "the game."

The purpose of the game is simple: survival. Beyond this, it can be used to create strong bonds within a group or society, or to damage and destroy the bonds of others. If performed poorly, it can ostracize and endanger. It is not always malicious, in fact before recent events I would have claimed that it is normally amiable, and bound by rules of socialization. But it is possible to reveal and tug at those threads to accomplish one’s ends, or to annihilate others. There are three sorts of participants. Victims, grudging competitors, and able players.

Those that are not aware of the game or refuse to play become victims to it. As an example, I spoke with Nemeiah at Tyr’s Hand some weeks ago, and she was upset by the scene created by Knight’s rudeness toward her in Orgrimmar. She declared that she would avoid the city for a time after, in order to prevent further disruption. Thus she gave victory to those that did not accept her, and would drive her away. Too gentle to manipulate the threads, her own are left for others to grasp. As a note, she has since returned to the city.

The Bishop, by contrast, is aware of the game and plays it with competence. But he regrets the necessity of it. With him I chatted about the same incident and we traded information. He recognizes that I am the sort that requires fair exchange for offered services, and he told me what I wished to know, for details regarding Knight’s activities in Orgrimmar.

Then, there are those like the Regent who not only know the game exists, but embrace it and play with skill. And, not only mortals are involved at the highest levels. Unholy and unseen sorts manipulate and confine, judge and guide. There is nothing quite as perturbing as learning that while you were moving your pieces on the chess board, someone else, someone you were utterly unaware of, was moving theirs too.

Alone

Not all answers have come, but I pause to record what has occurred. Mira, the Lord’s daughter, spoke and indicated that she could commune with Mirtai yet within her body, and acknowledged that she did not belong among the living. Goodman Nathan, feeling strong attachment for her, protested, but she hushed him. D.A. offered a spell to let them cross over together. They embraced, and the incantation began.

For only a moment did this tender scene last. A dark voice descended on the house, and D.A. clung to my hand. It was not the shadow-spectre, which has been contained. It was something far more powerful and malicious. It disrupted the spell and struck D.A. senseless, right in my arms. Then it left. Mirtai, or Mira, whoever she was then, also fell. Nathan and I tried to rouse them but failed. 

Those hours that I sat with my stricken beloved, alone, unable to speak, unable to shield or comfort, were terrible. I feared that I would never again see those supernal blue eyes, and that unnatural sleep would endure forever. Darkness filled my mind.

But late in the night, my darling awoke. And I was not alone anymore.

I Am Here For You

I am not designed to give comfort. That sort of emotional warmth conveyed through the proper words at a precise moment, or by touch. With those that I consider friends, I am attempting to learn the behaviors that they require. With D.A., I would hope that I already know them. But still I make errors.

There are those around me that at times need comfort, though they do not openly request it. Nemeiah is frightened after another incident at Tyr’s Hand. She did not forbid my presence there as before, but declared that it seemed everyone she cared for has fallen to misfortune. I entreated with logic. Saying that misfortune does not solely target those with whom she had an attachment, but this did not seem to cheer her.

When I faltered, she said that it was good enough that I was simply there.

Later, Urukha expressed to Pip that she had a difficult day. Fighting in the shattered lands of Draenor had made her uneasy, and she had visited the graves of her family. I asked how she found things there. But Pip, with a mouth full of peanut butter, simply stated “I am here for you.” That is translated through the full mouth, of course. Those words immediately soothed Urukha. I was surprised.

But when I sat with the Regent for our renewed outing, intending to use my presence and what I had learned to ease (what I thought was) her distress, it did not work. The words would not form on my lips, and we spoke of other things rather than what was drifting about in my mind. Had my concern been false, I think it would have been easier to speak clearly, and lie. But because it is genuine, it is infinitely more difficult to express. I do not understand it.

Shadow-Spectre

The enemy appeared yesterday. The plan was to utilize Mirtai to seek out something that we needed in order to defeat the shadow-spectre: the binding that keeps the additional spirit trapped. That spirit is the daughter of the dead Lord. I may go into detail regarding why only Mirtai could do this at another time. D.A. gave her a draught that pulled her into a state of sleep, subduing the mind but letting the body move.

Goodman Nathan eagerly joined us when we searched, and Mirtai walked directly to where the binding was hidden. It was a black phial very similar to those I had seen Viere use. Before I could take it, Mirtai lunged in and opened it. That purple mist she breathed in, I recognized.

She then came awake, but was not Mirtai. She was the lord’s daughter, Mira, and she was quite terrified of me. Nathan exclaimed her name, and this brought the shadow-spectre down upon us. It attacked him first, and I descended on it to restrain it. I commanded him to take the girl to the house, where my ward, the one powered by the many candles, would protect them.

I held to the spectre, and D.A. struck it with dark magic. Nathan and the girl reached the house, and then the spectre turned to overwhelm me. It choked me and ravaged my throat with its claws, and I struggled. I had the phial still, the one that had contained the daughter’s soul, and heard D.A. call to me to open it. When I did, D.A. spoke the words that sealed the spectre inside. The mother took her daughter's place.

It seems now that the immediate threat has passed, but many questions persist. The greatest in my mind is: With the girl, Mira, restored, where is Mirtai?

Drained

My darling has not yet recovered fully from the confrontation with the shadow-spectre.  Though no rigorous physical exertion was demanded, the contest of wills had great impact. I am doing all that I can to support, in addition to my normal duties.

Yet, despite the exhaustion, there has been progress on the issue with our cadaverous intruder. Persevering through weariness, D.A. deciphered the scroll from Scholomance and concluded that there is another spirit trapped here. In addition to Goodman Nathan, and the enemy. Her name we do not speak in order to not rouse the shadow-spectre. Now, I at least have something of a direction that can be utilized to craft strategy.

As I write this, though, the blankets are pulled up and my beloved rests. I prepare to appear in the world and perform as others require me in order to not raise concern or curiosity. I hope that my own energy is sufficient.

Idiots

Yesterday I had the distinct displeasure of overhearing a conversation between Knight and his dragon-woman, Flamina. Both are known by other names, including Aeden and Endal for him, Eranu and Mama Winter for her. At first my disgust only applied to him, but she has since also earned it.

The dragon-woman is self-absorbed and starved for attention. She believes that she has the capacity to split her personality into separate, living vessels. They can be made and discarded at her pleasure, with no regard to attachments. Not having met any other ‘shade’ of her, and seeing no sign that she is a genuine member of the bronze flight, I conclude that she is deranged.

Knight is full of righteous indignation, and despises any that have the audacity to reject him from their society. But to that society, he brings no qualities that are welcome. He is rude to the gentle, outlandish when drunk and a conduit for annoyance (all evidence that he is not a genuine knight). He finds himself outcast from each group that he pesters, yet thinks highly of himself. He dresses as a death knight or mage, but behaves as a boy just escaped from his mother’s arms. I conclude that he is a fraud.

The two find in each other someone who encourages their mutual charade, a partner in idiocy. Westel stopped by after the conversation and managed to absorb my irritation with humor. 

Design

I asked Pip whether she considered herself a soldier. When she pressed me for a definition, I told her that it was someone who fought on behalf of others, so that they would not be endangered, and with a capacity to obey orders. By this definition, she said that she was. She felt that it was important to fight for the ones that you love so that they do not feel pain or loss.

She asked if I would also consider myself thus, and I do. It is what I am designed for, in part.

Pip followed with an interesting question: whether I felt hateful for being designed for war instead of something else. I countered by asking if she was given a bowl and spoon upon her creation, and told that she was made to cook, would she feel any less pride in it? Of course, she said that she would still be proud and happy to cook.

I do not regret my design, because it gives me comfort to do what I am intended to. The tiger does not hate its teeth and claws, nor does it feel remorse for hunting. It hates the man that cages him, beats and starves him, and then sets him loose upon his own kind for entertainment.

Update #5

There is a scroll of rituals that Gom’jun and I retrieved from the necromancer academy of Scholomance. Located atop an unwieldy bookcase, I required his assistance in obtaining a height suitable to grab it. The denizens did not disturb us for the most part. Upon exiting, though, I discovered that there was a large sooty spot upon the parchment that blocked a key element. Gom’jun cleaned this with various chemicals. I brought it then to my beloved for deciphering, with the hope that it may help us vanquish the shadow-spectre.

The Regent has withdrawn from her pack to Dalaran. I understand why, but am concerned.  I have utilized the talisman to greet her, but have not spoken of the underlying motivations for doing so.  I asked Nemeiah for counsel on this; ironically, because I have also consulted with the Regent for advice on Nem. In both cases, it was for having misgivings and being ineffective in expressing them.

At Tyr’s Hand I was introduced to another death knight. His “given” name is Roeth. I knew him by reputation, and he was quite proud to have never heard of me. He is supposedly a skilled killer, but extremely lacking in social niceties. Nem finds him frightening. I am curious why he seems fascinated with the Bishop.

On a lighter topic, Pip is planning a festival of apples. One of the events will be an apple poem or story contest. I have been considering whether this may be appropriate to participate in, and what to say if so. I like apples, particularly ones covered in chocolate, as Urukha makes. But my affection is cool compared to the fiery devotion that Pip has for this fruit.

Crests

A few days ago I sat with Nemeiah in Orgrimmar, when a trollish friend of hers brought to her a shield that bore the crest of Lordaeron. At first, Nem would not accept it, but then changed her mind and agreed to take it as a trophy for Tyr’s Hand. Several of the inhabitants there lived in Lordaeron during life, and she felt it would be a good addition to their Hall of Arms.

I helped to transport it, being more designed to carry heavy items than she. It did require a bit of ingenuity to do so, because I do not utilize shields and have no proper harness for it. But we arrived in Tyr’s Hand without too much difficulty. The Bishop greeted us on arrival and seemed very pleased. The shield is in their Hall, awaiting a blacksmith that can fashion a proper mount for it.

Seeing both the Bishop and Nemeiah’s pride in the shield reminded me of the two crests I bear. Neither insignia is associated with an allegiance in life, as Lordaeron was to them. One is the mark of the Tribe on the talisman, and the other is the one that appears on the carriage, and my mask. Both I am rather proud of.

Talisman

The Regent presented to me this small device that will enable distant communication. It is a thin, metallic band that is dark in color and is nearly indistinguishable from my armor. There is a Tribe crest on the face. She assured me that it contained no device for monitoring my location, but I confess my doubts on this and am taking minor measures. When I am out and about in the world, though, I plan to have it with me.

It is set solely to reach her own talisman, though she said that in the future, with her permission, it could be expanded to others. For now, I intend to determine whether I am able to tolerate the one occasional voice before allowing more.

Curiosity

Curiosity is the compulsion that drives us to uncover information or items that otherwise may be restricted or guarded from us. It inspires ties with those we find interesting, or scheming on those that threaten. It can uncover rewards, or terrible truths, when applied to both friends and enemies.

Urukha seems to have a tolerable hold on her curiosity. Ironically, I am comfortable sharing more with her, because she does not pry into the ‘why’ of everything. Though she does remind me of her wish to meet my D.A. Westel, I am discovering, is nosey. If he spots something unusual, he asks, and is not easily persuaded to ignore it. He reminds me of Decie and Leahndri, though in masculine form.

Then, there is the Regent. Within her there is the difficult combination of desire and ability to extract information. We had a meal in the desert of Uldum (within a tent, otherwise I feel I may have melted from the heat), and when asked, she stated that the motivation behind the outings was in order to seduce me. Naturally, I protested and gave two very fine, valid reasons why this should not be. The first of which being that she, at that moment, was paired.

The second reason was that I am paired. Through deception she tricked me into admitting this clearly, and I was left off-balance for the remainder of the conversation. Where she acquired these techniques I do not know. Though, as in battle, it is good to enter exchanges with a superior opponent, so as to maintain a healthy amount of humility. And caution.

Titles

The similarity between a nickname and a title is that both are bestowed by others and cannot be assigned to oneself. Though I have witnessed many that call themselves “General” or “Knight-Captain” without any record of promotion or skill. And there are those that so embrace their title that it transforms into a nearly alternate identity, such as the Regent.

I do not care for titles under most conditions. They are pretentious, self-serving, and often utilized solely to cow a social opponent. There was one time when D.A. used titles to devastating effect. It was when the Goodman refused to recognize us as the owners of the place he haunted. My beloved drew up to full height and announced an impressive string of laurels. The Goodman sputtered and submitted immediately.

There is no title that I claim. If any were relevant, these dissipated upon my death. It is why I corrected those like Za’zii and Gom’jun for so long when they applied “Miss” to the front of my name. Though I have since grown accustomed to this. It is not a sign of disrespect.

Goodman referred to me as “Soldier” at first. After the battle with the shadow-spectre, he has adopted “Captain.” I confess that I do not discourage this.

Under Shadow

Goodman, the ghost, has been released from the barn. Though it is not under pleasant circumstances that I agreed to do this. D.A. and I approached him in his fortification of hay bales and began to explain what had occurred before his death, but he demanded again to see Mirtai. Or rather, he wanted to see the dead Lord’s daughter, Mira. With whom Mirtai shares her appearance.

As we argued this, the barn trembled and a vicious voice disrupted us. A shadow, the desiccated form of a woman, appeared in the rafters above and proclaimed her hatred and anger. It was, I think, the remnant of the Lord’s wife, the one that was ill and for whom the demon had been called to deal. She threatened and screamed, demanding that Mirtai die so that she could reclaim the fruit of her womb: that which keeps her bound to this plane.

By D.A.'s potent magic and my own lesser Frost attacks – apparently Goodman’s ghostly firearm can do real damage as well – she was driven from the barn. But he, the ghost, did not wish to remain trapped inside. Trusting him because he had helped us fight the shadow, I removed the wards and allowed him out. He is forbidden from the house only. As a note, his name is Nathan.

There was a casualty, though. D.A. had used a powerful spell to drive away the shadow-spectre and was terribly weakened following the confrontation. I fret and worry now, and have enacted an experimental defense. But to maintain it, I require more candles.

Gilnean Roses

I tasked Gom’jun with retrieving a specific rosebush from the ruined kingdom of Gilneas – the same sort of bush that I attempted to gather some weeks ago and was not able to. Then, Violet-Eyes the worgen interrupted me. Truthfully I did not remember that I desired those roses still until a recent chat with Nemeiah reminded me. She remarked that I had a “green thumb.” They are actually grey in color, but no matter.

The agreement with Gom’jun was that if he brought an intact plant I would pay a sum, and if the plant takes to its new home, that sum would double. He seemed so eager to assist and gain a bit of wealth for doing so. Za’zii accompanied him. I warned them to not do too much damage to the place.

They successfully uprooted one of the deep purple rosebushes and brought it to me. Violet-Eyes did not appear at all. The bush is now planted on the shaded side of the house. The climate here is not quite as fond of rain as Gilneas (although those periodic thunderstorms compete adequately), so it may require more care. However, I am quite hopeful that it will thrive, as the apple tree has.

Romulo and Julianne

In my search for testimonies on this “Love is in the Air” celebration about Orgrimmar, and out of an interest in finding poetic words, I located this book in D.A.’s library. It is a story of a boy and girl, from opposing families, who fall in love. That forbidden love leads to their deaths, and only then do their families reconcile and vow peace.

I had read halfway through it when Westel first spotted me. He teased, asking if it was one of ‘those’ books. I assumed that he meant the romantic fantasies that many others consume. Mirtai has joined the ranks of those that do, to my amusement. I corrected Westel's assumption, though, and defended my reputation from such nonsense. 

After we chatted and I told him some of the story, he seemed interested in it and asked to borrow it. The next day, when I encountered Pip and Urukha in Orgrimmar and related the entire story there, they also asked to borrow it. The trouble is, I have but one copy. I traveled to Tyr’s Hand to try and procure another, but Nemeiah was only in possession of a Common version. It had also been heavily censored by the Scarlets.

However, though I was there for some time, Westel did not make an appearance in Orgrimmar, so the book is still in my possession. Perhaps he was not quite as interested as he appeared. It is a shame, because it is a good story.

Tribe Membership

On a recent walkabout with the Regent, I raised the issue of joining the Tribe. Apparently there had been some discussion of it within her circle. She said that there were many that had shown themselves to be incompatible with the Tribe, for reasons she called “non-sensible.” Stubbornness, vanity, selfishness, and violence, were the primary symptoms. 

The violence, as I learned, was from those that deliberately deceived the Tribe’s trust in order to gain entrance, and then caused damage. Vipers in the wolf den.

She then asked if there was something particular that kept me at bay, or would I forever decline. I was evasive with my response, but she discerned my meaning. I do not join due to the one power greater than duty: love. I failed to explain this clearly to Urukha when I refused to leave home for poison treatment. Urukha’s response was quite colorful. The Regent here though, displayed calm.

To contrast with this, I watched an initiate of the Tribe, Aevelina, be made into a true member. Aevelina, as a note, is a female elf that has a lovely singing voice, and she performs often at the weekly Tavern gathering. She was placed in the center of the Tribal circle and given praise and recognition. She took those steps that I had refused. But before this, I had not seen anyone else finish the process. Vindy and Branam, for example, did not.

Anniversary

It was a year ago that my beloved and I became a pair. I recall our trepidation, and our desire to gain something heretofore withheld. I had known longing, but was given no freedom. My beloved had known attraction, but was given no respect. In each other we found what we lacked, and an equal in mind.

It has not been an easy year, and in recent weeks misunderstandings arose between us, mostly by my fault. I employed far too much energy on protection, and not enough on trust. D.A. allowed frustration to grow until it was unleashed in a cruel manner, at a time when I was reeling from other concerns. I have since adjusted, and D.A. has softened in tone and stance.

As a gift for this day I acquired one of those contraptions that creates music, and can be moved about from place to place as wished. I am hopeful that it will be received well.

Goodman

I mentioned before that there was an intruder on my property that is in my barn. It began with simple happenings: things moved about the stalls, feed placed and tack cleaned without my knowledge of it. But after the storm, it took full form.

The barn is occupied by the ghost of a man that once worked for the Lord of this manor. When confronted, he became belligerent and drew spectral firearms on me, believing that I was trespassing. I did not wish to test whether or not he could actually inflict damage, and so left him in there. It appears that my protective wards, intended to keep beings like this out, have trapped him within. We call him “Goodman” for now.

If his simple presence was not adequately unnerving, he also believes that Mirtai is the daughter of the dead Lord. He refused at first to be convinced she was not. We brought her out to see him, and Mirtai clung to me in fear as he became distraught. He demanded to know why she did not recognize him. We withdrew to reevaluate and review the history of the property.

D.A. uncovered the Lord’s journal (at the expense of a few floorboards), and found that his wife was extremely ill. In order to save her, he made a deal with a demon. That demon healed her, and then killed everyone on the manor.

Alone, this story would be tragic. But the likely identity of the demon makes this a very real, very dangerous development. One that fills me with fear.

Wolves

I admire wolves for many reasons, though few details will I express here because they are widely respected by many cultures. Dignity, intelligence, loyalty and complex social capabilities are traits typically cited. Many claim them either as a totem, spirit guide or companion.

Now, I take this moment for a confession. I told Westel that I once commanded wolves, and that they died. This is half true. They belonged to Viere, and I had no more capacity to control them than I could Westel’s own wolf, Ithruiel. Viere bred them so that they could protect, support, and monitor his interests around Tirisfal, and on occasion, near Silvermoon.

They were quite clever, the Generals, as I called them, in particular. These were six massive black wolves with fel-green eyes. But the Darkrider and his cohorts killed them, one of them by a signal flare thrust down its throat. The pack could not recover from this loss. Viere’s interest shifted elsewhere, as it always did, and the once magnificent pack succumbed to neglect. None remain.

Knave

I caused another scuffle in Orgrimmar, but this came at a smaller scale, no Tribe members were involved, and the goal was accomplished. The ill-mannered Knight interrupted a pleasant conversation between Nemeiah and me, demanding that she explain to him what her leader, the Bishop Lightwarden, had told her about him.

The situation behind this is that the Bishop has forbidden Knight and his dragon-lover from Tyr’s Hand. Since then, both have attempted to make their way back, declaring the decision unjust. The scene I describe now demonstrated how appropriate it actually was. In addition, as I learned later from Za'zii, Knight may have been testing the Bishop's support. My loyalty may not belong to the holy man, but I would not tolerate Nemeiah being treated in this boorish fashion.

Knight refused to withdraw and confined her to a corner. I stepped between and insisted in polite tones that he leave. He did not. I asked again; even Nem brought up her voice to request his departure, and Knight continued to stand and assault her with questions.

I then asked the room at large if there was a paladin or some other hero that would remove the knave from our presence. It is fascinating how the word “knave” seems to ring in heroic ears like a dinner bell to the starving. Immediately three descended upon Knight and distracted him enough so that Nem and I could sneak out. To my knowledge, no one was damaged.

The Bishop himself waited outside. He had heard the majority of the incident. Nem, though, seemed to regret the disturbance caused, and excused herself to travel back to Tyr’s Hand. I offered to escort her part way, but she declined. That doused my pride somewhat.

Pip's Writing Lesson

I agreed to teach Pip how to read and write some months ago. The inaugural lesson was rather emotional for Pip, as she had been told that she would not be able to learn. But with a bit of pudding and patience, she wrote her name for the first time. After the few preliminary meetings, though, we became too busy to continue with regularity.

Last night we met in the commons of Piki’alo and continued the delayed education. Pip demonstrated that she had practiced the letters, and we utilized many pieces of broken pretzels to shape each word. This provided not only a non-traditional and malleable method of crafting, but also a quick, edible reward when a task was completed properly.

At the end, Pip wrote the word for one of her favorite things, and I think this will become one of her most-used expressions, “Apple.” Urukha watched the lesson and was pleased. Pip was quite excited as well.

I had nearly decided to not give these lessons at all. But they appear to have a positive effect. It is interesting.

Kinship

Urukha and I had a bit of a chat yesterday, where she told me of her ventures into the shattered realm of Draenor. She said that she felt compelled to return to the place of her birth, and was disappointed that not more was being done to recover it for her people. I pressed her on this compulsion. She said that it was possible her ancestors, or family, that wanted her to go. Ties of kinship.

During another walkabout with the Regent, I described a second incident with Naomi, the little Death Knight that I protected the Tribe from. The Regent asked if I felt any sort of kinship with her. Or specifically, any nurturing drive to help the wayward fledgling on her journeys in the world. I expressed that I felt no such bonds with Naomi. No matter how clearly she needed the guidance.

Upon reflection, I note that there is no other Death Knight that I have any lasting relationship with, aside from the decidedly negative one I have had for years with the Darkrider. Thus, Urukha saying that she felt directed by her departed family unto Draenor, and the Regent presuming in error that death would bind blackened knights into an unliving family, was a fascinating contradiction. 

Perhaps the difference is in that Urukha was long encouraged to love her kin, while Death Knights are designed to kill everything, including each other.

Lunar Lantern

I had not paid much mind to the Lunar Festival, until I traveled to Moonglade to procure edibles and noticed that there were lanterns for sale. Enchanted with the purple variety, I then spent the remainder of the day traveling about the world visiting Elders and collecting tokens in order to obtain one. The Elders may have imparted some wisdom, but truthfully I was only thinking of my prize.

When I approached the merchant to purchase it, he refused and offered the red lantern instead. I insisted with many strong gestures that it was the purple that I desired, but he was stubborn. Disappointed and not wishing to create more of a scene, I bought the red and departed.

To Booty Bay I went next to see if the neutral goblins there would trade with me. Apparently, only the Alliance produces purple lanterns, while the Horde takes the red. The goblins also refused the exchange, but they were willing to offer one in sale for many thousand gold. I decided to not express my displeasure with violence, though it was quite tempting.

Finally, with night falling, I made a usual round about Elwynn forest. I spotted one of the lanterns above the door of a farmhouse, and immediately I filched it and replaced it with the unwanted red one purchased from Moonglade. The dogs caught my scent soon after and I fled for home. So there is now a farmhouse with mismatched lanterns in the front, but I have my prize.

Or rather, a gift for my beloved.

Hierarchy

In every wolf pack there is an understood set of ranks that each animal abides by, if they wish to remain in the pack. They work within the hierarchy to keep their position secure, or fight to progress it. Often have I referred to the Tribe as a pack of wolves, because I see similar characteristics, the most obvious of which is protectiveness.

When a wolf enters a pack, their rank is determined by a display of strength. In the Tribe, all start at the bottom and advance as they prove their ability. The comparison is not perfect then, of course. But it is quite interesting to think on.

Beneath the leader, though, the hierarchy becomes quite complex. I realized this a few days ago when Westel continuously intruded into the space about me and playfully demanded hugs. I demurred, continuing to step away instead of protesting violently. With Whiteclaw, there is no bluster or challenge to his fighting prowess (though there has been some amiable competition involving knocking each other off of things). The two men are officially Tuskguards, and I am the undefined “Friend of the Tribe.”

Not being a part of the pack, officially, makes my situation ambiguous. There seems to be no clear classification for the little black cat within the wolf’s den. However, the Regent did inform me that my custom talisman would be soon completed, so there is hope.

Spiritual Matters

Gom’jun delivered my letter to Nemeiah successfully and, as I was told, very politely. Nem wrote back and expressed that I was allowed to return to Tyr’s Hand, as the threat had not manifested in some time. Yesterday I traveled there to speak with her. I was quite anxious to do so, as another dizzy spell had taken me earlier in the day, in front of the Regent, no less. I sought answers.

Nemeiah was kind and gracious as always, and I gave to her a list describing what I had seen during these spells. She questioned what might have triggered them, particularly the more recent ones that seemed to last longer, stealing time from me.

To explain, a night-time storm at home had me concerned for the horses, so I set out at D.A.’s suggestion to monitor them. As I approached the barn, I was taken by dizziness and then woke near an hour later in the mud and rain. With the Regent, I stood still for over ten minutes, not responding to her queries. It is fortunate that I did not embarrass myself further by collapsing, I suppose. But this had never happened in Orgrimmar before.

After listening to my description, Nemeiah reaffirmed her belief that these were memories attempting to break free. We attempted to trigger one, to no effect. Then, quite by chance in the conversation, as I nearly toppled a candelabrum, another took me. I saw flames, and everything about was burning. It disturbed me, and Nem expressed her concern once I returned to consciousness.

I asked her what could be done, to prevent these from coming. She replied that it was much like a cracked dam, and with only two hands I could not prevent the barrier from crumbling. She thought it best to allow it to happen. I then wondered if it was really better, remembering. She did not know. But that is not a topic I wish to pursue at present.

Initiates

There is a flock of new individuals seeking to join the Tribe. They are given temporary status after an interview and are referred to at an initiate rank. Granted access to talismans and so forth, they must prove that they belong before being considered a full ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’

Each of them is assigned to a mentor. This mentor is a current, long-standing member of the Tribe who should act as their liaison and ease them into the culture. It is a daunting task to learn and impress all of the others, so you would think that these initiates, and their mentors, would spend a great deal of energy working together to try and successfully complete this phase.

Valtirus, for example, is supposed to be mentored by Scynthe. But the only interaction between the two I witnessed was lacking in enthusiasm by Scynthe. Valtirus, however, has attended some events and has approached me with concerns. I am not entirely certain if it is due to a lack of attention from others or if he feels secure with me. He seems eager to help, but is not collected in his thoughts and poise at all times, especially in a group.

On the other hand, Mortahn and his mentor, Westel, appear at odds. Mortahn is much more forward and talkative, to the point where it seems that there is no filter between his thought and actions at all.

Onokwa and I have spoken on several occasions, and she is shy and retiring. She is engaged in assisting Pip with the Winterspring orphanage, in druidic fashion, from what she described.

There were a few others that attended last night’s Silvermoon Symposium, along with the Regent – which is how I estimate they are initiates – but we have not been introduced. That may occur tonight at the Tribal meeting. Depending of course, on if the Regent allows me there.

One Year Ago

I remember how he looked at me. How that arrogant sneer melted into fear when he realized what had happened. Mirtai wisely fled the room. He cast fire at me. My fists answered. Soon, he could only lift his arms in defense while I demolished his face. He knocked me away with a powerful spell that set rest of the bedroom ablaze in fiery chaos. I uttered my proclamation that he could never recover me.

He said then, "The most trying time for an artist is to see his work become more than intended.  It is a bittersweet and painful pleasure.  I think however, you may yet be in for some surprises which my shelter has guarded you against thus far."

One year has passed since that tumultuous farewell. Four months ago, he died. After, I forgave him for what he did to me, and I acknowledge that there have been struggles since. But without him, I would not be able to experience it.

Rest in Hell, Viere.