Acherus

For the most recent outing with the Regent, I attempted something a bit different. Instead of traveling to a scenic outdoors location, we went to Acherus: the Ebon Hold. This is the headquarters of the Ebon Blade, a floating necropolis above the Plaguelands, and visitors are not welcome. Going there was a fleeting fancy in my mind that escaped as words. Yet the Regent was so fascinated and excited at the thought that I resolved to accomplish it.

I obtained a disguise for her and she completed the transformation with her own cosmetic resources. The result was that she appeared as a knight nearly alive, if pale in coloring and quiet in voice. I expected her to control her whimsy with some difficulty, and she did for the most part.

There was the chance that she would be discovered when we were halted by a pair of death knights, who referred to each other as “brother” but one was troll and the other orc. The troll, Arkk’takal, was one of the most exuberant knights I have ever encountered. The orc, Umarg, was more reasonably restrained. The Regent was quite entertained with them until I encouraged us to move on.

Certainly if the Tribe knew that she had traveled there, even in my protective company, there may have been some opposition. I did tell the Regent that if she was she uncovered she would be fed to the ghouls. She confessed some anxiety due to this. But the danger was actually less than I expressed and so afterwards I assured her that I would have intervened to prevent it.

The Flopping Chair

There is a chair in my beloved’s study that is an odd combination of basket, pillows and frame. The frame supports the round, bowl-like basket, and then there are far more pillows that one really needs to be comfortable. But there are enough to make it difficult to climb into. Thus, the proper method of entry is to flop. Lifting up one's arms and then falling back until caught by the cushions.

But if it requires a refined, specific technique to sit, more challenging is it to stand again. Particularly when one (like me) falls asleep in it and is then lacking in coordination when roused. However, it is comfortable. And it compliments a desire to remain nearby without disrupting my darling’s concentration.

This may be the least profound entry on your pages journal, since I wrote of armadillos.

Lightwarden

The Bishop is apparently alive. I stopped by Tyr’s Hand to greet Nemeiah and offer the collected condolences of others. But she was not in the abbey. I searched the grounds and she quite nearly ran down the hill from the cathedral shouting with excitement.

I followed to see what the fuss was. The Bishop stood there on the cathedral steps, as alive as a Forsaken is able to be. Roeth was also there, and endured the Bishop’s emotional greeting with none of his own. At least, no emotion that I could detect. Nem was ignored by both until she suggested to me that we leave them be. After three days dead, I suppose I can forgive the Bishop having bad manners. Roeth, of course, never had good manners to begin with.

Lightwarden claimed that he did not raise himself, but that something else seemed to wish him to continue his work. He joked that given the poor performance of the Crusaders that tried to rescue him, he had a great deal of work yet to do.

This I observed with both relief and apprehension. Immortality always has a price.

Discovery

I located a trove in a submerged ruin in Azshara. Though the first tome retrieved from there was not precisely what is needed, my beloved assured me it was of the proper time period. I must trust in this as none of the text is in any language I can read.  

The majority of the day following I spent transporting the contents of the cache to home. A great number of books had been destroyed by time or disintegrated in my hands, but I am hopeful that there is something that will help us defeat the enemy. After all, when hunting a demon, what better to consult than the writings of Demon Hunters?

As a note, Mirtai has returned to her duties about the house. This is very helpful, as D.A. and I concentrate our energies on our tasks and sometimes forget to take meals and rest, respectively.

Return to Tyr's Hand

Nemeiah reported that Bishop Lightwarden is dead. Though she did not give details and I did not press for them, her grief is apparent. She had told me in the days leading to the attack that she thought of him as a surrogate father. And that he represented everything that she aspired to be as a student of the Light. Now she is in mourning and has made a goal to continue her pursuit of ordination in his honor.

She also has returned to Tyr’s Hand and the abbey. I am satisfied that she is inside the walls there and safe, and is once again caring for Nunuru.

Untitled #2

((The first letter is clean and neatly folded. The second is crumpled and then forced smooth again to fit between the journal pages.))

To the Front

Nemeiah wrote to tell me that she will participate in the next assault on the Necropolis. Though I have long been expecting her to go, I still did not greet the news with enthusiasm. Nor did she seem eager for the prospect of entering the place that so many have left again wounded, but she feels it is her duty.

I have not recorded the specific series of events leading to this point by her request, and only mention it now because of my dislike for the situation. Even Roeth is reported to be disenchanted with the venture. But as always I assured Nem that her safety was the chief concern and that I would be waiting when she returned. She believes that finally, if this last attack is successful she may return to Tyr’s Hand. I will be extremely pleased if that is the result.

This will occur tonight. So there is time for a last visit and chance for encouragement should energy permit. 

Whether to Remember

For some time now these dizzy spells have appeared and disrupted me at seemingly random times. Hoping to find some sort of stimulus or trigger, I had conferred with Nemeiah and paid attention to the details of each memory. Regardless of how unpleasant or confusing they were.

Now, there may be an opportunity to learn a great deal more. When crossing over the Dead Scar in Eversong Woods another came. It was vivid and specific to that time when Arthas marched on Silvermoon with his legions and destroyed the city. The Regent was present so I restrained any reaction to the scene. But I did think on it. And I calculate that this specific location could prompt other memories. By witnessing more I could learn what happened before death.

Yet doubt lingers. I related this to my beloved, and received the advice to think well on whether to pursue the past. That I may be happier to not know. When I sought Nemeiah’s counsel however, she recommended that it was worthwhile to subject myself (without over-doing it) for the opportunity to learn who I was. Somehow I must reconcile these two disparate opinions and resolve on a desire.

To uncover all that lies in the blackness before, or to be satisfied and fill the present existence. 

Selfish

Lately have I pondered what drives an individual to selfish acts and thoughts. Whether it is due to basic deprivation of needs at some point in their lives, or an expectation that past luxuries will continue despite changes in circumstances. Or even if it comes from a perception of entitlement, that one’s own difficulties may be counted as currency for current comfort.

The individual I cite most often as displaying this behavior is Viere. But as I speak to and learn of others’ experiences it seems that this is not an anomalous case. For the purpose here, I will not compare or measure the relative amount of suffering between myself and others due to selfishness. I seek to understand why it exists at all. What selfishness is to me is a willingness to harm or take from others in order to benefit only oneself.

As creatures of the world we strive for survival. Resources are finite and competition prompts combat or intrigue in order to ensure one’s existence over another’s. In the case of strangers, this does not seem evil. It is animalistic and instinctive. But between individuals that are acquainted or invested, even supposedly in love with each other, it becomes less justifiable.

Why would a man thrash his lover when she asked him to cease? Why would another man kill his wife and then sew her together again? This is not confined to men of course; women can be just as cruel. But what threat do the victims pose to their survival? Are they cowards? Do they wish to not lose this person’s affection and company and so keep them subdued through force and artificiality? I refuse to accept that they are simply “evil,” for there is no instruction in that.

When I think of Viere, I must conclude that for him it was due to his sense of loss. A loss of control. His life and powers were taken by disease and death, and the way he felt powerful and safe was to take it back. To regain all the vestiges of life by stealing it from others.

So he surrounded himself with all the appearance of opulence and decadence at the expense of the self-determination of those who served him. So often did he emphasize to me that my life was a gift, from him, and that my devotion and obedience were not a heavy price. I suppose he thought that he was saving me. My existence was an expression of his power over death, when death had already taken everything from him. Including ultimately, I believe, his sanity.

For now I have filled too many pages with ink on this subject. But I do hope that despite circumstances I do not demonstrate similar failings.

Child's Play

There are some things individuals carry with them from the time they are children. Games and tricks gained through socialization with siblings and friends, for example. While this play activity may appear simple and silly, it is quite the opposite when forgotten or lost.

In Orgrimmar, Za’zii introduced an odd ritual of the hands, wherein individuals form fists and then touch the knuckles together in a gesture of solidarity. He had originally lifted his hand into the air as though preparing to smack it down upon me, but then changed to show the fist ritual when I did not understand. Another troll nearby, Zal’zha (who also shows an unusual amount of interest in Do’xian), ridiculed my ignorance. Gom’jun rose to the defense, saying that I was a Fallen and still needed to relearn things.

The Regent demonstrated what the mysterious hand-slapping ritual entailed, as well as a patterned series of hand movements and claps. Though she could not recall the chant that accompanied it. Then she showed a game of reflexes: one person attempts to smack the other’s hands while the one defending tries to move them away.

Experiencing these games and rituals, and understanding that they may have been part of every Elf girl’s childhood was intriguing. But it is likely not the same when filtered through an adult mind.  

Worth It

I wrote to Nemeiah at the Vanguard and then followed the letter shortly thereafter in order to present her the album. The pictures she appreciated, particularly the ones of the cathedral in Stormwind. She rightly ascertained my intent to show the place she so desired to see without risking her bodily safety. As she described it, “To see the inside of the Cathedral of Light without being burned.”

Her happy emotions were less masked than my own, but no less did I enjoy them. Though she did claim that it was not worth the effort or risk to obtain the images. I did not spend a great deal of time arguing the point; I simply stated that it was. While her faith in the Light I do not share, I understand it to be a powerful force in her life and therefore worth bolstering in order to keep her (and those that protect her) sound.

The album is far from full and many more images would be required in order to complete it, but for now I am content. It is not often that I hunt with utter success, and the other searches have been frustratingly lacking in results. In time I may try to procure more.

Frostberries

There is a certain variety of berry that grows in the crater of Coldarra that is dark in color and subtle in its sweet flavor. When I mentioned that my drake enjoys eating them, the Regent suggested (read: demanded) that we gather them and treat him.

We traveled to Coldarra and roamed about the forested edge of the place, searching the bushes. We managed to accumulate two buckets’ worth, which were packed with snow in order to preserve them. Despite her wild flying, I kept hold of all of them. The next day, after I noticed that they were not staying chilled, I asked if we could hurry with the treating.

In Piki’alo I gave Mayhem the buckets of berries, with the Regent present to observe. He consumed all of them in rapid fashion, and then dropped himself upon the ground like he would not move again. Upon examination, I realized that he was intoxicated from the berries. Despite my efforts to freeze them, they had begun to ferment and he was inebriated.

The Regent, of course, found all of this quite amusing. She could not remain for long after, though she did offer to let me wait in her study while Mayhem recovered. I declined at first, but then the heat of the day became oppressive and I did retreat. 

The first lesson learned is that if I collect these berries again, I will know to consume them immediately. And the second lesson was to not be stubborn in refusing shelter.

Pictures for Nemeiah

The project for Nemeiah is complete. What remains is to present the results to her at the Vanguard. It involved borrowing a goblin photocamera from the Regent (which she was kind enough to demonstrate how to use), and then flying about the world and hunting for images that I thought Nemeiah would enjoy. Or that would raise her spirits during her duty in Icecrown.

They are contained in a rather fine leather-bound album, though it is far from full. I wished to account for the hunt before relinquishing the images.

Nunuru was the first thing that I attempted to record. He seemed to detect my desire for him to remain still and leapt about in disruptive fashion until I fed him. 

Then I captured images of Tyr’s Hand abbey, where she usually resides.

And the cathedral of Tyr’s Hand as well. This was once a Scarlet enclave, which accounts for the architecture and coloring.

Next I traveled to the ruined kingdom of Gilneas because while Nem has not seen it, we discuss it. The lighthouse there is truly a remarkable sight. But the rain and my mechanical disinclination ruined several pictures.

The cathedral in the center of town is as well, in part for a design that contrasts so with other churches about the world. When I traveled here, there were many Alliance within and I was forced to withdraw.

The next target I expected to be the most difficult, and it was. First I skirted the harbor of Stormwind to capture the lighthouse there. Fortunately it was a clear day.

Then into the city. I will not go into great detail, but sneaking in presented a challenge. I entered the courtyard of the great cathedral there. Normally I would not have attempted this, except that Nem has also expressed her desire to see the heart of the Church on Azeroth.

Imagine my relief, journal, regarding the image captured within the cathedral. I had worried that my distressed state would have ruined the focus or the angle, but a single image was managed.

After recovering, the next night I returned to Gilneas and entered the city cathedral there. Without an active clergy this was much less uncomfortable. I do think the interior there is remarkable.

With one image remaining in the camera, I located a cluster of Gilnean roses, of the same variety that I now nurture in my garden. It is not a grand image when compared to the others, but the Regent commanded that I use all of the ammunition. When she delivered the album to me, she mentioned that this was her favorite of them.

New Path

My darling had a brilliant breakthrough when searching for information and strategies to face the enemy. It was not the discovery of a singular item, but a new kind of thought and path to pursue. My feet and arms are employed on that path now. I search Night Elf ruins in Azshara and Ashenvale for what is needed, but am cognizant of the difficulty involved in finding what may have long been lost to time.

Still, this new path is a relief for several reasons. One is that it replaces the need to consult with a warlock, which I had already hesitated to do. I had made an overture toward Astoreth, Westel’s betrothed, because she is a reputedly powerful warlock. 

But an unforeseen interruption prevented our meeting, and then there was a lack of communication following. I even attempted to contact her through her daughter, Kuvasei. This do I attribute to her engagement to Westel and the doubtless demand on her schedule thereafter. D.A. also seemed eager to steer me from that course.

Light Sick

I had intended to write of this at the completion of the project, but events prompt me to record things first. Yesterday I went into the Cathedral of Stormwind, and discovered how grossly I had miscalculated the Light’s saturation there.

The pain and nausea from dense Holy energies nearly incapacitated me, and I fled the city. I found a place to hide and was ill. In that moment of weakness, I utilized the talisman to contact the Regent. All I wished was for a voice to keep conscious to, but she tricked me into moving from the hiding place to Stonard under the invitation of “tea.” Several Tuskguard accompanied.

Of those present, Westel and Pip were the most honest regarding their intentions. Blanche Wood, the Tribe’s Forsaken priestess maintained the guise, but she at the least understood what had happened without my explaining it. Urukha was dismayed that I did not drink the tea offered (I could not have without losing it shortly thereafter I think, which would have been far more offensive). And the Regent was quiet.

I pushed them away. Feeling foolish and sick was reason enough to. Their affection and the risk taken to try and find me despite my error I could not comprehend. But I do regret being cross with them.

Update #7

In the spirit of Noblegarden I brought a supply of chocolates home. The largest and most opulent basket was destined for D.A. to plunder, but I also made up one for Mirtai. She has not observed the holiday before and I thought it appropriate to include her. D.A. thought this might improve her spirits given the recent challenges. However, Mirtai’s melancholy has not diminished. 

Recently also I traveled to Coldarra with the Regent, and there I deceived her with a ruse. It was quite brief, ending within a few minutes of enacting it. She appeared entertained after having a moment to realize and react by kicking a great deal of snow at me. It is no small feat to fool her. She rightly called me a number of unflattering things. But while the justification that I gave her was accurate (revenge for a snowy assault at the Tribe’s Winters Veil party), it was not the entire reason. 

When visiting Nemeiah at the Vanguard, she related the experience of healing Roeth, the Bishop’s pocketed death knight, and losing consciousness from applying the Light. But when she woke, she retained no damage. Father Demian had healed her with Shadow in direct opposition to her wishes. I require more thought on this before being able to provide counsel.

Finally, I have also expended a great deal of energy on gathering materials such as Jasmine and ore, in order to sell legitimately upon the market. Thus far, it has been profitable. I am hoping to reveal the totals to my beloved soon. But this income will likely slow as I am sent to seek new knowledge in order to destroy the enemy.

In Disguise

Following the Tribal Meeting on Thursday, some members of the Tribe were suddenly and secretly transformed into rabbits. This was likely a prank by one of their fellow Tribesmates. I recall Kruega mentioning that he had found a branch that changed individuals into the animal.

However, those of us that remained on the bluff did not know who each of the rabbits were, or that they were disguised. One of them kicked at my leg (a rather bad idea on its part given the amount of metal usually protecting my shins), and then went on to cuddle into the bosom of a new initiate, Caelyssa. She is an Elven huntress, which should have been an indication of who that particular rabbit was.

The second only nibbled at my toes and I picked it up to hold (I believe caring for Nunuru has made me more compliant in this sort thing). Then, I was mortified to discover that the gentle creature I had petted was Vivvienne. Her current mate, Scynthe, was nearby and I promptly returned her to him. She somehow changed into her natural form after and assured me that I had not behaved improperly. And that she had enjoyed the attention.

The first rabbit though, continued to nestle in with Caelyssa. Vivvienne identified it as Westel. I mentioned that he should mind his paws. Vivvienne added that he should indeed, given that he had just become engaged to Astoreth. But when I departed a few minutes after, he appeared to have no intent to abandon his warm habitation. 

Noblegarden

This is the yearly holiday associated with candy and rabbits. Or, as my darling informs me with sly winks, fertility. It is expected that participants will run about in a designated area collecting brightly colored eggs, and devour chocolate until it no longer appears enticing.

The Regent asked if I observed any traditions. In truth, last year was the first year that I took any notice of the event and that consisted mostly of acquiring a large supply of chocolate to bring home. I did not confess to her as I did to D.A. then that I had not tasted chocolate before. Now, I have not as much time to gather all of the candy I would like. But Maag received his rabbit to chase, and at the least a few pieces of chocolate will be hunted for my household to enjoy.

I do not know if the Regent pitied my relation of the holiday or if she was feeling particularly charitable, but she sent to me four painted eggs to hang as decorations. Appearing quite fragile, I was concerned that my clumsy transport might damage them, but they are now on display about my desk.

At the least, these eggs will not perish as the raptor egg did and I may enjoy them for a time. 

Shadow Mending

My darling has been concealing something from me. It is not the first time that this has happened, though it is now much rarer. D.A. studies shadow magic and recently turned its application toward healing without informing me of the change.

Shadow Mending is the use of dark magic in order to stop bleeding and repair injuries, as appropriate. From what I understand, it can be equally as effective as healing with the Light but is also compatible with those that are undead. Or rather, those usually harmed by contact with the Light. Sunspeaker described it some time ago and had agreed to write a monograph, but it appears that D.A. no longer has need for introductory knowledge.

This ability was first displayed after the fight with the shadow-spectre. With a hand placed upon my damaged throat, the spell my darling cast felt very cool and soothing. A bit like passing under the shade of a tree on a hot and bright day. I was quite stunned but had not the leisure to question it then.

Later I did. D.A. informed me that this had been studied and tested upon their own wounds, which I disapproved of. I entreated my beloved to allow me to supply my body should practice be necessary. As I am quite proficient in receiving damage from ordinary activities, and did not wish to see that responsibility shouldered by the one I am supposed to protect.

My darling agreed and claimed that this power could be very useful. I recognized that wisdom. This also overpowered any concern I had about it being kept secret. Some things are a bit more important than that.

A Safe Place

The Regent has asked me to find a place for her to be treated. She is one of those of the Tribe ill from prolonged contact with the entity that is disrupting them. There is apparently some danger associated with the process of cleansing someone, and a guardian is required. One that is not, nor can be affected by the illness.

To this end I have located several places about the world that are away from Piki’alo and not likely to be accidently visited by other members of the Tribe. One of these places I now prepare the way I did the area around my home. Though I have less time and energy to spare on it.

I also requested assistance from Nemeiah, and she guided me to a book with some sort of holy pattern that could be chalked upon a floor. She assures me that anyone can construct it regardless of prowess (or lack thereof) with the Light. The condition for choosing the place is that the Regent will not be informed in advance of where it is to safeguard against compromise.

I Will Call You Annjia (200th post special)

((Hey everyone! This is a special post to mark the 200^th entry on Annjia's Journal. As before, I’ll take a couple of days off and then start up again on Wednesday, April 11^th. Thank you for reading!))

Pain.

I shrieked my protest.

The pain faded.

“I do hope that will not be necessary often. I certainly do not enjoy it,” he lectured as I lay restrained. “You must however realize. I have brought you out of hell, but I can send you back if it is necessary to remind you of the gift.”

The room was silent and tomb-like around us. Mirtai glowered at me from the corner. I was cold.

I asked, “Viere?”

 “Yes?”

“What is my name?”

 “I will call you Annjia.”

“What do I call you?”

“Master.”

Cages

Yesterday the Regent and I met on the coast of the Hinterlands for an outing, and compared to the last this one was significantly lacking in Night Elf interruptions. The conversation was diverting for the most part, aside from one misuse.

The misuse followed after she introduced a prolonged metaphor of a bird that refused to return to its cage. And that it would receive violent punishment the longer it defied imprisonment. During the discussion I was referred to as the errant bird and the Regent the cage (with punitive force forthcoming), and this I disliked intensely.

I also managed to embarrass myself in spectacular fashion by sliding off of a steep hillside. There was a path we attempted to climb, and could not manage. So I called for my drake to lift me up above the difficult part. Then I flaunted this to the Regent far below, and on the descent the hill decided to punish me. This would be the one time I decided to not wear armor and sturdy footwear. The Regent suggested that we not walk or run back in order to not aggravate the damage. 

Mayhem carried both of us to Revantusk Village after the Regent jokingly asked his permission to ride with me. I do not think he minded the lighter burden, in contrast to transporting Kruega’s Tauren mass.

As a note, I am hopeful that it is not becoming a habit to fall from something while on these outings. I am not a graceful fighter but prefer to keep my dignity intact. 

Made

In a letter to Val’tirus, the warlock that asked numerous questions about death knights, I reminded him that one common trait among my kind is a hatred for our creator. The Lich King stole lives and power already claimed by death for his own ambition. My reason for telling Sunderflame this was to entreat him to consider the consequences of similar aspirations.

But when Nemeiah told me of how she was raised, I was forced to recalculate. The experience shared by all of us is this: someone takes our life – not to protect their family or to exact revenge on an opponent – to make a life that is different and twisted. Often it is a form or condition less favorable than what existed before, or at the extreme is an abomination.

Nem’s story gave me hope that I over-simplified my conclusion. She remains a gentle spirit, lacking the hatred that I described to Val’tirus. Though I think that this is a rare exception. 


---- Or it may be why we are raised that accounts for the difference.

Hounds of War

My darling and I discussed plans to find and destroy the enemy. Based on Mirtai’s information, I think it will be a simple task to locate his den, however D.A. discouraged me from running out immediately to do so. “To chase a snake into its lair is very dangerous,” I believe was the admonition. But it is difficult to keep a hound of war restrained.

The advice is sound despite my frustration with not moving more swiftly. And it is likely that D.A. will wish to be present for the battle, which worries me. I lost that argument some weeks ago and could not prevent it now.

On an unrelated subject, Urukha acquired her own hound of war. I do not mean Pip, her lifemate, but a literal demonic canine named Redfang. We were introduced the other day. I find it curious that Pip despises any individual that uses fel magic, yet she treats this fel hound like it was any other dog. It appears inconsistent, but may be out of desire to please Urukha.

The Profane and the Sacred

There are two women in my life that could not be more different in their representation, but who gained a peculiar rank of my regard. It is not strange in the sense that my affection for either is inappropriate, but that it is unlikely. Both once held the status of someone not trusted, and changed that completely.

Mirtai, of course, began as my rival. As Viere’s favorite there was nothing holy about her. She existed for decadence and indulgence. She was never true, except perhaps for her devotion to him and loathing for me. And I was just as hateful to her in return. Our adversarial relationship Viere found amusing, and thus encouraged it. It was thoroughly toxic.

Nemeiah is not yet ordained but is by my estimation a priestess of the Light. One who displays compassion and purity of motivation, unpolluted by the evils of the world despite the magnitude and frequency of them. She had every reason to fear and chastise me as an aberrant death knight, and I had every reason to mock and scorn her as a Light-flinger. We could have caused severe spiritual damage to each other, had we behaved thus.

One embodies the sacred and the other the profane. And both I care for. Mirtai has accepted my power over her, unto life and death, and I defend her willingly. Nemeiah called me “Sis,” for I behave like an elder sibling engaged in the office of advising and shielding her from unsavory influences.

It is interesting to consider. If I was pressed for explanation, I believe it is because they know something about being forced into being what they are. And with this I find commonality. More than I have expressed to either of them.

Fringes

Sometimes when I move about the world, I pause in a place that I believe is safe. Or, it is quiet and lacking in boisterous distractions. However, some of these places belong to a community that I do not consider myself a part of, fully, and so I must rely on invitation. And be aware of where the edge of permission lies in order to not offend the denizens.

The Tyr’s Hand abbey is one such place. Nemeiah has given leave for me to visit the library when she is not present. It is a good place for thinking. Even if it is a bit unusual for a fully armored death knight to linger there.

Another location is Piki’alo, the Tribe homeland, on the bluffs that border the settlement. There it is quite easy to be spotted by the sentinels (to not raise an alarm), and to take advantage of their protection for a brief time. However, it sometimes also leads to interruptions from curious watchers.

Westel patrolled the other day and stopped his rounds to question me. He was polite, and stated that I could remain when I asked if it would be better to depart. However, my impression was that he found it odd that I would be there. I thought it would be even more inappropriate to land in the Commons and remain, as though I were a full resident. I am not, so I stay on the fringes.

Nunuru

It is difficult to explain to Maag why there are little white cat hairs upon my cloak when I return home. The creator of those hairs is Nunuru, Nemeiah’s little while feline. He is obese, unused to rigorous labor, and is a source of great comfort to his mistress.

While she has been at the Vanguard, I visit him daily to ensure that he is fed and socialized. Having experience with the shadow-kitten, I thought it within my capabilities to do so. Particularly if it offered Nem some ease of worry while she is away.

As a note, the shadow-kitten does not shed. But it does bite. I prefer the shedding.

Regardless, he is temperamental at times and prefers when I remain for longer in some sedentary state, such as sitting and reading. I calculate that this is the behavior he is accustomed to with Nem. Though it is not as easy for me to remain quiet and still. He has expressed his displeasure with claws to my cloak and gloves. Nem encourages me to not allow him to sway my behavior with tantrums. But as with the shadow-kitten, I hesitate to respond unkindly.

----Do not mistake that for softness, journal. I am still a death knight.----

(April Fool's: the post formerly known as "D.A.")

((April fool’s!

Seriously. 

The picture posted here on April 1^st was not Annjia and D.A. It was a very lovely portrait of someone else’s D&D characters at http://darchala.deviantart.com/gallery/6553082#/d13wvin. Go check out the stuff there, it’s awesome!))