((And Finally))

((I give you The Chronicles of Ruin.))

Scrap of Paper

It is apparently bloody difficult to find paper and writing implements here. 

I did not bring my journal to the shadow realm, but that point would have been concluded regardless, as after only a few steps inside we came under attack from a gigantic creature. My beloved and I were separated, and the horses lost. Or so I thought. They had an easier time of returning home than either of us will.

I continued to the Castle and met with the Lord after contacting my beloved via the stone. We were so far apart that our voices did not carry completely to each other and I was forced to guess much of what was said.

Before much longer, I understood what the Lord wanted us to do and was reunited with my beloved in that realm. We would not long remain there.

Now we are somewhere else. Or more accurately, somewhen else. It is not as cold, fortunately, but I cannot understand a word that anyone says. D.A. assures me that by simply standing and brooding this prevents a great deal of trouble. I am talented at that.

Do Not Want

This time of tranquility and stability is already ended. The cat came by, as did an unsavory face from the Shadow realm. My beloved and I have a decision to make.

-- The decision is made. We return to that dark place because the Lord of the Castle has to speak with us about Kaelyn. It was not an easy choice to make. This time, I leave you behind journal. Let us hope that this journey will be brief.

Dancing

As a general rule of behavior, I do not dance. Like laughter the activity has negative associations attached. In this case due to my experience of it being employed solely for the enjoyment of someone who did not deserve the display.

However some weeks ago I made a remark on the topic off-hand to my beloved, mostly as a distraction from other subjects. When we talked of it, I was not surprised to learn that D.A. had formal practice with dancing due to social expectations. The offer to teach me was then made.

I accepted, perhaps out of haste or a superficial desire to please. The matter went unspoken of until the night that we shared tea with Nemeiah. I had just seen the latter out of the place when my beloved suggested we take advantage of the setting for a lesson. The evening had gone well to that point, so I hesitated. Yet with less difficulty than anticipated I agreed.

It was pleasant, overall. Though I believe D.A. does not entirely understand the reservation and I am in no hurry to explain it. Those doubts now shift a tad and I find myself seeking a way to introduce another situation in which another lesson can be shared.

Tea with the Beloved

When trying to think of a proper word to label this event, I do not believe that there is a perfect descriptor. However, one word that kept returning to my mind was "remarkable."

To write it simply, my beloved and I invited Nemeiah to tea. She accepted, and we met and chatted in comfortable fashion. Not at home, certainly, but in a safe place. 

I confess that I enjoyed her immediate surprise at seeing just who D.A. was. Nem's grace and tolerance afterwards, needing only a moment to adjust was quite-- well the word has been used.

Nothing of great moment was discussed or done, yet I was profoundly pleased at how easy the two mingled. It caused me to wonder just why I had been so nervous and dreadfully thorough in planning, preparing and keeping the meeting a secret. Though perhaps it all was necessary and that did have impact, I do not know.

Still, there is no way to return to prior status now that this step is made. I entreated Nem to tell no one what she saw and learned.

The Good Days

Notwithstanding the tumult in Orgrimmar and Kalimdor, the ravaging of the new lands in the south and the accelerated intrusion of memories into my mind, these days have been good ones.

My beloved and I are both hale and engrossed in our tasks. For me that involves taking advantage of the economic opportunities brought by Garrosh's idiocy. It is a goblin's market. I brought the initial gains home the other night and was given praise (with all of the required paperwork because D.A. demands receipts).

Kruega has returned from his journeys, though temporarily I expect, and I had the pleasure of informing Nemeiah of it. Though he has now retreated from Orgrimmar and I cannot blame him for this. 

I even managed a few interesting conversations with strangers, despite the complaints recorded on these pages. 

All of these notes are not to claim that all is well and perfect, nor do I anticipate that things will remain positive and stable. I am attempting to enjoy when it is, while it is, without reservation or guilt.

Disgraceful

Yet again I am reminded of why I no longer claim kinship with the elves of Silvermoon. Yesterday I passed some time in Orgrimmar on business and in search of Nem (who hopefully has retreated elsewhere, given the troll unrest). I was unfortunate and overheard what constituted a "conversation" between several Sin'dorei.

The verbosity of our race is legend, I concede. Yet it is disgraceful to see men and women so clearly of consequence and education use an excessive number of words to say so little. Really, they said nothing at all and sounded so dreadfully self-important as they did. There was another in their gathering that openly drank the blood of one of the sand-lizards during their discussion, which was repulsive. 

When I made some small motion, driven to rub away the headache, the leader of the group turned from the lady (who was still speaking to him, mind you) to ask what bothered me. I decided not to answer, waiting for her to continue as would be proper in a civilized environment. He became aggressive and asked if I was mute, or simply rude, as he had addressed me.

I replied that he had. And said nothing else.

He then showed disdain and attempted to recover his pride by suggesting that he would never receive an answer, and that was well with him. (I still cannot fathom how he could not understand the simple proprieties of conversation and how boorish he was behaving).

To which I told him that when he was capable of conversation, we would chat. Then I walked away as I could watch for Nem from a different location without being exposed to such banality. 

Gren'mazi

He is a troll with crimson mane and appropriately incendiary talent when wielding magic. Though it is not for this that he can claim respect; it is for his tattoo shop wherein he applies artwork to the bodies of his customers. He is also a member of the Burning Tusk Tribe.

The reason that I write of him now was that some days following my brief exchange with Urukha, we spotted each other in Orgrimmar and sat for a chat. We spoke of his mate, whom I have not met personally but in the past I have witnessed her effect on him. Together they expect a tiny one by the end of summer.

We also discussed a recent series of riots in the city, centered around displeasure with Garrosh as Warchief. I have not participated in his campaign in Pandaria, in accordance with my beloved’s wishes, but have heard stories of the trials and disdain the elves endured under his command. Now it seems the trolls have taken to openly opposing him. As one of the race Gren’mazi was worried that the Kor’kron would imprison him for that alone, and put his pregnant mate in danger.

When I asked for his advice on how to manage time in the city, as I still have some business there, he replied in a rather cryptic manner, that I should make sure to know who the enemy really is.

This caused me to think of Urukha and wonder if a similar calculation prompted her to contact me.

A Deserved Apology

It is rare that I would claim to deserve something, least of all positive impressions such as happiness or love. Yet when I am wronged, and the source of that wrong is so utterly and violently disconnected to the truth of it, I expect justice.

For Urukha it took this long to apologize. It is what I wanted, as I had told Nemeiah the day before. My anticipation was that Urukha would demand to share blame again when there clearly was none to be shared. It was she who treated me poorly. Now, she admitted it. 

Still I calculate that there are outside factors that I am not witness to that influenced the concession of guilt, but those are not impactful enough to pursue. Our lives continue in different directions, as I told her. There will be no renewal of our friendship. I accepted the apology and then took my leave shortly after.

This is a Mistake

This may be the stupidest thing I have done since I attended Darkbreak's assembly without familiarizing myself with his protection. Which unfortunately was not very long ago, and does not flatter the integrity of my self-preservation calculations.

Yet when she contacted me without invitation, I eventually agreed to direct meeting with Urukha. Nemeiah approves of that decision, though I know without asking that my beloved does not. With all things considered I tend to trust D.A.'s pragmatism more than I do Nem's optimism, but for the latter's sake I promised that I would give Urukha a chance to explain herself.

I simply carry exceedingly low expectations.

Cross Loss

As I had read was probable, one of the rose crosses has not survived to produce seeds. And there is a second rose hip on one of the Kaelyn bushes that has me concerned. While my beloved tried to reassure me, it is difficult not to worry for all the rest.

Thinking on it, it must seem so ridiculous to an outsider to be so invested in these plants. Yet I believe the emotional attachment is due to my own inability to reproduce. That is, without raising something already dead or giving my powers to someone already living. Neither of which is palatable to me now. Vividly I remember Nemeiah’s horror when I created the black roses originally, by destroying a fresh red bloom with necromancy.

This is the only way that from nothing, I can create life. Growing flowers in a garden.

---- And so many elves have children without a thought. Then they complain of the symptoms, consequences and responsibilities. They forget how fortunate they are simply to have a choice.

Butterfly Wings

Westlynn sent to me a gift. Something gathered from the new lands, I estimate. It is a butterfly with iridescent, shiny blue wings pressed into a glass pane. I am not certain if she sent it because she simply thought I would approve, or if there is something else.

Things have changed.

Knowing what I do and what I do not know, and the intersection wherein all the risk resides. What mattered little, what mattered none, and how delicate we all are.

Old, Burnt Bridges

I happened upon Nemeiah in Orgrimmar this morning. While I was glad to see her, I was equally reluctant to volunteer details of the last few weeks and their conclusion. She may not have approved of Darkbreak due to his use of the Light to harm me, but telling her precisely how he ended seemed unwise. Even if I was not his agent of Death.

Nem mentioned a desire to speak of someone, and I became concerned. Of similar significance as Viere is to me, is a man that has caused her great grief. But it was not him that she wanted to talk about.

It was Urukha.

The orcess who treated me with such misunderstanding and disdain approached her and asked of me, Nem said. It was her supposition that Urukha wanted to rebuild the bridge that burned between us. I do not know the accuracy of the assumption, but if it is true, I would expect Urukha to approach under her own courage and not use Nem's influence on me. Though she likely knows still how I will listen to Nem's counsel.

And, journal, such an approach would require courage. I have forgotten nothing. Which is why I will not believe or act on Nem’s hypothesis unless there is evidence of it.

Checkmate

Darkbreak no longer presents a threat. There was little doubt of the conclusion, but the planning and subterfuge required were telling of the importance of it. He did not reach his destination after sailing from Stormwind.

There was some damage received by my beloved and me. The next steps involve recovery and returning to normalcy. As much as it can be had.

Final Play

The infiltrator proved remarkably successful, bringing back usable information to me regarding Darkbreak. She concocted some story to gain access to him. Then, used it to receive a demonstration of his abilities (though I already had witnessed them much closer than desired).

The insight gathered regarding an item in his possession was the most helpful. My beloved now works to find counters to it and to his other defenses.

Then, the next step is obvious. And depends on my calculations in order to enact it successfully. I have navigational charts and maps all over the floor. It all feels very familiar, though I try not to spend time wondering why.

Adoring Legions

There is an army within my beloved’s study. They sit in neat rows, arranged by rank and are selected according to their virtue. They wait in silence, still and dreadfully organized. The favored may number up to a dozen or more and occupy D.A.’s space and time until they are no longer required.

Which is when I happily return them to the shelves.

I call the books my beloved’s “adoring legions” as a tease for when I lose D.A’s attention to them. This is not a serious criticism. Many ways have I discovered to capture and retain interest despite competition. My beloved has also used them to entertain, reading stories aloud to me.

Once I did threaten to toss them all about the room, with permission, because they had not surrendered the desired information readily. D.A., quite calm and firm in tone reminded me to refrain. It would have been bloody amusing had I been allowed.

The Other Side

With Darkbreak plastering his advertisements all around and the lingering concern about him, my beloved and I agreed that something must be done to ensure our security. I calculated and decided that more information was needed first. Thus, I required someone who could collect it for me.

With Westlynn out exploring the new lands and for a few different reasons, I reached to “the other side.”

Not formally of course, but the task calls for someone who could move through Alliance areas. And whose discretion could be ensured by coin rather than politics. Much is risked. This endeavor was also made more challenging because I did not understand Common. And have avoided learning it, I must add, but that is a topic for another time.

The individuals I found (through Silvermoon contacts, interestingly) displayed uncanny good manners and claimed to lack an allegiance to the institutions and hierarchy of Stormwind. Though the spy and I do not yet share a language and this could be problematic. I must trust that her “boss” relayed my instructions correctly.

I believe Nem would be proud of me for behaving myself.

((April Fool's: The post formerly known as "Blue Crab"))

((No great surprise here! The blue crab referenced was the annoying pop-up helper from World of Warcraft's website, affectionately known as "Crabby." If Annjia ever did encounter Blizzard's favorite annoying crustacean, I'm pretty sure she would either avoid it or dedicate herself to its utter destruction.

A blue crab followed me home.

At first I thought it amusing, if disturbing in how it stared. Then I became irritated with it and killed it.

Then, it came back. D.A. suggested that I "get the butter." I will be very glad when this day is over.))

Another Leaflet

((The flier is printed in Common.))

Leaflet

Darkbreak is recovered enough from his injuries to return to appearing publically. I confess some surprise, as I thought the exchange with my beloved had left him unable. Though I did not spot him personally to verify.

What I found was a new advertisement, this time in Elwynn Forest. I would not have known its contents (and did not confirm them until my beloved read it) if did it not have their emblem printed on it like a blasted red flag. The paper itself did not survive the discussion.