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.