Elek's tattered journals

[Elanderik]

It has been a distinctly long time since my last writings, and for that, I am afraid there are many segments of my recent history that are lost into obscurity. Details on the troubles of the 'Eclipse' mess, the worgen, and how I have come along since then remain a jumbled clutter even within my own mind and I do not believe I have any hope in finding a concise way to present what I even can discern from it all. The important matters of it now is simply that... I am free.

I do sympathize for those poor creatures, for it is a terrible hand they have been dealt. They are not so unlike ourselves; cornered and pressured to desperate means to ensure their survival. Were we still under the duress as they are, I am sure we would have taken to similar extremes.

No matter.

My recent endeavors have been widely varied. With Lady Liadrin's sudden change in stance and direction... along with her avoidance of Quel'thalas, she has left many, myself included, in a bit of a state of concern and disarray. I have expressed my personal thoughts on her reversal of this Order's doctrines, and while some share my opinions, the majority of these pathetic new recruits are hardly more than water-logged lumps of clay, still too easily molded and reshaped to be of any use to me. I could spend weeks in working on one, only to have one of her pawns muck the efforts over with but a few jabs.

Their very presence weakens us.

With the new 'objectives' she has sent despite her absence, it seems as if she no longer finds use of me. Despite my years of selfless sacrifice to her, to our people, and to our city... I come to find this woman that I had respected as a stanchion of stability and a beacon of Quel'thalas' hope... to be hardly more than an emotional, whimpering, misguided fool. While I am curious as to what her intentions are toward me, I have come to accept that her failure to respond to my inquiries as an indication of the extent of differences now between our most basic beliefs concerning the Light, and the Sin'dorei.

Everything that I am now, was in part through her doing. She has led me to where and what I have become... and she leaves me to my own, discarded, and ignored. I will not go quietly. Even if she no longer agrees, this city needs me.

==========

While I know I will be repeating some things that I've surely said before, these thoughts are on my mind again and I feel them important to my present 'predicament'.

My last... 'official'... task, was the re-training of the Lady Rosalynd Du'coudray. I had meant to adapt her talents into a manner in which she could use her lust for blood and battle to the benefit of us all in the fight against our enemies. She is, and always will be, a fiery woman of passions and impulse. There is no sense, as I had realized, in attempting to tame this wildfire - but rather, to guide it in the right directions, providing the path to take and to clear away the debris that may distract.

It was those emotions, that served as her biggest adversary. While I do not know the full extent of her history, from what I have gathered during our time together and from the lip service of my contacts in and out of her Grim, she had been a victim of a love scorned, a love impossible, a love impractical... and a love never-there. Her history is a shaky one, and while I am sure her personal issues regarding family have strengthened her some in the end, they have left deeply rooted scars upon her spirit that... without but the most focused and extensive work, I do not believe she will ever be freed of. A loveless childhood, sent off into the world yearning for what she never had in her youth. Of course she was quick to find solace in the men of her life, I can not blame her for such.

Months I spent, trying my best to stack the cards to deal her a new foundation. It was clear, that the way to truly help her, would be to break her down into her most basic, purest core... then from that, sort through the pieces that contain her strengths and build her back up into the potential she always had. Everything was set, everything was ready... though I admit I did underestimate the effect of outside interference.

Hellista...

Rosalynd and Hellista, as best to my knowledge, are closer than one would deem as simply 'friends'. While I would not be surprised if they have shared in one another's pleasures, it was Hellista's words and whispers to Du'coudray that instilled the greatest sense of distrust between her and I. Yet, while I had managed to hold on long enough to endure that fel-woman's storm, the lingering effects she had upon Rosalynd ultimately drove me to the limits of my patience. Rosalynd no longer trusted me, and without that, I came to not have the starting point for any of the work I had organized.

In my frustration, I washed my hands, and left.

Failure is not something I am used to, nor was it something that sat well with me. The anger I had felt was intense, and it took a woman equally as intense to serve as an outlet for it.

Cessily...

It was not more than a day after Rosalynd and mine's parting, that I had received a message over the stone from Cess. She had spoken of a man seeking to kill her, and that he had been stalking her for a greater part of the present evening. Her insistence on how she pressed for my help eventually dragged me from my grumbling over Rosalynd to see what the matter was. Using the stone as a way to guide myself to her location within Nagrand, I came upon her on a sky island, with no one else in sight.

I was not in the mood for games, and the idea that she had called me out there for nothing more than to tug on me as if I were a puppet, infuriated me to a exceedingly high extent. Perhaps fortunately for her, Izlude had shown himself shortly after, and before I had opted to take my frustrations out upon her. As it turned out, the whelp DID seek to kill her, and my personal dealings with him before had never shed him in a light worth more than the moss I walked upon. He demanded I step aside, and I refused. The stupid bastard threw himself against my shield, concocted a plan to set the Grim upon me, and leaped to his death from the island. As it turned out, his 'allies' within the Grim did not consider him as much as an 'ally' as he had thought. While there were few who would take his side, he failed to start the 'witch hunt' he had hoped for.

This was not my first time in dealing with Cessily though. The woman had stalked me in the latter weeks of my time with Rosalynd, and the two of us had come to exchanging blows on one occasion as well. While Rosalynd is a woman of passions and impulse, Cessily takes that and adds an unworldly tenacity to the mix. Unfortunately, the root of her tenacious side seems to stem from her inflated pride. I suspect, as with Rosalynd's case, that this too goes back to a troubled youth, and again... parents who simply didn't give one damn or another, adding in an adolescence and adulthood of failed loves and bitter breaks.

Are we all so emotional, fragile creatures?

One thing that separated Cess from Rosa was her unrelenting desire to better herself. If I could prove Cessily wrong, or lacking in some way... and many times in a short period I did... she would clench her fists until the knuckles whitened and refuse to back down until she 'proved' me wrong. Unfortunately, it is again her pride that is her greatest downfall. This sense of self is so exaggerated that she will often quite figuratively beat her head against a wall in attempts to overcome it. This is a woman who HAS to be right.

I am not sure where in this all I had decided to take her as a companion into the Arenas, but the end result was week after week of countless matches and endless instruction. I believe the goblins had even accredited us to a rating of 1750 at one point, far beyond their expectations of either of us on the basis of the equipment we carried with us at the time. It was her tenacity that kept her going, though if her stubbornness would have been more easily overcome, I am certain we could have done it in half the time.

Cessily is a difficult woman. While plagued with some of the same desires for companionship as Rosalynd, I cannot really say I understand her methods of satisfying them. Sometimes she seeks them through me, other times she screams me away if I offer them on my own... and on others still, and a majority of others as I suspect, she seeks them with some third party. While I do not suppose there is much harm in her decisions, I feel the degree in which she takes it leads to a majority of the instability she suffers from.

Either way, with my dedication to the ranks of the Marauders, I have found myself to not have the time as I once did. As much as it would please me to still be able to assist her, it has come to a point now where little I say seems to hold any sway of suggestion to her as it may have at one point before. While she is certainly stronger as a result of our efforts together, I cannot help but feel as if I had not been able to achieve the full capacity that was available to us. Her stubbornness is still as rampant as ever, and I just do not have the time to spend on overcoming it should I wish to push her a little further.

Unrelated to either of the two, and I thank whatever Gods, Titans, Creators, Light or otherwise for it, is the Baroness Nymare Sunfire.

Nymare, by far, is the most stable woman I have yet spent any time with. While that 'time' is hardly any at all, and frankly little more than talk, it still does come as a fresh change of pace. This is not to say Nymare is not without her own problems - we all have them, regardless of how perfect we may wish to think we are.

What sets her immediately apart from all others, and even the ones I had not mentioned here, is that she had come to me. She is not temperamental or volatile, possesses no exaggerated sense of pride… she is composed, thoughtful, and concerned about ways to improve herself. She knows she has her shortcomings, her failings… and she desires to find a way to overcome them. She is so different than the lot of those I have had dealings with before, that I have on more than one occasion, found myself at a loss for words and unsure of what to do next. I speak, and she listens (a novel concept!)… she asks questions, wants to know more, wants to know why, and wants to know how.

I find myself envisioning her as a cat with a mouse; calm and in control, playful and toying, simply waiting for the right moment to bite.

I fear somewhat that I have told her too much about myself too quickly. While I had only answered questions that she had asked of me, I had found myself speaking of things with her on that first night of which I have discussed with no one before. Why do I feel so inclined to meet her inquiries with reply? Why did I come to her last night and give her such a gift… then to allude to more? I am not trying to buy her favor, nor her body… of THIS I am sure of! Oh, but what a simple explanation it would be, no?

It takes a great deal of effort to admit that it is indeed pleasurable to feel useful again. To think that I have become so enwrapped with my work that I am only happy with myself when I am able to still feel of some service and use to Quel’thalas or to the Sin’dorei… if even to only one… it is, awkward, to say the least. Yet, here I find myself, eager to share within her company. With last night’s goings, and the surely imposing manner in which I went about it, I am probably well indeed coming across as a ‘thistle vendor,’ as she so put it. Such is not my intention, no… have I truly become so involved with what I do that I am desperate now that it is gone?

There is definitely a sense of attraction for her, and why should there not? I suspect there may be some on her side; else I have no understanding toward how or why our conversation at the forge had gone the way it had. My wonder then, is if I SHOULD pursue this woman, or if I am indeed so needy for a way to feel of use that I am simply trying to convince myself in every way, shape, and form, to find a method in which will place me nearer to her. If the latter is true, and should she ever know it as such, would she exploit this potential vulnerability of mine… and would I even mind if she did?

[Elanderik]

I cannot believe how sloppy and careless I was! Why does this woman affect me so greatly?!

I had attended Cristok's Challenge this evening... a weekly event of competition in a one on one fight. Most of the attendees were faces I am unfamiliar with, though of the lot, I did recognize Annelia... and last season's great trouble spot, Rolphe... pho... mo... however his name is written. While I held no expectation to overcome this damnable Forsaken (for he had beaten me in all but one matching in ALL of the weeks we fought), I did anticipate reaching the finals.

Anyhow, it was not the fighters that concerned me the most, but rather, Nymare. The woman had come to watch the events, which admittedly did add to the suspense each time I stepped foot into the inner circle. The matches were, for me at least, against a Ranger of Quel'thalas, Annelia... whom seemed to take great pleasure in calling me "pretty boy", a Blood Knight healer... then Sir Mage of Ice himself.

I could feel her eyes watching me as I fought, and in the weight of that knowledge upon my shoulder, I found myself making several careless mistakes. While I still managed to overcome the opponents I had expected to, I was not pleased with my performance. Fortunately, these competitions are scored on who the final victor is, not upon the execution of the fight.

Rethsil, Rand's brother, was there as well. He seemed to occupy himself with the Lady's company for the entirety of the evening, which does cause me some wonder as to what may exist upon the more private side of their acquaintance. Our wonderful mage was not rested from his prior round when it came for our turn, and in the time we had to spare, I took the moment to speak with Nymare. I had asked if she would perhaps participate sometime, though seemed disinclined to believe in the robes that adorned her body. My experiences against warlocks before in the past has well convinced me to certainly not underestimate their kind, which did strike me as a bit of surprise to see her second guess herself. While I had meant to encourage her to trust her abilities and her equipment, I fear I may had inadvertently insulted her... that, or she was simply teasing me with her reply.

Rethsil on the other hand... did not seem as amused. He is an old associate of mine from back in Citadel. While I had never taken much in the time to get to know the man, I did always remember him as a fighter, and not one to back down from a challenge despite the odds. When I had asked him about his participation, or lack there-of, he mentioned that he was simply, not prepared. Now, this certainly was uncharacteristic of him, and I can only imagine the reasons and explanations on why. I have found, though... that I'd simply rather not.

I lost my challenge against Rolphe-whats-his-name, and shortly after the event had ended, Rethsil seemed apt to have a round with me himself. Of course, Nymare was standing directly by, a smug, toying smile upon her face while she insisted her innocence on the matter.

Rather than preparing for the fight, as I should have been... I rather instead, watched her. The scrap with Rethsil was longer than it should have been, and even though I had him teetering upon his feet and ready to drop, I ultimately found myself overcome. Embarrassing! Disgraceful! In my preoccupation with Nymare and those piercing eyes that watched my every move, I came to realize that I had not called up my aura... which would have significantly increased my strength and WELL have finished Rethsil off when I had him first staggered. The victory would have been clear and concise, yet instead, I foolishly threw it away all over the sake of a woman and the odd effect she seems to have upon me.

In addition to this blunder, I had failed to ready my shield as I had against Annelia. Every time she had slipped into the shadows, I had brought out my shield in waiting. Yet against Rethsil, I did not. A minor difference perhaps, but with as close as the fight had been, that minor difference itself would have been the deciding factor of victory or defeat, despite the aura!

Why, why, WHY do I stumble upon myself when Nymare is around?

Rethsil commented something along the lines of "you still got it, old man." While certainly his senior, I am not so old as to the way he put it. In fact, when I had questioned him for another go (Nymare had left by this point), he seemed more predisposed to decline. It was not until I had told him that his recovery time had seemed to have gotten worse since his time in Citadel, and that it should perhaps be HIM that should worry about his age, before he would agree to another try.

Prepared, and without Nymare's distraction... I put him to his knees in less than half the time of our first go. He claimed it to be from a lack of bandages, but he can explain it any way he pleases.

[Elanderik]

I have long been a person who has strived and stood for perfection. My entire career as a Blood Knight has involved the task of breaking down and rebuilding those of our Order into the most efficient, most obedient, most otherwise flawless renditions of themselves as capable... all in the glory and service to Silvermoon. While this does lead to a sensation of elitism, I have come only recently to realize the very tip of how isolated I truly am because of it. My pride and my ego, two things I had to exaggerate for so many years, just to reinforce the very points I was required to drive into my recruits. I am left now wondering how much of it is still exaggeration, and how much of it do I actually believe myself.

I am still not yet over how horribly I performed at the Challenge. I know I could have done far better than I had, and I know full well what I am capable of. Pride is one thing I have always had to work upon breaking down in my students. It is the biggest block between one's self and their shortcomings and often blinds us from the issues at hand. It is not until this pride is removed or reduced until many Sin'dorei can even come to understand or see the problems they face that show so brightly to everyone else. Perhaps I have spent so long in this position of mine that I too have become blinded to the extent of my own.

Rethsil's words about my age still continue to bother me. I do not feel as if I am 'too old' to perform the tasks I take on, nor do I believe I am disadvantaged to our more youthful brethren who may be a little quicker on their feet. My experience as a Paladin extends over a century's worth of war and conflict, coupled with a decade of service as a Knight of Silvermoon, I have the conditioning, the knowledge... even the very 'battle sense' that I know many of our newest members never can hope to achieve. While I am far older than any human shall ever live naturally, the ratio of my years remaining when put to a human standard should only place me perhaps in their mid thirties. Hardly the 'old man' that he suggested me to be.

If he wishes to discuss age... he should talk to Aest.

I had seen Nymare within Shattrath a few times since the Challenge. She seems to be a Scryer as myself, as most of our passing bys have been within the Scryer Vault area. While my preliminary thoughts were to approach to offer a greeting, I feel that I should probably maintain a bit of privacy for the time being, especially after the meet we had at the World's End the other day. The entire scene was awkward, and I do not suspect I presented the image or intention that I intended to at all.

It has been suggested to me that I desire this woman, and that all of these careless mistakes are just stumblings encountered during attempts to impress her. Am I interested in this woman so much in that sense? With the wind-tossed ship-ride of emotions regarding Rosalynd, and the near utter lack of them that goes along with Cessily's "affection"... am I even suited enough to dare try? And on that note, why would she want me? What do I have to offer her that some younger, more wealthy suitor could? The family manor had fallen into a decripid state of disrepair. Nestled within the ruined half of Silvermoon, I've been unable to salvage the place or even dare try to restore it to the former glory it once held. The Wretched have the area overrun, and I no longer am in Silvermoon enough to keep them out of it. It may be best to let it and the memories of my family go anyhow.

I am a soldier, an officer, and a servant to Silvermoon and Her people. What would a noble, a baroness even, possibly want to do with me? Is it even my place to wonder?

Yet, if it is not her companionship that I desire...

[Elanderik]

Cessily told me something the other day, and I am not sure I know how to take it. The long and short of it, compacted into a single phrase would be as such: "I am dying, but I think I know how to save myself".

I have not been completely ignorant to her condition. I know she has been ill, and while I know she has degraded in her health since our original meeting, I did not know the extent at which it affected her. I have on many occasions, tried to speak with the woman about what was going on, trying to encourage her to let me know so that I may be able to offer any advice or assistance as I can find. Never once, has she taken the time to do so and often reacted on the borderline of violent for it.

She has recently spoken to me on her frustrations about the sexuality of many Sin'dorei men and women, even once or twice on the topic of children. Sometimes I wonder if this is her way of trying to suggest that I should come to her, but none of my comments seem to strike any sort of reaction from her aside from more bits that seem like veiled invitations or taunts. I assure you, she would have more success if she were more direct, and more so even then if she would at least make it look like she were putting in some semblance of effort or interest in her companions. Rather, she seemed resigned to only poke and tease, denying any and all admittance of her own want or need, always trying to spur a male into action and attention in some lust-driven desire. She has done this to me before, and lately, I have grown quite tired of it.

With her worsening condition, it seems like she has been searching harder for someone or some pleasure to take her mind off of her own mortality. A prideful person, as I had mentioned before, too caught up to want to accept it. Her contacts with me have increased from the average, and I wonder now if this is an indication that she may be becoming desperate for a kind word or soft touch after the years she has spent ostracizing and alienating those around her.

Cessily claims to have a plan for her own 'salvation'. She believes that it is fel energy that sustains her, that heals her, and an assortment of other wild ideas on that topic. While I understand that the majority of us use fel-energy to maintain the edge on our addictions, I would not go so far as to believe that saturating ourselves in it can be at all useful, or even healthy. I have seen the fel-bloods of Kael'thas and Kil'jaeden's creation. I have seen how these creatures feed, how they thrive, and I can only imagine the path Cessily is walking herself toward.

I had tried to tell her that Kael'thas had betrayed us all. She refused to believe me, claiming that it was just an impostor and that he, our 'savior', would never do such a thing to us. I only hope then, that someone else can show her the truth before she gets herself into something she cannot go back from.

The fel-energy is not going to have the effect I believe she thinks it will.

But then I am even left to wonder if the worsening of her condition is somewhat my fault; that perhaps pushing her like I did was not the most ideal thing to do. Should I simply take her old adage and view it as 'only the strong will survive'?

[Elanderik]

[[This particular entry, while short, is written with an unsteady penmenship as if it took a great deal of concentration or effort to set words to the paper. With the number of crossed out and blotted away words that are present on the page, while the overall message was short in the end, it still took a full sheet to contain.]]

================================================== ========

The sound of the dark naaru's screaming haunts me in my dreams.

I cannot convey in words how the awful cacophony of morbid, anguished jingles and twisted melody have plagued my every waking moment since the Marauders' last assault upon the Sunwell and the forces of Kil'jaeden. I hear it in my sleep, I hear it when I eat, when I train... it follows me everywhere, and it does not cease.

If not just for the sake of my own sanity, the abomination must be destroyed.

M'uru's corrupted touch stains our very souls... and we have Kael'thas to thank for it. May his spirit suffer eternally in torment in whatever fel place he has been damned to.

[Elanderik]

It goes without saying, I am definitely missing something.

As for what that 'something' is, I am yet to determine that for certain. Everyone has their suspicion, their beliefs, a thousand people who think they know what I need, what I want, and what is best... for me. Do these people earnestly believe that they know me well enough to have any foundation to these ideas they toss my way? I do not want their help, nor do I -need- it.

Last night in Silvermoon was a fiasco. A circus even, and all this time I had thought the Darkmoon Faire was in Mulgore. Before that even, I had stopped out at the Netherwing Ledge to pick up an item or two for a project of mine. I suppose I should start with this little encounter before trailing onto the foolishness in the City.

I had been in contact with numerous people regarding the primal essence of fire and nether. The count of how terribly many I need is boggling to the mind, and damaging to the wallet. To mitigate this cost, I turned towards friends and acquaintances, aiming to save a few coin here and there over the gouging prices of the Auction Houses. Cessily was one person I had spoken to. She offered me all of the primals that she had (which turned out not to be very many in the end), and then insisted that I owed her nothing for them. "Generosity" and "Cessily" are two words that I would have openly declared never to exist within the same sentence without the presence of "no" or "none." She did not want my coin, or anything else for the matter.

In fact... she had even told me that she "does not have a need or use for [my] coin", or similar. I asked her about her condition, which she admitted is worsening still. I also asked her of the book she had been seeking... and she tells me she had uncovered a few pages, but abandoned the idea. Apparently she had come to realize herself that the book was far more dangerous than she anticipated, and more likely to only make things worse. At least there is -some- sense left in the girl.

But then she went on a rave about how "Kael'thas' plan" would be the salvation of us all. Can she be that blind, even still? Does she not understand the bastard is dead? Tempest Keep has been overrun, and the Terrace upon the isle belongs to the Shattered Sun now. The fel taint within her is worsening every time I see her, and her sanity has gone the way of her health. Weak, bleeding... pathetic. Killing her would be merciful, and perhaps at least save her some measure of respect before she damns herself beyond any semblance of redemption. I am confident her 'plan' is to make herself one of the "felborn", Kael'thas and Kil'jaeden's twisted, demonic-imbued elves. I have slain so many in these past months, one more would not not take a second thought.

Unfortunately, even despite her failing health, she somehow manages to find the strength to fight and slip away. Next time she will not be so fortunate.

They say that when a dog becomes rabid, you have to put it down.

Now, Silvermoon...

Nymare has contacted me again the prior night, asking for one of the gems I had 'offered' before. She had inquired about a particular cut of Lionseye, though came to be indecided between an alternate cut as well. While I had briefly touched upon the differences within the magics contained within the gems, I had also put forth the suggestion of a Pyrestone instead. Though it is understandable that I am no warlock myself, I based the recommendation in consideration of the number of "reckless" Pyrestones I am asked to cut for the Warlocks and Mages of the Marauders. In the end, she opted to agree.

She strikes me as one who sees every transaction (and interaction) in terms of costs and balances. While I had tried to find a way to explain to her what I had wrote a few pages back, without simply saying so, I opted in the end to do just that. I am not sure why I feel I owe her a simple, straight forward answer... and less sure an honest one... but that is exactly what I gave (or... tried to anyway). I had chose to provide her a full explanation, for every time I had attempted to allude to ends without offering the reasoning, I believe had only confused her.

The Lady Sunfire is a terribly inquisitive woman, capable of turning a story back upon itself in attempts to find holes and other omissions. And on that note, she has a very stubborn persistence about it. This is not a woman you can lie to (safely), for she will expose it, call you upon it, and corner you until she has what she would like to hear. Lying to her would have been preferable, if I were not so confident that she would have seen through it. So again, as the first time we had spoken in private, I admitted to her the details of some of my recent thoughts as to why I feel the way I do.

...and I had nearly told her everything, before interruption came.

I do not know the priest's name, but should I encounter him again and without Nymare within earshot to ask me not to, I will break both his arms and legs... several times apiece.

This priest came up and interrupted a private conversation, pushed himself between the two of us, and proceeded to shower her in affectionate banter while fabricating a story about youths throwing stones at the Armory. There are never fewer than two guards at the gates, such an incident would have been resolved quickly. Then to have him tell me that the guards ALLOWED them to do it? Or that the 'youths' -might- be Scourge in disguise... or even a precursor to some 'larger attack'? I should have him arrested for making false reports to an enforcer of the Law, a night or two in the stocks would have done him well! Not only this, but he had even accused me of giving HIM 'longing glances' {{1}} whenever he passed by!

If not for Nymare's interjection, I would have left him upon the ground with a blackened eye and broken nose... and despite what he may think, I had every authority to do so:

1) Making a False Report
2) Attempting to entice public fear and paranoia (The Scourge in disguise? Seriously now...)
3) Insulting an Officer

The longer this male spoke, the more and more apparent it seemed to be that he was either drugged or otherwise influenced/impaired. Despite however angering his intrusion and antics were, acting out more than I had, given the growing crowd (what are the odds then, that Cessily and Rethsil both happened to wander by?), would have been unfit of the uniform I wore.

...and I did not particularly feel like washing his blood out of the regalia.

Rethsil believes I am seeking to court Nymare. With all of the trouble I have yet encountered involving her, perhaps I should. Surely it could not be any worse or than this whole mess has been thus far.



{{1: He was actually talking to Nymare, but Elek failed to notice this}}

[Elanderik]

The dark Naaru, M'uru, has been destroyed.

After weeks of restless nights, plagued by the mournful song of the twisted, dying creature... there is silence again. No longer do we suffer the sting of his touch, and no more do we have to endure the weight he levied upon all of our shoulders.

The reward for our efforts... a direct path to assault the Sunwell itself. Though, some of us wonder if this is simply little more than a path to certain death.

The Sunwell was never 'destroyed', as many of the Quel and Sin'dorei alike believe. Instead, the ten-thousand years we had spent as a race, attuning our bodies to the emanations of the Arcane, blinded the majority of us all once it descended into the state of fel-corruption after Arthas' Scourge used it to ressurect Kel'thuzzad. While there were those among us who would never dare try, the difference in the details of the magics would have left it impossible for the remaining majority to have done so anyway. It was easier to tell the people that it was forever gone, than to tempt them with seeking out a way to sustain themselves from a tainted source.

Kael'thas knew what the results would have been a long time ago. He worked a deal with Illidan while bargaining with the Burning Legion the entire time. While I suspect we owe our 'thanks' to he and the demon-hunter for their development of the vampiric adaptation we use now to sustain our addictions, the compliments to these misguided betrayers stop there. The stones we have in Silvermoon and in the Outlands, are 'gifts' from the Legion itself. I have long since decided that the fel-born are created through directly drawing upon demonic sources, and with the endeavors of myself and the Marauders so near the Sunwell, I suspect it has much to do with drawing so in excess.

I believe that a part of my own lack of falling down this same path, is through the exertion that I and the Marauders subject ourselves to during our assaults. Never before in my life have I fought with as much ferocity, exerting every ounce of strength and power I and we can manage. As we come nearer and nearer to the Sunwell itself, there is not a soul around us who has not tried harder each and every step of the way. While I can feel my body becoming saturated with the fount's power, I feel that I have expended it just as quickly as it has come in.

Tying back to my prior comments, Gluttony, they say... is one of the “Seven Deadly Sins.” I have seen the creation of new fel-born... and the fel-orcs are hardly different. In either case, fel-energy is absorbed into the candidate until the point of change. For example, the Orcs within Hellfire Citadel restrain their 'initiates', soaking them with power. Idleness, sitting there, waiting... and feeding. Sloth. In cases of the elves' fate, their desire, lust, and greed for power drives them to do it willingly. If given the chance, I suspect many would simply sit there at a source, feeding and draining until it is too late.

Wrath, Greed, Lust, Envy, even Pride... I believe sum up myself, if not the entirety of the Sin'dorei as a race quite nicely. It is not so much more than a simple step to find the other two – and I am not surprised that these last ones can come together hand-in-hand.

Is this the price for our transgressions?

As a result of being so near the Sunwell, I have lost the blue glow to my eyes, and once again sustain a brilliant green. I can no longer ignore or resist the Sunwell's power, and I feel it seep into me the longer we spend in our attempts to reclaim Quel'danas. I had spoken to Nymare about my beliefs regarding the use of 'filters'... bloodstones, the fel-stones within the city... or any other method we commonly practice, all as a way to restrict the rate at which we expose ourselves. The filters are not counter-productive to our survival... but do make things inhibitive enough that we cannot gorge ourselves en-masse. Ten-thousand years of heavy discipline in only taking what we needed from the limited arcane sources to survive, seems to have carried over just enough to keep the ill-informed populace from wondering too much on topics that could get them killed, or worse.

Kael'thas could not possibly control an entire populace of fel-born. Kil'jaeden's influence is too deep within them to have done so. He needed us to remain as we were, quietly deceived to do his bidding until some time or event came where it no longer mattered whose side we took. He anticipated being rewarded by Kil'jaeden... I am glad that bastard got what was coming to him.

Events have been put into place that will only compound from here if not deterred.

The death of M'uru was a victory indeed... but I find myself unable to feel the desire to celebrate. I have seen a greater horror, and I know this is going to be something far more serious than I could have ever imagined.

I have looked into the face of death itself... and now, I know there is no turning back...

[Elanderik]

It has taken us so much just to hold The Deceiver back. We operate in shifts, constantly cycling our fellow Marauders to the lines and back to give everyone the chance to rest and recover... I am tremendously glad for our large numbers, for without them, we would have all died the first night we set foot within the Sunwell's chambers.

Cessily tried to explain to me that if not for Prince Kael'thas' treachery, that we as a race, and myself as an example, would not be as strong as we are. The extent of her backwards logic boggles my mind. You do not go out creating problems, simply for others to have to muster together to correct! Yes, I am stronger than I ever was before. Yes, I am arguably stronger than I would have been if this whole disaster was never conceived. I, and Azeroth, would have much preferred the simplier existance... I for one, grow weary of the endless fighting.

While the song of battle is soothing to my mind (for I feel a sensation of clarity upon the field unlike any other), I am reminded of my own fragility and understand that death is but a hand's breath away. I have felt the sting of a dagger in my back before, and I have the scar to prove it.

Curious times are upon us. The Knighthood has taken to arms as many have laid down their shields. Yet, as I watch them scurry about in hopes and desire to make a name for themselves, I shake my head in disgust as I watch them return to Quel'thalas hanging limp upon the shoulders of their brethren. They are all so inexperienced... yet they will not listen to me anymore. We head to Northrend soon - I wonder if there will be anyone left to heal the wounded once we get there. If not these sorry fools, I pity the would-be fallen... if they cannot handle the horrors of Outland, Northrend will simply destroy them.

A time will come that I know I will be unable to defend myself against. It comes for us all in the end; I am not too naive to deceive myself into thinking that it does not exist. It will come for me, for Rosalynd, for Cessily... for Xaraphyne, for Tassha...

For Nymare...

[Elanderik]

[[Scattered among the pages are a few loose images that bear no labels or dates.]]