Archive for the Erubadhron’s Journal Category

[SERVER] Restart in 15:00

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on November 16, 2009 by necrolepsy

I had thought to pen in the results of choosing to go ahead with the spell, having put such things in motion. Instead, I find myself far removed from the confidence I usually associate myself with. I am surprised I had the wits to attend the Jousting Tournament this evening, for the events of the afternoon impress upon me in great distress. As it seems nobody else has recollection of the rather unique and extraordinary events which occured, I have chosen to make record of them so that I might one day find someone who shared a similar experience. It begins when…

((Setting: The Filthy Animal, early afternoon.))

Erubadhron waved farewell to the Troll who had been speaking with them about the properties of runes. It had all started when Lanuria Dawnblade had approached the Warlock with a tome of some sort, which had turned out to be her father’s journal. He had accepted it in interest, vaguely recalling that her family were spellcasters and that she was an oddity among them. It was no surprise to him then to see the vast amounts of writing that filled the pages. Not just memoirs were recorded… but locations were illustrated in painstaking style and lines upon lines of runes filled various pages. It had been then, as they discussed the rune-scribed spells in the book, that the Troll had come up. Erubadhron had been identifying one spell as being one of summoning, though he hadn’t been sure what would be the result of the spell. He had relayed such information to Lanuria. “…do you really think that’s what the spell is, Eru?” She had asked.

But something started… a faint crackle, as if a television had been left on a channel with no reception, the distracting sound of the snow so faint as to be almost inaudible. The sudden awareness of it had distracted the Warlock from answering, and he looked around slowly. It seemed Lanuria hadn’t heard it however, for her fresh face continued to focus on his own incessantly, waiting for a reply. He noticed that only one or two others seemed to be looking around as well. It would have been folly to ask if the Elf before him had heard the noise, for there was no sign she had. Instead, he resigned to answer her. “Yes. I do believe so.” She practically lit up, but the seconds were ticking by and the noise grew just a touch, almost imperceptibly, with each passing moment. A minute had passed, Lanuria absorbed in studying the runes before she looked up. “What’s that noise?” Erubadhron could not contain himself, and began looking around again. Orcs… Trolls… Tauren… Forsaken… and Elves. Many of them heard it across various races. “Some sort of Alliance gambit?” Erubadhron wondered aloud.

Both he and the Elven Ranger stepped from the tavern, and as they entered the main square of Dalaran they bore witness to various members of the Alliance in the same sort of befuddlement, looking about in confusion.

[SERVER] Restart in 10:00

By now, all the members of both factions could hear it. The Mages of the Kirin Tor were at a loss, and they peered around hopelessly as well. Erubadhron glanced up by chance, platinum ponytail bobbing as he craned his neck to spy the Violet Tower. An idea bubbled in his mind, and he strode powerfully while it was hot on his mind. “Lanuria! This way!” She looked around, as if certain she’d find something, but resigned herself to go along after a few seconds and easily caught up, for Erubadhron was not particularly tall and her longer legs made it a simple matter.

[SERVER] Restart in 05:00

The sound was loud. Aeroplanes could have been passing a half-mile overhead for all they knew, did they exist at the time. The balcony of the Violet Tower allowed them the ability to see the chaos that was brewing in the streets. Maddened by the sound, the menagerie of animals stabled at Dalaran had broken loose, unable to find the source of their audial anguish. Some caromed about, striking the walls of the buildings in the streets below. And yet they all heard it at the same undeniable pitch. Erubadhron was lost in the madness, eyes jumping from person to person as he surveyed. Where was it coming from? Who was doing this? Was it some sort of attack by the Lich King? It didn’t seem his style, but Erubadhron was lost for answers. He would have seen it on his own, but Lanuria bought him a few extra seconds by clamping her hand down on his shoulder. “There!” She pointed off into the distance.

[SERVER] Restart in 00:30

The sky was gone. Or at least, it ended the way the landscape did, at a wall of white. At first Erubadhron thought it was hovering there, but he could see at the fringes where the world touched the whiteness that it was breaking apart, and that the wall was clearly advancing at a rate of several dozen miles per hour. Flight was the first thing on his mind, but it was almost driven out by the deafening roar of static in his ears. He clamped his hands over them, watching Lanuria do so a half-second ahead of him. The confusion in their eyes was palpable, and they continued to stare at the wall. No… it would do him no good to run. Even were he to mount a fast enough flying creature and depart, where could he run to that this undeniable force would not follow? He stood there, watching the world fall apart into nothingness. He closed his eyes, and the static washed over him. He felt himself torn apart at a level he had never experienced with any sword or spell, and would have cried if he still had eyes. He could have clenched if he still had fingers. He could have screamed if he still had a throat.

“…do you really think that’s what the spell is, Eru?” The Warlock looked around in a daze. He stood inside the Filthy Animal before Lanuria Dawnblade, who looked at him in earnest interest for his answer. “Um…” Erubadhron blinked, opening and closing his mouth intermittently. “You okay?” Lanuria asked, and he could look at her. It was clear she didn’t remember. From the look of all those around him, nobody remembered. “Yes. I do believe so.” She lit up, as if ready to gush.

((The bottom of the eighth page, where Erubadhron Valorbane finishes penning the memory.))

–am certain it was not associated with the Old Gods. It was unlike their style, though I would not put it past their kind to perform such a trick. That it would only be done to me and at so considerable expense seems to defy that. I can only presume that it was a natural phenomenon, and wonder if perhaps there is just one… even one other out there who does recall what truly happened.

~Erubadhron Valorbane

In the Pale Moonlight

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on October 22, 2009 by necrolepsy

This past month has seen me reorganized, shedding my old skin as it were and allying myself with new members of the Horde. I feel as though I have stripped myself of all that weighed me down. These chains that had bound me to the failings of my peers are broken, and I am rising above. By accepting a new comission, I have become part of a team that moves with more fluidity and power than I had seen to date. I am…

Impres…

((The pages have been scrawled over with jagged, harsh lines that almost tear through the thin material.))

I̡͞͞D̴̢́I͠͠O̕C͟͡Y̸!͜ ̴̨L̶Ứ́N̴̡A̡͟C̨͟Y̵̴̨!̨͝ ̢҉́W͟͜h̸҉͝a͠t ̴͡͡ẃe̷҉a̸̢̡kn͞e̷̢̧s͟҉s̨͘҉ ͘͢į̀s̵͠ ̷̀̀t͜͞h͝ís̸?̵̛͡!҉ ̶̶W͡ha̸̢t͞ ͏s̡̡e̵̛ǹt͜im̨̧enta͜͝ĺ͘͡ ̴͠͏g̴a̢rb̸͞a͢͝g̨é?̛!̢̛͞ W̛h͜҉a͠t ̛r͟i҉g͘ḩ͟t̢,̨̧ ̨̀w҉h̸̵̀à͜ţ ̵͝m̧͘i̸͜͝n̴̶d̵͘  ha͟v͘e͘ ̴y҉̕͜o̕u̢҉ ̧t̶҉o ̸̕d̴́͠e̴c̷̵įd́͝e͞ ͞súc͡h҉ ̵͘͢f̀̕o̴o͜l̡is̕h͏͟ń͝e̢͠ś͢s͞͏?̶̡!̛ Y̴̕͢o̢͏u ̀͜͞a̢r̨̀é͜ ̸V̸́̕al͝o͏͘r͡͝b͝a҉̡͠n͢e̶̢, ͢P̵̧er̶̛͡i҉ļ̀ ̢́̕o̷̴f́ ͜҉̷t҉h͠e͠ ̸A̸̕ļ̛l̷̶iance̡̨ ͜a͏̴n̨͝d̀ ̷̛t̀͡h͝e͝ ͢v͢͞i̛͟͜c̕i̸o͏̕ų͠s ̧sl̛a̵y̵͠e҉̛͏r̶͟ ͏͏òf̵ ̸a̕͜l̛l̵̨ w҉h̷͝o͜ ̡͘͢s͏͏̧t͘͝a̴nd̴ ͘i͟ņ̛ ̧̡y̶o̢͞ur̨̡̀ ̵̷̵p҉a̧t̸̸h́͏.͏̨ ͝Yo̸u̶͟ ͠͏̵havȩ̀͠ ̛́be̴ȩ͢͞n ̨̨d̨̛͜u̕͏lļ͢e̶̷d͡.͞ ҉Y͟oų ́͝h͏̧a̴v̡e̢ ̨͠b̀͠͏eé̷n̸̛ ͡s͟҉l͞o̡͜w͠e͢d̷̡.̶̷҉ ̶̧͜Th̢̨i͟s̛ d͡r̶u͞ḑ̛̀ǵ̶͏e̸͞r҉͏y̷͜ ̨̧͞is̷̀ ̛͡n̶o̧̧͡t͝h́i̧͏n͟g̴͞ ̢̛b̴̀u̕t̶ ̴̶th͝e ̧҉w̸̸r͢i̷̵̡t́͘͠i̶̷n҉g͟s ͞of̨̀҉ ̡a̶̢͘ ̨o͟ņc̛͜͞ę̧́-̢g̕r̀e͏͟͞at̶͟ W̴̢̨a͏r͜͞l҉o͝c̴͢҉k̷. ͢T͞h͡e͟͜͠ŗ͠e̸ ̧͠i͠s̶̨ m͟͞͡úc̡̕h͏̵͜ m̵̀ơr̴͏͢e̢͠ ̛̛t͢h̡͢at ̕̕͢n̛͞e̷edś̢͝ ̛͟t̷͏o̢ ̶be͞ ̸̵̛d͠o͢͞͏ń̛e̶. Ṕ̷ų̨t̀ s͘͜u͏͞c̵͘͞h̛ t̶͞h҉o͘ug̵̨͜h͘t͡s̸ ͞o̷f҉͞ s̵ì̸̛m͞p͟l͠i͠͡c̷҉i͟͞t̕y͢ ̷̵̀a͏n̢d̡ ̛àrb͘͝i҉̴͝tra̵͝r̢͟y ̡s̸h̵́͞o̡ws̶ ̕͘͠ó̴f̀͢ ̴̴͢ķ̧͝i̶͏n͡͠d̨̨n̵̡e̢s͏ş͟͠ o̵ư̕t̴͠ ̶o͏͜f ͡͝y͢͠o̶̵͜u̸̡r̷̛ ̷͢m͝eas̨͡e̢͞l̷̶y̸̧ ҉li͘͢ttl̶̶e̛͞ ́͠h͡͡e͠҉̕á̕̕d̷!̀͘ ̡́͏T̡͘h̸̡e̷̸ ̶s͘p͠el̕l ̡m͟҉͢ú͡st̴̸ ͡b̛͘é̛ ͢͝c͘ơ̶mp͘ĺ̵͠et̢͟e̛d̕.̴͏ ̀͘I̸͘͡t͢͏ ̶̴͞m̷u҉̨s̨͞ţ ͏bé̢҉ ̴̀͟s̀͟e̛͡e̵̢n͟.͏̶͘ ͡I̶҉̢t ̨m̸͢u͘s͢t.̶̧̕.̀.̧ ͠Iţ m̡u̶͟st͏.̵̛͝..̨͜͠ ̸͠I̴t̸̕ ͠m҉͡ư͝s̷t̴.̶͘͏..͜͡ Í̷t́̕ ̨͟m͟ù̵͠ś̶̕ţ̸͜.̸̛.̨. ҉̴̢I͜͡t͞͠ ̛m҉u̷s͘t́..̧̧.̨͢ It̢ ̵͝m̸u̷̷s͢t͞.̴͏.́.̀̀͘ ̴I̸t ̴̡m̀͜͜u҉҉s̸͘t̴̨͝.͢͝.̸͜.̸̨
͇̻̖͢m͏͏̙̣͕̼̠u̷̥̣̟ͅs͎̥̹̀t͕̙̙͙͈ ̸̻̹̘̣͉͠b͍͓͉̱̞ḙ͈̗̹͔͟͡ ̛͇̦̰͡ͅc̷̨̡̝̻̺̟o̮̳̮̯̞̥̯ṃ̴̧̪̳͍͕̝͕͚͞ṕ͔͕̻̻͖͔͘͟l҉͎̟e̮͍̗͞ͅt̵̮̪̼͕e̬̬͕̟͟d̖̠͡.̝͕̜̲̼̖ ̛̞̞̹̥̕I̻t̢͇̘̳̼͓̭̬ ̸̯̬͔͕͉m̡͇̼͚͈̲͡u̸̜͙͚̞̰̹͉̙̻s̵̢̞͍t͓͖̮̥̣̪̫͘ ҉҉͙̤̖̹͖̹b͇̳̭̱̠̟̺̜̪e҉̹̝̞ ̢̡͓̯̹͡ṣ̦̞̗̟̘e̞͙͎̱̞͓͘͝͞è̯̞̩̝̺͚͔ͅͅn̢͔̣͓̯͝͞.̗͖̹̥͎̭̺̬̳͢ ͍̞̮̩͢I̛̮͇̼̼̟̗̖t̶̵̤̯̬̞͎̺̪͡ͅ ͏̙͍̤͖͉͘m͙̯̲͍̩͡ͅù͎͎͇͖̪̬̞s̷̭̗̯̱͖͉̩͝t̖̼̺͉̙̰̟͙́.̤̹̜͟.҉͓̠͉̠̼̦͉̼̬͡.͔̮͚ ̛͝͏͙͇͇̯̼̣͔I̻̩̹ͅţ̵͇̮̭̖̯̱͍̹͢ ̨̡̱͕̜̣̺̮̦̀ͅm̛̦͉͓͉̣ṷ̴͠ș͈̭̖t̢̮̰̘͎̀̀.̷̵͍͍͔̥͡.͏̖̤͔̰̩̗̟͘ͅ.̨̺̖͕ ̛̭̮͇͓̺̝̫̬̫́I̧̛͉͓͎̯̤̺͠t̛͕͈̘̘͚͢ ̨̪̱͕͈́m̛̼̀ư̧̜̜̯̱͡ͅs͈̙͇̗̘͙̭̭̣͟ţ̭.̶̠̹̥.̵̤͖͉͉͚ͅ.̷̡͚͖͙̺͙̣͡ͅ ̷̴̖̯̙͕̖͡I҉̗̱̘̖̗ț̤̖̗̱̼̭ͅ ̷̠̩̲͠͡m̷̛̤͖̳͕̬̫͕ͅu̥̪̠̻̦̥͎̝͍s̕҉̳̱͔̰̥̦͔t̜͇͘.͓̗̦.̴̨͎͓̠̠̭͜.̸҉̰͚̠̦̹̦ ̵̤̠̘̗̻͝I̡̩̺͈͝t̸̢͖̱̺ ͏͇͇͉̖̹ḿ͕̤̰̘͈̠͎̲ṷ͎͎͔͎̙́ͅs̕҉̝͔̦̝t̷̥̩.̫͢.̷̀҉͙͇̝̳̻ͅ.̝̩̮ ҉̷̼̫̱̜I͍̬ͅt̹͙͖̯̀ ̗̭̟m̞͙̫̯͔͡ͅu̸͏̣̭͚̜s̤͖͚̦͖͍̤̲͟t͔̲̭͓͚̣͍͡.͢҉͇̞.̛̺̘̹̪͓̯͞.̸͎͕̥̞̘̣̗͠ ̙̙͙̳͈̱̕I͚̹̬̘͢t͏̼̖͈ ͏҉̢͕̦̠̪̬̺ḿ̜̣͚̖̙̟̻͘u͕͎̜̠̮̜͕͘͞s͙͕̹̪̘̤͝t̷͉̲̀.͙̬͜͝͡.͝҉̤͉̞̻̠̘.̪̼̗̖̻̼̖͇͡͝

((Where the scrawl stops, the rest of the original entry continues unvandalised.))

                                                                                                                                                                                                …nner of infiltration, I shall be in attendance. I still cannot shake this weight that has borne itself upon my shoulders, however. Though I have been in deep discussion with several close contacts who shall remain nameless if this journal is ever discovered, and they have counseled me that to use the writings and papers I’d composed in my mania would be detrimental to my health and sanity, I cannot deny that the subtle compulsion to use them grows. I find myself glancing over like a boy seeing a woman undress for the first time, shy and eager. It calls to me with siren song, and I am certain that if I do not do away with the various pieces of parchment, that I shall give myself over and arrange to sway acolytes to my views in order to perform. As it requires the aid of multiple users of magic with significant talent to use this, I can say that I would need some time even if I were to decide that I should use these… otherworldly pennings.

Perhaps the party will get my mind off it. Of course, I should not be so foolish as to presume that I can merely put such an alluring prospect out of my head. I’ve always had a penchant for desiring what will get me into trouble. Women, demons, and the taking of lives have been my bread and butter for years. Perhaps the corrupting influence of my craft is finally taking its toll. Perhaps I should look into aid. But there is no one to turn to, for they would by turn, turn me in. I give myself one week to decide a course of action.

~Erubadhron Valorbane

Insomnia

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on September 18, 2009 by necrolepsy

I’ve been so busy that my writings have fallen behind. Something has posessed me, and though I have written without pause I have left my mind to become some disorganized clutter of which little seems to make sense anymore. The barricades I have hidden myself behind leave me interacting little with those I know, and not at all with those I don’t. It seems as though something bothers me. The light hurts my eyes now, and yet the darkness provides no respite, for I lay awake with my thoughts rushing in a torrent that leaves me dazed and confused, as though my own brain can’t keep up with itself. I have never worked so hard before on a single spell, and yet I have writings, drawings, etchings… tossed all over my room. Pinned to the walls by magic. Suspended from the metal they’ve been impaled on, on my hanging candelabras. Only having completed the spell do I feel myself at rest anymore, and I feel I must write before I lose the mania that has driven me. That I pour the madness into the pages before I allow it to leave me, for I will know it no longer if I rest and rise.

But at the same time I feel there’s no release, no peace. I’ve tossed and turned without cease. It’s a curse. I open my eyes and rise from the sheets. It’s been a couple of weeks since I last slept. A week ago I could have sworn I had it beat, but I found myself sinking deeper still. In the night I wrote by candlelight, for I found insight, an inspirational light. If it comes back this insomniac will see the black and keep the beast in my nature under ceaseless attack. I’ll get no sleep.

I feel my hair greasy to the touch, circles under my eyes making me look like I’ve had a brush with death, time and again feeling on my neck its necrotic breath. Ruined quills scattered across tables, my money running low… what did I do? I hesitate to turn and look around, because that’s where it is. All the pages, the final result of my utter chaos. I can’t get to sleep, but the quill feels so heavy now.

~Erub- (The signature trails off the page.)

The Heart of Azeroth

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on July 11, 2009 by necrolepsy

This is not my first foray into Ulduar. I wonder if it will be my last. I somehow doubt it. The cold winds howl across, and we stand outside discussing strategy for even the first step into the dread prison is fraught with danger, and yet still open to the icy northern gusts. The snow cuts a path, felling those who did not dress for the temperatures of the Storm Peaks. Icicles cling to my cowl, and I listen carefully as a familiar plan is laid out by our current leader, a Hunter. He’s intelligent, making us stand out here. I’d rather be cold and unharmed than keeping my blood pumping by trying to plan a battle while it’s happening. The others are assembled, and keep warm by hugging themselves… though through small conversations we’ve had I know many of them would prefer to hug another as tightly in these unforgiving peaks.

The plan is explained, and we are ready. Too much longer and we will die. I momentarily recall a night spent under an overhang and smile, channeling the bilious intent which I felt at that particular moment. The Sons of Hodir prepared me well with their demands and their stubborn insistence on my participation in their frozen campaign. Forced ahead, we finally look down the long hallway into the darkness. We cannot see the bottom, but we make our way down anyway. It’s familiar territory, and upon entering we see that the battle still rages from our last visit. Tanks roll and fire and smoulder in heaps of wreckage, Demolishers lay in pieces and the riders of Choppers stain their vehicles in red and tatters of flesh and armor. In some spots there are even massive impact points where  nothing but slag remains.

The group we were sent to relieve stumbles, staggers, and limps up the walkway past us. We number ten. They number seven. A chilling, wordless warning of what lays down there. The fight is ours now, and we resign ourselves to it. We reach the bottom, are assigned to our vehicles…

It begins…

Erubadhron Valorbane

Another Day

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on June 21, 2009 by necrolepsy

It has taken more money and time than I would have thought, learning to spread myself between two disciplines. They are so independant of each other that I have not yet attained the power to use both at once, though mastering two of the Warlock disciplines is far more than I could ever have imagined being possible. It has allowed me to see the strengths and weaknesses of the two in ways I never thought possible. To be a Demonologist did not afford me the kind of power I needed to lay waste and devastation on the scale I now do, yet on the other hand I had forgotten the sheer durability being a Demonologist afforded me when I dipped into the powers given by Destruction. Surely the power to interweave the disciplines is not far off, but for the time being I’m content to become comfortable switching between them, learning how to do so faster and more efficiently.

However, I have begun penning thesis papers on the comparative benefits and pitfalls encountered while using either from a fresh perspective, having both at my disposal now. With my fingertips able to conjure furious green flame that can eat through metal and magical resistance one minute, to witnessing their transformation into the wicked claws of my Metamorphosis into a demon, I can say comfortably say that it is possible I could master every subject had I the time and the money to pursue the studies. However, new developments in my life demand attention. My world is shifting in ways I had never dreamed imaginable, and part of that is learning that my studies are coming up second to someone new in my life.  I doubt I will ever truly let go, but I have found the room in my heart for another to join me at my side.

And she will be my pillar. My strength when my body gives out. If there was any doubt in my mind before about choosing a new companion, it left when I had decided who it shall be. I recieved sage advice on that front. Perhaps I did know all along? I cannot be completely certain. I only know that I will have to show her the dedication, judgment, and kindness she has shown me in my times of trouble.

It was only a half-year ago that I had no room in my breast for any of my kind or the other races of Azeroth. I had only my conviction. My sense of duty. My desire to achieve and overcome that weakness which was made so apparent to me during the Great War of Silvermoon those few years ago. Though I have done that and expanded my power threefold and further, I find myself weakened without the presence of those whom I have let into my heart. Only a half-year ago I had no room in my heart. Each addition leaves me feeling fit to burst, as though I cannot handle another… and yet I still make a new addition. I make friends and loved ones.

There is still much work to be done about the letters I’ve written, and the new friends I’ve made. I’ll need to speak with them again soon. Very soon.

Erubadhron Valorbane

Misery

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on June 9, 2009 by necrolepsy

((The penmanship of the writing is long and loopy, a slow hand having composed it.))

Two days ago I recieved news that my study on the powers of Destruction and the applications of focusing solely on fire had been met with approval. My published paper was being handed from Warlock to Warlock with a contagious speed. And yet my intellectual triumph is hollow. Even as I have finally made my mark among my brethren, I have left another mark indelible and dark. It is one mark upon two hearts, and with a masteruful stroke I found myself worse off than I had been before. It is no lie to say I loved and love them both, but I could not bring myself to choose between them. Forced to, I did what I felt was best for all… I lied and told them I was better off alone.

Such unforgiving eyes I have only seen when I blow the light out of the delicate candle of light from the eyes of my enemies, either on the battlefield or off. Never had I imagined such a reaction to my simple statement. It is true in a way… in my younger days I would have thought nothing of saying what I had, for it would have allowed me more time to pursue my studies. Age has changed me, and I cannot say it is for better or worse as I sit here, neglecting both my duties and myself. For hours I sit and reconsider what I should have said. Should I have been more passionate in my entreaty? Should I have chosen between them as they had asked me to? Again and again my logical mind concludes that what I did spared them both the most heartache, and yet I cannot deny that I miss them already.

Other duties draw my attention away, a new letter intended for someone else giving rise to a thought in the back of my head. A chance at work. Hard work. The work I can bury myself in and hide so deep that this pain will never be able to dig through. Yes, perhaps it is for the best that I take to this new task with a clear mind, focused and alert. Someone once told me to move on… and if I cannot convince them otherwise, then I am left but with that fragment of advice to act on and so I shall. My time is short now. I have letters to pen and meetings to organize.

Erubadhron Valorbane

((The signature and second half of the last paragraph are hastily written.))

A Cold Day in Hell

Posted in Erubadhron's Journal on May 30, 2009 by necrolepsy

I’ve been rocking an empty crib. I have been for the past two months. I don’t know where she’s gone since the wedding, or why she took our only child with her. All I know is that night after night when I wake up, her side of the bed is still untouched. Morning after morning, there’s nobody there to greet me when I wake. The house is silent, and all I hear are the echoes of my own footsteps as I go from room to room, staring into empty space.

I miss her, if I could ever have believed myself capable of it. I had hardly thought I’d ever marry, but Faylilith had a way of talking to me that made me see things… differently? She opened me up, and asked me to share everything. I tried some days to tell her who I had been before she met me, but it was a long time ago that I last made so foolish an attempt. To try to tell her what I did in the name of the Horde… I can’t help but wonder if it in some way contributed to what I do now, roaming from room to room as my time to be spent with her sifts by, disappearing into that maw of infinite depths that makes the past. Tonight I sat again in the nursery, by the crib which remains unused. It’s a cold night for so late in the spring time. The raindrops land fat and heavy against the glass and in the streets outside. It’s three in the morning, but I feel as though I’ve only just gotten here, and I’ve always been sitting here.

My hand fell from the side of the crib tonight. I cried for the first time since… I can’t remember when. I’m hollow from without, and I see it in the mirror whenever I get ready for the daily routine. I’m as empty within, and tonight for the first time someone has taken notice. I can’t keep this up any longer. I’m slipping. And what scares me the most is that I don’t know where I’m slipping to. The bottom of my long slope is shrouded in darkness, and I feel that without a hand to grab, I’ll slide until I end up where I had long ago predicted I would.

It’s no secret that she hasn’t been around. It’s no secret that I go home alone every night, and leave home alone every morning. It’s no secret that sometimes I’ll be caught in the midst of a reverie when I was supposed to be having a conversation. Mostly the memories of the war in Outland return to me… but sometimes, when the world grows quiet and fades away, and all I can see is the infinite blackness of the end… a laugh rings in my ears, faint and sweet like the scent of the newest flower after winter. An image of a red-haired woman in a fair dress, her skin, her eyes and her lips all calling to me. Everything moves so slowly when I’m caught up in it, and I’ve only relived a few precious moments before I am returned to the waking world, only to find that minutes, or even hours have passed.

Tonight was the first night I’ve cried, and the sound was lost even to me as the rain came down and struck noisily in the street. The nursery is as dark and cold and lifeless as ever, and I stand in the window, looking down to wait for the carriage that would stop at my door and leave but two small figures to rush to safety in here… with me. But the only carriages are few, and they all rush by in their hurry to be home. None of them stop for me.

Erubadhron Valorbane