((You find a book made of wood, sinew, and leather parchment, carefully wrapped in an oilskin with a tattered quill pen and a dry block of berry ink. It appears to be a journal of some sort, a very old one and clearly very fragile in spite of the materials it had been made of. With great care and curiosity, you open the journal and scan the pages until a particular entry catches your eyes.))

--------------

I think I owe you an apology, dear reader. It has been a few days since I last wrote upon these pages, and I know I had intended to tell you what Terrothanes was so eager to tell me. Up front, though, my dear reader, the news he had given me was very unsettling, though, I could tell he was more shaken by this news than myself.

Terrothanes recounted a day he was escorted for a little daytrip back on Azeroth, as he was feeling a mite homesick after spending several weeks in Shattrath. Most of it was back in the vicinity of Dalaran, where Terrothanes was reunited with several friends he had grown up with, some of them young dragons. Before he returned to Shattrath via a Dalaran portal, however, a few of his young dragon friends and one of his Netherwing wardens vanished. He spent the remainder of his visit helping as part of the search party for his friends, sensing that they could be in grave danger. I am sad to report that none of the missing dragons were to be found before Terrothanes returned to Shattrath, and there was still no word of them to this day.

The poor lad was going through enough before this, dear reader. Not knowing where his teacher is, being cooped up in places where he didn't want to be, being hunted by black dragons... I'm surprised that in his growing grief, he hasn't lost his mind utterly, yet. Oh, Source, I pray he stays sane. I have witnessed what would happen when one with his potential power loses his mind, and that one time lent a hand to a catastrophe.

I had decided to make my Outland base Shattrath for Terrothanes's sake. I make sure to return every sunset to check on Terrothanes's progress and provide him desperately needed moral support. This support usually comes in the form of one on one time, where we share snippets of our day, and I have to admit, from our interactions thus far he did dearly miss the company of his closest Azerothian friends.

My young friend has taken a keen interest in my quest to cover the lore of Azeroth and beyond, and we spend the nights before bedtime here talking about the various quests and encounters that have become an integral part of my catalog. He is looking forward to returning to Azeroth one day, and he hopes he would be able to stay. I can sense, however, that he knows it will be a very long time before he does... And just as well. Things are growing so dark in our world, and his mind is still not prepared to handle just how gravely affected Azeroth is and how adversely it would affect him in turn.

As for today, my journeys had taken me and my companions, the brothers Lightbroken (Kbel and Moutekea) into darkest Nagrand and to Telaar, their home. As per our agreement, the bodyguard services the twin Draenei provided up to this point were dissolved, but they vowed to keep in contact with me and with young Terrothanes when I return to Azeroth for the next leg in my journey.

Before I left Nagrand, however, the local Kurenai urged me to visit the Ring of Blood to watch a few gladiatorial matches. Now, as a practicing druid, it's pretty obvious that one would have an adverse dislike for bloodsports like gladiatorial arena, but I did wish to be polite to my hosts and obliged them. When we arrived at the arena, it turned out to be open ring night, and any and all challengers were welcome to face the 5 toughest champions of the house in a one-on-one battle gauntlet. I didn't think it was a good idea for any one spectator to try, and I wisely decided to stay in my seat... Unfortunately, my children were insisting that I go in and fight, and when I noticed that my constant acquaintance, Miss Tuan, was also in the crowd signing me up for the next line up... Well, I guess I really didn't have a say in the whole ordeal, now did I?

Seeing as I'm still able to hold a pen and recount my tale, one can easily guess the outcome of my semi-unwilling run through the gauntlet against Nagrand's finest gladiators. Yes, Miss Tuan came away from her little stunt with enough coin to last her a good long while, and my children thoroughly enjoyed watching their father battling in the ring. The smiles on Rii-nee's and Saphrit's faces were more than enough reward for suffering the slight indignity of being forced into the ring and the sore muscles and bones (and scars...) that came with combat. I was asked to join the circuit after completing the matches, but personally, I'll leave combat for the battlefield, thank you very much.

That aside, I have a few more places to visit during my stay here in Outland, then I will be making my way home to Azeroth, and one more fray into the cold, snowy reaches that serves now as a prison for a threat that once almost succeeded in destroying our world.

In the meantime, though, I await word from my Tauren thero'shan, Dano Mesachaser. In his last correspondence with me, he displayed interest in the teachings and philosophy behind the druidic sect I once represented. My response was a little hefty... and I did leave some details out for the sake of brevity, but if dear old Dano is as interested as he says, I'm sure he will ask for more and for specifics.

The hour is late now, dear reader, and I must rest for the day ahead of me.

Until we meet again, may your troubles be diminished and may the Light guide your path.

-End Log

((Out of Character Warning! -- As of this postdate, the following entry contains some minor spoilers in regards to the lore of Cataclysm. Read at your own risk!))

((You come across what looks to be some sort of hearthstone, but the stone's markings are different from most other hearthstones you've seen. Upon touching the stone, it begins to glow, and your mind pictures a blind Tauren and an ancient Night Elf conversing with each other.))

((The old Tauren speaks first.))

Shan'do Pterneldan,

It has been long since I last sent word to you about my progress. First, I must apologize for the speed of my personal training. As of this correspondence, I have only gained one more season's worth of skill. One the other hand, I have found myself more in a position to teach others what I have learned from you, but unfortunately, I have very little knowledge of your particular style of druidism. All I know for certain is the basic knowledge that Elder Brother Runetotem has given to all of the Tauren druidic neophytes.

Hence why I have sent this memory stone to you. I have long ago sensed that you wish to revive your lost sect and its teachings. Shan'do, I ask that you teach me what you can so that I may spread your teachings to the ones who would receive it here where I am. Hard times are coming, as we both know, and perhaps your path would be key in keeping the hope for peace and balance in the days ahead. And if your premonitions hold true, even a single thread of hope may be all that is needed to repair peace.

I await to hear your answer, Shan'do. May the Earthmother smile upon you, and may her winds be ever at your back.

-Dano Mesachaser

---------------------------------------------------------

((The Night Elf speaks.))

Dano, Thero'shan and friend,

Need I say again that you need not be so formal around me, brother? I do not mind us going by a first name basis, as you and I are both venerated amongst our peoples. Yes, it is true that I am several thousand years older than you, bat as far as I see it, you are a peer and an equal.

And you also do not need to worry about your pace, Dano, my friend. I am happy enough to know that you are making progress of any sort. You need to take your training easy as you are moving from one vocation to another. The last thing we need is you to shoot lightning when you should be calling down nature's fury.

*the image of the night elf chuckles lightly, then continues*

Kidding aside, your offer to teach the path of the Druids of the Pack to the people of the Horde has certainly gotten my attention. I would be honored to teach you as much as I can when I can, as our rough little memory stones can only hold so much. The most I can leave you with now are a little history, some proverbs, and little snippets of our sect's teachings and philosophy. Do keep in mind, that this path had made us somewhat unpopular with the rest of Druidism at large, and for good reason, I suppose...

*the night elf pauses for a moment, likely to compose his thoughts*

I think I should start us off with a little history, then.

As you already know, after the War of the Ancients, many Kaldorei men heeded the call of Cenarius, and trained to become druids through the proxy of Shan'do Malfurion Stormrage. From the path of Cenarius, the ideologies Druidism diversified into the many sects we know today. Each sect was represented by one of the Ancients, the animal demi-gods that served as part of the Kaldorei pantheon before and after the Sundering.

For example: those who took up the path of the bear brothers, Ursoc and Ursol, became the Druids of the Claw; while the druids who took up the path of the bird goddes, Aviana, became the Druids of the Talon. The Druids of the Whisker are represented by the Great Panther Spirit, the Druids of the Fang chose the Great Serpent, the Druids of the Antler took up the path of Malorne, the Great White Stag, the Druids of the Branch walk the path of the Ancient Protectors, the great tree spirits that wander Kaldorei lands, and so on... Of course, the majority of the newer druids that have joined the ranks of Druidism in recent years have not yet taken up a specific path -- these druids follow the basic teachings of Cenarius, and are thus called Druids of the Wild, as you currently are. Because of the diversity of the druidic sects, an archdruid was chosen from each sect to represent their ideologies in the council of the Cenarion Circle.

In these formative years of the druidic orders, there were some druids who had taken up the path of the wolf, choosing the Great White Wolf, Goldrinn, as their patron Ancient and totem. These druids became known as the Druids of the Scythe. Shan'do Stormrage, out of concern, warned these druids that their chosen totem was too dangerous to be reliable -- the ferocity and tenacity that was innately in the wolf would make the forms they would inherit from Goldrinn's presence difficult to control.

Long story short, these druids spurned the Cenarion Circle and the support they would have provided (had the council considered to also disregarded the Shan'do's warning about Goldrinn) and fled deep into the forests of what would soon become Lordaeron to practice their ill-begotten ways. It wasn't long before their bodies and minds were consumed by Goldrinn's will, just as Shan'do Malfurion had warned. I was among those sent by the Cenarion Circle to seal away the savagekin that were once the Druids of the Scythe beneath the barrow roots of Tal'doren, and I will admit that I did not come away from that experience without impact to my being.

I sensed that there would be others who would wish to shrug off the lesson the fate of the Druids of the Scythe would have taught wiser druids, and continue pursuing Goldrinn as their totem. I will also admit that I had begun to hear Goldrinn's call by the time our expedition across the Great Sea had returned to Auberdine Port. After seeing what had become of the Druids of the Scythe... *shakes head* I was no hurry to find myself sealed away as they were.

*pauses again and grimaces a little* I'm taking far too long now, am I old friend? *chuckles*

To make a long story even shorter, after some council with Shan'do Malfurion, and some careful observations in regards to Goldrinn's power and his effect on his followers, a few colleagues and I had come to some conclusions that we felt would hopefully curb the uncontrollable feral tendencies of the path of the wolf. The hitch was that we needed to see if they worked, and as expected, the bulk of the Cenarion Council was not keen on seeing another disaster like the Druids of the Scythe. In the long lives of the Kaldorei, the memory of the savage worgen were still fresh in our minds. If not for the intervention of the more balance oriented archdruids and some timely interest from Shan'do Malfurion and Cenarius, our grand experiement would have never taken off.

And thus the Druids of the Pack were formed.

Now, even though we did have some support from the Cenarion Council, Druidism as a whole did not recognize the Pack as a canon sect, and just as well, considering our success was hinging on building off the failure of the Scythe. In their eyes, because our totem was Goldrinn, as it was with the Druids of the Scythe, we were no better than our predecessors. In a way, they were right... but we did have one key difference that distinguished the Pack from the Scythe.

We did not withdraw from our people as the Scythe had.

In our studies of the nature of the wolf, we found that it is as much a loyal creature as it is ferocious. Alone, a wolf is a dangerous and desperate creature, cruel, cunning, and opportunistic... and it has to be if it wishes to survive. However, when joined with its pack and its family, a whole new side of the wolf emerges -- one that is tender and kind, and one that fiercely loyal to its pack. We, the Druids of the Pack, realized that in the context of community, the ferocity of the wolf had direction and purpose, and in turn balanced the wolf's overwhelming power in favor of peace and harmony. In contrast, the Druids of the Scythe, choosing to spurn their community and their people in their hubris after receiving reprimand from Shan'do Stormrage, became lone wolves in their quest to command Goldrinn's power... only to find themselves easy prey for their totem's tenacious and chaotic ferocity.

Still, even though we had proof to validate our claims, the majority rule of the Circle insisted that we, the Pack, seclude ourselves, but remain close enough for them to observe us as we practiced our version of the Scythe's path. We agreed to the quarantine, but only if we were not totally cut off from Kaldorei society at large, as community was crucial if those who walked our path were to keep their minds.

*a cold chuckle* I sometimes wonder if those stuffy fools were trying to sabotage us...

Thankfully, if they were, those efforts to sabotage us failed. A few hundred years in semi-solitude and careful observation later, we concluded that balancing ferocity with community succeeded in making Goldrinn's power viable... but it was a very fine line to walk. And in those formative centuries, I regret to say that I had a few thero'shans that had succumbed to Goldrinn's savagery and they were subsequently interned in a deep eternal sleep for their sakes. Regardless, our quarantine was lifted and, even though we were not considered a canon sect, an Archdruid of the Pack was chosen to represent our ideals in the Circle; as for by that time, the Pack had grown enough to be noticeable, and the public at large would not be so privvy as to what sect was canon or not.

*a pause*

So you see, Dano, dear friend... not that I wish to dissuade you, but as I have said before, the path of the Pack is unpopular for a reason. It is up to you if you wish to continue seeking the path of the wolf.

If you are still willing to walk with the wolf, I will leave you with a few proverbs to meditate upon as your travel and train.

May your troubles be diminished, Dano, my friend, and may the Light guide your path.

Pterneldan Crosdeep

------

((A series of proverbs echo through your mind, and part of you is compelled to listen. Whether or not you do is your decision alone.))

"The wolf knows his place within his pack, and will do his duty to the best of his ability."

"The wolf must never hold a grudge, but the wolf must never forget."

"Passion without knowledge is foolish. Knowledge without wisdom is dangerous. Wisdom without passion is useless. One must have all three, or one will have nothing at all."

"The wolf without a pack is a wolf without a purpose. When the wolf is without a purpose, he will make one."

"No one pack member is greater than another, for even weakest wolves can outshine their leaders."

"The only thing more dangerous than a lone wolf is a pack full of lone wolves."

"The wolf is loyal to his pack. His knows his place. He knows his purpose."

"Loneliness consumes the wolf faster than any rage."

...

"The wolf must never be left alone."

((You find a book made of wood, sinew, and leather parchment, carefully wrapped in an oilskin with a tattered quill pen and a dry block of berry ink. It appears to be a journal of some sort, a very old one and clearly very fragile in spite of the materials it had been made of. With great care and curiosity, you open the journal and scan the pages until a particular entry catches your eyes.))

--------------

It has been a few days since I recieved word from young Terrothanes. Truth be told, dear reader, I find myself both comforted and uneasy at the news his letter delivered.

On the one hand, I am pleased to learn that Terrothanes has adjusted well to the sanctuary the Naaru of Shattrath provided for him. His prescribed training with the Netherwing flight is progressing along at a steady clip, and he has made some friends during his stay. Now, for some reason, Terrothanes's compatibility with the Netherwind doesn't surprise me... Of course, that little tangent is best left to be explained in another entry.

However, though I am greatly relieved in regards to Terrothanes's well-being, what is leaving me unsettled is the lack of information and contact my young friend had in regards to his mentor and foster father, Gilthoniel Freezeflame. All that Terrothanes knows for certain is that his master was sent on yet another mission by the Kirin Tor.. and the poor lad has no idea what that mission was or how long it would be.

As for myself, I will be arriving in Shattrath soon. The necessary preparations were made, and those preparations did include a little trip back to Westfall. I was going to visit Grimbooze Thunderbrew up in the Daggerhills to capitalize on a little favor he owed me after sending me and my family all across Azeroth to brew up a few pints of the rare "Sweet Amber". When I arrived at Sentinel Hill, though, a familiar face greeted me at the Gryphonmaster's station.

Yes, dear reader, Lady Tuan and I crossed paths, yet again. This time, the young human had caught wind of a traitor to the local thieves' guild known as the Defias, and he was bartering knowledge of his former employers' hideout in exchange for his life. Thankfully, Gryan Stoutmantle was a close friend of my missing mage colleague, Gilthoniel, so while I asked if the grizzled paladin if he had heard anything from our mutual friend, I also offered to lend a hand in watching the former Defias member as he revealed the location of the Defias's base of operations.

Long story short, the traitor led us to a fairly innocuous abandoned barn far in the back of the ghost town of Moonbrook, then fled shortly after. Inside the barn, Miss Tuan and I found a deep and expansive set of tunnels and shafts... in short, a full blown mining operation. Now, my young human companion didn't hesitate to take advantage of this, but we both sensed there was something very amiss in regards to these mining tunnels. Miss Tuan then recalled that she had another favor to do for a dwarven miner who had lost his brother in a mining accident; I correctly assumed that the said favor was to find this miner's brother and confirm if he was alive. The good news was, he was alive. The bad news was, he was undead. Some fiend deep in these mines had used necromancy on the platoon of dead dwarven miners and raised them as disfigured ghouls and skeletal horrors, forced to dig out the mines forever. The very least we could do was free the creatures from their unnatural torment.

While fighting the undead miners, Miss Tuan somehow got cursed with magic that was eating away at her health. Thankfully, my time in Northrend had taught me a few tricks in regards to fighting these curses, and after a few tense moments and a liberal application of cleansing nature magic, Miss Tuan was back on her feet and fighting again.

Before we parted ways (Miss Tuan did leave rather abruptly, and she did seem to be a little unsettled about our discovery beneath that Moonbrook barn), I introduced Miss Tuan to Saphrit, my adopted son, in a rather roundabout way. As I was sending him back to Ironforge with a package for my friend, Rustygiir, he shifted into his dragonwhelp form to better help facilitate his escape from the underground mines. Miss Tuan was a little surprised by this, but she did assure me that Safrit's secret was safe.

After that little adventure, I finally visited that crazy singing dwarf that lived in the hills, and retrieved the item I had left with him: a phial of sacred water from a spring in Stranglethorn vale. Along with the trinket I retrieved in Redridge, I now had two of the items I had stowed away for safekeeping for a particular purpose... a purpose I am now starting to recall a bit more clearly now.

*a blot of ink is on this part of the page, indicating a moment of thought*

Dear reader, I am now beginning to wonder what it was that Terrothanes wanted to speak to me about. I had been thinking so much about my lost friend, I must have glossed over the information my younger friend wanted to tell me. When I learn more, I will tell you in another entry, dear reader.

So until we meet again, may your troubles be diminished and may the Light guide your path.

-End Log

Ishnu dal'dieb and greetings, Terrothanes.

It has been several months since we last had contact, young one. Last I spoke with your master, he told me that you were under the tutelage of the Netherwing Flight. Any word on how your training is coming along, then? How has life in Outland generally treated you thus far?

As for myself, I am well, though a slight bit worse for wear. Much has changed on Azeroth since your relocation to Shattrath, most of it following the fall of Arthas Menethil from the Scourge's Frozen Throne. I will elaborate on more of what has occurred during your absence when I arrive in Shattrath.

Yes, young one, I am coming to Outland.

Now, I must confess to you that my visit to the Outland is more a business trip than a simple social visit, so please do not expect me to stay long, or in one place, during my stay. I will, however, do my best to stay in touch with you after I check in on your training, as I have a feeling that you will need someone to communicate with in the days to come.

Before I close, young Terrothanes, have you received any word from your master, Gilthoniel? It has been months since I had last heard from him, and I have become quite worried...

I will be a few days, young Terrothanes, as I will be preparing for the journey through the Dark Portal. If you remember the Draenei twin brothers you met a while ago, Kbel and Moutekea Lightbroken, know that they are preparing to move out of their flat here in Ironforge and head back to their family home in Telaar. They will be accompanying me to Outland themselves and they offered their services as bodyguards until we arrive in Nagrand -- I am sure they will want to meet you again, Terrothanes.

Until we meet again, may your troubles be diminished and may the Light guide your path.

Pterneldan

---------------------------------------------------------------


Master Pterneldan,

It was good to hear from you again. I had honestly lost track of time here, and I had no idea I had been away from Azeroth for as long as you say. Your letter has put some sense of time back into me, and I am grateful.

Life in Shattrath, as I had said in a way earlier, is timeless. It may be an effect of the presence of the Naaru here. For the longest time since I arrived here, I knew that I didn't have to worry about anything... well, mostly anything.

Most of my waking time has been spent training alongside the Netherwing Flight, as was arranged by Master Gilthoniel, Master Barthamus, and Lord Nelthraku. The Netherwing have been very kind to me in spite of my heritage and have since become almost family to me. They say I am progressing very well in my training, and I have shown promise in learning the more complex aspects regarding my heritage. As you can see, I am looking forward to that.

I have missed the presence of some of my Azerothian companions while I've been here, so I was allowed to visit Azeroth for a brief, one-day outing by Lord A'dal. When you arrive, Master Pterneldan, I will tell you more about that little holiday and why I feel it is important that you know what I've learned.

*there is a small inkblot here, indicating that the writer was taking a moment to think*

Master Gilthoniel... I am sorry, Master Pterneldan, but I'm afraid I have not seen Master Gilthoniel since his last visit here, which I think was nearly 8 months ago. I do know that was the day my training here started, and I had hoped he would one day return to gauge my progress. Where he went and what has happened to him since are things I do not know, and I wish did so I can tell you and put you at ease. I'm just as worried as you, Master Pterneldan, as I do recall that Master Gilthoniel was much more withdrawn during his last visit, as if his mind were constantly wandering off to focus on something else, and what's worse is that he was looking a slight bit ill... I guess it was my heritage that could sense it, as the other *there is a scribbled out word here* er, -people- that were with us didn't seem to notice. I know I should have said something, Master Pterneldan, but I didn't have the heart to tell Master Gilthoniel that I noticed his weakening, as I know that he doesn't want me worrying about him as much as he worried about Lady Azurigosa when she vanished...

I am looking forward to your visit, Master Pterneldan, and I am curious about what is bringing you here of all of the places drifting about in the Great Dark. Let Masters Kbel and Moutekea know that I look forward to meeting them and earning their friendship, as you are right-- it will be good to have more friendly faces with me while I am here in Outland.

Terrothanes

((You find a book made of wood, sinew, and leather parchment, carefully wrapped in an oilskin with a tattered quill pen and a dry block of berry ink. It appears to be a journal of some sort, a very old one and clearly very fragile in spite of the materials it had been made of. With great care and curiosity, you open the journal and scan the pages until a particular entry catches your eyes.))

--------------

The Midsummer Fire Festival is coming to a close, dear reader, and I have acquisistioned a new decoration for my trophy wall. Granted, it is but a mere replica of the weapon of the elemental fiend that once threatened the sanctity of the equinox festival, but this scythe is a finely crafted replica and though I may not wield it in battle, it may come in handy when Safrit comes of age...

Safrit's coming of age, though, is still a ways away, as I have other things on my mind, dear reader. You see, I write this with an important document sitting on the desk and right in front of me -- simply put, I have paid a few silver for a charter.

The intent behind the purchase of this charter has been on my mind since I left the guild that had taken me under their wing while I was still a feral amnesiac, though I am hesitant to put it to use. You see, dear reader, I long to restore the druidic sect I had in my care before that tragedy we suffered in darkest Ashenvale, but in the months I have spent traipsing the world cataloguing her stories to while away my time in exile, thoughts of doubt have taken root in my mind.

As you well have known, dear reader, I have led before. I have held positions of high rank, reknown, respect, reverence, and regard. I have been an ArchDruid, a Councilor, an officer of an army destined for greatness... and every one, I have met disaster and heartache. My disciples, all dead -- torn from my hands by fiends that wanted nothing more than to spite the living and the life that had borne them. My colleagues, whom I thought were wise, I noticed that they cared little about the people they served or the balance they so taught, giving lipservice to retain the ranks they believed was their right to have, and in doing so denying those who had rightfully earned the privelage to be equals. I led and trained brothers and sisters in arms... only to turn into the very thing I was training them against.

To be alone for a little while is healthy, dear reader, but to be alone too long turns alone-ness into loneliness. For the Wolf, loneliness is fatal, but I must ask myself this, dear reader: is my heart ready for disappointment again? The time is coming soon when the world will be looking for guidance again, and the cry of pack will ring out clear and true once more to call forth those meant to walk our path. Will I still be able to lead them, dear reader? Or has fear of destroying friendships over nothing truly robbed me of my ability? ... I can only pray that I will still have the capacity to influence others that I fear I may have lost.

Those are just a few of the questions I may have yet to find answers for, and I will tell you, dear reader, if I do find them. In the meantime, the past few weeks since my last entry have been -memorable-, to say the least.

After finishing up my business in Redridge, I made my way to Menethil port on the western shores of the Wetlands. There, I helped the local tanner by getting some crocolisk hides and covered for his injured apprentice (while at the same time thinned out the growing population of greedy gnolls for the local greenwarden out in the swamps.)

I then headed for Arathi via what remained of the Thandol Span, and I would have made it across safely, were it not for a violent, viturally unexplained earthquake in the area. Fearing the war-battered, half-demolished bridge was going to collapse, I dove into the water to escape getting trapped in the subsequent rubble. The remains of the span still stood strong after the shaking stopped, but as I made my way to the shore and to the path up and out of the river gorge, I noticed the broken parts of a dwarven ballista smashed beneath a large chunk of mortar-blasted rubble. Naturally, I was curious, so I dove deeper into the cold currents of the river to see what could be seen. What I did see there wasn't much of anything, until I noticed the crushed remains of a dwarven soldier, likely the one that operated the ballista.

From the looks of the remains, he died about a year ago, and it seemed his demise was a swift one, as the massive chunk of stone he was pinned under must have caught him as he was trying to swim up, knocking him unconscious. At the least, he didn't suffer in immense pain while he was drowning... In the crushed dwarf's unbroken hand, I found clenched in his skeletal fingers what seemed to be an envelope coated in parafin wax. When I touched it, I felt that he intended to swim to the surface and hand the letter off to another soldier and have it delivered to someone dear to him back in Ironforge. I also sensed that the content of the letter was one of solemn parting if this dwaven soldier was doomed to not survive the battle ... which was, of course, exactly what happened.

Carefully, as I began to pry the lifeless and bony fingers open to retrieve the letter, and the letter was easily released to my hand as if though the spirit of the dead soldier was relieved to know that his last good-bye was finally heading home. I felt a spiritual sigh of relief escape the crushed skeleton, and with the sigh, I heard the soldier's name and word of comfort for the recipient of the letter; "I am Sully Balloo, and tell my wife, I love her."

And then, the skeleton disintegrated into dusty silt settling into the riverbed, leaving only rusted armor behind.

... Arathi was going to have to wait.

My hearthstone was set for my home in Ironforge, fortunately, and I made haste to the Military Ward with the letter and Safrit in tow. It is never a pleasant thing to deliver the news that a loved one is never coming home again, dear reader, and the pain of bereavment I felt coming from Sully Balloo's widow as she read the words written on the fragile, aged, and slightly soggy parchment was nigh unbearable. On Mrs. Balloo's behalf, I delivered the news to His Majesty, King Magni Bronzebeard. Like Mrs. Balloo, Lord Bronzebeard was grieved with the loss, as it added one more loss to the hundreds of dwarven lives lost for him to shoulder. While the king knew he could not return to Mrs. Balloo her husband, he did offer to commission a memorial in Sully Balloo's honor, and today, it stands in an honored place in Ironforge's Military Ward.

I returned to Arathi not long after the memorial to Sully Balloo was unveiled. There, I met the people of Stromgarde, the once captial of the great human Kingdom of Arathor. They were a proud folk, with just one stipulation: they were largely homeless. You see, dear reader, they had been fighting for the past several years to reclaim their city from marauding ogres and trolls -- not to mention antagonism from the desperate, equally homeless (but deviously resourceful) people of traitorous kingdom of Alterac united under the banner of a criminal organization known only as "The Syndicate". Yes, dear reader, the people of Arathor had their hands full. When I arrived, fighting over Stromgarde had come to a standstill, and the most I could do was help thin out the ranks of ogres, trolls, and Syndicate members (and that included ranked officers!)

It was at their forward camp, Refuge Pointe, that I met a young woman named Khiraya. She was not much older than a child as far as humans go -- I'd safely say that she was a little younger than 20 and a priestess fresh from the convent of Northshire Abbey. She was here as a student of one of the chaplains of the Light sent by Stormwind to help out the citizens of Stromgard. The intent was for her to have some experience healing on the field of battle before being sent to the Cathedral of Light for further training, so I safely assumed that she wasn't going to be staying in Arathi for very long. Now, for one having lived in the abbey for as long as she had, young Khiraya had never seen a Kaldorei up close before, and was in awe when she learned from her teacher who I was. Such was the life of humans dedicated wholly to the Light, as the most zealous humans secluded themselves as theiy trained up their prowess in divine magic... and as a result, their younglings are rarely exposed to (and even protected from! Tsk tsk!) knowledge beyond the walls of their cities and monasteries. As a druid having come from a society that is too proud to admit they were unwittingly do the same foolish thing, I found this isolation from the outside world a shame.

So it came as a clear surprise for me when the chaplain Khiraya was studying under approached me and asked that I take her along for a day as I chronicled Arathi and show her things she would otherwise never know. I, of course, had my reservations... she was, after all, very young and it was not my place to impress my beliefs and ways upon her, but the chaplain apparently knew that I had a respect (if not a full out belief in) the Light, and expressed that he knew he could trust me with his student. For me, to be allowed to teach another teacher's student is an honor, dear reader, so I finally did take her along.

It was while we were helping the soldiers of Stromgarde during their most recent skirmish within the city's walls, Khiraya and I stumbled upon a hidden cove where a group of pirates had taken shelter in and to hide from a large group of Naga that had destroyed two of their boats. Now, I sensed what these pirates were after -- treasure. Namely, sacred Kaldorei rune jewels the guileless gnomish researchers they had with them were after. A few of the human pirates were once citizens of Stromgarde before it fell, so when they heard Khiraya and I were helping out their homeland, they wanted to pitch in and help... unfortunately, their higher-ups, namely the Commodore, the one surviving Captain and his goblin first-mate, were more interested in the runic jewels hidden under the waters off Arathi's shores. The asking price for their services to assist Stromgarde were ten of the gems, gems interred in the ruins of an ancient Kaldorei temple that was now guarded by the same Naga tribe that sank their boats.

To me, this was an outrage. As a scholar, it was against my best interests to turn over sacred and ancient relics of my people to PIRATES of all things. Greedy ones! Now, I will say I have met honorable, charitable pirates... but this band (save for the Arathi natives and the gnomes) were anything but charitable! It took some pleading from the Arathian pirates, the gnomish researchers (who were unfortunately the only survivors of a recent convoy raid done by these pirates and only saved their skins by offering to make a "treasure seeking device", and would be killed if they failed to "deliver" on their bargain) and from Khiraya to convince me to brave the naga infested waters and retrieve the rune gems.

Ten rune gems will turn into more now that the pirates have that gnomish contraption. Yes, dear reader, I am still very angry that I had to resort to such a sacrifice, but Khiraya kept assuring me that the sacrifice of the gems to the pirates was for a greater good. ... A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Still, artifacts such as those gems are remnants of my people's culture before the world was sundered ten millenia ago, and I would much rather see these relics preserved than wind up in grubby and greedy hands and in unsavory places where Source knows what will happen to them!

But enough of that. Khiraya knew I was still a mite upset after having to pay the pirates to help the people of Stromgarde fight off their enemies, so she asked me about the stone circles she saw on her way up to Refuge Pointe with her chaplain teacher. That got me curious, too, so we rode off to investigate. Along the way, I taught her a little more about my people, a little about Druidic healing magic, and taught her a little botany. Hopefully, the touch of nature magic and a little knowledge of healing herbs would supplement her studies in the healing arts.

It was during the little lesson in botany that Khiraya found a crystal pendant with a pulsing glow under a briarthorn bush. The pendant had marks that looked similar to the layouts of the four stone circles we had seen from gryponback, and that its glow pulsed faster if we held it in a certain direction. Curious, we followed the pendant's pulses into Northern Arathi, where we found a giant, floating crystal surrounded by yet another circle of stones. The giant crystal pulsed in rhythm with the pendant Khiraya had found, inviting our curiosity with a veiled benevolence. Of course, I had a bit of a bad feeling about what it was Khiraya and I were going to find, but it was not enough to keep us from finding out what this giant crystal's connection to the pendant was.

A faint voice called out to us from the crystal, introducing herself to as Myzrael, a princess of the Earth and a daughter of Therazane, the Stonemother. She claimed that the stone giants of Arathi had captured her unjustly and imprisoned her essence in five shards sealed away in each of the stone binding circles scattered all over the land. In return for facilitating her freedom, she promised us her gratitude and an opportunity to call upon her power if ever we needed it. Having the aid of an elemental princess would be a valuable boon in the dark times that would soon come to pass, so of course, against my better judgement, Khiraya and I set off to do just combat with the stone giants and their kobold worshippers, and one by one we deactivated the crystals at each of the binding circles... and each time, my sense of dread started to nag even more.

As we finished off the last crystal guardian at the Ring of Inner Binding, we were confronted by a crazy dwarf who had somehow sensed what we were doing from the faraway region of Khaz Modan known as the Badlands. The dwarf gave me and Khiraya no name, instead introducing himself to us as a "prophet of doom". He then confessed to us that he was a former member of the Twilight's Hammer, a group of nihilist fanatics that worshipped the eldritch monsters known to us as the Old Gods, like C'thun and Yogg-Saron, and insisted that helping Myzrael was a big mistake. Khiraya, a little confused, asked our dwarven "prophet of doom" just why it was a big mistake. After listening hard to sift through the poor fool's babbling, we learned that Myzrael was once as benevolent as she presented herself to us, but she slowly grew corrupted because of her proximity to an Old God. As a result of this corruption, Myzrael started to crave power and world domination. It took the combined effort of the stone giants of Arathi and the blessing of Therazane to pin down Myzrael and imprison her until her corruption passed. To help release Myzrael at this point and allow her to regain her full strength would be akin to Thaurissian's summoning of Ragnaros ... Yes, dear reader, it was that bad. ... Thankfully, our "prophet of doom" had Myzrael's summoning scroll in hand and told us to defeat Myzrael while she was still weakened and chain her up again. Seeing as we were close to unleashing a catastrophe prematurely, Khiraya and I agreed to put Myzrael down at the behest of the "prophet of doom".

Upon our return to the circle where we first met Myzrael, she greeted me and Khiraya warmly, thanking us for helping her break free of her bonds and that she looked forward to shaking the very foundations of the earth on our behalf one day. While she was busy congratulating us for doing her dirty work, our "prophet of doom" performed the ritual that summoned Myzrael to our plane. (For an elemental princess of the earth, dear reader, in comparison to the ugly hag that I encountered in Maraudon years ago, Myzrael was drop dead gorgeous!)

Recognizing the handiwork of our "prophet of doom", and realizing that she had been drawn into a trap, Myzrael retracted her kindness and attempted to crush the three of us for our treachery. Even weakened, Myzrael put up a massive fight, and it took the power of a hundred falling stars of arcane power to finally defeat her. After the battle had been won, and while our "prophet of doom" set about creating new eldritch shackles to bind Myzrael, the fallen princess attempted to curse us, but I interrupted her, stating that there were greater perils in this world than her and that once such peril was coming. The world needed her as a friend, -not- as its enemy or ruler, and until she realized this, we had no choice but to chain her back to her mother. No sooner had I finished this little speech, the binding ritual was complete, and Myzrael's corporeal form vanished into the grateful earth... while at the same time, we could hear the unearthly wailing roar of Myzrael from far beneath us.

I can only hope that she will come to her senses in time...

Now, Khiraya, as guileless as she was, didn't understand what I had meant by "greater perils" and that "one such peril was coming". I truthfully told the young priestess-in-training that I have been receiving visions of a terrible future ahead, but I could not bring myself to tell her what the exact nature of that future would be. All I could tell was that she needed to train and prepare herself to the very best of her ability so she will be ready for whatever future would come to pass. It was on this note, we arrived at Refuge Pointe, and after some talk with her chaplain teacher, we said our good-byes and parted ways. ... Source, I have a feeling I will see that child again. Keep her safe and keep her wise.

My next stop was the town of Southshore, one of three towns nestled in the foothils of Hillsbrad. I had been asked to investigate a rather disconcerting connection between the Syndicate of Alterac and one mysterious orcish warlock that had been training the Syndicate's shadowcasters. As it turned out, this orcish warlock was one of several liaisons to the Syndicate from the demonic Shadow Council, and had been preparing a select group of casters to attack the cities of Hillsbrand and Southshore in the name of the Burning Legion. I informed the local magistrates of this threat, a threat they thought they had dealt with a few years prior, and the news that the Syndicate was still dealing with the devil (so to speak,) put them on edge. They offered me some solid coin and a few of their best fighters to head back into the mountains of Alterac and burn through their ranks once more in the hopes that a message would be clearly sent to the desperate and vengeful nobles that led the Syndicate. While I had a feeling that such an act was counterintuitive, I was not fond of anyone or anything that would dare consort with the demons of the Burning Legion, and I felt the consequences that they would eventually experience under demonic slavery were better meted out physically by my hand. I returned to Southshore after several hours, cutting a swath through the Alterac highlands, with demonic artifacts, severed heads, and noble signet rings as part of my raiding party's plunder. The grateful magistrates gladly paid the coin they offered and asked me to stay the night in Southshore. It was getting late, so I accepted their offer of a free night's lodgings.

That night, I was contacted by another member of the Bronze Dragonflight... and not just a simple drake, like the one that sent me to old Duskwood. No, dear reader, this was Anachronos, the son of Nozdormu. I knew from his presence, and the urgency of how I was summoned from my sleep, that another catastrophe in the timeline was about to wreak havoc on the history the Bronze Flight was trying to maintain. This time, the events surrounding the ten-hour war of Ahn-Qiraj were in jepoardy. The Scarab Lord of our timeline had been gravely injured, and in order to preserve history, the Flight was requesting that I fight at the Scarab Lord's side at key points of his quest to open the gates of Ahn-Qiraj. For this first foray into the past, I was sent to Blackwing Lair where the injured Scarab Lord-to-be laying with a gaping wound at her side and half her army was decimated by a surprise attack by the Infinite Flight.

After helping making short work of the Infinte Ambushers, I realized that the future Scarab Lord was but a simple human priestess... and she looked eeriely familiar. Listening to her conversing with her comrades in arms, I learned that she was Khiraya's mother, that her warbad addressed her as Lady Khari, and she had taken up the mission to find and slay Broodlord Lashlayer after her husband, a paladin, was killed in a skirmish over the precious resource known as Silithyst near the Alliance camp in Silithus. It was her daughter that pleaded that her mother continue her father's quest, and she was doing it for the honor of her beloved and her daughter.

It was difficult not to tell anyone that I was from a time in the future and that I knew what was to become of Lady Khari and her only child, as Lord Anachronos expressly forbid me to tell Lady Khari what was to come, and that only I was told to assist her in her mission. With that in mind, I introduced myself as only as "Owl Bear" and offered my aid to Lady Khari. She accepted my assistance with a bit of reluctance, and after tending to her wounds and driving off the forces of Blackrock and the Infinite who were out to kill her, we forged our way through the lair until we confronted Lashlayer at the end of a gauntlet of enslaved dragonwhelp hatchlings.

Lashlayer went down surprisingly quickly, and I presented her with the head of the vile drakkonid and instructions from the Bronze Flight -- She was to return to Silithus with the head of Lashlayer and present it to one Baristolth of the Sands. Before she could inquire further what I meant, Lord Anachronos pulled me away from that time and returned me to my rented room at the Southshore Inn. Before leaving me, Lord Anachronos reminded me that this would not be the last time I would be sent back to help Lady Khari, and that she will eventually learn through her journeys the nature of why and how I was being sent back. Until she is aware, I must not speak of her fate to her or to anyone. Even so, I am being allowed to speak of Lady Khari's exploits in my catalog, but only as history remembers her. My involvment in her destiny will only be remembered here in my journal...

As for my catalog, I am nearly finished with the written record of the history of the Eastern Kingdoms, and I am looking forward to returning to Outland for a time. Perhaps I will encounter my young mage friend and check on his training progress... and perhaps learn the fate of his teacher. Between you and me, dear reader, I can only hope that the myriad items I have been retrieving for myself (such as the silver pendant I retrieved from Redridge) will come in handy if my worst fears are true.

With that said, dear reader, I will close this long entry until next we meet again.

Elune be with you and may the Light guide your path.

-End Log