March 31, 2012

March 21st

Too much has happened since I last wrote here. Perhaps a lot of it occurred because I stopped writing. I found myself exhausted too often, stressed to the point of tears. Worry and fear pressing down on me from every angle. What can I say now?

 

Juhla and I have

 
Juhla and I are no longer together. It is unpleasant for me to write that, as it is an admission of inadequacy. I could not, at the current time, be who she needs to me to be. I work, and am ready for a crisis nineteen hours a day. I may not always be working, but when I receive a call, it’s always because someones life is on the line. And I will always answer that call.

 
Work came between us. I feel like I did to her what Theelina did, abandoning her for work, and it eats away at me But this space that we have, this hurt that I know we both have. It will soothe into an friendship.

 
Juhla will always be a part of my life. I will always hold feelings for her. But after everything, after all that went on. We can exist as friends. We will still support one another. I do not know what the future holds. She will always be a part of my life.

 
Agnes, Sylaess, and Srae were taken from the Inn not three weeks ago. A trio of Knights took them. Not them all. Srae tortured Agnes, with a smile on her face. With she told me, my blood ran cold. I remember talking to Srae, months ago. Before she joined the Sigil. I warned her of her temper, of her anger. She told me she had it under control. Those knights control the mind. It puts the fear in me to ask how much they really needed to manipulate that anger.

 
They were returned after we mobilized against them. The Sigil, the Accord and the Su

 
We formed a strike force. Six went in. We needed more to hold the line. But what can you do when your line is built on crumbling ground? It was a trap. It had always been a trap. The ground gave way, and were plunged into hell. Beasts assuaged us at every step. Beetles and hand monsters and acid.

 
I committed a crime in that hell. And I will atone for it. I’m sorry.

 
I’ve committed several, and the feeling of emptiness inside me grows daily. I hope this will allevate some of it. Rhaoven, Saeureons and Chala’s father, lost himself to his condition fully. I had gone to give them a pie and talk with Chala over working together within the Accord. She was the head of medical before I was given the position. She was incapacitated. She’s a very sweet girl, more so then

 
I had gone to give her the pie, and found her and Alarius tied to the railing of a ship. He took a bite out of my shoulder before I managed

I took him off at the head, quick. As painless as I could manage. I put him down and collapsed in a puddle of my own blood. They pulled me away, and soothed me with words. Told me it was alright. That he was not their father anymore. But that blood remains on my hands. Maybe he could of been saved. Maybe Mari

 
No, not this game again.

 
Later that week is when we stormed that tower, and we faced the horrors. There was this girl, her voice wracked with pain and sobs. She could not of been much older then ten when they had taken her. Convert
I will find her name. I will find out who she is.

 
It has been a few weeks since then, and the Sigil has returned to a careful and cautious life. Currently away on vacation to the desert, they needed it. Today I will start packing for my move to Arathi. A new home, a place with open fields where she can play and Hyan can be wolflike. I fear he’s become domesticated, and the fresh air at his leisure should do some good for him.

 
The more I write, the more I realize I have so much more to chronicle

 
I’ve met someone. I’m terrified of getting
I have moved since I wrote last, but since I was distracted with a patient I never quite finished the entry. We’ve settled down, the Wildhammer dwarves up here being quite tolerable of my late coming and going and inexpertise with their boats. Fira is absolutely in love with the farm though. She plays all day in the fields, bouncing and bounding around like I’ve never quite seen her. Getting out of Ironforge will do her good. Soon, I think, Chala will be able to really teach her.
Holia. My lords the girl is going to give me a conniption. Her and Dynast both, the latter of whom I have I have grown rather close to in the last few weeks. He doesn’t feel the same, I’m sure. But a sweet Knight who does not give himself nearly enough credit. He knew Marius from long before, apparently. I’m starting to believe Marius may of been a Sindorei at one point. Salarous flesh-crafting means that Marius could of been a Tauren before I met him for all I know.

 
They both do not seem to see the life they have before them. It’s a sort of apathy that makes them thing they are only good for war. I know many Knights won’t be all sunshine and butterflies. But they are so ignorant of the effect they have on the world with this second chance. The phoenix, from ashes comes rebirth. Why can’t they draw the same par paree the same conclusion from that imagery.

 
I’ve written for far too long. I’ve agreed to be Holia’s handler of sorts. Teryl gave me the idea from a conversation we had long ago. Holia seeks power now, and justice for the evils of the world at any cost. The cost could even be innocent lives. I have danced around and around with her about this, and finally had to go to Lassair and Balderos. They need to know she thinks innocents are worth being killed if it means the evil is exterminated.

 
I can’t let her go down that path. I won’t let her fall pray to the evils she hunts. She has so much hope. So much talent. She could be happy if she gave herself the chance.

 
March 22nd
March 25th
March 26th
March 28th
Last Week of March
Mahlar Dewfall

 

 

Don't forget to look into a gryphon


 
 
Juhla, if you’re the one reading this,
that means I was right.
You were always a part of my life.
Just maybe not in the way we thought
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Unhinged

March 6, 2012

Mahlar winced as he sat up, the room was cold. Damp. He could almost taste the moisture in the air. Glancing around, he found himself alone. Pain racked his belly, and looking down revealed the truth. His guts had been opened before him, laid on his lap in a pile. Panicking, he seeks to draw them back in but they squeeze between his fingers like sand. Scrambling, he starts to scream as he looks around. Why was he here? Realization set in, he was here again. The crypts below Karazhan.

A soft crying echoed through the crypts, a faint “Poppah” being heard off the stones and mold, drew him closer. Rounding one darkened corner, then another, he found himself before the gates. Slowly, they creeked open to greet him. Infront of him sat a little girl, a shroud of purple hiding her face. “Poppah. They hurt me poppah. I hurt.” she cries, looking up at him. Sure enough, golden eyes peer broken through him. “Poppah, you didn’t save me. Why?”

The child starts towards him, purple fingers reaching for him now. He backs up, stumbling to the ground as the child slithers towards him. No. No no no. He cries out as a gunshot sounds, deafening in the crypts. In his hands lay a smoking rifle, and before his feet lay the child, golden eyes peering defiantly up at him with a fresh hole between them. “Poppah.” the child mouths up at him, the voice not so much heard as it was felt.

He awoke with a start once more, screaming himself hoarse. He was not aware of the child clung to his chest at first, her eyes closed in fear of what was happening to her father. She was sobbing into him, and he only continued to scream as the room came into focus. He was in his room, his clinic. Medical cabinet locked to his side, bathroom door ajar on his other. The screaming subsided as he realized he was safe, his shaking now jarring the girl attached to him. Looking down, Mahlar wraps his arms around her tightly, holding her closely. He says nothing as she asks him what’s wrong, his own mind trying to reassure himself that he was in this world now. This was reality. That Fira was fine.

Eventually, he calmed the girl down while calming down himself. He promised her breakfast after his morning meditation. Dragging himself from under the blankets, he planted both feet on the ground and looked down. Thick white bandages covered his middle and leg, and he dutifully went about showering and cleaning the bandages. Years of wounds had made this almost second nature, and once dried he padded back out into the main room. Fira toddled around, dolls and crayons scattered across the floor as she went about like normal.

He sat down in the middle, feet placed flat against one another. Reaching to the side, a pot is dragged over, it’s simple brown outside having been decorated by the young child at some point. Flowers and scribbles up and down the side in a multitude of colors. He had not minded the additions, and the pot is placed in front of him. The dirt had been watered and cared for, but for the last three weeks it had taken every ounce of strength to keep it alive. Long nimble fingers dig into the soil around the edges and he closes his eyes.

The connection to nature is a difficult thing to maintain at first. He so far had only been able to detect the willingness and want to live. The seed was full of potential. Saellren had not given him a dead seed to learn from. Everything was there, but it had yet to take root. His breathing slows down, in and out as relaxed as one could manage. He pushed for the connection. It had happened several times while conscious, and he sought it out now.

The warmth returned now, the soil was alive. The seed was alive. Feeling the life at his fingers, Mahlar concentrated on it now. It was so different from arcane, where he could feel the ley lines at all time. It took mental fortifications and research. It took knowledge of the makeup of elements. He knew all that. But the nature magic was alive. It was fleeting. It played at his fingers, at the tips.

Every so often, the child would pad up to the man, looking at her father playing in the dirt. She smiled and would lean up to kiss his cheek. She knew what the man was attempting, even if she had no idea the ludicrousness of his attempts. He smiled, concentration broken for the second as the feeling faded. Even if he were to never succeed, the child reminded him he could still do good. The concentration returns, and he does not move for the rest of the hour.

Flashes of the last few days start to bombard him towards the end of the hour, the effort of maintaining the connection starting to tire him. The crypts come back to him now, the creature assaulting them so soon after the collapse. The acid that burned a hole through his palm, sizzling against the metal bones in his palms. The uncertainty of where they were going, the fear of being trapped. The walls closing in, the oppressive darkness. The child. The little girl he had put down.

Anger boiled up in him, and took effort not to ball his hands into a fist. What those monsters did to that child, what horrors they inflicted. They scared him. That girl could of been Fira. Or little Sae. Or Tanisil. Lassair’s soon to be born child or another. That girl -was- someones daughter, and they destroyed her. Rebuilt her into some horrible creature. For what ends? For who? Why. What was her name. The thought scratched at the edges of his sanity.

He could taste copper, and his concentration broke completely. Teeth pull away, revealing two new holes bit into his lip. The final battle now danced in his mind, the brutality. The anger, the copper in his mouth. His nostrils flared, and he was there again. The Sunshields betrayal flashed in his mind, Araians voice crying for Aradelle’s blood. Jaxson’s arrogant tone. The howling echoed in his ear, and he turned his head. The worgen were scrabbling down the blood stained dirt ramp, tearing at all who would get close. He heard Grace scream, he heard Marius yelling. And then he could only hear his own heart beat. He was suddenly in their midsts, blade digging into worgen flesh. Twidds timely rescue of his life, and then seeing the gnome tackled. The arrow from no where, dropping the beast on the gnome and then he turned. The worgen moved towards him.

The worgen was frenzied, but so Mahlar. He was on top of the beast, clawing at the howling beasts face. Blood and fur were in his fingernails, normally painted a myriad of color. Red now coated them, and he could feel himself howling. Then he was tasting the blood. He could feel the flesh in his teeth. The beasts anguished cries eventually being silenced as he ripped the snout off, spitting the nose .

“Poppah, can we have eggies?” came a tiny voice, and Mahlar turned quickly. The crypts faded away, and he was back in his house. He was no longer downstairs near his bed, and he found himself in the kitchen. In his hands was a skillet, and the other a basket of eggs.

His reply was paused, bewildered by his new location. His fingertips were still dirty and he set the skillet down on the counter. The tap was cranked on, and the brackish water of Ironforge began to pour force. Washing his hands he nods at the child. “Yes…yes Fira. We can have eggies.” he answers finally.

Pushing On

January 24, 2012

 

The weapon was new, its blade yet unmarked by weapon or shield. It’s staff was long, fur hung ornamental from the weapon. The dwarf had said it was battle ready, but then again, he was a salesmen. Everyone lies. The dwarf had coin to make, and if the weapon was not battle ready, what are the chances of an unhappy customer coming back? The axe blade was a blackened slightly, possibly to make it look more appealing to aspiring soldiers and mercenarys. He did not care about how the weapon looked. The ornamental fur was ignored. The real reason Mahlar had this weapon was simple. He was going to break it.

Shatter it to pieces, smash it against the rocks. He was going to train with this weapon till it broke him. More likely, however, it was going to break his shoulder. Aching quite terribly and not fully healed, Mahlar would be the first person to tell another to slow down. The staff of the halberd was brought up and angled back, letting the spear point towards just below his target, a very unfortunate husk of a tree, ravaged by insects and time. It was long past dead, and now bore the brunt of several deep gashes in its frozen wood.

Fred had told him how he was going to go cut down some trees, and perhaps that’s why he found himself in the snow-covered forest of Elwynn at this ungodly time of night. Stationary targets with enough density to them to feel the hit. Not wanting to chop down a tree on his own, either out of respect or a lack of need, the dead pine had seemed a fine choice.

Bounding forward the spear is plunged deep into the bark and then drawn back, a shard of pain digging into his shoulder as he drew the weapon back. The damned idiot with his ‘threats.’ He didn’t even know the name of the coward who shot him in the back. Swinging the axe to the side, the hook is drawn up to the bark and pulled back, anger started to seep into the mans movements. Harassing him while in his lovers arms, the gall of the man appalled him. He had tried to save the fools life. They would have killed him! Still wielding the weapon more like a staff then an axe, the elf spins on his heel, a flurry of snow driven up by the hem of his dress as his foot digs into the powder. The butt of the weapon now driven at the wood as it’s shaft comes up under his arm. Something cold smacks him in the face when he does this, and he staggers to the side. The flat part of the axe had smacked him in the face. A warning, perhaps, to not forget the lethal aspects of the weapon.

Drawing the weapon back up to his side at rest, teeth gritted by a sudden gust of wind. Between the pain in his shoulder and the bite of frost at his fingers and toes, he contemplated turning around. “No.” he says softly, facing the wooden corpse as if it were an enemy. A certain enemy. Alanden. The man’s name sent a spasm of anger up his spine. The straight blade of the axe held just above his head, his hands shifted on the long steel shaft. Swinging it more like a woodsman axe, the blade dug into the hard wood, a crack forming from the blades entry point. Angled sharply downward, sharp splinters formed at the bottom like teeth.

Panting softly, the elven man stares at the rot frozen tree. Letting the axe stay in its wooden captors clutches, he pushes forward and drives his palm against the bark. The force pushes it a little more apart, and the weapon remained stuck. Clenching his hand into a fist, blow after blow struck the hard surface. Many things still remained murky for him. There was the voice he heard shortly before being rendered comatose. Agnes was alive, but still there was something missing. He remembered trouble shortly before darkness overtook him. Each blow with his right hand caused another sharp pain in the same shoulder. Finally, the wood gives at a blow as it shifts to the left.

Anna worried him still. Her heart had a weakness to it, a defect born with her. He had done something to it, felt a presence he had never felt before. Green had tinged his fingers much like arcane had not long ago. A warmth coursed through him as if he was conjuring flame, but its aftertouch felt like insects crawling over his skin. He needed to talk to someone about this, but who could give him answers?

Straightening his form out, his bloodied knuckles left dripping red as he twirls once more. The snow is sent up again as he tucks his off leg into itself. An explosive burst of power snapped his leg out as he came around, shin cracking against wood and sending splintered wood to the ground. He was left panting with the effort of destroying the tree, pole-axe dropping to the powder without a notable sound.

Only the sound of his breathing filled the small clearing as he bent over, hands on his knees as he stared at the fallen pine. A cracking of brush sent a twitch through the long ear, and he was aware of another. The weapon is drawn up again as a wolf entered the clearing, golden eyes fixated on the elf. Frozen in fear, the mans fingers clinched the cold steel tightly. Ignoring the moisture from the quickly melted snow causing a slip in his grip, the elven man narrowed his eyes at the wolf.

This action was met with a deep-throated growl from the beast. Before he knew what he was doing, he was snarling back at the beast. His mind was fraught with alarms, the wolf bristling at the sight of what could have been a threat. Lips pulled back and teeth were bared at the man, only to have the same action given back. Silence once again took over the empty woods, elf facing wolf in silence. Finally, with a grunt and a shake of his massive head, the wolf  discounts the man as worth the time, and turns his back to him, plodding back into the woods.

Mahlar listened for the wolf’s return for nearly five minutes, only the fading sound of broken twigs and compressed snow giving away where the beast trudged. Another cold gust of wind blew through the woods, and a soft beeping surprised him. Fira had pushed the button on the small communicator he had bought for them, signalling she needed something. Just a beep, that was all. The child had been clinging to him as of late, and he given the actions of Srae when he worked on Agnes, the man couldn’t blame him. Long fingers dug into the pack and pressed a button, sending a return message of a solitary beep and a green light. Poppah was on his way home.

Walking through the woods towards the sleeping city of Stormwind, Mahlar grunted softly. He needed to spend more time with the child, and he hoped the time in Darnassus coming up would give him more time to spend with her. The rotund kaldorei had been asking excitedly when they would be traveling to the Moon Baby home, and told her soon. Always soon. Truth be told, he had been planning for the beginning of the week anyway. Maybe today, after a few hours rest, would he accost a local mage for a portal.

He soon found the road he had left behind when he took a sojourn through the woods, only his footprints marking the snow-covered path. He was alone, for sure. Thoughts of a redheaded woman floated through his mind, her voice now ringing in his head quite clearly. She had spent the entire week by his bedside, and now responsibility had dragged them apart. Tea, he decided. Tea and cakes and talks of children and babies were in order to remedy this. A smile crossed his face for a second, whipped away by another flurry of wind.

Slinging the heavy weapon back onto his back, he hooked it into a leather strap that hung from shoulder to hip. A click announced the halberd was secure, and with that, he broke into a steady jog, breath visible now as the night was banished by lanterns and artificial lighting. He had to return home, he had his fun now. Tomorrow was another day, and he would face it like any other.

What Could Have Been.

January 18, 2012

It was surreal for him. He had been unconscious several times in his life, and his daily meditations had brought him to his mindscape before. He had seen the damage, maybe walked it for a time, but he always was able to will himself  back. For the last week, he had walked his own mind. Unable to return, he had simply chosen a direction and stuck with it.

Broken long ago, high peaks settled in the distance. Sharp and jagged, they never seemed to get closer as he traveled. Several biomes existed here, dreams of his life and memories melded into one with the accuracy of a drunk tailor.  Walking from a bustling city streets of his youth to the wide sweeping plains of Mulgore where he had at one time helped set up the carnival in a strange land. The shift was marked by a red scar along the land, almost organic in nature. The cracks in the vase.

He walked for days, it felt, never growing tired or feeling want of drink or food. Every dream laid bare before him. Faces were blurred with the passing of time, only those who had left a lasting imprint on him kept their form. They never paid him much attention as he walked. Little biomes of dreams he never could be apart of and that suited him fine now. He wanted to find the edge. He wanted to find the way out.

A meadow opened before him. Or rather, the same meadow as the last fifteen times, just a new section. It was Mulgore for sure, the hills rolling in that way that could only be found in this valley.

“You know what this could mean, yes?” came a squeaky voice. Whirling about, the man looked for the source of. It came from on high. He knew that voice.

“Of course you know this voice. This is your mind. Everything you know is here.” the voice came again. It was female, and high-pitched. A scowl crossed his feature, and the landscape darkened with nightfall. Fires sprung up as they did around the plains, casting everything in a pale orange. Footfalls from behind alerted him to the small presence.

Clad in extravagant white robes from eons past, a small gnome stood in his footprints. White hair curled up into two buns rested on her head, and she glanced up at him with bright eyes. Even in the darkness, the bright eyes shone. It seemed as if the darkness crossing the land refused to cling to her, making her seem quite out of place.

“Dragongnome.” the man snarled, and turned away. “I have no time for your words, you…you.” he trailed off, unable to think of a proper response.

“Trifling gnome is a popular choice.” she remarks, and he pauses in his stride.

His fists ball at his side and he turns once more to face her. His hand comes up, finger outstretched at…nothing. There was no body there. Only two smaller footprints in the imprint of his own.

“You never answered me, my dear Mahlar Verinicus Dewfall. You know what this all means, don’t you?” the gnomess repeated from her now unseen location.

“…I’m dead?” he asked in a small voice. “And this is my fate, right? Ziichi got her forever how she wanted it. And this is my penance for always being stuck in the past. An eternity spent in my past.”  his voice was heavy.

“Mmm. Possibly. You know how the timelines work. Millions of outcomes, thousands of destinations. This could be and couldn’t be, all at the same time!” came the cheery reply. “It really is quite entertaining, I do wish you would accompany me. Your friends are doing well, in that box of theirs. Maybe we could all travel together?”

Growling, Mahlar stamped his foot against the earth. “I don’t want to travel. I don’t want to die! I just want to be back at home. I want to be with my daughter! With my–”

“You’ll get what the lines give you. But. How would you like to see something you don’t know. A timeline that you didn’t have a hand in?” the voice offered, ever happy. This caused him to falter in his tirade, and the words once more failed to come.

“What could you show me?” he asked quietly. He was cautious, as always when dealing with the dragons. Distrust ran deep, and what she offered made his blood run cold.

“How would you like to find out what happened to your mother?” she offered. Already, she knew his answer to this, and the question hung in the air but for a second.

“Show me. Now. Please!” he asked again, and the world melted on cue. Gone was the valley with its night-time, and the faint glow of a fires. In its place was a stone room, elven tapestries hung from the walls. The artificial lights were dimmed, and the entire room took on a dark look.

A deep, gruff voice asked in Thalssaian, his tone heavy with nobility and disgust. “You’ll get your money. I want to be assured the work will be done fully.”

“Aye, aye. You’ll get your moneys worth. You’re paying a pretty copper for this though. Y’sure I can do whatever I want with her? Ain’t she yer wife?” the human asked, a gaze given to the corner. A woman sat there, sleeping with a spot of droll hanging from her mouth. She would have been beautiful, if not for the unflattering position, the smell of sleepweed, and the haggard look of several days unrest.

“It doesn’t matter what she is to me, human. I want her memory gone, and from there, I don’t care what you do with her. Sell her, kill her, harvest her organs. I never want her to be seen again, understood?” The senior elfs voice, thick with hatred, hung in the air. The callousness stunned the human, but he nodded. Gold was gold after all.

Mahlar stood, just against the wall with a sour look. He wanted to feel ill, but only anger managed to seep through. He knew this was the past, something unchanged. Turning away, he simply walked through the wall. “So she was sold into slavery, or her organs harvested. Thank you Dragongnome. This has been enlightening. I’d like to go back to my purgatory now.” he snarls.

“No no…keep. Keep watching.” the voice urged.

Fading into blackness, scenes began to pass quickly now. No words, only passing moments. The ones you always remember. Her first day ‘awake’, sold to a human lord. Dulled eyes remained constant, the mental illness not cured, only repressed. Her inhuman treatment at his hands. The leer, the rapes, the beatings and the verbal abuse. She weathered it all, her red hair greying long before her time. The beatings deafened her in one ear. Soon, the lord grew old and died, and in his will, she was to be given to the lord’s son.

A young man, strong. A soldier, born and bred. Short black hair, and a reverence for the Light. A paladin to be, the founding of the Silver Hand not yet set in moition by Faol. He was surprisingly kind to the elven slave. He treated her fairly, and soon they grew close. Blue eyes began to shine a little brighter as the days passed. Several children were sired. Half-brothers and sisters. Several of both, in fact. A happy family.

“I-” he starts, words choking his throat. “I wasn’t…enough for her was I.” he works his way through the sentence. “I never was. Look…look at what she got. Happiness…I couldn’t give my own mother–”

“Shh! It’s not done.”

War came, as it always did. The man, old now, was inducted sometime after the founding of the Silver Hand, slain in battle during the campaign into Draenor. His passing was assumed once the portal was shut by Khadgar. The children moved on, half elves in their own right, to different ends. Most chose Quel’Thalas as their home, and were slaughtered when Arthas had his rampage through their city. Some fell with the fall of Dalaran. Only one remained with the old elven woman. Old age crept on her, her body harried by abuse and the severing of the Sunwell proved too much. A quiet death in her sleep awaited her, her last daughter by her side when she went.

Stunned into silence, Mahlar just watched each scene numbly. War took a family he didn’t know. Except for one.

“…Chronormu. One of them didn’t die.” he states out loud. The gnomess didn’t answer at first. A thought struck him. He stops closes his eyes once more. “You’re not real are you.” he asks quietly. “You just…I just gave myself a show, didn’t I? Mental masturbation. Gave myself a load of crap just to make everything easier on myself.”

“Possibly.”  she returns after a minute’s pause. “But what you could of been is not what you could become. Everything can change, and sometimes that power rests in your own two hands.” she answers. Mahlar pauses, glancing around.

“What?” he asks. Slowly, his own mindscape returns. The smells, the darkness giving way to a hazy dawn. “That didn’t make any sense.” No answer greeted him this time. The gnomess simply stood in his footprints in front of him before a small finger is raised. “Someone has something to say to you.” she says quietly. Indicating he should turn around with a twirl of a small finger, Mahlar almost eagerly turned. A lost brother? A sister?

“Nothing exists here unless you want it, Mahlar.” came the dragons voice now. Deeper, “Everything you want is created. You are the maker of your own beyond.”

Nothing. The valley was empty behind him. “Chromie, the fu-” he began, turning back to face the gnomess. Only she was missing now, and in her place stood a young woman. Just about his age. An average build, red hair trailed to meet her ankles. Her face, angled and sharp, looked uncannily like his own. In fact,  a lot of her appearance looked like his own. “Y…You’re..” he began as she approached him. “You’re me…” he offered, before her hands closed in on his throat.

Her fingers tightened, nails digging into his flesh. He actually felt the constriction now. The pain. He could not breathe. He felt his eyes start to bulge, and he started to grasp wildly. Darkness began to set in, finality woven into it. He was going to die. A sleep he would not wake from.

Was any of it real? If you were dead, how could you be feeling pain?

It’s time to wake up.

January 8, 2012

This can’t be right. Not at all. It doesn’t make medical -sense-

I’m recording this here so hopefully I can make some sense out of it all. Agnes is sick, her body rebelling against her. A week of work and relaxation, capped with a lovely jaunt through ol’ Gilneas. Not the worst plan, after all. It was for a good cause. A needed cause. There would be death without this. And it was a success. No one, save Baldy who decided he wanted a fight with the ceiling. He lost, by the by, and got a bonk on the head for his efforts.

Five generations

dead before thirty five

Not that the old city didn’t try to trip us up any. A forsaken professor, and his traveling guards happened upon us. They were dispatched quickly with, and this is a first, no major injuries. It was Agnes, Lio, Rosa, Baldy, Aurric, Miraneev, and myself. A larger team, larger than what we needed. It was overkill, but the added plate were atleast moderately quiet as they moved.

Common factor: Hewes

We arrived at her Villa. Why would I think that Agnes lived in anything but a villa. To go from such posh living quarters to well…a tiny apartment in Stormwind. Poor girl. After everything settles and I figure this damned cure out, I’m going to do something nice for her. Get her

No surviving members

Anyone currently with the condition?

Find out

What the hell do you get someone who lived in a villa? A self portrait? Flowers? Expensive vases?

 

I thought the scourge ravaged remains of the houses around Eversong were depressing and creepy, with the stench of undeath all around. Little did I know that throwing in fur, musk, and a lovely variety of mold growing somewhere in that house, in accompaniment of a simply looted building could do so much more to send a chill up my spine.

It was large, larger then the house I grew up in. Elven houses were tall and not as expanse as human buildings. Might have something to do with the immortality, or simple aesthetics. Either way, we knew the way. We didn’t have to search. The files were all organized in his study. I’m surprised none were missing, con-men using them as leverage over sick family members a common practice. The bastards

Found several interesting facts about her history, most of which are scribbled along the margins here and there. Each step I take, each new fact I glean, is starting to push me towards an idea I don’t want to admit. That I don’t think I could get taken serious.

 
A reboot to her body. A purge of everything that could be harmful to her system. A complete flood of magical work, condensed and forced into a central point in her body. The body’s natural ley lines turned against the body, resulting in temporary death. What kind of cure is that. The risks

Shecoulddie.

But it be may our only choice. The disease acts too quickly. It could spawn a tumor and kill her within a night’s rest. Each hour, each minute I waste, is too expensive to waste. This can’t be right. There has to be other choices.

I will find them. Damned without my magic, Marius was right.

I have these hands, and I will heal with them.

Or I will fucking strangle someone.

Fuck.

The Seventh of the New Year

Mahlar Dewfall

 

December 29, 2011

It’s been a long time since I’ve had no idea what to write. This is difficult for me to write, let alone think. Words fail me.
My magic has left me. Gone. Even the simplest of spells is beyond my grasp. The rune that saved my life has severed my connection to the ley lines. I can see them, I can feel them, but I can not tap into the well of their power. It’s been lost to me. The powers of the planet, the very building blocks of the magics, lost.

What have I done

I knew this was coming long ago. Why didn’t I look into moderation? Why did I just ignore it?

Why

It’s gone now. Even if I were to remove the rune, the magics would destroy me. I wasted my chance to regain that power through my drug use. When it could of been managed.

I am a conduit without power. I am an empty vessel.

What am I

December 19, 2011

Forgiveness. It’s a quality I strive to always have. Maybe to the point of causing myself pain.

It comes down to the fact that, at the end of the day, we all make mistakes. Everything can go wrong, and there are always two sides to an arguement. There are some, alas, that I can not forgive. The Coalition for tossing me to the wolves, and then losing their own town to what I’m going to assume is their own incompetence. The multitudes of idiots who harm others for their own twisted and idiotic reasons. Myself for a half dozen mistakes that by rights are trivial but I can not look past.
I’ve talked with Vera. The child who so hurt and drove mad the woman I love. Who drove myself to tears with frustration. Why do I stress myself with such? I have no idea. I’ve seen her around, and I saw she has become in the motherly way. At first, I drove my face into the hardest surface as many times as possible. Then, through either luck or severe brain damage, I began to hope that maybe she’ll be alright. That she learned her lesson about the Dawn that took me so long to learn. Their presence is only going to cause the people within pain, for little difference in the long run.

It worries me, it really does, that she has yet to learn it. Someone attacked her in her mind, and physically. Tried carving that blasted gem out of her arm. There are so many things wrong with all of that, that the spot on the wall I have deemed ‘The Headbanger’ may see more use before the end of this entry.

We talked, however. We talked for a few hours, and caught up. Against my better idea, I thought to give her a second chance. And I believe I refuted myself. It was a wonderful conversation, and despite the fact she has become widowed and alone, I can still see the woman I once knew. The smiles and laughs are hard wrought, but possible with time. I know she’ll recover, and it drives me insane to hear those who are close to her to tell her to ‘buck up’. I can’t understand that, how can they have no idea what loss does to a person.

It’s maddening. But, I will not focus too much on this. I have other news to put to paper.

I saw Juhla at the marketplace, and dragged her shopping with me. It was a great deal of fun, and I was searching for an outfit for my role in an upcoming play. She was patient as I flounced around the marketplace in purple robes and ill fitting vests. We returned to my flat and picked up Fira, as it was almost time to see a very special play. Juhla’s done so well with Fira, it lifts my heart. Maybe seeing her change around the child has inpsired me to forgive Vera. Hopefully.

I acted in the play. And it was wondrous. A small role, but one I think I fit rather well. A Winters Veil Carol, and I played Fred, the nephew of mean old Scrooge. A bright, happy young man who sees the spirit of the season and embraces it wholly. I should get one of those hats. It was a production done by the Sigil, and it was a rousing success. Marius played my Uncle, and I kick myself for not forcing a hug on the man at the end. I had the excuse!

Bah. Regardless, Agnes acted in the play as well, and it was a joy to see her again. She wrote me a letter, I found the other day. It contains…dire news, and I worry still for her.

Agnes is sick, and it’s something I wish I knew more about. A leukemia, caused by her use of shadow magics. It’s literally destroying her body and I do not know how to fight it. I know there are medicines, and from what I have done, they are dangerous to the body. And that doesn’t address the shadow magic that may be causing this. Once again, I am limited by the fact I know too little magic to mend. I don’t know enough.

I need to know more. I must learn more. I don’t care how, but I must find a way to help those I love. I will not be stuck tugging on the sleeves of others for any longer. I will be better, and I won’t let them die. No one will die.

 

 

Mahlar Dewfall

December the 19th

December 13, 2011

It’s been two weeks since I wrote in here. I suppose with all that went on, and how I’ve felt, the urge to write has not come as easily. Either way, the problems of the past are of the past now. Those I love are healing, admittedly Lio does worst for himself then any other I’v

Lancelet.

That is who Liotuse reminds me of. A man so stubborn, so needing of attention that he’ll tear open his own wounds in our defense. And, amusedly enough, he’s a male. Paladin, of course. Stubborn and unyielding, with an inferiority complex so crammed up his ass it’s a wonder how they managed to affix that stick they cram up a paladin’s ass when he graduates. Or ascends. Or whatever they do.

And he’s in love with a friend of mine. Thankfully, no one will ever be able to be what Aralei was to me. And Lio and Rosa’s love is both…reciprocated and appreciated. So atleast I know it’s not sexual frustration that makes him so infuriating. But I will tie Lio down to a bed one day if it means he’ll heal properly. Drug his food, knock him out. I’ll treat a concussion if that means I don’t have to stitch his damned side up again.

Regardless.

The Faire came and went. It was like stepping through a portal. Back to the hustle and bustle of my old times. And they even have a -brawling- ring. It was all I could do to not throw myself into it. The thrill of the crowd cheering, and the mass of bodies slamming into one another. Primal, manly
Not my life anymore. I watched the young men fight in the ring. It’s young men now. All the old ones are dead or injured, the result of…Light, five wars in fourty years? They were hooting and holaring, and atleast they had the sensibility to not sneak weapons into the ring. Though the goblin sharpshooters on high do make for a very firm penalty for cheating.

There’s a petting zoo, and so much more. Once…everything calms down, maybe in the middle of the week, I’ll bring little Firaera along to the Faire. I remember opening week of the Winefellow, and the types it brought. Muggers, pickpockets. Terrible stuff. I will drag Juhla along as well, bait her with the petting zoo I thinks. They have a giant ape. Huge ape. And a -Flander’s- type thing. She’d love it.

Plainstrider. That’s what Flanders is.

Ghia.

Ghia’s gone now. The…loveable girl with the energy that outdoes anyone I know. She left to go tend to her family now. She found them, and they need her. Left Juhla with the house she bought for her. But. It’s family. It’s important to her, and Juhla understand that. She’s spent more time around Fira now though. Even came over for dinner the other night. We laughed and tickled and had dinner. Fira gave her a hug, and there was no fear in her. There was no panic anymore.

I wish I could describe how happy this makes me feel. I still smile broadly when I think of her and Fira together.

Anyway. Met a new man. A man who became a friend, and then set loose his Alar upon myself. My arm suffered third degree, and if it weren’t for the poultice taught to me by Myelis, I would be in dire straights. It’s healing rapidly though, and I must remember to send along a word of thanks for it again.

Mooney, my Mooney.

Wonderful news, that I won’t share quite yet. There is still danger of this book being read, but I must. I have to write about it. It fills me with a joy unfelt, and a pang of jealousy almost. But my heart leaps even higher for her. We’ve talked at length these past few months, and I’ve felt a close friendship with the woman develop. She’s so wonderfully…calm. Collected. There’s no…dragon fucking with her. Or Draenic warlock soul stealing friends. There is just Mooney, living the life I aspire to have currently. A normal life, removed from the horrors of the world. It is possible. It can be done.

The Sigil has relocated. Or in my mind, fled the city. Of course, it’s allowed of them. They had been the target of every idiot from here to the Nether for existing. I can’t blame them for wanting to exist. But in doing so, did they admit defeat? They said they wanted to help more people, but they relocated to a quiet hamlet removed from more than a few hundred dwarves. They said they think worldly, so they traded in their ship for a landlocked canyon. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s not my decision, and the Loch is beautiful. I disagree with them, but I often do.

Srae was worried about losing her friends. I told her that they would soon get bored with the Loch and return to the city. And it’s already happening. Lass shows up nightly now, and we get to talk. It’s wonderful though. Her and I just talking of things. Getting to know one another and being friends. It seemed whenever I hit rock bottom, Lass was nearby. And she would try to help, but I am so beyond help at times that I feel remorse for trying to hoist my problems at her. But now we are friends. And that’s wonderful.

Met a dear couple of women.  Evelynn and Ralli. Evelynn is a Knight, and her death put a damper on her moods like with most. But I saw kindess to her, and I regret thinking she couldn’t be trusted. Ralli had been kidnapped by a warlock, who had chained people in his basement. She had hurt herself trying to escape, and he had placed a few psychological spells on her. It was terrifying, to see the magics work on her form without any way to stop it. I set her wounds, and recommended she go see a mentalist.  Evelynn said she had it under control. I hope she did.

Whoever is reading this book.

You are most likely someone I trust, someone I love and hold dearly.

Thank you.

 

Mahlar Dewfall

December the Thirteenth

December 4, 2011

Gideon,

It’s been six years, four months, and twenty one days. I don’t need to tell you that, though, do I? You always knew the date, even the time, down to the second, every time. I don’t know how you did it with all those drugs in my system. For a long time there, I thought you might of been a mech

Why am I telling you what I thought? You were in my head. For a year and a half, you know what I thought about you. I remember many nights laid on the streets arguing with you. Looking back, I wish I could remember the tones you used to take with me. Like an exasperated father talking to a child.

It still boggles me you were barely a teenager when I met you. I remember that time, actually, tossed into the back of those Scarlets’ wagon, sent off to a deserved torture. Bouncing and slamming into the walls of that ancient wooden contraption with that wobbly wheel. Every sixth time that wheel turned, it would loosen a bit more. I watched that bolt, hoping against hope that it would break apart. And then I saw you, a faint, dirty gem in the back, hanging from that nail.

Such curiosity, such…boredom. I’ll admit. I wanted to look at the shiny object. And the moment I touched the gem, you entered my head. Smashing through mental barriers, you forced your way into my mind like a child opening Winter Veil gifts. You did a lot of damage to my head, and likely, that bit of mental tearing set us up for destruction.

I don’t blame you. I could never blame you. You were lonely, and at the end of the day, you needed a home, and I needed a frien

I’m not getting that sappy on you. Sorry. I remembered how much you hated how emotional I got. And the drugs. How you hated how much I escaped. “Get out of your own head, vessel. There’s two of us now. You’re being ridiculous.”

I’m sorry. I couldn’t face it then. Not even with someone how knew it all, life felt too hard then. I thought the drugs were helping, but each down, each time I came off my highs as much as I did I felt worst and worst.

Why do I keep telling you about the past?

A lot has happened since then, and I won’ttell you about the facts. I’m better, now. My minds recovered from the trauma, and from you leaving. I found solace in Candreanna. You remember her, right? The beautiful paladin woman with the kind smile. She was too good for me at that point. I was so strung out on everything still, and everything still haunted me. The goodbyes, the horrors those monsters pulled on you. I didn’t want to say good bye. I wish I could of saved you.

I guess I’m not as better as I thought, if I still get upset thinking of failing you. I know it’s not a failure. “Oh yes vessel. I expect you to bend to my every whim, and deny me my rest.” I can almost hear you saying.

Every now and then I see someone who reminds me of you. You’d be almost a man at this point, wouldn’t you be? This is something I can lament. If your parents had been different, if they hadn’t experimented on you, you would of seen the world grow and then shatter. But you would of been alive, you would of served. You could of become someone important. A general, a commander. You had the mind for it. You always did. You lead, I followed.

I miss you Ivan Barov. May your soul have found the peace it so rightfully deserved, and let this letter just sink to the mud and be forgotten.

 

December the Fourth

Your Vessel, Doctor Mahlar Dewfall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can you believe I’m a father now?

 

November 28, 2011

I have a right to be angry. I have a right to be upset. They ignored my warnin

I am Mahlar Dewfall. I am a recovering drug abuser. I have walked this planet for a hundred and twenty four years now. I have lost my mother because I could not ke in a situation out of my control. I took my fathers life after letting him ruin mine through fear, intimidation, abuse, and chase. I finally have a life I can be proud of. But I have made the mistakes many times over. It took me a long time to get them right.

I took the life of my best friends son. He may of been deserving, but several times I had been as well and was spared. Perhaps he could of been. Perhaps he could of been redeemed. But I put a shard of ice through his skull and ended that.

I tortured a Scarlet for two days. I still hear his screams, and by the Light, let know one ever re

Drugs were my escape. I’ve done enough to addle my brain several times over. I think the only reason I’m coherent is the flux of Light magic given to me by the sin’dorei. All the synapses have returned, though they may not all fire the right way. My soul is fractured and put together with tape, spit, and luck.

But I am seldom wrong about others. I see their situations. Chances are, I’ve seen it happen before. Maybe their short human lives rob them of the ability to look beyond what’s before them. Maybe they are just stupid.

I knew Strahm was a traitor. They valued others words over his own wife’s. Dyna knew it all along. No one gave it a thought. They all thought he was good and new. The Apophan does not simply die. I have seen it myself, and I’ve heard of his battles. Maybe not living through it has given me a clarity, or given me the ability to not underestimate him. But I knew it all. I warned them, and what did I recieve in return.

“The Light will protect us. Why don’t you trust your friends Mahlar? We’re strong. We know his weakness. It’ll be a surprise attack, and he won’t see us coming

Fools The Apophan knows more then you could ever realize. Why would you consistantly underestimate him. Strahm was evil all along, what a surprise. Who knew? Me. The plan wouldn’t go off with out a hitch. Who knew? Me. Strahm was always evil. Stehl was going to die. But Heliorn? He was a good man, a man worth knowing. A man who didn’t care for me, and should be judged better for it. They got him killed on this fools errand. Congratulations

I wonder which of them has the Apophan’s taint in them now? If he could do it with Stehl, why not with any of the broken near lifeless forms that was brought back. They told me it would all be fine. They told me they had it under control. In and out without any trouble. Which one of them is not right.

I hope they both remember that when they mourn Heliorn. In and out without any trouble.

How many people must die before people listen? How loud do I have to scream before they hear? How awful, how mean do I have to get before they acknowledge. When will humans stop making mistakes.

 

 

 

 

 

Tea’s good. I almost got angry enough to throw this damned book across the room. I looked around, and I took in the boon before me. Juhla’s asleep now, in my house. Again. She fell asleep with Fira curled up next to her, in what I likely think was the latter idea. I tucked her in, and the days memories before I traveled to that damned desert flooded my mind.

Juhla’s coming home soon. With the formers sighting in the housing shop, she may of already purchased a home. I haven’t brought it up yet, likely thinking she wants to surprise me. I’ll play along, but the thought of having her back in my life fills me with a joy I haven’t felt in months. I’ll have her back, and in one piece. The Embersea hosted a camping trip before, a simple excursion to that humidity ridden jungle. She met many of the people I work with, and she was happy with them. She’ll be home.
Earthmother bless it. She’ll be home. Elune bless it. She’ll be back soon. Light bless it. Everything will be fine.

October the 28th

Mahlar Dewfall