Dear Diary

Ah'Lam's Lists

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Second of August - year xx

In retrospective, perhaps it is a little unusual that I am as content and at ease as I am today, considering that I cannot leave the Keep and we’ve proof that dreadlords have and could once more infiltrate us. On the other hand, we’ve a powerful mentalist of our own who shall be able to find any minds not belonging to us, and it has been hard to remain apprehensive when I’ve time aplenty for rest, company, visiting with the turtles and flirting. Ancestors, has there been flirting, and surprisingly it’s not all from my worried Dear-Heart. It is strange to think that even a few months earlier I would have shamelessly bantered right back and ended up going to bed acting as an overlarge security blanket for a charming gnome.

Perhaps this to be expected. I haven’t been so utterly content in belonging to another since Zhi Ya. In some ways I feel even more secure since I know this one won’t be leaving to stand by any factions long at war with my adopted people. 

Ironic, isn’t it? The world could be about to come down on our heads any day now, and yet I now find myself in a state of utmost

 

Oh. I do not think I am quite at ease any longer.

I have just received  a visit from one of my mainland cousins–Xifeng Silentscroll, of all people! The Lorewalkers have assigned her to the field for the indefinite long term, and after taking in her muddied and torn robes and watching an armor rack spill over at barely a brush from her, I believe I can understand why she is no longer working in the archives. I wish her the swiftest of luck in finding a reversal for whatever ill-understood Mogu curse continues to bring her such dismally poor luck.

I digress.

A little boy has gone missing from the Thunderfoot farmsteads. Kuo Whitebrow was last seen two mornings ago fetching a pail of water for his mother’s herb garden. At the end of the day they found the pail filled and waiting by the river, but no trace of the boy. Some of our Creekwhispers have joined the parties extending their search as far as the Krasarang coast and Paw’don; I think I shall ask Li on his next call if any of his family might have seen or heard anything of the cub.

Xifeng reports that she has also heard of two other children disappearing from their homes and families in Thelsamar and Westfall. I pray that they are found and returned swiftly and safe, and that this not be the start of something sinister.

I think I shall start listening among the Wildhammers and visitors for any such news. I do not think I shall be able to rest easy just sitting about.

 

 

 
 
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Eight of August, year xx

Soon.

The nightmare...vision, it broke through the sleeping draught stronger than ever. Even awake, the elements sing their rage and apprehension deep into my blood. I know as sure as my bones that the Legion is to be upon us any moment now.

Then, I have known this for some time. We have all, I think, had time and reason for our suspicions to solidify into truth.

I pray my family remains safe in the times ahead. For now, all I want is to be around my Lions for what could be our last calm night, and then I shall try to find my Dearheart--for the comfort of his presence, at the very least.

 

 

I will do what I must to see us through this safely.

I shall not let someone become the next Tai.

 
 
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((The writing is rushed and hasty, and the words far more abrupt than in previous entries, almost as if scribbled down in seconds.))

August 9

The Legion is invading.

Refugees are flooding to the Keep. Towns and outposts are falling under siege and being destroyed.

There are families here. Children.

Ancestors help us all.

 
 
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August 10

The Legion attacked the Keep today. They brought a fel cannon--we almost lost Fro when he went to disable the thing. I should have gone with him.

It was just like being on the Wall all over again. 

They've closed the siege doors. For now, all we can do is hold fast and stand our ground. 

 
 
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((The writing is unrecognizable in how crooked and clumsy it has become. At many points, errors are crossed out and laboriously corrected.))

 

August 13

I have to learn how to write with my left hand now. I didn't expect it to be so uncoordinated compared to my dominant arm.

It turns out there is no easy way to acknowledge that you have lost a limb--it's uncomfortable and awkward and I still don't know how I feel about it. I think I'm either numb or restless to get back to work and not sit around.

Izarre also lost a hand last night. They were drilling out of the tunnels, and we both got the worst of those machines. But we stopped them before they could break through. That's important.

I cannot recall much of what happened after I fell. I think I might have been disoriented and in shock, but Roiya says I did...something. It seems to have been incredible, whatever it was. At least we all got out of there alive.

I will have to get used to this fast. We are still under siege, and I cannot afford to be idle when there is work to be done. My physical body may be diminished, but so long as I let the elements act through me, I am not powerless. I can still fight.

I just hope the worst is behind us and we shall be out of this soon. All these families need to have their homes back, and I don't know how much longer we can last if we are not careful with our rationing.

 

I still remember the dream I had two days ago of Azeroth shrieking and pained under the Legion's arrival. I suppose another nightmare is to be expected under the circumstances, but it still sticks with me vividly.

 
 
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August 30

It is a good thing I know what it is I intend to write, because I doubt anyone else would be able to decipher my words if they had to read them. I must keep practicing.

I didn't stop to think about what this meant during those two weeks, because I didn't have time to stop and think when we were on the move and fighting for each others' lives. Then the week after I did not think much about it because most of that week I spent either sleeping or looking for information on the missing children.

But I think I may need to think about it now.

I feel...off balance. In more than the physical sense. I know that I will adapt and get used to this, and I am determined that one missing arm will not stop me doing my best to live my life and help my Swordbrethren to face the coming darkness, and yet--at times, it feels as though I am mourning something, in the same way we have mourned Masana, Sky, every life lost so far. 

It is a harder feeling to shake off than I had anticipated. And I am still divided on the idea of a prosthetic, though I don't clearly know why.

Perhaps that is also part of the process, and will pass in time. For now, I will turn my thoughts from dwelling on it, and focus on small steps. I still need to find new armor, for one thing. I must also plan and pack for dispatch, check on Rambo's field tack, and adjust to fighting with one arm. 

One thing at a time, Ah'Lam. This can be managed. This will end, and we will be with Li and his family again soon.

 
 
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August 31

Perhaps I should resign myself to my apparent fate as a seer of ill portent who must seek the aid of sleeping drafts or else be woken in the dead of night by visions of the earth howling in agony moments before shattering into the void.

The sad part is that I'm getting used to this.

 
 
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((The lull between the most recent entry and the previous one is filled primarily with pages of idle scrawlings and lines of repetition with various words, as if the Pandaren has been practicing writing with her non-dominant hand. Her script is still shaky and awkward, but closer approaching legibility.))

 

September 22

So this is how it feels to have a fragmented soul.

Restless. Foggy. Unsteady and insubstantial. Like your edges where part of you used to be might slowly be crumbling and splintering further if you take a wrong move. Empty.

I cannot be sure, but I think the elements do not respond so readily, and the world feels dull and colorless for having lost the whispers of the breeze, and the tingling weight of the storm building overhead. I have also twice waken up this night, not sure what was nightmare and what was real.

This cannot go on. Yesterday we fought desperately to turn away from the underworld, and now after all that we must go and find a willing way back into the world of the dead so we can recover what has been stolen from inside ourselves.

If nothing else, for M and Jo's sakes.

Ancestors preserve us, we have to make it through this. We have to make it home from this land.

 
 
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October 13

 

Carwick Twistfizz. Age, 9 years. Deceased at Amberpine Lodge ten minutes before tenth bell.

Kuo Whitebrow. Age, 11 years. His life essence continues to wither away as if he were a tree uprooted and drying out from the roots inwards. Even with the fastest portal here, his mother may not get to see him into the next week.

 

I have no words for this failure at preventing the unspeakable.

I have to get the rest home. I can't let there be any more deaths.

Please, Ancestors...let this be the better decision. Please don't let any more families lose their children for my deciding to wait and prepare.

 
 
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November 22

 

This past week has been--barring a certain few incidents--one of the worst and most emotionally draining I've known.

 

Buwick Steamspan

Carwick Twistfizz

Cory Wither

Gimdir Marbledust

Josiah Reid

Lyria Silverlight

Lise Balton

Olanea Sunbrook

Robby Garrick

Sydell Crawford

Soven Dawnforge

Jaeloraa

Karogg

Mozel Goldgob

Rixreez Fizzgear

Sildraeas Mossfeather

Thelenea Treedancer

Falan

Kuo Whitebrow

Mi-Hi Autumnbrush

Tommy Fisk

Donna Hailey

Linsel Portfuse

Ta Min Windclaw

Remuun

Mo

 

Eleven children returned home. Twenty-six taken. Only two of the remaining fifteen could be brought home in the end. 

The recovered documents have revealed where Kuo and Carwick were to be taken to. Those who did not survive the mark were moved to an encampment north-east of Amberpine Lodge, to spend their remaining days in relative quiet and isolation. Perhaps to avoid the other children noticing their decline of health, as well. Whatever the case, the children before those two did not get any graves, or even the distinction of whose ashes belonged to who.

I cannot stop thinking about the families I had to bring news to. Their grief feels just as much my responsibility.

 

Tarius Whitely.

The man may not have intended his work to take such a lethal turn, but I still cannot excuse him or those supporting his actions for first snatching the young and defenseless out of the security of their families and then subjecting them to such torture. It is unfortunate that the Church will not have the chance to hold him personally accountable--his was the body we found with his throat slit when we confronted the felblood elf in the basement. I suppose we will all have to try and settle for instead handling the clerics and mercenaries in his hire.

 

There is not much else I remember after seeing the surviving children home. I think at some point I vaguely recall burrowing into a mountain of pilfered infirmary blankets and sleeping for most of a day, maybe two. I don't remember if I even reported back to any officers whenever I got back here to the Keep. 

 
 
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March 18

Tonight I set blade to wood for the first time in many months. Yet my hands would not move, would not seek to shape as they so eagerly used to. These tools feel heavy and foreign now--I sat for an hour searching for the will to carve, and at the same time questioned why I wished to do anything at all.

I could not drive thoughts of Izarre from my mind. So...broken, so wrongly weakened. So close to following Masana, and Sky, and Tai. 

We keep coming so close to losing more friends and family every time we set out. It's become obvious there are powers out there far larger and crueler than I could comprehend, ones that could erase all of us as easily as crushing an ant and flinch just as little if we try to bite first. 

I am but two thirds of a woman who speaks to the ocean and throws fire and boulders. Of what consequence am I to something strong enough to decide my friends should die and then simply make it be? How much longer can I protect them before it's simply not enough anymore?

I smile to reassure my Swordbrothers and sisters, but I do not know if they can see just how scared I am behind the act.

 
 
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((Ah'Lam's handwriting is unsteady once more, as if she was unable to keep her hand still. The pages around this point have begun to warp from damp.))

 

April 9

Many of my swordbrethren came to Dalaran today for  healing. The Legion has left them hard pressed for time sufficient for much more than a quick bandage or a few aches eased--Quinn and I do what we can, in the short time they have here, but one night can only allow so much.

In two days' time they will attempt once and for all to destroy the reaver from the Span, and whether the result is for better or worse, I cannot follow. Once they return to the Shore, there will truly be nothing more I can do to help.

I really did think I was ready to be here, until the mo'arg happened. I believed the nightmares to be just that, and that the shriek of sawblades would no longer overpower all reason but survival once it came time to put down the source. But the results show, clear as day, that I have never overcome that terror; in my fear, I have become a liability to the mission, and a threat to those around me. I am letting down those who depend on me to help end this bloodshed.

Jun may have been correct in his judgment of me

For now, I do my best to help Quinn and Lynn where I am needed, and to distract myself smiling over Skybrooke the Younger. It has been easier, this past week, to think only of getting through each day. I have no real idea of what I shall do after, when this is over. Advisor Mindspanner strongly advised seeking assistance in mastering my fear of the mo'arg--that much is sound. I feel dread at the thought of admitting to Li what has been going on, but maybe I should seek his thoughts and see what h

 

I just broke my cup. I didn't even think I was holding it that tightly.

My false arm has begun to churn and ice over. I think I should end my writing today and attempt to find calm again.

 
 
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February 7

I have forgotten about this book. Truthfully, my mind and heart have not much been in keeping track of things.

I should at least try.

 

--The Legion has been defeated.

--A titan's sword has plunged into Silithus and devastated the place for miles around.

--I have had to resort to potions to dull my senses against the elements; they are shaken and wild, possibly because of the aforementioned sword.

--Rambo was almost killed. He is still not well.

--Folcan has gone missing. We are looking at the Scarlets for that.

--Dad is only getting sicker, and poor Ma is starting to get scared. I'll need to take some time away to go see them soon.

 

When I haven't been trying to mend the great crack in Rambo's shell, I've been throwing myself into activity just to keep moving, keep from dwelling too much and sinking back into despair. I've practiced my strikes on the thickest trees until my knuckles were bloody, risen at first bell to run until my lungs screamed for rest, worn myself out so thoroughly that when I return to the Keep I have energy only to manage a quick meal before passing out in my bunk again. A part of me wants to find Li for a few minutes' calm; a smaller but more tired part of me says to deal with it and stop laying my woes down for him to handle.

They say they've found the Eredar that killed Jenn. There's to be a mission to bring him down. Please, ancestors, let this at least end with everyone safe.

 
 
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July 10

I didn't give a thought to this thing until it fell out of my footlocker while I was looking for my kite. It's been too long since I had the chance.

How does one begin the task of taking months of captivity and torture and putting them to paper? I cannot. To begin picking through the blur of faces and sensations would be to return much closer to that time than I care to remember, and yet the scarred expanse of flesh across my side will forever carry a dull echo of the fel's crawling agony, ensure the memory will not ever fade as fully as I'd wish it to. My constitution continues to improve, and the old strength of body will return with time and care, but as the days pass it is becoming more obvious that the Legion took more from me than my health, and my secrets.

I do not think I am fit for the business of war any longer.

Maybe it started as early as Vash'jir, and continued to fester even when the Old corruption was prized from me in the high peaks of Stormheim. It seems that I have been witness to horrors more frequent and more horrifying than the last, and my Hope and Fortitude have fled in the shadow of the Dark Titan's final blow to our world. There is work to be done yet with my Swordbrethren, but how can I be of any use to them now, when I shrink from the thought of taking up arms once more?

I am sending Rambo back to the farm, and will never bring him into battle again. Though his wound closes, he is not as strong as he was, and I cannot take the chance of losing him again. I find myself aching to follow him--there is a profound, and growing ache to return to my home. I fear I am drifting apart from my family and those I love. I fear I have already lost those closest to me here. I fear to lose my father while I am away, when he weakens more each month. For the first time, I seriously consider laying down my tabard and leaving the wars and bloodshed to those more resilient in the face of such tribulations. 

I have done my best, but I cannot continue as I am. There must be an end. Perhaps it is time to accept that this may soon be mine.

 
 
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