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Magus Errant's Memory Crystal

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I've just discovered what pancakes are, and they are amazing and you can eat them plain or put fruit or chocolate or any toppings on them to your heart's content and a drudge is teaching me to make them and this is all that matters right now.

I am going to eat so many pancakes and nobody else is getting any. Not Fish, or Limespanner or Mother or anybody.

...Maybe Sharanth shall be allowed one or two if he asks nicely. But only Sharanth. And the cat, if he shows interest. They are both good. But nobody else.

 
 
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((Ilyssae has, at some point, presumably eschewed the use of her crystal and switched to parchment and ink. The small, plain leatherbound book is already filled with notes and musings from the few weeks prior--assuming one can break through the enchantment wiping the pages blank for an unauthorized snoop.))

 

December the nineteenth - Feathermoon Stronghold

Insufferable brat, indeed. I've certainly made one of myself.

What does it say about me that I've spent the better half of a year griping and bitter over the thought of being discarded, and barely considered any explanation more grim? More surprising still is that it didn't turn into a self fulfilling prophecy after demanding a proper explanation with such emnity; I certainly would have found someplace better to be in half a moment, had our positions been exchanged.

I suppose I should be happy to be proven wrong, but I mostly just feel stupid and ashamed for how I've handled this. Maybe I needed something like this to force me to recognize my own petulance for once.

Perhaps more foolish still was feeling I could allow myself to confess somewhat the nature of this situation I've found myself in with my new shan'do. I am not sure if I shall keep my promise to call on Taldin for help. I don't doubt he would intervene if he saw fit, but I do have reservations on what repercussions could come of it. I was honest when I said I've no real knowledge of the extent of Duskwhisper's ability, or what to expect him to do if he were to learn I even hinted something of our working together to another. It could be that I'm reading much too far into what I've seen of him, and I may eventually be free to depart in one piece if I keep my head down and trust to his good reason--or he could be more dangerous and vengeful than Mother, and a confrontation could go horribly awry in his favor. Whichever way, I'd rather not find out by doing anything which may induce such a reaction.

For the time, then, I shall wait and see, and stay cautious. If nothing else, I've at least learned to stay out of arm's reach until I better know a man's nature.

 
 
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January the Twenty-Fifth - Hero’s Welcome, Dalaran

 

The last time I was near anything of Nightborne origin, it nearly tore half my arm off in its teeth.

 

Not a good precedent to set.

 

Through a combination of asking around for hearsay, bartering what coin I have and a bit of plain mooching, I have acquired a few of the curious crystals that are so commonly found in the woods beyond Suramar. These shimmering violet things are quite useless for anything beyond providing a direct, crude source of mana, but this alone may prove helpful. Even exhausting the smallest sliver I could scrape loose left my fingers tingling and itching to do something with that surplus magic for close to half a bell.

 

I should be careful not to get too attached. Look at where that got the sin’dorei.

 

Maybe as a temporary pick-me-up

 

Fifth bell just sounded. My time in this city grows short.

 

I am not looking forward to this. If the old man nearly had a fit because I couldn’t ripen a fruit, I’d rather not found out how much worse things will be if he continues to be vague about what he w

 

He seems frustrated that I struggle so—it’s almost as if I never was a druid or anything but a student OH WAIT

 

I am going to be lost in a ditch somewhere because I cannot even make weeds grow. Believe me, I’ve tried, just to see if I couldn’t get a head start. I might as well demand that Shadewhisper turn me into a sheep.

 

Well, no. She actually might learn how, just for spite. It is Shadewhisper.

 

I am running out of ways to delay. The robes are still on my bed, and this room darkens.

 

Best not delay anymore and risk making Duskwhisper have to get up and look for me. Game face, Amil’aeth. The time to run has long passed.

 
 
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I am too sickened to even speak of it. Mindspanner warned it might come to something like this.

 

 

 

 

No more reaching out for help. That was the biggest mistake so far. From this point forward, I shall work only on being capable of finishing the job I was given and making sure Beurghes Duskwhisper never puts a finger on me, and then afterwards on getting so far away that I shall never be found. Nobody need know of what was threatened otherwise—I will not allow it to become an option.

 
 
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February the Seventh - Eldre’thalas

Seven hells, I actually ended up stuck here again.

The layers of dust suggest Mother has also not bothered to return since the end of our exile. This at least is one of the few good things.

I so badly wanted to burn the quarters down. I could have done—I’d have only to speak a word to set our old trappings ablaze, everything and all the ten years’ worth of shoved-aside memories. I could see it all made naught but ash and shattered black stone. I did not do so, but instead barred myself into my old room, laid down my bedroll out of sight behind my too-small bed and attempted to sleep through the knot gripping my stomach. If this is not behaving, then Beurghes bloody Duskfaker can have my feelings about the matter loud and clear with one bright, flaming finger.

Titans, but I am a creature of spite and grudging today. I don’t know if I’ve just started to not care much what happens (in retrospect, not good) or if it’s the combined stresses of everything from yesterday (also a whole other story) pushing me to the limits of my good sense, but I find myself dangerously close to forgetting I’m supposed to be afraid of this man and all the self deluding importance that comes with him. At least now I can stop going along with the alibi about him being my father—good on Mythandos for finally piecing the logic together and figuring it out, though the subsequent realization was far more awkward for it.

I am relieved to not be the only one shocked and appalled. It helps me to keep it in my head that I am not simply being over dramatic, as Mother would have said.

Myth has potential, I think, to make a good ally in making sure we see each other through this alive. If only I hadn’t already let him down twice this far; it’s hard to see him going to much effort for my sake with those failures of mine already hanging in the air.

I will have to try and be better, I think. For both our sakes. Somebody needs to give a care that he does not Wither and get himself slain.

They will not even let me know if Immol’thar is still bound. I shall make sure to take long detours away from its prison, just in case.

 

 

 

((A break, then the writing resumes, scrawled a little more hastily at the bottom of the page.))

 

I have not yet searched the Aetheneum for information on Kal’nor Fallah’s construction.

Time to see whether I merit access to the library as a Lorekeeper’s daughter. Perhaps I can still make something of this after all, and finally finish repairing my staff. Barring that, I can study up and improve my magic so that I may throw it with Beurghes’ condescension back into his old face, because spite is suddenly a beautiful little thing.

I would have been a terrible student, would I?

Watch me.

 
 
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February the Twenty-Seventh - Eldre’thalas

Lorekeeper Mykos just called me by name a few minutes ago. Not the runaway name I’ve been using, the real name. Amil’aeth. This could very quickly become a problem; I can’t imagine the old man will have any good response to finding out I’ve been giving him a false name this whole time.

I didn’t think the knots in my stomach could get any worse, but there it is.

So it’s finally clear what’s going on: Beurghes has been trying to grow a new Arcan’dor, and the urgency in my learning to siphon mana is so that I can feed arcane directly into the thing when it starts growing. If it starts growing; that’s if we find an active leyline nearby to situate it on, and assuming Mythandos doesn’t get himself killed before I learn what I need to from him. Why he must keep antagonizing Beurghes and pushing his luck like this, I don’t know, but watching him get his face smashed open for his trouble last time was just painful. In a way, I suppose it goes to show that I made the right choice after all in deciding to just shut up and cooperate–I certainly haven’t been the one being shackled or beaten, have I? And honestly, so long as I can avoid interaction with Beurghes my days here have been more or less tolerable.

Only just tolerable.

It’s alright so long as I keep from thinking about it, but I miss the way things were before. I miss my cat, my friends–oh, fel. I’m actually lonely. It hurts. I never even got to explain to Marbelma what was going on, or give Ny any proper warning before we just disappeared. I even miss Taldin a little; even his insufferable smugness seems downright pleasant after what I’ve had to endure. I don’t think I have any chance of getting a note to him now, if Findreth or Beurghes are watching to make sure I don’t try that sort of thing again. I suppose if I get truly desperate, I can wait ‘til I’m left alone in my room and slip away through a portal, then hide my hair and face and start using those forged documents from the night market…but somehow I no longer want to test what Findreth said about hunting me back down again if I did get away. And what about when I do get caught? What will Beu

 

I thought I saw Mother. I thought she wasn’t

 

That IS Mother.

 

((The ink of the last sentence is smeared, as if the book was abruptly slammed shut while it was still wet.))

 
 
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((The script here is heavy and sharp, pressed urgently into the paper, then repeatedly underlined in quick, slashing strokes.))

 

DO NOT let either of them near Kal’nor Fallah!!

 

((Smaller now, more composed.))

March the Eighth. Still in Feralas. Mother left as quickly as she returned. Either nobody thought to tell her I was back, or she couldn’t be bothered to challenge Duskwhisper for possession of me, but either way I never heard so much as a word from her.

I thought I’d be glad to avoid her. Why does a small part of me still feel surprised and hurt to be left behind again?

Stop.

 

Ruins. The orb.

There was a moment during the siphoning when I was suddenly back at the ley line over a year ago. I remembered on my first attempt to channel its energies, how I had barely a beat to be fully aware of the searing-bright fire feeling seizing up my arms before my world exploded in a blinding roar. I didn’t even realize I’d been thrown into a wall until I was picking myself back up off the ground a minute later, and it was another hour more before my vision stopped swimming in swirls of color and the aftershock burned itself out of my limbs. Tonight I saw Mythandos light up, and for a second I thought the same was going to happen again, he was channeling too much too fast—

But no, of course he was fine. He was fine, Beurghes was fine—better than fine. Go figure that when I try it I almost blow myself up, but when they do it suddenly they’re perfectly healthy and strong and turning into giant monster birds and crushing old dilapidated buildings for the fel of it. The orb was just dust by the time Myth was done—my first thought was to imagine Kal’nor Fallah crumbling away in the same way, beyond even being salvageable.

Then it changed, and I could see in horrific detail myself in the staff’s place—a withered, ashy husk drained of any scrap of life or magic.

 

“Do NOT let him siphon you.”

“Neither of you would survive it.”

Well Elune’s tits, Mythandos, I’m not doubting I wouldn’t survive it. We’ve established I’m smaller and weaker than Beurghes by far. What I can’t imagine is any outcome for him that doesn’t include him swaggering off proud and mana-drunk to go show off more of those monster roots he crushed the pavilion with.

Better learn to siphon, and fast. I rather prefer my odds of survival from knowing how to pass magic through from a source to a recipient, rather than being the source.

 

It took everything I had at one point not to clarify that if Myth has been sulky lately, it probably has something to do with being chained, rooted, threatened and struck. I really must be getting better at holding my tongue.

 
 
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March the Fifteenth - Eldre’th I am still here so I will not bother to keep noting my location like it’s anything new and different.

I’m beginning to understand now why LaMonty barred chronomancy from our lessons. It’s been almost an hour and I still keep getting phantom twinges in my hand like it’s convinced the knife is still inside it (who knows, maybe in another timeway it is?) It’s incredibly unnerving, not to mention frustrating; time magic apparently isn’t something I can just intuit quickly like I can with barriers or conjuring a blizzard. It somehow manages to be both bafflingly vague and maddeningly precise, and you can’t just take a guess at it without something horrible happening like…well, knifehands. Not even knives falling into hands. Knives inside hands. 

And then of course the night got worse. I’m not even going to pretend to understand how we went from failing at time to screaming at each other about the Beurghes situation. Elune above, Mythandos can make words hurt; I’ve not told him and never will tell him what that old crow said to leave me too terrified to try getting out, but the part he spat out about just becoming another compliant pearl for Beurghes’ mantle stung badly enough that I almost came close to letting it slip. 

It’s been years since I’ve gotten upset enough for things to just start exploding around me. I’ll admit I got some petty vindication out of seeing him jump like that.

 

(…Why aren’t I telling him? Fel, it’d at least clear the air about the kind of incentive being held over me. Maybe it’d even help drive home the urgency of this entire light-forsaken mess. Am I just ashamed of the threat itself, or reluctant to see someone else’s reaction in case it makes it harder to carry it around?)

 

Anyways.

I don’t know how, but somehow Mythandos is still going to put up with me long enough to teach me how to siphon, and how to block a siphoning in turn. That’s where the chronomancy comes in–somehow. That’ll have to be worked on. There might be some other spells to practice, too, in secret, just to keep some kind of edge over the old crow. I’ve already traded him a knife in exchange; now I just need to find a means of obtaining more mana for the other half of my deal.

It still makes me nervous to think about it, but I really can’t think of anything other than trying to sneak back to Suramar for more mana crystals. Maybe if I’m quick enough, I can open a portal in my room, go, and be back before Finn’dreth realizes I’ve gone. Surely he must sleep sometime?

 
 
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March the Seventeenth (Eighteenth?)

I am not sure if it is technically the next morning by now and I am still a bit hazy so I will just try and write now while everything’s still more or less fresh in my head.

I found a way to get Mythandos’ mana, and I didn’t even have to leave Dire Maul for it! I’m not sure why these specific druids are doing things with leylines, or how I was able to tap into the one they were using, especially from this far away–but I did, and (somehow?) I ended up going into the Emerald Dream? Or at least their particular part of it? I don’t know, I won’t pretend to understand druids and their forest magic logic. 

Rambling. Stop that. Focus. The important part is that Ellathelsia was there (but as a harpy, because vague Dream reasons or symbolism I suppose), and while I didn’t tell her everything about what’s been going on here I did tell her just enough to get some help with the siphoning bit, or getting used to it without all of Beurghes’ near-deadly desperation for more magic anyways. The flower will stay in my bag with Kal’nor Fallah and everything else I need to keep hidden, but whenever I have time alone to practice I just need to wind its roots about my arms and it’ll react to my concentrating or releasing mana. 

I just need to make sure Myth doesn’t disintegrate this into dust like he’s done with the mana crystals or the orb. But it can store mana, and if we can find a way to keep it intact after he’s siphoned his share, then maybe we can stop relying on more finite and scarce sources for a while.

 
 
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March the Twenty-Seventh

I am such a little idiot.

I’ve just been sitting on Kal’nor Fallah for months now, at a complete loss for how to proceed with the thing, and it’s never occurred to me until now that despite whatever else she may be doing these days, Mother is still a Lorekeeper. Of course she’ll have inscribed any new information on her relic hunts into the Aetheneum’s library–she must have done so at one point when she beat me to the rest of the texts on the staff’s original ritual. Even if she still has the other physical fragment with her, I could probably have figured out the rest of the process by now if I’d just used my brain a little.

If anyone asks, my alibi is that I’m thinking of crafting a new spellstaff and need ideas. Anyone who’s seen that old stick I’m carrying around can’t deny it’s long past time for an upgrade; all that matters is nobody finds out about the real thing.

 
 
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March the Twenty-Eighth

I know I said could have figured this out sooner, but I didn’t expect to find the information I needed literally the day after I started digging into Mother’s archives. So much time, wasted–I think I’d better go hit my head against a wall now and ponder if I’m actually smart or not.

There’s so much more information here than I thought I’d find. I’m not even through all of it yet, and I already have more of a plan than I was managing before. She included details on materials, on leyline locations to charge the staff from–a good few of which lie in Suramar, because of course everything magical I need is now in Suramar and therefore out of reach until this situation changes–she even did research into potential replacements for the original focusing crystal. I hate to admit it to myself, but even if she is a cold, insufferable harpy, I’d probably give a finger or two to be half as good at this as her.

 

I actually just wrote something nice about Mother. I just felt a very real cringe.

 

A part of me is honestly tempted to start sneaking out to finish Kal’nor Fallah like I was originally planning to do for gathering Myth’s mana. It’s a good thing I already found out the hard way what a horrible idea going to the Isles alone is; even the old crow finding out is something I’d probably be willing to risk otherwise.

Elune above, will I ever get to actually start using this thing?

 
 
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April the Second

The tailor has brought it to my attention that I am perhaps not quite as small as I’ve thought myself. Indeed I shall still struggle to fill out a dress for some time, but it seems having access to regular meals here has at least made the definition of my rib cage less painfully obvious. I dare say I’ve probably even put on a growth spurt and gained a couple inches these last few months. It would explain why most of my old clothes seemingly shrank at the start of the year, and it’s a good enough excuse to mooch some new and better ones while I can (but mostly I can’t wait to rub it into Myth’s face how much shorter he is now, the poor tiny dear.)

The thought strikes me that were circumstances different and I had neither the bad prior history with the place or the shadow of our “host” looming overhead, I might actually find Eldre’thalas a much welcome reprieve from otherwise living like a stray cat—not just for food, shelter and new clothes, but to finally, finally be acknowledged the blood nobility I think a tiny part of me did and still feels like I should have been recognized all along. It’s not entirely comforting or pleasant to think about; damned if I ever concede Duskwhisper any gratitude for threatening and bullying me into being held captive here, but from another perspective it seems…petty, almost, to gripe too much, when I could easily have ended up with less. After all, it is not as though I’ve been chained and beaten, or relegated to being drained of all my mana to keep him or Mythandos satiated. Take away the fear of Beurghes and Immol’thar, and not being allowed to leave, and this would otherwise be downright enjoyable, compared to having lived off the streets before.

I know what’s at stake here, yet I hate that the starved part of me is now scared to lose what I do have here.

I need to get my mind on something better. Fifth Wesley Miller book it is.

 

 

 

Oh fel, I can’t find the book. Surely I didn’t leave it just laying around somewhere? I KNOW I made sure to keep them strictly in my bag after Myth compared the last one to outhouse paper.

All I want is to read about another mage’s problems from the safety of a lonely corner. Is even that too much to ask today?

 
 
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April the Twelfth

The flower works. We can keep using that as a mana source.

It’s not going to be enough on its own. Even with three crystals thrown in to help, he still drained the thing almost to oblivion and it barely helped. I think the addiction is catching up to him, and it’s starting to show—I didn’t even have the heart to tease him about being short again. Does the need grow and get worse over time, or is it a matter of time gone between feedings? I wish I’d thought to ask before parting ways.

I don’t know where else besides Suramar I can find enough mana to get him through, but I’m probably going to have to start sneaking out after all. I was lucky enough once to find that interloper willing to bring the crystals in exchange for borrowing books; I cannot count on being so lucky again. The Aethenaeum does not get enough visitors to make such a thing likely to happen twice. Obviously the best source would be some of that arcwine, or maybe more of those fruits Lord Bird had at Feathermoon Stronghold, but in all honesty what are my odds of survival for trying to get in alone and steal from the Shal’dorei? Maybe Serendigos’ brood will know another source or be able to help, or maybe if I can make it back to Stormwind when the Night Market’s around there’ll be some potent artifact or reagent I can bring back.

Now that I think about it, I should try and make it to the Night Market anyways. A spare-spare dagger wouldn’t hurt to have, and if things get desperate enough that I have to let Myth start siphoning off me again, I might as well try to stock up on potions first so I can recover more quickly. Besides, I’ll be glad for even a quick reprieve from Lord Bird and his Court of Insufferable Old Goats.

What if there isn’t anything I can do to help in the end? I have to try. I can’t just let him starve.

 
 
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April the Twenty-First

I am now keeping a four-inch blade hidden inside my boot at all times. I’m still dreading having to use it, but I cannot afford to end up mana-less again without some last resort for protecting myself. 

 

I’m nervous. I’m actually shaking. I keep expecting that they’re going to know somehow that I was in Stormwind for a few minutes yesterday. If this stuff will satiate the addiction better than crystals would, then I suppose it will have been worth it; but if I’m caught…

I need to find something else to do. Preferably something that’ll keep me well out of Overlord Birds’ path until I know for sure.

 
 
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April the Twenty-Second

This is ridiculous. What am I even doing?

Has Birds made good on his idea to keep me drained and powerless? No. Is there a magic dampener over the city keeping me from casting spells? No. Am I under watch nearly every minute of every day like Mythandos? No. 

Then why am I still here? Fel’s sake, I’ve just proven that I can easily open a portal and walk away from here any time I please! If I stopped quailing around that insufferable old goat and thought like a bloody mage for a minute, then maybe I’d have gotten myself out of this mess literal months ago! I could be across the globe and safely back at the Keep before anyone realized I was gone! And even if Birds did try to stop me–assuming he doesn’t just drop dead of old age in a year or two, after all–what’s he got that’s any good against me lobbing a fireball at his horrible face and getting the hell out?!

You know what? This whole thing is stupid, and I’m stupid for letting myself be frightened of someone who forgot his place in life centuries ago. Let him throw a fit, and let Findreth scramble around trying to find my trail. I’m done.

 

((The tail end of the paragraph smears out in a smudge of ink, the book being slammed shut before it fully finished drying. Writing resumes further down the page, more subdued than the earlier exasperated scribblings.))

 

I never left. I had the portal open and stopped just shy of stepping through.

If I’m gone, I’ll have no way of knowing if that man just lets Mythandos wither away. Or, worse, Birds might see fit to take out the consequences of my escape on him. 

I probably owe him better than that. Even if he wasn’t teaching me how to save my own life from Birds, between Birds and Findreth and all these Shen’dralar who are still happy to look the other way even after all this time, this is probably the closest I’m going to get to having something remotely like a friend for a while.

Fel, I actually wrote that sentence. Let’s just go ahead and put that away in things I’ll never say aloud.

The Silvermoon wine I got at the Night Market is no arcwine, but it’s hopefully got enough arcane in it to last more than a month. If he doesn’t make it count I swear on Elune I will teleport him over a lake.

 
 
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