A young elf thrashes against a wooden floor like a thing gone mad.

Echo:

I am deeply sorry to hear of your wounding, though we both are well aware that danger is the soldier's constant bedfellow.  It strikes me, however, that a rest can only do your body good, and, more than likely, your spirit.  Although it saddens me that you have been removed from where you prefer to be, I think that, in time, you will realize the value of rest.  I know I am starting to.  It is difficult, of course, but I do feel some tensions releasing, even as others are realized.

Everybody's favourite scary man with a mask, below the break. (Drawing - pencil crayon and ink, oldschool y'all)

 A very old, battered and what was once a little black book, but now mostly faded back to a pale, tamer sort of gray book were found on a desk in a hidden location somewhere in Undercity, its contents exposed, pages filled with neat, formal handwriting torn out in places or blotted out, with one freshly inked entry. 

Dear Diary. There was a slient pause, as the next words filled a few lines after the title

It's been a while. There has been so many things happening, since the last entry, that I have had not managed to fill the pages with, and it would be far too much to fill the pages, and not only that, there are things I'd rather forget.

The hunter comes awake with a violent startle, sitting bolt upright and meeting the timber wall with his shoulder. He rebounds to his feet and stands bristling and panting. His eyes make slow sense of the shapes in the dark. At the far end of the room a small hearth glows softly with burned down coals. His breath fogs the air in front of his face and he shudders, clammy and sweated from sleeping under furs.

 To Whomever reads this.

I never thought this would happen, I'm still reeling from the shock, and I am beginning to fear for my life. I cannot fathom what has taken place here and I can only assume that somehow, foul play was involved. That or Silvermoon politics are more corrupt or confusing than I could assume.

Hamlen Prideux was elected Convocate of regulation.

I did not expect to wake up on the day that marked my first full week back in Silvermoon, constantly checking my peripheral vision for guards I keep thinking are closing in. I still cannot understand the convocation's logic and right now i'm as on my guard as I could possibly be.

Report: Negotiations with Inquisitor Marda
Sergeant Taneel BrightBlade

The negotiations with the scarlet inquisitor were quite tense. I will admit that diplomatic negotiations are not my strong point, and if I had not had Dragoon Larosa with me, it should have ended disastrously.  

I told Marda that we were in the area to find a missing dragoon and not to spy, and Larosa informed her that we were under orders not to enter the Scarlet’s territory and that Staroda had broken orders in doing so and would be reprimanded on his retrieval. Marda agreed to this, and said she would speak with her superiors on this matter but suspects Staroda Skymane can be returned within a few days., Larosa also attempted to convince her to return Delphiee on the grounds that it was the dragoons responsibility to take corrective actions since, though her initial actions were on leave, her actions now reflect on the dragoons.

Thought I'd throw out a little character building exercise (of sorts) thats mostly just for fun and passing some time to help you think about your character from a different angle!

If your character had been born in the real world and was living in current modern times, consider the following questions and answer them.

 To whomever reads this.

Well, I was barred from the running, not surprising, but I did feel a touch of regret that I didn't get to run.

Still, things are looking up, My position with the Pathstalkers that a friend of mine from Outland secured for me has been going well, I made my first arrest last night and I am thoroughly enjoying this way of giving back to the city.

Another piece of news, Today I joined House Volanthius, the House that Lady Ava is running currently. I feel that in this position, I can make my fallen son proud and myself, I can live the life I never thought i'd be able to.

 Arresting Guard: Pathstalker Gilthånås Soth

Prisoner name: Solarik

Prisoner occuptation: Death Knight

Charges: Attempted murder, resisting arrest, destruction of property, fraud of documents from Horde Leadership giving diplomatic immunity, threatening an Pathstalker

((This takes place before the events Here ))

Staroda crept a bit closer toward Tyr’s Hand. He looked left and right, keeping an eye out for anyone -or anything- that might alert the Scarlets to his being there. Almost in sight of the gates, he hesitated. Harrigan did say do not go alone. No harm in looking, mind, but if I run into trouble I will never hear the end of it.

Star decided to turn around, head back for camp and wait to complete his scouting with Jurik when he saw a small figure picking their way through the dead landscape. Small, red dress…and head of red hair Star recognized.

He approached her, even as she spotted him and frowned. “Delphiee. There you are.”

The missing paladin hissed, “Staroda? What the fel are you doing here?”

(( Been doodling steadily over the past few weeks, since I haven't had time for another fully colored CG image like Aji's bust. However, I'd like to share the material I start with before it becomes this. Oh. and huge possibly alignment stretching image, coming at you. ))

 To whomever reads this.

If you have read the other four pages, you know well now the story of my life on Murder Row and my tour of duty in Outland. But today, I have decided to talk about something different, today's page will be more on philosophy than anything else.

Iloam

Enclosed is the result of my research into the archives regarding the history of House Vinguld.I have not included that which I disclosed to you in person last night. For further information, I can point you in the direction of the elf whom we discussed; I was unable to unearth any further leads. Please forward my gold to the innkeeper at C&C, he will know what to do with it.

(( Subtle theme is subtle. Not. ))

The letter sat half open on my desk when I left. I'd considered crumpling it. Burning it. I decided those reactions would be childish, no matter how I felt about its author. The servants would attend to our bed before I returned home. I'd needed my Theryl's warm arms. I'd needed her kisses. Her love. When one goes to face the demons of one's darkest memory, one ought to go girded with armour. I kept my mind firmly centred on my love's body, the way she tasted, the sounds she made, the scent of her curling red hair. Call it armour if you like.

It performed the same function as I walked, feeling a ball of icy hatred burning deep in my gut. Protecting me from my own rage. I had many things to rage about, after all.

 Specialist Black,

It's five in the morning on the Rampart of Skulls.   I'm here on lookout with a dwarf named Buzzbeard.  At least that's what we call him, and he doesn't seem to mind.  He's on watch now, and I'm supposed to be resting.  Every time I close my eyes though I hear the voices again, singing.  They don't want me to leave them, so I can't fall asleep.  In camp it's easier, with the sounds of everyone moving about.  Since I couldn't sleep I thought I might as well try to write, though forgive my handwriting as there isn't much light to see by.

Something cold and wet nudged her cheek, followed by warm breath and soft woof against her ear. Vanaja turned her head, lightly shoving at the furry head intruding on her space only to be met with a warm, wet tongue sliding the up length of her face.
 
“Oz! Stop it!” she grumbled as she turned over. She stiffened as the red wolf snagged one of her golden earrings with a fang. “Okay, okay. I’m awake. You can let go now.” She growled. The wolf woofed in her ear again and complied, stepping back to sit on his haunches, watching the orc, ready to pounce if she tried to fall back to sleep.

This...was not a good week.

Avaraelia paced slowly within her room, eyes narrowed in deep thought. By chance, she glanced up and saw her reflection in a mirror - a face typical of a young Sin'dorei woman. What was not typical was the slitted pupils or the violet hues of her eyes. She stopped pacing, drawing closer to the mirror.

Mistress Avriella...if only you could see me now. What would you think of me, I wonder? You, who were my idol...would you be proud of me for following in your footsteps to the letter? You probably wouldn't be too happy with me, considering the attempted coup within the Felsworn...Darah was definitely not pleased, nor was his father....

A lot could change in the course of a week. It was difficult for Sid, who was used to letting entire decades slip by unnoticed, to take it all in without getting a headache. Then again, the headache likely had more to do with the punch than anything. Suicide punch was something he invented back during the darkest days of the war. He couldn’t remember which war exactly, but he vividly remembered the desperation that inspired it. Thus was born a creative distillation process involving dirty socks, rotten fruit, and a shaky grasp of responsible fermentation. The first fabled batch rendered at least one soldier temporarily blind. Even now, after trading socks for a proper still, the concoction could easily double as an accelerant. Sid would drink nothing else.

I smile, tucking my note into the frame of her mirror before snatching my stave. A glimpse of bright green eyes and the flash of my grin dart across the glass as I limp towards the door. I know I'm smiling like an idiot. Hopefully, she'll be doing the same soon enough, when she returns.

Steam, laden with the scent of roses, drifted above the bath. Spellweave cloth softer than the finest silk pooled on the floor around Marda’s feet. She moaned softly as she lowered her body into the water, feeling the knots in her shoulders and back relax.

She was going to kill him when she got home.

The town is desolate.

It's so small as to be as such even on it's busiest day.  The houses creak and groan from age. The wind passes through them like a dark thought, creeping inside your skull.

You've lived a lonely life. No paintings on the walls, nothing personal laying around. You do your rounds, barely sleeping.

Your house is silent, no children, no husband. You force yourself to go through the motions. The last time you were killed, they brought you back. I'm guessing you wished they hadn't.

Your life isn't your own. You go through the motions, and as you do, every day, you wish he'd come back and finish the job. But you know damn well they'll just keep bringing you back. Over and over. Because you're their savior. Their symbol of hope. You see the world as a penance, what have you done to deserve such a fate. You see everything in the village, even the invisible bars of your self imposed prison.

You're just what I need to impress him.

 To whomever reads this.

Today's entry will be a bit short, I will be out of the city for part of the day and won't be able to pen the long war stories I wrote down on pages Two and Three.

Life seems to be a constantly changing thing these days, one doesn't always hold onto the prejudices or opinions of yesterday and you must constantly figure out where your allegiance lies in regards to your friends and foes.

All has gone well with the coup, Karaka Ironfist reports that he will be replacing Ogramak by Friday and given the attitude he's shown towards the Felsworn, I doubt we'll see any more talk of civil war.