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.

 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.

 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.

 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.

 To whomever reads this.

Sathard, Aullin and I are planning a coup.

We're going to remove Alagosen and Ogramak, both powerful fighters in their own right, from the action in Silvermoon, to avoid civil war on the streets. Sathard has promised to have Alagosen rendered indisposed from the fighting, while Aullin and I will find Ogramak. The official plan is for a Orc named Karaka Ironfist to remove Ogramak from the fighting peacefully, but if that doesn't happen, then Aullin and I will silence Ogramak permanently.

 To whomever reads this,

Its my Fourth day in Silvermoon, Four days of grief and hunting for Aullin and last night, I found him.

 To whomever reads this.

Its been two days since I came back to Silvermoon, two agonizing days. I never should have left to fight in Outland for the Scryers, if I hadn't, Gilthås would still be alive. Perhaps, to clear up any doubt, in case I'm not the only one to ever read this, I should start from the beggining.

There comes a time and place for everything, I have learned over the past 2000 years of living. And now I have decided that it is my time to retire from battle. I have listened to the words of wisdom of many during my many travels. I have lived the role of what many would call an “antihero” of sorts, although not really. I am not a hero in any way.

A few words can throw a bloke off balance with the same weight of a mace or great sword. Resulting in a stumble. A trip. A staggering fall.

Good morning Silvermoon, the Dawn is at hand.

“I’m in love!” Xelarus chirped as he rushed past the guard. The red-and-gold uniformed blood elf arched a brow with detached curiosity as Xelarus dashed around the statue of Prince Kael’thas on his way to Murder Row. The love-struck elf was holding something, but the guard decided not to pursue. Probably nothing.

“I’m in love!” Xelarus whispered conspiratorially behind his hand to the arcane protector as it thudded along the street, clutching his parcel to his chest with his other hand. The petite elf’s steps had to be quick as he kept pace with the broad stride of the giant construct.

“Love! Love love LOVE I’m in love!” He said to the insensate drunk in front of the tavern. The drunk didn’t respond, so Xelarus kicked him in the thigh. The lout muzzily roused, bewildered, and was greeted with Xelarus’ grinning countenance. “I’m in love!”

((The following letter is dropped off in the early morning for delivery to Lady-Convocate Rosewater as a generalized complaint. If the guard who took the letter is questioned on the identity of the citizen, he did not get the man’s name. Description would be given as a tall, lanky Elf of mid-adult age with copper hair and freckles. The man seemed to have a brogue accent of lower class when they exchanged brief greetings. Clothing would be described as “dark”, but nothing standing out in particular to the guard’s mind))

To the Lady-Convocate Rosewater,

By Risael Salvius

Good evening Silvermoon, it's wonderful to see you all again here, reading my column.  And yes, I can see you all, it's called Scrying, I love what you've done with your hair. 

The high elf sputtered a bit of blood as he sat under the lights, the wounds from disabling him in the first place still aching.  Around him a circle of green eyes glowed, every face masked, every voice distorted by some spellcraft he hadn't identified. 

"Why are you doing all this!?" he raged impotently.  He'd managed to kill one of his captors before they shackled him kneeling, the body - another elf, by his reckoning - had already been dragged off.

"You will tell us of your associations." The voice was low enough to be a demon's. 

"Why should I tell you anything?" The mage spat a gobbet of blood onto the floor.  "Felsucking filth!"

Silvermoon, it's been a lovely summer.  But now as autumn rolls around...well, nothing really changes in our Eversong, may the spring never stop, but the world around us is turning to...jousting?

Yes, that's right Silvermoon, we're now embroiled in a competition, the Alliance versus Us for all the marbles in a tournament put together by the Argent Crusade.  As if all the chest-thumping, lances, and the shape of the tournament grounds themselves (a long, thin stadium with our tent and the Alliance's right across from each other, this is what happens when goblins design your festival grounds) weren't phallic and masculine enough for you all, then just remember how we're doing this for no reason other than prestige! 

            Zaraek knew he was in for trouble the second he saw the elf female glance in his direction.  Standing in the center of admirers, in the middle of Silvermoon City, her white blond hair scintillating as she smirked and smiled and jutted her hip in that way that females have when they want something from a male.  Or when they just want to play with them, break them and discard them.  He could feel the aura of dark power coming off of her.  Trou

Phadrene knelt in the soft light of the dawn which filtered in through her sheer, cerulean window dressing.  The light spilled upon the floor with a blue tinge, giving the room a cool glow as though one were submerged underwater.  The priestess favored this look as it was a cooling and welcome respite from the warm and sometimes flashy golds and reds favored by Sin'dorei architects and general populace.

Elivel closed her eyes, just for a minute. It all seemed clear and yet all so distant, it was a feeling unlike anything she had felt before. She felt connected to it all, like she somehow knew how it was all going to end; yet she knew nothing.

She reopened her eyes, they were immediately meet with her companion's eyes.

"I'm sorry my friend; I seem to be drifting off again. Forgive me." She said patting the drake's neck.

With that said the drake, accelerated quickly back into the sky.

Some time later, the drake landed just outside of Silvermoon. Elivel dismounted, the two meet eyes again. Nodding to each other, and the drake took back to the air.

"Stay safe my friend." she said to herself as her companion left.

Elivel stepped into the city, getting the usual salute from the blood knights that were guarding the gate. One of the guards commented "Ma'am not used to seeing you in battle garb when you come to the city."

What: The Rising Sun Lounge
Where: Silvermoon, Royal Exchange district, southernmost building (shared with the jewelcrafter trainers)
When: Thursday, July 30, 6:30 pm server time (8:30 pm EST)

The Rising Sun Lounge resumes this week as Lyraelia is back from vacation. Please join us for an evening of enjoyment, relaxation, and free drinks!

Please leave a comment or PM if you'd like your character to be included in the Sun's in-game calendar invites, if I haven't added you already. Hope to see you there!

What: The Rising Sun Lounge
Where: Silvermoon, Royal Exchange district, southernmost building (shared with the jewelcrafter trainers)
When: Thursday, July 9, 6:30 pm server time (8:30 pm EST)

The Rising Sun Lounge is again open this Thursday for your enjoyment and relaxation! As always, the drinks are free, and we hope to see you there!

By Risael Salvius

Silvermoon, I'm telling you, this is one grand season for us.  Midsummer is here, the fires are burning, and it's one more reminder of why we do what we do and why we are who we are.  If anything, it's one more opportunity to show the Alliance and the Horde alike that we've got our place.  Fire is a national symbol for us in all practicality, take one look at the gold phoenix on our flag and tell me otherwise, I dare you.  As the flames roar up to show the world they won't be extinguished, it's a living reminder of Sin'dorei tenacity.  We were pushed to the brink, we were down to the wire, and not only have we flourished in adversity, we've rebounded and we're on the brink of surpassing the old glory days.  There's not a single race that can claim that.

Dear Journal,

I was, perhaps, a little hasty in judging this city. When last I wrote I was in an abysmal mood; I had only just finished meeting my cousins (more about them later...) and was feeling incredibly homesick. I feel that instead of jumping to conclusions about Silvermoon I should rather attempt to categorize my experience in a logical, orderly fashion.

Dear Journal,

There must have been some sort of Horrible Mistake.

-Jasper

Dear Journal,

 Lord Serbius Nox, the paternal uncle I never knew, has died.

 Just an idea for a meeting/rally/protest roleplay event. 

The government of Silvermoon is painfully corrupt. So why don't the people revolt? The idea I've had is: what happens when they do?

The date isn't set yet, but there's a place for every kind of person in the rally.

" "He's one of those 'Do-Gooders'." The cute, albiet intimidating Elf told her companion.  She was speaking of Father Shadowclaw, who was for the first time meeting an oddly religious thief who's name at this juncture eludes me.  Though as its importance in minimal I will procced with my story.

Miss Braedyn and the Good Father had met only a few weeks before but appeared, from my limited point of view, to be shaping a steadfast friendship.  In fact at the moment I began paying particular attention she was inviting him to tea.  Honestly I don't think she had any right but who am I to say?  Only a simple teacup.

What: The Rising Sun Lounge, Grand Reopening
Where: Silvermoon, Royal Exchange district, southernmost building (shared with the jewelcrafter trainers)
When: Thursday, April 16, 6:30 pm server time (8:30 pm EST)

The Kingdom of Quel'thalas is pleased to announce the grand reopening of the Rising Sun Lounge! Once a fixture of elven nightlife under its previous proprietors, Atama Luciros and Temius Locket, the Sun is once again opening its doors to provide a casual meeting place and fine selection of beverages. Hostess Lyraelia Bel'aedani invites all world-weary adventurers to take a load off, enjoy the evening and conversation, and meet someone new. Best of all, the drinks are free! Please direct any questions about the event to Elexandre. We hope to see you there!

Somedays I have to ask how I get myself into these predicaments.

The answer is, obviously, because I’m an idiot. Or a bleeding heart. Or they’re one and the same. I can guess which the Commander’d say.

That’s assuming he doesn’t just execute me for treason on the spot. Spinning this is going to be…

Fel, who am I kidding?

He walks the mile to the bookstore each morning, and takes down the Closed sign before the first cock even thinks of stirring and ruffling vain feathers. Pulling back the shades, he lets the light settle against the darkness (permission is needed here), and notices each time the ensuing battle of light and dark; smiles to himself and the cat that pauses beside his open door. They are precious moments, those minutes of calm darkness and frail light.

   The undead ghoul shattered beneath Dubaku's weight as he lunged at it, rolling a few more feet across the tiles in a mess of blood and ectoplasm. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself to his feet, clumsily darting away as a lumbering skeletal warrior swung its chipped zweihander at him, narrowly missing his shoulderblade. Sprinting up the stairs, he could finally see light--real light--for the first time since his capture. As he stepped from the passage, a cool breeze chilled him to the bone, having been unclothed and unaccustomed to any variation in temperature.