Maybe I should be embarassed that the reason I have been sneaking back into the Undercity is because I am hungry.

It is easy to think that there is something else. From months of anger and restlessness I rise feeling wiser, my head finally clear. There has always been something in the past: some memory, some hope, some desire to validate a point to my continued presence.

I am hungry, and we have finally run out of food. Rather, I have - Harvy hasn't taken a bite of anything I've cooked. He has kept busy and if he does feel the hunger at all (I've known plenty who do not) he does not show. "You've grown thin, sister," he says, as if I have ever been anything but. To think what I would do to have some curves again! Obesity might not be so bad, after being a dainty little skeleton.

I could just as easily hunt, but the thought alone makes me tired. And I could just as easily purchase more than plenty in Brill, but... I suppose there will always be something about the Undercity.

My perch is still here, and seems to have been unclaimed by anyone else. It saddens me somewhat that I've not found any rogues haunting it but I suppose it is for the best. I don't think I'd have the energy to chase off ghosts, much less kill them. Tiresome, all of it.

Hungry and tired. Maybe I'll rent a proper bed for a while.

~ D.

Well, now, what to say?

Might be that one ought to reminisce about what all has happened. Virtue in rememberance, but to be honest, what has happened? A girl left home behind and jumped straight into this awful mess. Now there might be some who'd say there's a work of legend or prophecy in that: those who have thought to call me a hero, who might even actually believe it. I'm sure as hell not one to turn down compliments and it's really up to them what they think.

A girl left home and learned that the world is bigger than horseshoes and Stormwind. That would be the gist of it. I should probably blame Gorthrak but I'm sure one day or another I would have left on my own.

There's been no word about him from anyone, much less from that fancy lad they put in charge of the search, much less from that stupid rune stone thing he gave me. If there's anything I've learned in my times out here, it's that the dead don't die. He'll be alright. And he'll get a righteous stabbing soon as he comes back out of hiding. Probably not. He'd kill me first. It would be fun to try, though, just to see.

"Silly mortal, you've learned much... but still you forget the power of the Blessing of Undeath!" With that creepy grin of his.

I've been roaming around the Grizzly Hills for a few days now but word is that a Brewfest has come around the cities. Probably one of the worst ideas I've had in a while, but maybe I'll catch up with some friends there.

The pile had grown quite considerably in the past few weeks, she noticed one day. Of course one would best notice the mess when one was forced to confront it (she knew she'd put that damnable letter somewhere, it had to be somewhere) and though she had reminded herself occasionally that it was something that needed tending to, she always found a reason to put it off another day.

Miss Crowseye was not much of a reader, admittedly, nor was she much of a writer at that. It had been pure whimsy that dragged her to any and all libraries she could find but that had only lasted a handful of days.

Meanwhile, the pile grew, a new member introduced once or twice a day.

Most of them were blank. Their covers were aged and battered to varying degrees; several looked as though they had been gnawed at for quite some time, another had its pages stained with splatters of all shades of color. One held no words - only scattered sketches of all manner of things, from machines to creatures to people in perfect grey detail. Yet another was stuffed with bits of dried plants, feathers, even the occasional dried and flattened creature.

Miss Crowseye was not much of a thinker, either. She brushed her fingers over the face of one book ("Song and Women: The Life and Times of a Damn Fine Chauvinist," full of lewd drawings and incomprehensible scratch) and wondered if she might ever recall who it was she pilfered from. At the time she thought little of it: every picked pocket, regardless of the face attached to it, was another day without hunger. But now that her coffers were finally far from empty...

From the pile she drew a slim volume, one that didn't look especially beaten about.

"Ma? We got a quill anywhere?"

Four years ago today, another corpse wandered out of Deathknell.

Four years from today, where will I be? Three years? Two?

I am not afraid, no. Few terrors haunt my mind and even those have the sense to remain in the outskirts.

I am not apathetic. I wake every day knowing how close I am to an end, me it my own or of my promise.



Maybe I will get myself a present. A little something in Booty Bay. Several little somethings. Maybe some big somethings, too. Why not?

You,

I actually had a pleasant conversation with Shukir. Gods save me, his stupid hat might have given me an idea. A little bit of skin, maybe rig up a low-burn light of some sort... an alias.

How hard could it be?

~ D.

You,

Bleary days. I met an elf that I did not neccessarily want to strangle. It seems she was adopted by a tauren? and most of her blood siblings and relatives have gone missing.

Sounds familliar. Peace be to Lunari's spirit, wherever he may roam now. Gods know he was practically a father to me, and I miss him nearly as much as I do my own.

Midsummer's come. I've never participated much before, but I've spent much of the past few days riding about the world in search of flames. I'll admit I don't really understand what it is that's being celebrated - the hottest days of the year? Sod that.

Maybe I'll sneak off to Winterspring for a while. There's still plenty to be done in Icecrown but I've fallen back into a slump. Chasing bonfires and sneaking into the cities isn't exactly productive, either, and it's been cutting into my drinking time.

~ D.

You,

My ghost. Even after all these years, the very thought of him

Infuriating.

Somehow I ended up in Silvermoon, and there I happened upon and had a long chat with the lady Labrae. Men and their short-comings, the dissapointments and aggrivations that come with them. Shukir seems to be spending his days at her heels. While we spoke I caught myself thinking I might've done the very same, if I weren't where I am now. The naive ones are easier to hold on to, after all, and she is possibly the most naive thing I've ever seen.

It really is strange, though, how similar our tastes are. With the last few men I've involved myself with, she's never been too far behind...

And it seems my ghost has seen fit to seek her out. I'm not sure what to do, or if I should do anything at all. If it had come from anyone else, I probably would've thought to murder them on the spot.

He's just a ghost, after all. Just a ghost.

~ D.

You,

I'm sure you remember the Scar. I'm sure you rememeber what I aspired to be. What I was, even, for a time. I have been thinking on that these past few nights. Sun-less sands and sulfur tastes.Pools of smoke and blood. From these, fevered visions and back-alley prophecy.

Laughable. Honestly, my dear Delial, if it weren't for the virtue of what little cleverness you possessed, we'd be in far worse a place.

Perhaps that is the lesson I've wanted to learn all these years. Ambition is a fine trait to have, but once it's mislead...

But was that ambition? Servitude? The very notions Soulreaper warned me against. Of course.

Still, I wonder. What boons does the Shadow offer the Decrepit? A lifetime of silence and contemplation and a throne of skulls. All the threads I have missed must end at him.

I wonder, but I am no longer envious.

Stranglethorn has done little to lighten my mood. Every morning, there is a dead? goblin at the counter and none are eager to assist him. Now I know I could, probably, but that's not my job. I'll have none of that when I am doing all I can to avoid working.

There is a strange taste in my old room. Elves to be sure. Maybe even dwarf. There's probably been sex all over the damned place. Good for them, I suppose. Of that I might be a little envious.

Love,
~ D.

You,

We spoke, he and I. It was brief but we spoke for the first time in too long. We spoke of vanishing and contemplation, of future dreams and the rising sense of hopelessness we see in them. Yet despite sober words, I felt quite pleased to see and feel him again. I knew he had not completely dissapeared, of course, but his presence is still a comfort. More a comfort than distance and seclusion.

I told him of rebuilding. When this nonsense is done, my lovely little diary, we'll see ourselves home. We'll have our old home rebuilt as beautiful as it ever was, and we'll retire for good. I told him he was more than welcome to move in with me. The silly boy blushed.

Another year is soon to pass me by. I don't know what meaning birthdays ought to have anymore. It's probably not even my proper birthday but it's the only one I remember.

I wonder if he'll get me anything.

Stupid girl fancy.

In all that time, it occured to me how empty my old haunts have become. The Undercity is almost completely silent, and Brill was empty. Have the Deathguards finally run low on corpses? I'm tired of being surrounded by elves and trolls and orcs. It's been so long since I met a nice, sensible Forsaken. Maybe they don't exist anymore.

I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. It certainly doesn't surprise you, does it?

Love,
~ D.

You,

I hardly ever look at you anymore. Neglect? Forgetfullness? Something like that, maybe. I can't make myself care that much these days.

I feel... stuck. I can see the world around me clear as summer sky but I cannot move. The north has become a hive of evil, through and through. Every inch of the land is touched somehow and its heart has grown sick. Another Old God reaches out beneath the Lich King's grasp, and both refuse to die.

Disheartening. Can this world truly be saved? The greatest threats we face will always be shadowed by something more sinister, more vile.

... In the end, I suppose it does not matter for me. The moment Arthas is slain, I can stop. I can go home. Gods give me the strength to hold on for that at least. It may very well be the last promise I have left to protect.

I've come to think of this tournament as folly. Is it meant to be a message? What good will a message do when the Scourge are at our throats? It aggrivates me to even take part of it anymore. Never mind all the gold I lose for these ridiculous things. Delial, my love, do you really need another horse? Another raptor? The stable-man will throw a fit.

Foul, foul days. Should just hide away in Stranglethorn for a while. I need a change.

Love,
~ D.

My ears still ring from that last run in the arena. I've been battered and beaten up pretty thoroughly before by larger and more malicious things than men, gnomes, elves, or draenei, but I suppose pain is still pain.

All things considered, we didn't do too badly. The time I've spent in Wintersgrasp and other war zones has been well rewarded. I'm learning new things and being constantly reminded that I'm not at all fond of being smashed by over-sized maces and swords, which seems to happen far too often.

That silly little troll I've got minding my dwindling fortunes got it in his head to set off with that warlock friend of his, and some little elf tart. I've seen those signs before.

Haven't got much at all to say this time, have we?

Eggs, rabbits, fishing, and violence. An interesting blend to occupy my time. There's something else I would love to add to the list but I suppose I've gotten too frugal ?? Monogamy is such a chore.

Naxxramas... doesn't seem quite as frightening anymore. No, when it haunted the skies over Stratholme, it was terrifing. Now? It does not seem so out of its element. It doesn't seem quite as invulnerable as it was when the Argent Dawn was still struggling for aid.

No, I do not think I am much afraid of it anymore. Fear is the last thing I need.

Jousting. Jousting!

I don't know what I think about jousting. It's not the most lady-like thing of all, but it may prove interesting in the end.

Then again, jumping around in a mine field for an hour and some is probably very, very low on the list of lady-like things one can do. I'm still not sure what posessed me to do that, but at least Isal was around to keep me from permanent harm.

Still, it was good fun. Sasori would be very, very upset with me if he knew about that, I'm sure.

Icecrown.

Immensely uncomfortable. Immensely. Even among the Argent Dawn Crusade, I feel vulnerable. Who isn't? This is his kingdom, after all. His Citadel is only a short flight away, right over the mountain ridge.

I've been left mostly to my own devices. There is always Leeshmawl. Simply thinking its name puts a bad taste in my mouth. I could do just as well without but...

The more and more I've come to think I was wrong, the more and more it worries me. If I have made it this far from following a delusion, then what will I do when destiny reveals its true face?


Stop being so morbid.

Finally, a schematic that has eluded me for so long has fallen into my hands: the life-like mechanical toad. It may help if I remembered to renew my membership card now and then. It's my understanding the goblins occasionally reward gold with the plans for other small, useless doodads.

Quiet days have come again. A while ago, I found Zanik on the rooftops of Booty Bay. We sat, and drank, and talked: the tides of the world pulling us to worse and worse things, from one new evil to another. Old Gods and Lich Kings and all the nonsense they bring about. I didn't realize he and the priestess were no longer together. At least he still has his (??) child, I suppose.

Sasori told me once of a priest that was helping to keep an eye on Harvy and I believe I saw him today, minus the brother. I should know by now that he is beyond needing me to fuss and worry over every little thing but it's still difficult not to.

Blackrock isn't quite as horrible when its minions have learned not to charge you on sight. Still, it helps to buy plenty of stock so we don't have to bother for a while.

A week of making sure this little egg stayed nice and warm gives into another. My first prize from those awful little Oracle creatures is a cobra, and not one of those proto-drakes. Ah, well; another week.

There is something about stumbling into the realms of the Aspects themselves that makes me queasy, almost. The Dragonblight itself, from what I am told, is essentially a giant burial ground (minus the burial). But we have intruded upon several more of their sacred places, for worthy cause or otherwise. In the past I thought little of dragonslaying beyond the novelty of the act itself, but in the past it was never more than Deathwing's progeny and their ambitions.

Oh, I wish I had children to tell these stories to. I suppose you shall do well enough. Other worlds, coming face to face with the greatest threats of our time, walking amongst the greatest heroes ever lived, and surviving (mostly) to talk about it.

How strange it seems to be a part of the world. If it is not madness that drew me here, it is surely madness that keeps me.

I've recently gotten back in touch with Zanik. Don't recall if it is I that owes him the drink, or he that owes me. Either way, I'll have to be sure to get it.

Note: errands in Blackrock. Get to them.

At my side there stands a felguard. The summoning was... pitifully simple. There were no rituals, no rites. Simply a handful of words handed to me by a very befuddled Soulreaper.

What is the meaning of this?, he asked. What is it you are planning? As if those who lay claim to such creatures would be "planning" anything beyond the obvious.

This might be interesting. It seems we've... refined ourselves considerably since I last spoke to anyone of the finer points of demonology. We'll see.

I've been... strangely productive. A flying carpet, a new pair of goggles (binocular functions need tweaking, don't forget that), accolades and honors among the seal-men and the Wyrmrest Accord. I have seen more in the last week or so than I have in the month prior. It's thrilling.

Inaction leads to discontent. And while I have not been entirely inactive (hiding away in the beaches no one visits, two souls, ha!) it's a different turn all the same. Icecrown is still... waiting. We'll get there. Maybe I can drag Yale along.

The women here are far too large. There are camps full of them - giant vrykul women all eager to slit one another's throats. The air tastes of wet fur and blood. I imagine the ladies don't smell all that pleasant at all.