I've been putting off writing as long as I can, but there should be a record.

The short story is that No was captured by Sebrawyn's sister, who was a cultist, and taken to Silithus. So Sebrawyn and I went to Silithus and managed to free No and kill her sister, but not before

Well, everyone's hearing whispers now.

Even in the sun, I haven't been able to stop shivering. It's not for a lack of warmth -- the days have been pleasant and thankfully uneventful. And I've been taking a break from working at the healers' tent, except for when I examined No's wounds a few nights ago. They looked well-tended, thankfully, so all I had to do was change his bandages and provide an ointment. His state of mind, on the other hand ...the whispers are wearing on him, it's clear, and he's lost more control than I think he realizes if he's suggesting that I listen to the whispers more. Still, there's very little else I can do other than provide Dreamless Sleep potions to him and tracking the stone. Assuming, of course, that I'm able to focus if that time comes and react quickly should something go wrong and warn Seb in time.

Maybe that's the problem: I haven't been able to focus. With that gods-damned pain, I can barely think about my hand or how my mind is, even. And when I try ...the mind, it wanders.

I remember, in the first moments after Sebrawyn and I landed at the Hold, I couldn't shake the sense of dread. To see my brother, alive and well, marching out of a building as he had probably countless times before. As he had the last time I had been to that wretched place too, so angry

The whole time, I didn't ask anyone if he had been found. Instead, I hid my identity as best I could, hoping that my presence wouldn't cause trouble for Seb, and then proceeded to cause trouble anyway for her anyway by asking her to lie for me when she went to register with the Hold. A lie like that could turn into trouble eventually. Maybe it could be a molehill and not a mountain, but I certainly didn't get by this long without a healthy sense of awareness. And a lot of guilt and regret.

So it's not surprising that the whispers have latched onto that guilt and tried to twist my memories, for all the good that knowledge will do. And then there's the pain, which the whispers say is just the beginning, but this time there will be no way out. That I will only able to see the world through the shards of a broken mind before the end.

I've walked to the Sunwalkers' tent every day since talking with No and Seb, but every time, fear or terror or something has stopped me from actually going inside. I wonder what they think of that tired shu'halo woman coming by daily just to stop and stare at their tent. Nothing kind, I'm sure.

((Backdated a few days.))

The canopy retreats in a rush of beating wings as the wyverns take to stormy skies. Up here, though, the rain falls freely on her muzzle, soaks into her robes, pools in the worn grooves of her hat — and not for the first time, Ephe longs for the fur-lined cloak still hanging askew in her tent. Dry, warm, reassuringly heavy ...but utterly impractical, she reminds herself with a snort.

After all, they must be quick if they are to find No before it is too late. The steady undercurrent of pain and fear continues leak through her stone, wearing away at the edge of her consciousness. No is stronger than most, she knows, and she knows too that pain and silence are better signs, if still not good. But even the strongest man cannot endure forever.

And if No succumbs, then where does that leave her? She still remembers; she even dreams on occasion. Can almost hear that silky, cold voice echoing into her thoughts, tangled webs and snarled roots snaking into every corner of her mind. The gift's been given, and the price yet unpaid, she can imagine His voice whispering, you cannot resist, child, puppet, slave — no, she is none of these things, and she will never serve. Still, the memory of her brother appears, unbidden: late night conversations as children in a sea of plains and stars, his arms around her as he rocked her sobbing form to sleep, stern lectures to a sister who was determined to find her own way, the look of horror and betrayal on his face before the convulsions set in...

Ephe shudders, and anxiously looks for the small figure huddled on the wyvern in front of hers. At the time, she had been profoundly relieved that Sebrawyn had wanted help, not sympathy — where they're headed, they must have conviction, not despair — but now the knot in her stomach only tightens more. The sister (a name otherwise unfamiliar) has taken No and entered the hives freely, so she must serve. And if she is a servant, she must serve someone, but who? Not just Him, unless she has truly given herself over, and wouldn't that be terribly convenient?

Yet, the alternatives make Ephe's blood run cold as she tries to count all the enemies she can remember, mouthing the names into the wind: Maybe, Ahmtar, Brennen, Remrant, Tarenmor...even more faces flash by in her mind one by one, long after the wyverns emerge from the clouds into a moonlit night. As she catches sight of the familiar towers in the distance, Ephe takes a deep breath, trying to will herself to stop shaking and her stomach to stay put. They must both be prepared to face the worst.

And gods help them all if the worst should appear.

By the time you read this, I will be on a wyvern back to Thunder Bluff. If you require confirmation, I am sure the flight master will confirm this for you. I am very sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but you'll both be in good hands here. Cenarion Hold has never fallen, and I don't expect it will for a long time yet, if ever.

I've left a small pouch of herbs with this letter. It is a tea that may help to soothe your minds and spirits: steep the leaves in hot water for three minutes and drink.

Sebrawyn, as always, you are welcome to find me on the Bluffs to talk about flowers for your wedding. No, should you need me, I'll be available over the moonstone.

An'she watch over you both,

E.

I made the trip to Northrend several days ago to help Sebrawyn's unit clear out some of the remaining Scourge in Naxxramas. It seems that the forces up north are more undermanned than I thought, though, as only two people in our team were actually from the Crusade. While I had already expected and was prepared to see No there, I was also caught off guard by how many more people I recognized, even if only by face. And then there was Aquenda, who couldn't help but needle No the entire time. Obviously something had happened to him — he had a sword in hand, but he never swung once with it — but a dangerous, life-threatening situation is hardly the time to be picking fights or demanding to know why. In any case, I am concerned for him too, but I won't push it since some of us are more easily killed than others. And Sebrawyn seemed as if she was watching out for him too, so it may be under control. At the very least, I'm glad to see he's finally learned how to use a gods-damned shield to protect himself.

As it was, I was informed at the Crusade base camp that I would be the only medic on our team. Gods, I barely listened to the rest of what was going on while I tried to steel myself for that particular task, running down the list of cures and everything that might require treatment inside. Certainly, I've done more in tougher situations before, but it's been years since I've had to act as a field medic. Sure, I'm still treating people when it comes down to it, but everything else — evaluations, tools, remedies, all of that — is like night and day. You can't even think about bandaging a wound in the same way while in the thick of things as you would in the safety of a tent.

The mission itself went about as well as anyone could reasonably hope: our unit cleared out of anything animated in our wing, as was our mission, and everyone I was responsible for survived intact and well, save for a few relatively minor injuries. Thankfully almost no one was reckless enough to throw themselves into the fray, though Rue, Bloodaxe's something (and he has a something now, so I'm told), did take a nasty hit at some point. She seemed well enough to continue on after some quick patching up, but I kept a close eye on her for the rest of the mission just in case. Later, we discovered the lich who had been pulling the Scourge remnants together. We were able to best it, but a number of people sustained minor injuries in the process, which I tended to as best I could. It didn't help that the chill in that chamber cut straight to the bone, but I stayed in Dalaran after long enough to have some drinks and a sandwich and some idle chatter with part of the team. After spending hours in a chilly, grim necropolis, tucking into a meal with some friendly strangers was just what I needed.

My body still aches something fierce though, much more than I should be by this point. I must be more out of shape than I thought, or those cauldrons gained some weight while I was gone. Either way, I'll have to make it a point to leave the tent more often.

As painfuly boring as bottling and labeling can be, it's so satisfying to see a full crate and an empty cauldron at the end, even if my hands and back are aching badly now. The winds have already brought in that familiar chill, and with it the start of the , but I hope our supplies hold out for a while, at least. My hands ache at the thought of the other brews still waiting to be made, though at least not all of them need to be portioned out. Everyone is gearing up for winter, perhaps, or something worse if the stories can be believed. And maybe there's even a hint of truth to them because it's all talk of cultists and dragons and gods. Then again, it's always been talk of cultists and dragons and gods and people who like to worry and learn about dangerous, unstable forces and tell tall tales about them. The tales are never terrible enough to be completely true, but I won't say that I'm not worried either.

True to her word, Sebrawyn came by the tent a few days ago for another chat. I can't say I expected her to actually visit again, or even knew about her visit before she arrived, but since she had traveled all the way from Northrend, the least I could do was to put my work on hold to speak with her. She is even more optimistic than I thought, it turns out, but she does seem to have her feet on the ground and a strong head on her shoulders. It was nice to have the opportunity to talk with her more, and she kindly extended an invitation to dinner in Dalaran, though I was quick to recommend talking to No first. She seems to have some inflated opinion of me, and stranger still is where that might be coming from. While it's refreshing to talk to someone who doesn't immediately distrust me and anything I do, I can't help but wonder. Really, there are plenty of people out there who would be happy to say otherwise, so I can't imagine it will stay that way for much longer.

I should ask more about the sin'dorei sometime, speaking of which. While it's horrifying to consider that her people forcibly change the minds of their own, I found myself thinking back to the issues we talked about in our first meeting. For whatever reason, her people chose to keep their wayward kin and bend them more into shape, while we let ours leave, while we continue to kill each other. I think I prefer the freedom to think and choose for myself, but they're both terrible soultions to the same troublesome problem, aren't they?

A few days ago, Sebrawyn came to Thunder Bluff to ask about shu'halo tribes. She had already requested to meet beforehand so it wasn't a surprise when she showed up at the healers' tent, but gods, the prospect of that chat made me nervous, considering that No had probably sparked her curiosity in the first place. Because of that, I was careful to lead us off the bluffs entirely before we sat down to talk. She seemed uncomfortable enough about the heights to ask whether I treated people often for falling injuries, so I told her that that we hadn't treated any in my time there.

Our chat went rather well, especially given the topic, but she did surprise me a few times too. For one, she knew I was a Runetotem. The name didn't seem to mean terribly much to her except in opposition to the Grimtotem, so I explained a bit about the tribe and their relations with the other tribes. And then she asked to know not what the general opinion of the Grimtotem was, though she said she wasn't familiar with that, but what I honestly thought of the tribe and their actions. Since she seemed genuinely curious and unlikely to go shouting this all across Mulgore, I gave her as fair and forthright a telling as I could give. What they had done, what I thought of their ideals and their actions, and what the others on the bluffs usually thought of that... without knowing what No had told her or how much, I thought it better to be thorough so she might understand how serious the subject was for the shu'halo these days, especially here. I can only imagine how poorly her questions might have been received if she had decided to ask someone else, like Skychaser or the other one at the Kodo who set out on a mission to kill all of the Grimtotem, though it would certainly be educational. And probably full of rage and suspicion.

As it turns out, she requested our meeting because she wanted to hear another perspective besides No's. That, along with her desire to meet again later to talk, was most surprising at first, but then she seems very polite and grounded from what I've seen. I still don't know what to make of her otherwise, but I did agree to another chat so I guess time will tell.

Life has thankfully been quiet otherwise. I've been given the task to work on our supply of potions and medicines, which means hours of collecting and preparing plants, and then hours in front of one or two cauldrons. The task has never bothered me, but part of me can't help but wonder why. Either way, someone has to do it, so I'll make sure we're prepared to deal with the coming winter. More prepared, at least. We haven't seen a massacre or rift to the elemental planes opening up yet (knock on wood), so gods willing, this winter won't be nearly as terrible.

It's funny how quickly time can fly when you're not paying attention. I should write though, and get these thoughts out of my head and on paper.

I had today off, but I went to the Elder Rise in the morning anyway to hand over a batch of potions before stopping to chat with the some of the other seers. Our conversation turned from talks of training to folktales and parables, especially the ones about the Earthmother and her eyes. It's an old discussion, of course; if you choose to walk with Mu'sha and An'she, it's hard not to be mired in meanings and symbols unless everyone involved is being careful, and not everyone is. After all, her eyes might always be as present in the world as the Earthmother is, but they have also been distant as long as anyone can remember. We trust that when we speak to the winds, our words will be carried to them and they will listen, but their replies are usually found in those stories that we all grew up hearing, and the details in those seem to change depending on the telling, though the heart of it is the same. Then again, storytellers like to add embellishments, especially when the children look like they might be getting bored or antsy. Considering the children I've dealt with, I can hardly blame them one bit of course, but you can't ever be too careful when you're trying to separate the roots from the flowers.

In those stories, those dark whispers that led many of our ancestors astray... even when I was a child, many assumed that they were just a more poetic explanation for bloodthirst and anger. I know I certainly thought so. Who could possibly be foolish enough to listen to some strange voice telling them strange things?

The stories never mentioned that the voices probably kept talking, or that most of the ones who heard them probably were driven into madness before they turned on their own. At least, I'm almost sure of it, although I didn't say much then except to relay what little I had heard about prisoners of the Cult. Thankfully, others who hadn't completely cut off ties with the Circle could talk more about what had happened in Hyjal so I wouldn't have to go into more detail. The parallels are very striking, and very terrible to consider.

After that, I needed some fresh air so I started walking. I hadn't intended to go further than a turn around the bluffs, but I ended up taking the lift down and making the trek to Enayi's grave. I hadn't been there in... it must be years now, and it looks like it, overgrown as it is. I stayed there for a while, talking to him, to my family, to An'she, maybe to the air.

I found no trace of tracks or offerings, and I hadn't brought anything myself, so I left a small bundle of wildflowers there before I made the walk back.

Whatever strange encounters I might find when I visit Ratchet after the Kodo closes, I'm always reassured when I hear that things were much worse before I arrived. Fistfights are to be expected with so much drinking going around, but when a young girl has drawn their gun and shoots it during hours for being called a child, you know things have changed. Then again, Kishi also said that No was romantically involved with another male so gods know how much of the story can be trusted, but others there seemed to affirm the story about the shooting. I did see the mark on the fence with my own eyes though, and that's enough to be rightfully worried. Gods, I worry about the next generation sometimes.

At least Kishi looks like she's been okay. For all of the terrible things that she's had to see and deal with, she's grown up surprisingly well.

Speaking of No and the romantic life that people are awfully interested in for reasons I don't think I'll ever understand, I did meet the "mystery elf" that I can only assume that Aquenda was referring last week. She turned out to be Sebrawyn, the elf No had worked for a few months ago. She was the one who had her image stolen by some crazy troll too, the one I slapped for fondling himself in her form. We only talked briefly before another crazy (but familiar) troll (does 'crazy' even have to be mentioned with 'troll' these days?), of all people, decided to confront Aquenda about the years she's been holding a candle for Vaien. Sebrawyn seemed very nice and grounded though. And relatively normal, which is refreshing. No called her by a nickname once, and generally seemed to enjoy her company. I did manage to keep myself from saying "I told you so."

Whether or not he finds happiness with her, he looks better than he has been. And as long as she doesn't turn out to be some devious succubus and/or cultist in disguise, I'm happy for their rel whatever-ship. I really don't want to think about the details.

Every time I think it might be a good idea to leave the Bluffs, it turns out to be a terrible

I went to the Kodo shortly after it closed, hoping to avoid most of the usual madness present there, but it must not have been late enough because there were still plenty around, including deaders looking to spread undeath for their deader-appreciation holiday.

When I talked to Bloodaxe about the shield, he naturally denied any responsibility, and was just as frustrating to talk to as ever. Worse, he wouldn't remove the pumpkin on his head, so he looked ridiculous while I was trying to hold a serious conversation. Why would I go out of my way to ask him about the shield? What kind of question is that? If the shield has the same design as the door on their ship did, of course I'd think of him first. He only offered me vague information though, and I'm certainly not going to go on a wild good chase over it.

Xa'ru pulled me aside once I left to ask me when I last saw No, so I told him about No's stay on the Bluffs, and then he mentioned that Aquenda had seen No with some elf girl. Whatever Aquenda might say about the girl or her suspicions, I highly doubt he's actually with this mystery elf the way she thinks he is. Gods know she's never been the best at reading people or making a judgment on anything, or making decisions really, but in that regard at least, she still is much the same. If it weren't for the smell of rot, I might even be able to forget for a while that she had changed at all. Except, of course, that she has changed. Undeath makes all the difference. Were she alive, I could have still called her sister like I used to, and maybe we all could have found a way to save her again, or tried to at least. But death? It changes someone, irrevocably. You hear tales from the Forsaken about this all the time, and the stories of death knights are sobering, even for me. They always deny their old lives, if not outright destroy it. And Aquenda, who has been married to a deader, befriended deaders, even eaten deaders, went into this willingly. Any bonds that used to be there, any old loyalties -- none of that can be trusted anymore. Treated as a friend, at least for the time being, but I'm not foolish enough to leave my guard down. Even if she didn't mean to turn on us, there's always the risk that she might.

And this time, there's no saving her either. There's no cure for undeath (or death, really) except another, more final death. I think we've all agreed not to do that though, not unless our hands are forced. Thankfully, nothing has happened yet at least, but gods that task is daunting, and growing more daunting with each day. Xa'ru's an elder now, or so he tells me, and the rest of us are getting older too.

I really hope it never comes down to that.

I haven't had such a bad hangover since I was a boy, drinking at the local pub with my cousins until the owner closed up or kicked us out for being the rowdy little shits that we were then. Good times.

The other night, though? I can't call it a good time, not even as a joke. It's a miracle no one ended up shot or dead in a ditch somewhere after Blake made his announcement. Especially Blake, the poor sod. At least, I'm pretty sure he's not dead. That's a note that's asking to be written, right there. Anyway, they probably wouldn't have done more than punch there, not in the middle of Darkshire, but if they have a reason to, I wouldn't put it past some of them to be violent. You don't find folks joining a mercenary group because they're gentle, stable pacifists, after all. Having a violent streak and (very) flexible morals is just part of the job. So when one of your own announces out of the blue that he's marrying the enemy, I can't say I'm surprised so many of them were feeling worried or betrayed. If Blake wanted to get hitched to an elfy blood elf, even I might have objections (although I wouldn't fight him over it, of course). And he got plenty of earfuls of warnings and questions. What we didn't expect was Boss getting enraged over the whole thing. Woman's been mad plenty and often, of course, but this was something else, really. Not even her blond knight would be able to reason with her then, if he even had a reason to side with us. The way she dropped the Lines like a sack of burning coals though? It sounded like she couldn't wait to drop everything and run, and Blake just gave her a good excuse. Damned if that isn't an awful black cloud to toss over a decent man's wedding, but I'll do what I can to make the day brilliant anyway. When it comes down to it, that's really the best man's job. Flower girls just have to be cute, so I figure I can do both in a pinch.

It's right selfish of me and I won't deny that, but the whole night I ended up worrying about what might happen to Draste and me. Boss is her sister, and them actually being close? I was fortifying myself (with some good bourbon, at least) for the break-up that I figured would be coming when her sister marched out in rage and she followed after. Like a good sister who cares, right? I'm no stranger to breaking up, but breaking up over something like this isn't just a punch to the balls but a punch to a man's soul too. I almost followed her out, but thankfully sense kicked in when folks inside weren't letting up on Blake. If I had to live that day again (and I hope I never have to) I'd still stay, but it's one of those times where every choice is a bad one.

Worse, she came back in later looking heart-bruised. Blake talked to her and she came around eventually to the idea, while I stood there like an idiot, keeping my damned mouth shut because damned near everything I could say would probably be taken the wrong way if it came from me. Probably. Anyway, I wasn't sure what to say to her right then either, and I was already drinking, so I'm pretty sure these was what was floating through my head at the time:

"Do you want to be my date for the wedding that's made your sister so upset she had a breakdown?"

"Are we breaking up right now and can I grab a stronger drink before we do that?"

"I'm sorry I haven't told you much but have I told you you're looking real stunning tonight?"

"This is very inappropriate right now but we're both having a bad day so can I hug you?"


No, it probably wouldn't have gone over very well. But it turned out all right and Draste's agreed to come to the wedding, and even as my date. She still hates Ceirin (and their meeting probably won't improve that, I'm willing to bet), but we can work around that. I'll wear a nice dress and so will she, and we can both pretend she doesn't hate the bride, or for the wrong reasons. We'll travel around Northrend together. Maybe I can talk her into staying at their home while we do.

She asked me after to not lie to her again. I told her I was sorry that I didn't tell her earlier about Ceirin. I won't lie to her, not to her face, not if she asks. But earlier, I had said I would lie to protect her so she wouldn't be hurt, and that I aim to keep to.

After everything, I hugged her and went home to drink myself blind. Not one of my better moments in hindsight.