Thero'Drassil

[Zhaei]

Personal post for Lilli's diary. I'll update it when something important enough happens!

A leather bound tome. Dried leaves from both Nothern Kalimdor and Zangarmarsh are scattered throughout the pages. The ink is a deep, almost black, green. The script is flowing and plantlike in form.

Zangarmarsh. Sporeggar.

I feel the need to dust off this aged tome to recount recent events. The Draenei continue to instil emotions that I thought long faded. Wonder, grandeur, sadness.Too long have I steeled myself beyond true feeling, and my senses have been dulled because of it. I sought to prevent emotional pain, yet only prevented emotional happiness.

His name is 'Telah'. He speaks of himself in humility, but a thousand words are spoken in the short moments of silence between us. He dubs himself Anchorite, and I have learned much of this group in our time together. The passion in which he speaks of his work causes my own to pale in comparison. While I am primarily awestruck, curious and respectful, inadequacy plagues my thoughts when I speak with him.

We have told many tales. He is curious of my feelings in this new world, and seeks to learn more of Azeroth. I too am curious of his own experiences, but I do not dare to ask him of his life before Draenor. I have heard tales of space travel but I suspect they are spun with the gleaming thread of deceit.

He tells me of his lost love, and that he gifted her a rare flower to declare his love. I find myself wanting to seek out this blossom and, with the Dream's blessing, grow it once again for him. Yet, I am tainted with anxiety. A strange feeling. One I last felt when first meeting Meladir... strange.

[Zhaei]

Strange occurrences are not unusual for the marshlands. But these last two nights have proved more supernatural than anything I have witnessed in my long life. I shall paint you a picture with words, my diary.

A small circle. Natural, but not. Grown by some kind of magic, I expect. Mushrooms grow in a perfect ring, and another lies in the middle. At first thought, I assumed it was a mere ceremonial area, abandoned in the times of strife not long ago. Yet, immediately I felt a strange sense of foreboding. Naturally, I went to speak with the fungal plants and learn their story. This was... not a beneficial action. I blacked out almost instantly, and felt a sensation I had not for years. It was if I was taking the form of a beast for the first time. I don It is a

It seemed like an instant, but it appears it was at least an hour before I awoke. Though, awoke is not the term. I was in some indescribable realm. A ring of light surrounded by darkness marked our domain. Terror gripped at my gut but showing weakness to the Draenei will not leave good impressions of my kind. We stood on a body of water. But, of course, merely an illusion. As hard as stone but as clear as air, it became apparent we lived in some greater being's consciousness.

Looking around, I spotted three others trapped with me. Gantrithor, the male who feels the need to cement his masculinity by strapping blocks of metal to his body. Taera, the Far Seer, who I think who is most i who requires more observation. Troovo, the tracker. I know little of this one. He is quiet, at least. They too began to panic, though I admire the female's conviction in her "spirits." A shame it is false, but admirable nonetheless.

I looked in to the pool and saw myself. The others saw themselves, too. But not myself. My body had been stolen! Wrenched from my grasp by some kind of eager poltergeist or sentience of the marsh. I know not, she was named "Mist." It was not pleasant to watch. She defiled the gifts given to me by the great Dream! Like a child's toy, she played.

Soon enough, the spirit took the form of a bird. It seems that much of my mind lingered for her to achieve such a thing. Yet... I knew straight away, the spirit would not be able to change back. Just as it takes the mind of a beast to become one, it takes the mind of an Elf to regain yourself. A case not unlike the Savagekin. Though, they lose themselves. This spirit never had itself.

It, of course, grew scared and attacked the childish Draenei attempting to aid it. I assume her to be an infant merely because no intelligent being would approach a wild Stormcrow. I could do nothing but watch.

It was around this time that the strangest thing yet occurred. A Boglord of all things appeared in the water. She spoke with a normal voice, and I seemed to recognise her. It was not long before we discovered she too was a spirit, a thief of bodies.

She had been left behind by those who had inhabited us... in such a fit of rage, it was difficult to properly comprehend her. "You left me!" she exclaims wildly. I am temporarily stunned, Elune forgive. They ask what she means, and she yells! "YOU LEFT ME BEHIND WITH THESE THINGS!" We soon calmed her down, though. At first we were led to believe that this creature was the Marsh. The whole marsh, in sentience. Like... a sort of minor world tree. Luckily, this proved incorrect. She calls herself Drought. I know no

We begged her to free us, but either she could not or she would not. Cryptic in her speech, the short time in her realm was... infuriating. Eventually we worked out that the way to regain our forms was to find the "Blood of the Rocks." I immediately assumed a crystal. In her words; "Dark. Sometimes brown, mostly grey. You can make it shiny though, like stars...."

But, of course, I was wrong. It was minerals. Iron, to be specific. Some coercing by Telah and the spirits left our bodies.

I need more time to think this over. Perhaps this subject with be revisited.

[Zhaei]

Shattrath City -

I retrieve you once again, diary, because I require somewhere to unload my feelings. My brothers and sisters are scarce in this city and her looming walls cause me discomfort.

Oh, how I long for the open air again. To soar over the luscious trees and relish in the feel of the wind on my wings. This world is shattered and dangerous. Foul creatures lie about us and magics fouler still writhe in abundance throughout this cursed world.

My mind wanders to dark things once again. Forgive me, diary, for scrawling parlous words upon your page.

I have come across the preternatural this day (or perhaps, a few before) in the form of an Orc. She defiled the sanctity of Anchorite Telah's pilgrimage by attending: yet what gave me penultimate surprise was that a Draenei accompanied and even conversed with her! It is as if they were friends, but this is of course not possible. I respect Gantrithor's self control, for I would not have exercised the restraint needed, I am sure. The Draenei continue to baffle me - did the fel-tainted Horde not commit a crime so heinous on their kind?

Yet, even this shock was second to the consternation I felt after a few minutes' "conversation" with the brute. I highlight the word, diary, for it is clear that Orcs do not possess the necessary intelligence to hold a true banquet of words, yet I know not a word that adequately describes this deed. I visited the infirmary - to perchance stumble upon Telah or another friendly Draenei, and to lend nature's healing hand to the wounded. Yet, it was there... and no, she was not healing or aiding. She was attempting some kind of artwork or expression of herself.

My initial thought was simply amusement, though after a brief inspection of the piece I was shocked! Of course, at this time, Diary, I have quelled my rising awe and come to my senses; the piece is not beautiful nor pleasing to the eye. At the time, I admit that there was some affect on me. The work showed emotion and skill (albeit trivial compared to Star Child artists) and even now some feeling of respect still lingers.

I come to the conclusion that the stress of recent work and and the lingering exposure to the Nether has caused my sense to temporarily deteriorate. I will be speaking to an Elder at the Expedition Outpost in due course.

[Zhaei]

Atop an Olemba Tree amid the forests of Terokkar -

Once more, O diary, do I feel the need to note down my thoughts. This is motivated by necessity.

For some nights I have been plagued with dreams of terror, malice and destruction. I use you now, if you would allow it, to record what it is exactly I experience in the day night's slumber. I must note that these dreams are starkly reminiscent of the Nightmare; noxious, infected caverns that once radiated beauty and life.

I awoke in a dank cavern lit only by the flickering of orange Bloodlights. A low pool of rancid, thick water: I had to clear my lungs before I could even see clearly, let alone breathe comfortably. My vision stabilised to a gruesome sight. Around me stood foul daemonkind: impish corruptors stood amongst the tainted timberlings.

I set off with haste, intent on discovering the meaning of this dream. At first I took to my feline form, but the transformation was difficult and brought me little advantage; soon after, I attempted to take to the skies. My inner bird called to me as soon as I tried; I shifted with great ease and a feeling of ecstasy filled me. Upon reflection I look back at the moment and despise my weak will for succumbing to the feeling.

It was then that I heard a great echo of flapping wings. However, this sound was so great, so cacophonous, that the whole cavern moved with its whim; it brought no wind, but each living inhabitant was touched by this sound. As was I. Attempting to track down this sound (I sought to be rid of this realm), I flew towards its source - it resounded thrice more before I came across its dwelling.

A nest of some kind... yet, the branches were tree trunks and but a single feather was bigger than my entire personage. Its occupant was luckily, as I add in retrospect, not present - so I foolishly resolved to wait. Time is not standard in the dreamworld, so I cannot tell you how long I waited. However, my vigil was cut short... I remember little but searing pain, betrayal, and the behemothian, unblinking eye that stared down at me from above.

Expect more soon, Diary. Anchorite Telah wishes me to record my dreams as much as I can.