The Path of the Righteous
A simple, leather-bound journal with a cracked and scarred cover and flimsy yellow pages, sitting in the satchel of one Castor Rookwood as he goes about his travels and his trials.
Days on Azeroth: 14
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since Sir Malleck and I made pilgrimage to Shattrath. He was saying they'd traditionally do the anointing ceremony in the chapel at Stratholme, but he'd heard there wasn't much going on in Stratholme these days, and figured there was a much holier site to do it at a mere day's ride away from the Hold.
Two weeks since he took me up onto the Terrace of Light where the Naaru reside, set his hammer against my shoulder and dubbed me a Knight of the Silver Hand like he is. 'The Pure', he proclaimed me, just as great Uther proclaimed him 'the Just', to reflect the quality of my heart. Although I'm not much sure whether the title means much any more. Heard the Order's fallen on some hard times. I asked around Stormwind to verify it. Turns out it has.
Two weeks. Blooming long two weeks, I'll tell you that, but interesting ones, too. The portal he bought for me from Shattrath - because he wasn't going to make me fight my way to the Big One back in Hellfire, Sir Malleck said, because I showed promise but not that much promise - it took me to Stormwind. It saddens me to think that he's yet to see this place rebuilt, that his enduring memory of his homeland is the smouldering ruins of it. I've got to tell you, the place is incredible. The buildings are so big and so white and so beautiful, but it got me to thinking, how well would they stand up to a siege? I'd reckon making the place properly defensible would be high on their priorities when rebuilding it, but there's scarcely a military fortification - aside from the walls - in sight of the capital. Maybe when they were building it, the people had just had enough of war. Light knows I couldn't blame 'em, from the stories I've heard.
Two weeks. That's half a month. Half a month I've spent here in this city and in the surrounding woodlands, catching up on what you might call current affairs, meeting people, making friends, figuring out how this world works. Honestly, I think I've spent most of it alone in the Cathedral of Light, meditating, praying, reading. What a place. Only at the side of great A'dal himself have I felt more at peace. I'd stay there forever if I could. I'd stay here forever if I could.
But I know I can't. I know Sir Malleck sent me here for a reason. To go out and do good in the world - more good than I can do for our world, my home-world, as just another soldier manning the battlements. He was one of the founding members of our Order, the chaplain said, and not once had he been able to do the duties he'd sworn to do. The duties I've sworn to do. Not quite, anyway. Sure, he's been protecting the innocent and vanquishing the guilty for twenty years on Draenor, just like he swore to - but I don't think leading a cavalry charge was the manner in which he'd like to do it. Not ideally. There's more to being a paladin than slaying orcs and smiting demons, he said.
He told me I've got a path to walk. The Path of the Righteous, he calls it. That's why I'm on the road now, stopping to rest in this town called Goldshire. It's a nice enough place. Nice enough people. I get on well enough with the innkeeper, bloke called Farley. I wouldn't mind staying here forever, either, but I've spent two weeks at peace already and it's about time I got to work.
On my way out of the capital, I walked through the Valley of Heroes. Five statues there, watching the people coming into the city and the people going out. Five statues. Five heroes. I was stunned.
Back at the Hold, they always said that they'd-- that we'd been forgotten by the folks back home. That they didn't care about us. But there they were. The greatest heroes of the Sons of Lothar, the champions and leaders of our cause . . . they were all there, immortalised in stone. Positioned so that anyone who had any business in the city would know who they owed it all to. Forgotten my arse.
Oh, Light. I'm going all bleary in the eyes just thinking about it.
. . .
On the inscription underneath General Turalyon's statue, Light rest his soul, there's an old motto, a message from the founder of our Order. Esarus thar no Darador - by blood and honour we serve.
I remember on the morning of my eighteenth birthday when the lads in my old dad's platoon jumped me in the mess hall, dragged me off and held me down while they got that same motto inked into my right bicep. I swear I can still feel it hurting sometimes. Gits.
Alright then. I should probably get some kip. Let's see where this Path of the Righteous takes me in the morning.
A week spent across the sea . . .
Days on Azeroth: 22
Well, it's been a vomit-filled week on the boat, but I'm here. Theramore Isle. Buildings are a lot like in Stormwind from what I can see, but newer, shinier. More importantly, they're squatter, lower down with higher walls. I reckon there's something to admire in that. It almost reminds me of home. Like home, this place is the product of an expedition - a journey to find a new life in a new world. Looks like the life these folks found was a bit cosier than what my old dad did.
It's more of a fortress than a city, this place. Maybe that's why I'm so comfortable here.
Shame I ain't staying for long.
Days on Azeroth: 27
We've arrived. We're at this dwarven settlement called Bael Modan, and that's where me and the merchant caravan I've been walking with are gonna part ways. Tomorrow morning, they're gonna start their way back to Theramore and I'm gonna start my way onto the place called Ratchet. I'm told it's a city of opportunity. We'll see what opportunities I find there.
Bloody fel but that swamp was a pain in the arse. Had to buy a new pair of boots as soon as I got here, but thankfully what the merchants were paying me for the guard work covered that neatly enough.
I wonder, though. Is it immoral to take money for the duties I've sworn to undertake if I need that money to survive? Something to meditate on when I set myself down to rest tonight, at least.
This place looks interesting. Everyone's working down in the digsite up until the dead of night. I'd like to have a looksee around, but time's a-wasting. I'll leave as soon as the sun's up.
Days on Azeroth: 28
Well, my stay in that wretched hive called Ratchet isn't going to be a particularly a long one. This is precisely the sort of place I don't want to go looking for opportunities in. Whores and beggars and slaves on every corner. Smells less of opportunity and more of an utter lack thereof.
Met this girl who'd had her tongue cut out and had a drink with her. Called herself Tricky, or she said her friends called her Tricky. A performer, she was. Did tricks, hence the name. Nice enough girl. Realised again that I ain't much the talkative type when I sat down with her for a few hours, though. Surprised I didn't mortally piss her off the amount of blunders I made in speaking to her.
Spoke to this older fella as well, one I swore I knew the face of. Turns out the man'd watched me grow up, more or less. Knight-Lieutenant Doyle Lynch from the Stromgarde brigades. Knew my father, he said. Said he was a good man.
A good man. That's what I need to be, and that's why I'm gonna talk to the wharfmaster about that weird teleporter machine he's got by the docks tomorrow. There are scant few good man in that Ratchet town and there ain't much ways to become one there, either.
. . . Four weeks. I've been here for four weeks. That's a full month. Wondering whether that's cause to celebrate or not, 'cause I ain't gotten much in the way of righteousness done.
Ah, well. Small steps begin any journey.
Days on Azeroth: 29
Bloody hell that machine was weird. I'd say I was never going to step into one of those things again, but I'd be lying, because I've already stepped into them and used them three times just going about my business today. They're uncomfortable, they set my insides spinning like tops, but damned if they aren't useful for what they do.
I reached this place they call Booty Bay at around noon-time, and I've got to tell you, it ain't much better than Ratchet. Run by the same folks, these greedy little goblin gits who don't care a shit if you starve or grow fat, so long as you pay 'em the money you owe them. Think it might be something to do with them, why everyone seems poor in these places. Yeah. I think it definitely is.
So I spent a few hours looking for work around town and I couldn't find any . . . well, I couldn't find any that suited me. I'm not one to be picky about good, honest labour, but the labours that were suggested to me weren't much in the way of good or honest, I reckon. Killing involved, maybe. Definitely something sordid by the sounds of things. I scooted out of that town quickly as I could.
Made my way to the arena to the north, see if I could watch a few bouts to pass the time. Ended up getting challenged to one, bloody fel, by one of those Forsaken creatures, the walking dead with free will. Didn't much like the look of him at first, but he was hiding the fact he was a corpse with armour and a mask.
Bastard of a fencer, too. Don't know how a mortal man could get so good with a sword, but he almost got me a couple of times. Running rings around me, although I think I gave as good as I got, up to a point. Used all kinds of dirty tricks to get an advantage over me, the bastard. And then he shot me. In the arm. That's the last time I'm having a fight in there.
He made sure I was properly patched up before he left me, gave me all kinds of medicines and health potions, and then, when I started talking to this smartly dressed missus who'd been watching (more about her later), his leg snapped in half from where I'd cut him across the knee. Bloody fel. I helped him back to Booty Bay and set him there to get himself patched up, because the Code demanded as much of me - "Give as you receive and more besides."
But I still don't much like him. Especially how he started insinuating things about me on my way out. Nasty sense of humour, that fella, but he seemed decent enough all in all. As far as the walking dead go, anyway.
So I went back to the arena to speak to this Lady Bisen. Pretty enough thing for her age, somewhere in her forties, I'd say. Polite. Taste for bloodsport, so she said, hence why she was waiting around in the arena for a friend. Gave me a parcel to deliver to someone after I told her I was heading back up to Elwynn on the morrow. A journal, containing notes, wrapped up pretty in tarp and twine and sealed with wax.
Didn't give me a name to go looking for, but she gave me a description. Woman in Goldshire – dark hair, dark clothing, pale skin, thin, gaunt. I'm writing that down here in case I forget.
I'll start heading up along the road north tomorrow. Might jockey in on a merchant caravan again to do it.
Days on Azeroth: 32
Arrived in Elwynn last night. Haven't had the time to sit down and write an entry, but here I am. Blodoy fel, today has been odd.
I delivered the package for Lady Bisen to this woman who matched the description I was given yesterday night, then this evening I saw someone who looked just like her. Had a bit of a weird moment as I looked at her, then she called me over and asked me about a parcel. Light, I know what fear is. I've watched a felguard cleave a man in half, I've seen the outer walls crumble under the onslaught of falling infernals, I've spent nights without sleep wondering if the Hold had been infiltrated by a succubus, or Light help us, a dreadlord and . . .
And something about this woman just made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. It was horrible, the way she looked at me, the way she spoke to me, and I tried to explain to her that I might've given the parcel to someone else, but . . . it turns out it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. She was asking me about another parcel, if I had something else to give her, and I was trying to explain . . . I don't even know what I was trying to explain.
Before I knew it, she was steering the conversation somewhere I didn't much want it to go. Talking about me taking her out to dinner. Had me blushing like a right goon, couldn't string a sentence together. I haven't been here for long, but I think I know what goes through a man's mind when he takes a lady to dinner, and, well, that wasn't what was going through my mind at that point. But she'd already taken my arm and was hauling me to Stormwind before I knew it.
Told me I needed to get changed, to buy a suit. Where the fel was I getting the money for that from? Well, she said, you can start by selling your gear. This gear – my father's sword, the breastplate and bracers I received from Anchorite Maguun on my eighteenth birthday . . . what the hell did she think she was playing at? But before I knew what I was doing, I was in the tailor's shop, trying to buy a suit and . . . Light, there was a lot of hassle to it. That much I know. She was talking about marrying me, for Light's sake, making me a noble like her, and I'd only just met the madwoman! I didn't want that! Don't!
She just found a way of working around everything I said to her and turning it into something that made me out to be a right arse. I don't even know how. She made me shave, too, get my hair sorted out and all. I don't even know why, but she said kept calling me a child, the worst kind of useless cretin. Let it be known that I am neither. Not any more. The goblin who sorted my hair out, he'd overheard what she was saying to me and he told me to get out of there, quick, but I thought it was too late by that point.
. . . By the time I was outside of the barber's again talking to her, I'd gotten a bit of courage together to have a proper word with her and then she . . . she kissed me. I've never been kissed before. Not ever. Not like that. Well, she made me kiss her and I don't even know what happened, but it was . . . well, it was nice. I guess. It wasn't nice how she started berating me about that as well right after, but . . .
I tried getting some sense out of her and she started crying. Said I was going to abandon her like every man had before her. What could I do except give her a hug? . . . I don't know how all this even got started. Must have been something I said.
I can't clear my head tonight. Can't meditate. I'll just try and get some sleep.
Days on Azeroth: 33
She told me I needed a new suit for tonight, so I went out and spent my day since dawn working to raise the money to rent one. Turns out I didn't need it after all, because she just told me to put my armour on (she knew I didn't sell it), because we were going for a walk.
So we walked. She was telling me about her friend Batukhan, first, the big bastard with the big sword and the tattoos and the wolfshead mask who was giving me the evil eye in the tavern. A warrior, she said, who's in debt to her. Eats the hearts of those he slays. The look of him was that he's slain his fair few, so I'm surprised he hadn't grown fat. I reckon I could take him if it came down to it, scary he might be.
She started telling me about her husband. Craer, his name was. Well, he was supposed to be her husband, but he deserted her at the altar. I wonder why. Met her recently with a new woman, this girl younger than I am – put a child in her, too, which I don't think's right anyway. But what's worse is this. She reckons this Craer bastard's going to have her killed. By assassins. Says that's the way it goes when two nobles hate each other. That couldn't be right, could it? They couldn't get away with that . . . She told me the guards don't care about what nobles do to each other, so apparently, they can get away with that. Bloody fel. This is all too much.
And . . . she told me she loves me. I don't even know what that means. She said I'm the only man who's shown her kindness, who hasn't abandoned her at the earliest opportunity . . . said I didn't appreciate how much she cared about me and started getting all shouty with me again. How could I appreciate it when I didn't even know?
Worst still, this Craer wants to kill me for associating with her. Or that's what she says. Me! What have I done? I don't know. How could he even know I exist? I don't know. Whoever he is, he sounds like an awful, awful man. Standing your woman up at the altar's one thing, but plotting to kill her ten years later? What kind of villain does that?
. . . This is what I set out to do. I realise that now. I'm still walking the Path, as Sir Malleck told me to. I'm protecting the innocent – because this poor lady needs me to protect her, she's said as much – and when it comes down to it, when Craer shows his face, I'll vanquish the guilty. Or at least I think I will. I don't know. I don't know if I'll see even see him coming.
Said there could be assassins anywhere. We met this fella in Darkshire – yeah, we went to Darkshire, we're going south to meet this Lady Bisen character and ask for her help against Craer and . . . oh, Light. I'm sorry. There's just so much going through my head. I'm trying to write everything down and I'm missing things out.
She said there could be assassins anywhere and this fella, he came up to us, when she was talking about . . . when she was talking about whether I'd flee from her at the altar and I cold only say no, because I'm a better man than this bastard, whoever he is. This fella? Told us to get a room. He didn't even understand what we were . . . *a splash of ink* Light forgive me, but I wanted to punch his lights out then and there.
She said we could either take our chances with potential assassins in Darkshire's inn or find somewhere to camp in the woods. So we found an abandoned house, or it looks abandoned, but the fire's still burning. It doesn't look like it's ever burning out. Magic, I reckon. I'm awake on watch now. Can't sleep. The howling you hear here, it isn't natural. There's something amiss with it. That and the wind and the rain and . . . there's something just about these woods that doesn't sit well with my stomach. I can't clear my head to meditate either, not with all the noises. I think I'll just wait until the sun's up and catch an hour or two then. Maybe then it'll it have quietened down. Maybe then we'll be safer.
I'd take an infernal storm falling on my head over all this any day of the week. An infernal storm I can understand, but this? . . . None of it makes sense. She doesn't make sense. I don't even know her name. She calls me darling, says she loves me, and I'm still calling her 'ma'am'.
. . . Pretty face on her, though.
A simple, leather-bound journal with a cracked and scarred cover and flimsy yellow pages, sitting in the satchel of one Castor Rookwood as he goes about his travels and his trials.
Days on Azeroth: 14
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since Sir Malleck and I made pilgrimage to Shattrath. He was saying they'd traditionally do the anointing ceremony in the chapel at Stratholme, but he'd heard there wasn't much going on in Stratholme these days, and figured there was a much holier site to do it at a mere day's ride away from the Hold.
Two weeks since he took me up onto the Terrace of Light where the Naaru reside, set his hammer against my shoulder and dubbed me a Knight of the Silver Hand like he is. 'The Pure', he proclaimed me, just as great Uther proclaimed him 'the Just', to reflect the quality of my heart. Although I'm not much sure whether the title means much any more. Heard the Order's fallen on some hard times. I asked around Stormwind to verify it. Turns out it has.
Two weeks. Blooming long two weeks, I'll tell you that, but interesting ones, too. The portal he bought for me from Shattrath - because he wasn't going to make me fight my way to the Big One back in Hellfire, Sir Malleck said, because I showed promise but not that much promise - it took me to Stormwind. It saddens me to think that he's yet to see this place rebuilt, that his enduring memory of his homeland is the smouldering ruins of it. I've got to tell you, the place is incredible. The buildings are so big and so white and so beautiful, but it got me to thinking, how well would they stand up to a siege? I'd reckon making the place properly defensible would be high on their priorities when rebuilding it, but there's scarcely a military fortification - aside from the walls - in sight of the capital. Maybe when they were building it, the people had just had enough of war. Light knows I couldn't blame 'em, from the stories I've heard.
Two weeks. That's half a month. Half a month I've spent here in this city and in the surrounding woodlands, catching up on what you might call current affairs, meeting people, making friends, figuring out how this world works. Honestly, I think I've spent most of it alone in the Cathedral of Light, meditating, praying, reading. What a place. Only at the side of great A'dal himself have I felt more at peace. I'd stay there forever if I could. I'd stay here forever if I could.
But I know I can't. I know Sir Malleck sent me here for a reason. To go out and do good in the world - more good than I can do for our world, my home-world, as just another soldier manning the battlements. He was one of the founding members of our Order, the chaplain said, and not once had he been able to do the duties he'd sworn to do. The duties I've sworn to do. Not quite, anyway. Sure, he's been protecting the innocent and vanquishing the guilty for twenty years on Draenor, just like he swore to - but I don't think leading a cavalry charge was the manner in which he'd like to do it. Not ideally. There's more to being a paladin than slaying orcs and smiting demons, he said.
He told me I've got a path to walk. The Path of the Righteous, he calls it. That's why I'm on the road now, stopping to rest in this town called Goldshire. It's a nice enough place. Nice enough people. I get on well enough with the innkeeper, bloke called Farley. I wouldn't mind staying here forever, either, but I've spent two weeks at peace already and it's about time I got to work.
On my way out of the capital, I walked through the Valley of Heroes. Five statues there, watching the people coming into the city and the people going out. Five statues. Five heroes. I was stunned.
Back at the Hold, they always said that they'd-- that we'd been forgotten by the folks back home. That they didn't care about us. But there they were. The greatest heroes of the Sons of Lothar, the champions and leaders of our cause . . . they were all there, immortalised in stone. Positioned so that anyone who had any business in the city would know who they owed it all to. Forgotten my arse.
Oh, Light. I'm going all bleary in the eyes just thinking about it.
. . .
On the inscription underneath General Turalyon's statue, Light rest his soul, there's an old motto, a message from the founder of our Order. Esarus thar no Darador - by blood and honour we serve.
I remember on the morning of my eighteenth birthday when the lads in my old dad's platoon jumped me in the mess hall, dragged me off and held me down while they got that same motto inked into my right bicep. I swear I can still feel it hurting sometimes. Gits.
Alright then. I should probably get some kip. Let's see where this Path of the Righteous takes me in the morning.
A week spent across the sea . . .
Days on Azeroth: 22
Well, it's been a vomit-filled week on the boat, but I'm here. Theramore Isle. Buildings are a lot like in Stormwind from what I can see, but newer, shinier. More importantly, they're squatter, lower down with higher walls. I reckon there's something to admire in that. It almost reminds me of home. Like home, this place is the product of an expedition - a journey to find a new life in a new world. Looks like the life these folks found was a bit cosier than what my old dad did.
It's more of a fortress than a city, this place. Maybe that's why I'm so comfortable here.
Shame I ain't staying for long.
Days on Azeroth: 27
We've arrived. We're at this dwarven settlement called Bael Modan, and that's where me and the merchant caravan I've been walking with are gonna part ways. Tomorrow morning, they're gonna start their way back to Theramore and I'm gonna start my way onto the place called Ratchet. I'm told it's a city of opportunity. We'll see what opportunities I find there.
Bloody fel but that swamp was a pain in the arse. Had to buy a new pair of boots as soon as I got here, but thankfully what the merchants were paying me for the guard work covered that neatly enough.
I wonder, though. Is it immoral to take money for the duties I've sworn to undertake if I need that money to survive? Something to meditate on when I set myself down to rest tonight, at least.
This place looks interesting. Everyone's working down in the digsite up until the dead of night. I'd like to have a looksee around, but time's a-wasting. I'll leave as soon as the sun's up.
Days on Azeroth: 28
Well, my stay in that wretched hive called Ratchet isn't going to be a particularly a long one. This is precisely the sort of place I don't want to go looking for opportunities in. Whores and beggars and slaves on every corner. Smells less of opportunity and more of an utter lack thereof.
Met this girl who'd had her tongue cut out and had a drink with her. Called herself Tricky, or she said her friends called her Tricky. A performer, she was. Did tricks, hence the name. Nice enough girl. Realised again that I ain't much the talkative type when I sat down with her for a few hours, though. Surprised I didn't mortally piss her off the amount of blunders I made in speaking to her.
Spoke to this older fella as well, one I swore I knew the face of. Turns out the man'd watched me grow up, more or less. Knight-Lieutenant Doyle Lynch from the Stromgarde brigades. Knew my father, he said. Said he was a good man.
A good man. That's what I need to be, and that's why I'm gonna talk to the wharfmaster about that weird teleporter machine he's got by the docks tomorrow. There are scant few good man in that Ratchet town and there ain't much ways to become one there, either.
. . . Four weeks. I've been here for four weeks. That's a full month. Wondering whether that's cause to celebrate or not, 'cause I ain't gotten much in the way of righteousness done.
Ah, well. Small steps begin any journey.
Days on Azeroth: 29
Bloody hell that machine was weird. I'd say I was never going to step into one of those things again, but I'd be lying, because I've already stepped into them and used them three times just going about my business today. They're uncomfortable, they set my insides spinning like tops, but damned if they aren't useful for what they do.
I reached this place they call Booty Bay at around noon-time, and I've got to tell you, it ain't much better than Ratchet. Run by the same folks, these greedy little goblin gits who don't care a shit if you starve or grow fat, so long as you pay 'em the money you owe them. Think it might be something to do with them, why everyone seems poor in these places. Yeah. I think it definitely is.
So I spent a few hours looking for work around town and I couldn't find any . . . well, I couldn't find any that suited me. I'm not one to be picky about good, honest labour, but the labours that were suggested to me weren't much in the way of good or honest, I reckon. Killing involved, maybe. Definitely something sordid by the sounds of things. I scooted out of that town quickly as I could.
Made my way to the arena to the north, see if I could watch a few bouts to pass the time. Ended up getting challenged to one, bloody fel, by one of those Forsaken creatures, the walking dead with free will. Didn't much like the look of him at first, but he was hiding the fact he was a corpse with armour and a mask.
Bastard of a fencer, too. Don't know how a mortal man could get so good with a sword, but he almost got me a couple of times. Running rings around me, although I think I gave as good as I got, up to a point. Used all kinds of dirty tricks to get an advantage over me, the bastard. And then he shot me. In the arm. That's the last time I'm having a fight in there.
He made sure I was properly patched up before he left me, gave me all kinds of medicines and health potions, and then, when I started talking to this smartly dressed missus who'd been watching (more about her later), his leg snapped in half from where I'd cut him across the knee. Bloody fel. I helped him back to Booty Bay and set him there to get himself patched up, because the Code demanded as much of me - "Give as you receive and more besides."
But I still don't much like him. Especially how he started insinuating things about me on my way out. Nasty sense of humour, that fella, but he seemed decent enough all in all. As far as the walking dead go, anyway.
So I went back to the arena to speak to this Lady Bisen. Pretty enough thing for her age, somewhere in her forties, I'd say. Polite. Taste for bloodsport, so she said, hence why she was waiting around in the arena for a friend. Gave me a parcel to deliver to someone after I told her I was heading back up to Elwynn on the morrow. A journal, containing notes, wrapped up pretty in tarp and twine and sealed with wax.
Didn't give me a name to go looking for, but she gave me a description. Woman in Goldshire – dark hair, dark clothing, pale skin, thin, gaunt. I'm writing that down here in case I forget.
I'll start heading up along the road north tomorrow. Might jockey in on a merchant caravan again to do it.
Days on Azeroth: 32
Arrived in Elwynn last night. Haven't had the time to sit down and write an entry, but here I am. Blodoy fel, today has been odd.
I delivered the package for Lady Bisen to this woman who matched the description I was given yesterday night, then this evening I saw someone who looked just like her. Had a bit of a weird moment as I looked at her, then she called me over and asked me about a parcel. Light, I know what fear is. I've watched a felguard cleave a man in half, I've seen the outer walls crumble under the onslaught of falling infernals, I've spent nights without sleep wondering if the Hold had been infiltrated by a succubus, or Light help us, a dreadlord and . . .
And something about this woman just made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. It was horrible, the way she looked at me, the way she spoke to me, and I tried to explain to her that I might've given the parcel to someone else, but . . . it turns out it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. She was asking me about another parcel, if I had something else to give her, and I was trying to explain . . . I don't even know what I was trying to explain.
Before I knew it, she was steering the conversation somewhere I didn't much want it to go. Talking about me taking her out to dinner. Had me blushing like a right goon, couldn't string a sentence together. I haven't been here for long, but I think I know what goes through a man's mind when he takes a lady to dinner, and, well, that wasn't what was going through my mind at that point. But she'd already taken my arm and was hauling me to Stormwind before I knew it.
Told me I needed to get changed, to buy a suit. Where the fel was I getting the money for that from? Well, she said, you can start by selling your gear. This gear – my father's sword, the breastplate and bracers I received from Anchorite Maguun on my eighteenth birthday . . . what the hell did she think she was playing at? But before I knew what I was doing, I was in the tailor's shop, trying to buy a suit and . . . Light, there was a lot of hassle to it. That much I know. She was talking about marrying me, for Light's sake, making me a noble like her, and I'd only just met the madwoman! I didn't want that! Don't!
She just found a way of working around everything I said to her and turning it into something that made me out to be a right arse. I don't even know how. She made me shave, too, get my hair sorted out and all. I don't even know why, but she said kept calling me a child, the worst kind of useless cretin. Let it be known that I am neither. Not any more. The goblin who sorted my hair out, he'd overheard what she was saying to me and he told me to get out of there, quick, but I thought it was too late by that point.
. . . By the time I was outside of the barber's again talking to her, I'd gotten a bit of courage together to have a proper word with her and then she . . . she kissed me. I've never been kissed before. Not ever. Not like that. Well, she made me kiss her and I don't even know what happened, but it was . . . well, it was nice. I guess. It wasn't nice how she started berating me about that as well right after, but . . .
I tried getting some sense out of her and she started crying. Said I was going to abandon her like every man had before her. What could I do except give her a hug? . . . I don't know how all this even got started. Must have been something I said.
I can't clear my head tonight. Can't meditate. I'll just try and get some sleep.
Days on Azeroth: 33
She told me I needed a new suit for tonight, so I went out and spent my day since dawn working to raise the money to rent one. Turns out I didn't need it after all, because she just told me to put my armour on (she knew I didn't sell it), because we were going for a walk.
So we walked. She was telling me about her friend Batukhan, first, the big bastard with the big sword and the tattoos and the wolfshead mask who was giving me the evil eye in the tavern. A warrior, she said, who's in debt to her. Eats the hearts of those he slays. The look of him was that he's slain his fair few, so I'm surprised he hadn't grown fat. I reckon I could take him if it came down to it, scary he might be.
She started telling me about her husband. Craer, his name was. Well, he was supposed to be her husband, but he deserted her at the altar. I wonder why. Met her recently with a new woman, this girl younger than I am – put a child in her, too, which I don't think's right anyway. But what's worse is this. She reckons this Craer bastard's going to have her killed. By assassins. Says that's the way it goes when two nobles hate each other. That couldn't be right, could it? They couldn't get away with that . . . She told me the guards don't care about what nobles do to each other, so apparently, they can get away with that. Bloody fel. This is all too much.
And . . . she told me she loves me. I don't even know what that means. She said I'm the only man who's shown her kindness, who hasn't abandoned her at the earliest opportunity . . . said I didn't appreciate how much she cared about me and started getting all shouty with me again. How could I appreciate it when I didn't even know?
Worst still, this Craer wants to kill me for associating with her. Or that's what she says. Me! What have I done? I don't know. How could he even know I exist? I don't know. Whoever he is, he sounds like an awful, awful man. Standing your woman up at the altar's one thing, but plotting to kill her ten years later? What kind of villain does that?
. . . This is what I set out to do. I realise that now. I'm still walking the Path, as Sir Malleck told me to. I'm protecting the innocent – because this poor lady needs me to protect her, she's said as much – and when it comes down to it, when Craer shows his face, I'll vanquish the guilty. Or at least I think I will. I don't know. I don't know if I'll see even see him coming.
Said there could be assassins anywhere. We met this fella in Darkshire – yeah, we went to Darkshire, we're going south to meet this Lady Bisen character and ask for her help against Craer and . . . oh, Light. I'm sorry. There's just so much going through my head. I'm trying to write everything down and I'm missing things out.
She said there could be assassins anywhere and this fella, he came up to us, when she was talking about . . . when she was talking about whether I'd flee from her at the altar and I cold only say no, because I'm a better man than this bastard, whoever he is. This fella? Told us to get a room. He didn't even understand what we were . . . *a splash of ink* Light forgive me, but I wanted to punch his lights out then and there.
She said we could either take our chances with potential assassins in Darkshire's inn or find somewhere to camp in the woods. So we found an abandoned house, or it looks abandoned, but the fire's still burning. It doesn't look like it's ever burning out. Magic, I reckon. I'm awake on watch now. Can't sleep. The howling you hear here, it isn't natural. There's something amiss with it. That and the wind and the rain and . . . there's something just about these woods that doesn't sit well with my stomach. I can't clear my head to meditate either, not with all the noises. I think I'll just wait until the sun's up and catch an hour or two then. Maybe then it'll it have quietened down. Maybe then we'll be safer.
I'd take an infernal storm falling on my head over all this any day of the week. An infernal storm I can understand, but this? . . . None of it makes sense. She doesn't make sense. I don't even know her name. She calls me darling, says she loves me, and I'm still calling her 'ma'am'.
. . . Pretty face on her, though.