I’ve altered this journal to write itself. At this very moment, I’m walking about the outskirts of Stormwind, the journal hanging at my side, closed. I’ve enchanted it with an inscription rune; death knights are all familiar with runic magic, and even though I haven’t practiced it since inscribing my brooch pin with Bolgrim’s rune, I still know how to do some of the simpler enchantments. This one is a transcription rune – put simply, so long as the journal stays close to me, it will automatically record my thoughts and etch the words into the pages like runes, before filling in the indented pages with magically conjured ink.
I’ve found myself in a rush the past few days, and I rarely can calm myself long enough to sit down and write, but creating and inscription rune is a fairly quick and simple process, so I looked to it as an alternative. I must continue this log of events, and my nerves will not keep me from fulfilling that task.
Still, things may get jumbled and distorted at times – it’s hard to control which thoughts I want transcribed, and which ones I don’t care for, but as of now, this is the best solution, and I will try my best to keep things in check.
Even now, as I pace about the darkened academy pathways, the cool night breeze whistling and howling like wolves, I know the Defias are watching. I can sense them, lurking in the shadows, peering out at me from hidden rooftops and vantage points. I cannot deny their looing presence, and yet, I must remain unaware and ignorant to their prying gaze.
After what happened, it’s becoming increasingly hard to restrain myself. I can feel myself shaking, my fists clenched in anger. All I want to do is turn around and let my anger break free, tear them out of the shadows and watch them burn.
Yes … watch them burn. Set them alight and choke them, snap their necks and watch as their eyeballs shrivel and wither, their skin liquefy and melt away to sore red flesh. Tear them apart, spill their blood and kick them into their own pool of molten, mutilated flesh. I will not let them die – no, I’l keep them alive the entire time, drink in their screams, and only then when their vocal cords are charred and useless, will I allow them the release of death.
Only then, will I be satisfied.
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…
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But I can’t. I can only pace and fantasize, waiting for the day when the Defias come.
When they do, I’ll make the most of it …
…
After what happened in Westfall, David and I made it safely back to Stormwind without any interruption, and we’ve been resting here for three days now. We were unable to bring … to bring the corpse back with us. He was too heavy, and we had to move quickly. David’s horse had been captured, and we had to hoof it – speed was of the utmost importance at the time and even though I so desperately wanted to bring the body back for a proper burial, we simply couldn’t manage it. We had to leave everything there, in that field.
When the wind blow just right, on nights like this, I can still feel the same breeze I felt in that field, still see his cold unmoving form. I want nothing more than to tell him I’m sorry, and even now, I feel like I’m continuing to fail him.
Still even though we were unable to bring him back with us, we recovered the Defias plans and handed over the scrolls, the blueprints for the magic poisons, to the Stormwind Guard, but I kept Bolgrim’s journal. David is a reputable, fairly high ranking priest – he’s feeding the Stormwind Guard info directly from Bolgrim’s Journal, but we’re keeping the source a secret. This journal is my family’s legacy, and now, it’s mine.
My friend died writing parts of this journal. I can’t willingly hand it over. Even so, Stormwind needed to know of the impending attack, and so it is that David is acting as an informant.
…
Three days. Seventy Two hours from now. That’s how long before the Defias make their grand move on Stormwind. This is an attack years in the making; Bolgrim has concept plans and exact dates for this attack in his journal.
One Thousand Eight Hundred and fifty Defias – that’s how many Bolgrim predicted, how many were slated for this offensive, on a city of nearly 200,000 with a standing force of ten thousand Alliance soldiers.
There are no specifics on what the Defias intend to do, what their goal in all of this is, but whatever it is, it’s going to be bloody, and I fully intend to kill every last one of them.
Warlocks aren’t made for protecting like paladins are, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try. I will not let anyone else die.
He deserves that much of me.
Redemption Of A Fallen Paladin 