* I’m home. It took much longer than I’d hoped; even after the orc had been found, someone had to stay behind and clean up. And we mages had to ensure they had a way home. Though it was terrible all of the time, that was the worst, knowing others were already home with their families and I wasn’t. I worried about them constantly, I know Shattrath is relatively safe, and Kestrae and Isandri were there to look in on them.
Submitted by The Great and P... on May 17, 2014 - 5:52pm
Hello again, Journal,
A lot's happened since we last talked, yeah? The majority of the people I used to know are dead or gone or otherwise still, of course, but it seems that I myself was dragged into something I wasn't quite expecting. That one woman who kept pestering me about 'owning me and my corner' or whatever and her friend ind of forced me to sign onto some sort of group that wasn't the DSMA, making this the first time I haven't been affiliated with the school in my life.
So much has happened, I haven’t really had time to write. Besides the students, we have all of the new residents — Lani and Nessna, and Sath’alor and his new employee. It’s getting to be a regular inn around here! I don’t mind, but I’m back to having to make two cakes a day. It’s not really any extra work because they’re the same type, except when it comes to the frosting.
I thought everything would be better when I came home. Of course, I also expected to return as a hero, not limping home with bandages and bruises. But it seems everything’s back to the way it was before, the only people who care at all about me are my family, but that’s because they have to. Isandri’s gone back to Shattrath and will have her baby soon.
"With the rock flayer population thinned, all that's left is to signal the safe path to our pilgrims. Return to the Great Fissure with this torch and seek the three beacons that mark the path from the east."
"Light the three beacons and return to me. Be warned that the beacons will attract any nearby rock flayers when you first light them."
Her hair is a wreath of flame and the soul behind those eyes smoldering with a mindless thirst for death - burning bright and fast but never quite out.
Too many times has she been tempted by the seductive chill of death and the promise of release; that voice is one of rusted barbwire yanked up her throat syllable by syllable only for the words to be spoken too late.
Koirah climbed the stairs to the third floor of her institution, arriving wearily to her private living quarters. With a quiet yawn, she unlocked the door to her chambers and entered; aiming to get a good night's rest before finalizing preparations to leave for Fort Livingston in a couple of days.
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