A February morning, two-and-a-half decades before anyone on Azeroth had heard of orcs.

Placing the last of five chocolates delicately into the round, violet box, she smiled. The box of sweets was no larger in diameter than a grown person's hand, but her heart and soul went into its assembly. Once the lid was put on and the scarlet ribbon tied around to seal it, a gift was ready for its recipient.

10 March

Once, twice, three times a charm.

Why have I not killed this man? I've held a gun to his head and a sword to his throat. Everything in me hates this man, hates who he is and what he does- even his voice makes my skin crawl, and his words make me doubt myself.. Everything about him makes my hands ache with desire to cut him down.

And yet, I haven't.

[Drawings: An assortment of guardsmen in pencil. Each is in profile and then standing like he or she would have been as on duty. They are all guards young Chryseth would have seen in his childhood neighborhood. On another sheet of paper, Haken -- watching the birds, face somewhere between relaxed and intent; underneath, the artist has scribbled "I would be his friend forevermore as well."]

Got ambushed by orcs on the road to Menethil Harbour. I have to admit, it was much easier when they were trying to rip my throat out.

Ah, part three! You can find part one here, and part two here. I really enjoyed writing about my outfits, I will be doing this again for sure when I have more of them. I hope I was able to encourage some of you to get out there and start making your own, it's so much fun.

Fnor Morningstar – Journal Entry #1

Written in very cursive script denoting the maturity and education of the author

Well, last night I did something dasterdly. I ate a piece of chocolate cake. I know, I know. I should not have. I will have to make sure I do not come across anything sweet for the rest of the week. If I start eating a lot of them, I will get fat. I have to watch my figure. It was rather good, though. I went to some tavern in the Dwarven District (forget the name of it, oh well). Had a class of red, and that cake. There were not many people there. Besides the staff, I think there were three or four other people.

Countess. Lady Countess de Cheraville-Calloun.

The title lapped at her, pricked at her skin, stroked her thighs better than any man. Nepenthea's cries in the other room belonged to another life. Countess. She was a countess now and Paxineau, finally a rotting, steaming wad of meat under dirt already frozen over.

Countess Fierine twirled around until her nightgown swung wide like a ballgown's graceful arc.

Speaking with Thadric again has sparked in me a discomforting realization; as he vainly strives to recapture his lost life, he edges further and further away from happiness, and closer to an irrecoverable state of sorrow.  He told me I was a fool to try to dissuade him, and even seemed determined to provoke me to violence.  Is he really so blind?  Can he not see that this path will bring him nothing but misery?  The dead cannot return to life, not to the one we had before and the Plague of Undeath is not something some bad humour to be cured… his opinions have ope

I will have to say the past few days have been a great success, from my viewpoint.

Well...first, apparently Rex has been doing some talking to her superiors in the Argents, because three nights ago she came out of the house holding a tabard and told me this was mine. It was a -Crusader's- tabard.