blackwaldpartisan

[blackwaldpartisan]

Second day after the escape

[The writing is clumsier than usual. It even looks slow. ]

I write this sitting in a cave lit by a pile of clothes drenched in alcohol and set afire. I am still changed and my clawed fingers handle this pen awkwardly. I will see it as an exercise of patience because I need to put this down and it is too cold to change back into my proper form (among the clothes burning is my undershirt, so even colder than usual) and the option would be to curl up to one of the Partisans beside me. The choice is either the worgen woman with the wounded neck ( 'Hik' Luhal, I think) whom I am fairly certain would rather I stepped off a cliff, and the Doctor Dead. I would say the latter option speaks for itself. I am not even certain if it is asleep. It lies curled up on the floor (looking rather vulnerable, really), twitching, I think. Might be the light playing tricks. Its hands shook earlier though, and it tried to hide it. I fear it is breaking.

Light knows what'll happen if the demons inside it get loose. I should try and produce some sort of ward, just in case.

Most of the day I spent with Meirin and some of her friends. It feels like... home in their company. I can relax. I know what to expect of them, and they of me (though they are wary still) and I can trust Meirin to remind me of things. It felt peaceful.

In the evening I followed some of the others (The Doctor Dead, the worgen woman with the wounded throat, one of the newcomers (blond), the elderly newcomer doctor (or priest) and a newcomer fellow in brown) when I reached them, they were busy trying to talk a Reservist (or former) woman off the cliffs. She only scorned them and climbed on. They fired at her, and one of them climbed after while the rest of us followed at a distance. After some time of shouting the voice and manner seemed familiar, and then the Doctor Dead called the woman Joan.

Joan. I remember her as quiet, mean, sometimes throwing tantrums and always guarding her things with jealousy and with paranoia. She was dropping hints too, with that sharp glint in her eyes. Questioning our stories, suggesting she knew more than the rest of us. Such a bitch. She invented the charming nickname 'Scabhead' for me too, for the colour of my hair. And now she was swearing at Partisans and Forsaken alike, scaling a dangerous cliffside to go off on her own. So very like Joan.

So I shouted at her too, and she shouted back in her usual, nice and polite manner. So friendly. And we followed, down cliffs, up cliffs, across felled trees... At one point I nearly fell to my death, but the Doctor Dead and the newcomer (blond) saved me. Embarrassingly enough I could not make myself let go of their wrists afterward, until they told me too. Around this time Joan shouted that she knew things about me that I didn't, which made me really want to catch up with her. She might have been a mean little sneak, but she was probably a good person before the Forsaken got to her. Possibly.

But Joan wouldn't give up, would she? So she fell. Down, down down the cliffs and landing in a tree. Not a particularly nice sight. After some discussion, and me saying I would really like to look in that book of hers (she had shouted about that too) a rope was found and I climbed down (being the lightest in the company) The climb was not pleasant. It was windy, cold, my hands and shoulders ached and it felt a lot like nearly dropping off that other cliff, only this time I would join Joan in the tree.

But I made it, and I searched Joan. I also closed her eyes and gave her cheek a little pat. It felt appropriate for some reason. Strapped tightly to her body she had a little pouch, which I took. And shoved up between her cheeks was a piece of paper which I also removed (with some distaste. I wonder if she always kept it there. Would have explained why she was always acting like she had a stick up her arse) Then I pushed her body into the sea, wrapped the rope around my waist, and was hauled up. I think my ribs are still blue and green from that particular treatment. The Doctor Dead said we wouldn't make it back to camp, so after some exploration we found a small cave to stay in instead. I summoned a globe of Felfire to give us light, and nobody seemed to protest much. That was a pleasant surprise. Then of course the gray paladin with the burnt face (James. Don't know if its surname or first name. Do I care?) came clanking up to the cave. Immediately he started on my sinful magic, tossed a glove in my face to start a fire with, and acted generally stuck-up and holy. Even the Doctor Dead seemed a tad irritated by this (but of course it would not mind demonic magic) and in the end we all sacrificed clothing to make a fire.

(the Doctor Dead could not have been serious about its alternative suggestion, could it? A horrid thought, truly)

And so we sat in the faint light, huddled up. No one seemed to want to huddle next to another, I didn't want to huddle next to any of them. Demonelf, wary worgen, old man, newcomer, paladin... Not the most tempting people to cuddle up to. I can think of a number of people I would rather have shared my warmth with. The Doctor Dead studied the paper and pouch I retrieved from Joan, with some difficulty. The paper was a map (of the North, it was concluded. Perhaps my presumed home would be on it, but I would not recognise it) and once it was done with the book, I asked for it so I could read what Joan had written of me.

It made no sense. At the start of the book, and quite far into it, she mentions me as a friend. I don't remember her ever being very friendly. Then, she flips. She hates me. Loathes me. I couldn't find out why and I kept looking and looking but either I missed it, or she didn't put it down. I'll need read through it again. I want to know what I did. I exclaimed as much in frustration and put the book away. The Doctor Dead seemed to think it best if I let my history lie. Let the old Ailiam Beech die, as it were. Perhaps that would be for the best, but I don't want to. I want to know what I was like. I hope I was some spoiled, happy, foolish little thing.

Must read through the book again. Must find the man who used to know me. Must make up my mind on what to think of all these people I am undecided about. Must sleep.

A lot of musts.

[blackwaldpartisan]

First day efter the escape

In early morning (or late night, it's the same thing) the Forsaken started barraging us with mortars and HFT's dropped green fire and I don't know. It was a mess. Maybe it was just green fire... So the plan to follow the ogre-guides up the mountains was put into action and I feel as if I have done nothing but walk, climb and stare at the back of the one walking before me. I am exhausted. Who knew trekking mountains would be this hard? I figured it would be like a tougher march, but it's up, up, up, over boulders, inching past crevices, watching your footing, down a bit here, scaling a sloping wall here... I am amazed the ogres manage!

Was assigned a pack of supplies to carry as well and at this point I feel as if my shoulders are about to break. I spoke with Meirin a little, and a few other Reservists that she knows and introduced me to, but I am too tired to make an effort. I just want to sleep. I hope we can stay here for some time because I don't want to march again and it is really rather beautiful up here.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Seventh day after the arrival

This will be a long one. Oh so many things to put down. Foremost: Stormglen is lost.

First thing to put down is that another demon-eyed Elf appeared in our midst today under suspicious circumstances, so he was tied up (by me. Tied tightly) and then brought along with us after we fled Stormglen. He appears to have been freed by the Doctor Dead now, but kept under guard.

Secondly, we were rounded up by the leader of the Stormwind expedition (I have asked around and his name is Coragon havencrest. The Doctor Dead said I must learn the names, so I learn the names) and were told that the Reserve had broken through to the big tree in the Blackwald (something of great importance obviously happened there because every Gilnean seems to revere it. I should ask what sometime) and that they had taken the Partisans holding out there hostage. 

We surrounded the tree without trouble and the bald officer came out, the one who negotiated at the bridge as well. Or so I think. He shouted at us, the Doctor Dead shouted back. At one point he asked for me (it sent shivers down my spine. I am grateful the Doctor Dead did not sent me down there) and then for those of his men that we had apparently captured. Me and the Knight Dawnfeld were sent back to find out their names and we brought one of them back to the line with us (the Doctor Dead approved of this) and called out that his name was Oliver Mereen. We sent him forward and him and the bald officer talked. Then the bald officer shouted that he would not give in, Oliver and all his men should've died rather than getting captured, and they would kill all the Partisans inside.

Then there were gunshots inside the tree, confusion and chaos as Reservists fought against Reservists and Partisans inside. Then there was Plague. The Forsaken must have released it from the cliffs overlooking the Blackwald. Horrid green clouds rolling forward, melting people. There was shouting and screaming and panic and crying and some Partisan cried out that Stormglen was a safe haven for all. I backed myself well away. I'm not about to risk getting plagued for someone who couldn't run fast enough.

The trek back to Stormglen was rather chaotic but so very worth it when I found that one of the escaped Reservists to have made it there was Meirin! I was so very glad to see her, and she me. I hugged her and told her everything would be alright. She was trembling, but shed no tears. Frightened but not panicked. She looked just like I remembered her! Tall, slender... (though not as skinny as I've become) clad in those worn leathers, with her sword and that shoddy painted shield of hers… She said I looked harder somehow, like a whip of leather. I'm so glad she is here. Once she wakes up she will tell me of the others, she promised. I will tell her of all that has happened here, ask her advice. I have missed her.

Next, we were rounded up again and told that the village needed to be deserted (I was not surprised but many other Partisans looked a tad outraged. Does that even work? Tad outraged...) and we were divided into an attacking group and a group helping with carrying all the supplies. Both me and Meirin joined the fighters and were given a new rifle each (I remember her being quite good with one until the Forsaken broke her fingers for talking back. I hope she still is now that her fingers have healed) and we marched off as quietly as possible to storm the trenches (ironic how I was in those trenches just days ago, defending them) and mortars were called in as well as the demon-rockets (they actually did as they were supposed to. The Quartermistress gnome woman must be very skilled and powerful.) 

Note: don't get on her bad side.

It went surprisingly well. I didn't even get shot once! Meirin got stabbed in the thigh though (but it’s taken care of now) and it was good to see her enjoy killing the Forsaken after she overcame her initial hesitation. She looked almost glowing as she cut the head of her third one (I wonder if I have the same grin when I fight them?) then out of the mist ahead came Abominations. We hunkered down in the large crater and fired at it from cover. A few of my shots hit but they weren't doing well enough and I could feel my frustration building up, and I reached out for magic almost without thinking of it (it felt so easy. I wish it always felt so easy) and I summoned Felfire (to the Nether with any paladin who will complain about it) and I can proudly put down that I absolutely destroyed it. The result was gristly, but I felt very pleased about the whole business. A larger Abomination loomed in the distance though and we moved closer, taking cover behind a cliff.

It was monstrous! Covered in metal and firing grapeshots. Meirin got one to the shoulder and went down, I put her on the wagon carrying the cruel gun Victoria, and a number of the wounded. I believe a paladin and a deathknight (? what is a deathknight? I must ask someone. They said it was a deathknight though) were fighting it up close and after a long while it went down. Of course that wasn't the end of it. Further up the road a Forsaken battalion was marching towards us, dragging an iron maiden with them. One of the metal contraptions like a coffin, only with nails inside. I couldn’t understand why they would need one in combat but that much became evident later. When it started to.. sing.

I don’t know how else to describe it. Chanting, maybe. Like a whole choir of voices, quiet at first, but steadily rising.

Our officers shouted at everyone to get going up the hill, and so we did. Every shot fired at the Maiden did nothing to stop its singing (and there were many shots!) so I decided to try with magic from uphill. I summoned Felfire again and brought it down on the eerie thing with no effect. No effect but to catch its attention.

It was horrible. While its chanting is unnerving on its own, it’s nothing compared to what it does... After I attacked I felt this presence in my head, this pressure, this terrible terrible voice. Knowing. It spoke of my mistakes, of my... Of everything! It knew. It knew of every lie I ever spoke, every selfish act, every kill, every order carried out, every whisper, every single time I had tried to claw myself a little higher up the ladder... It said I wasn't welcome here. With the Partisans. It was so convincing. There and then, its words were simple truth, and they still haunt me, I can't help but remember all the things I have done...

It is a cruel joke the Light has played on me. I remember nothing of the person I was before I met the Forsaken. I know nothing of the potentially good person I was. All that remains is the mistakes, manipulation, coldness and cruelty. The bad parts. I will have to ask Meirin to remind me of good moments. She will do that for me, I don't even care if she invents them so long as I can imagine them.

A new arrival helped me snap out of the Maiden's touch and I went up the hill with the others, into the ogre mound. The Doctor Dead ordered me more or less immediately to take care of the wounded, so I did. The caster woman from Stormwind had been wounded (her sister had as well but the Doctor Dead was already treating her) and I cleaned out her wounds and closed them. No broken veins (a relief) and by the time I was done I saw that most of the other wounded had or were being dealt with. Even Meirin was wrapped up and sleeping.

I settled by a fire where I saw familiar faces. I remember the gray burnt-faced paladin arguing about the Doctor Dead being a coward, and the female mage from Stormwind (the one I stitched up) arguing back at him. They spoke of the fall of Gilneas, of the Doctor Dead apparently leaving the paladin behind in the plague (I would have too) and many other things. It all sort of slipped my mind when the Knight Dawnfeld took my hand (will he always keep surprising me like this?) and once again I found myself baffled. I let him take it though, but asked him why. He mentioned relief about being alive after all this (that I can understand) and that we could all be dead by the next day. Taking chances was important. I agree, but I still find myself doubting slightly. He also said he had grown to like me. From the way he said it (whispering and nearly blushing) I figured he didn't just mean friendly like.

I don't know what to do or feel about this.

I wrapped my fingers around his though, it tingled slightly. He seemed pleased by this. I must give this thought. Much thought. He is a fine man, rather handsome, decent, polite and he is the friendliest one I have encountered among the Partisans so far (though Odán was rather friendly today as well, I apologized to him and he accepted it with a smile) and he is a Knight. Is that not what girls dream of? Being wooed by knights. He can also handle himself in battle, and cares for me. I am flattered. Confused too. I cannot see what he would find to like in me, not in that way? I must ward my reflection so I can watch my face tomorrow, perhaps I have grown pretty overnight? Perhaps curves have bloomed in places previously barren? No. They have not.

I wonder if he seeks to bed me. What would I do then?

I need to ask Meirin about this. I need somebody else's opinion. Company and warmth is nice, but is it worth getting close to someone for? I... fell for Tem, see where that got me. I have no idea where the man is and he is probably dead. Could I love him? I don't know if I can love. This is too complex.

I'll bet the old Ailiam Beech would have fallen into his arms with a dreamy little sigh. I bet she was like that, a dreamy little fragile thing. I would have known what to do if I remembered?

Writing doesn't help. Moving on. The newcomer who saved me has red eyes. Like a demon. And fangs. It is... I don't like 'him'. Not at all. When I stated that it had evil eyes (foolish. I must learn to keep my mouth shut. I did so well with the Forsaken) it merely smirked and then asked me aside for a chat. Against my common sense I followed and was very tempted to shove it off the ledge it led us to. It then claimed to have seen me cast Felfire, and taunted me some. “You should know what a demon is like, shouldn't you?” and such things. The arrogance! I will not listen to it if it speaks to me again. I'm certain there is a demon or some other wicked thing inside, whispering.

I moved back to the fire but felt restless. The red-eyed demon-man followed, and the Knight Dawnfeld was still there and I didn't know what to do. So I said I would talk to the Reservists who had joined us, and walked away. 

The Doctor Dead halted me after a few steps and asked me a few questions, including “How are you?”. It feels so odd when it acts human and considerate. It clashes with the rest of it. I said there was some good, and some bad, then asked the same question back. It glanced down at its hands then. Its trembling hands, (I cannot believe they work so beautifully when it heals people. That must be the demonic pact it mentioned. That makes perfect sense.) and said “alive”. I almost felt sympathetic towards it then. I know the feeling. I gave it my sympathies and congratulations.

Is there no one among these people that I will be able to form a single opinion of? I feel so undecided and conflicted about more or less everyone! Though I must remember that what fuels this 'elf' is evil.

I have spoken with the Reserve, or some of them. They are so broken, I pity them, and so I tried to comfort them. I don't know how well it worked. Will try again tomorrow, spend more time with them, and Meirin.

Must sleep now. Too many thoughts. Should stop thinking, just do, as with the Forsaken. It was so very much easier.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Sixth day after the arrival

More guard duty today, and spent some time with the nurse Alba in the infirmary, changing bandages and cleaning out wounds. A day like most any other. Others went for some mission but I didn't volunteer. It was more tempting to simply speak some with Alba and take care of the sleeping wounded.

Less chance of getting shot as well.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Fifth day after the arrival

And so they (or some) know me as a warlock. Fun. Happy times.

Following the intense Forsaken attack I was pulling shrapnel out of the cursed male mage who came from Stormwind at the half-ruined inn and the burnt-faced paladin in gray who seemed to me as kindly a few days ago, came in and claimed he felt Fel taint in me. I denied it and kept working. He saw it wise enough to leave me alone but I heard him argue with someone outside. It sounded like a female voice (possibly the female caster with the black hair who arrived from Stormwind)

I asked the cursed male mage not to mention my miscoloured fire the other day but he said he already had. He seemed slightly ashamed that he had, and thanked me many times for my helping him. As if him being sorry matters. At least he seems unafraid of me and so far uncondemning (is that a proper word? In this diary it now is) and I stitches his wounds, put salve on them and wrapped him up. He also had a broken arm which I managed to set right! I just pulled at each end of the break and they slipped back into place and then I bandaged it up tightly and secured it with a stick. Rather proud I managed to fix that. His ribs were also broken but appear fine enough to be left alone. I helped him to the infirmary and dealt with other patients. There were so many... My clothes and tabard are so soaked with blood by now that I don't think I can ever rinse it out. One can hardly see the design on the tabard no more.

I left the infirmary briefly to volunteer for a mission ( I don't know what it would be) but it was canceled so I headed back and started working on a man with shrapnel in his guts who was bleeding heavily. After I had exclaimed about it the Doctor Dead proposed there might be a broken vein inside him and instructed me on how to perform a 'cauterisation'. More or less I opened the wound wider to see, found the break in the vein, clamped it to stop the flow of blood and then sizzled it close with a hot poker. Only he died. Seems I am an incompetent nurse as well. Must practice. The Doctor Dead told me many things about noting my mistakes and moving on but I will admit to not really listening. I felt, and still feel, bitter. I am doing nothing but moving from death to death, shedding the blood of my enemies, shedding my own blood to the weapons held by could-be allies, covering myself in the blood of the dying and dead. I am weary and cold. There is nothing left but struggle and blood. Some of the ones I treat, they live. This is well. Some die, this is not well but in every case I did my best. I must learn and move on. And so I do. I don't dwell on their deaths as I know I should, I move on. Bitter and cold.

Did that 'Ailiam Beech' that I have forgotten act like this as well? Were she too a coldhearted, bitter thing living to fight another day and extract vengeance and handle corrupted powers with malicious glee? I hope not. I hope I used to be a kind and decent person who said my prayers for the kiss of some foolish boy and a new pretty gown. I hope Ailiam Beech used to smile more. Proper smiles, not these ghostly ones that are all I can summon.

Again I lose myself in this pathetic wishful thinking. The man died, the Doctor Dead offered me to practice another procedure on his corpse and I accepted. So it explained 'ligation' to me and made a demonstration. I will have to say that no matter what demons fuel its soul, they have graced it with a fantastic gift for this healing. Perhaps that is what he has sold his soul for. Watching its gnarled, cruel hands at work was very nearly beautiful. If one overlooked the blood of a dead man oozing over them.

Ligation seems to consist of, once again, clamping the vein to stop the flow of blood, then cutting it off and either sewing or tying the remaining vein shut with suture to make sure no blood flows after the clamp is removed. I practiced several times and I believe I have gotten the procedure right, but my speed or grace does not match that of the Doctor of the Dead yet. Perhaps it will come. Perhaps not. Meanwhile the burnt-faced paladin questioned me about my 'sins' of using Fel. I disagree with him. The Fel may come from a wicked and horrid source, but I use it for good. I use it to survive. I will not deny that using this force gives me some sort of pleasure but Light knows some pleasure is hard to find in this place. I will enjoy what I can.

I have sinned in so many other ways but I will not count my magic as one. I will not be making friends among those walking the path of the Light, I fear. My loss, I suppose. Unless ordered to, or given a damned fine reason, I will not give up these powers. Not until this war is over or my curse lifted.

Both of which seem increasingly unlikely.

I could murder for a hot bath, soap and clean clothes.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Fourth day after the arrival

It appears the Stormwind folks stood guard today. The Gnomish writer shouted some at me (I can't decide what to make of him. His optimism and energy and naivety is both endearing and irritating. His habit of shouting SYLVANITES randomly is just irritating) and spoke to me curtly before wandering towards the guards on duty at the East end of the village. After a little while I followed as a wounded man seemed to be approaching the post.

He fell down several yards from the wall and was dragged inside. His wounds were dire and the work to try and heal him began more or less instantly. I was sent for rope and tied his hands. I recognized him then, Rob. He saw me as well, recognized me. “Beech. Lovely Ailiam” (long time since I was called lovely. Or so I think) he said the Forsaken had put his brother's corpse on a wagon and were taking it away. Asked me, us, to save him. Then he died. At least I promised him help before he died, didn't I? I tried to soothe him... The Knight Dawnfeld put a hand on my shoulder too, I think. Kind of him.

At least I am good for soothing words to dying men.

The paladin in gray burned him and said words for his soul. I am grateful for that. I put down warding runes around the fire and said a warding spell as well, quietly. No demons will inhabit those ashes.

Odán was questioning the group by then and in the end decided we should ambush the wagon. He made the Stormwind Captain with the blond hair the leader of the group, and the Knight Dawnfeld second. We headed off through the Blackwald slowly and quietly. We were shot at as we crossed a road and the feral one (‘Maylor’ apparently) was shot before I could shove him out of the way. Only a glancing wound however. We moved on and took up positions. I found myself with two Stormwind casters, the Cursed one and the one who was so wounded the other day (at least I think it was her. Black hair, black clothing) and when the ambush came into sight we fired at them (the casters with their magic, I with my musket. I did not wish to chance using my own powers so early even though I knew I today had control and contact with and of them. Such a wonderful feeling.).

Another man with a rifle joined us (Jack Motard) and asked rather politely if he could join me on the ledge where I was perched. He was a little elderly but I rather liked him. He complimented my shooting as well (he was a good shot himself) and I found the whole thing rather enjoyable for a while (I managed to blow a hole in the head of a Forsaken officer. Felt wonderfully sweet) and it continued so well I figured I owed it to Rob to take the chance to fulfill my promise. And so I summoned Felfire and brought it down on the wagon, watching it go up in flames. 

That, of course, got the two magician started on it being Felfire. Damn them. As if it would matter where I got my precious little magic from when it helps our cause? I denied it being Fel though and claimed that my magical fire was simply green. I don't think it went down too well with either of them and the male one (the cursed one) said he would talk to me about it later. I said he was welcome to it and slunk away.

Seems I will have to practice tapping into Arcane instead, even though it takes more focus and effort. Fel is too risky (I don't see why!? It helps our cause and others are doing their uttermost for this as well, why not I? It makes no sense. People are so narrow minded. Frightened)

Then someone in the forest shouted that we were desecrating the bodies, we shouted back but to no avail... Reservists rose from the underbrush and fired at us. I think a number were hit. I and the elder marksman Motard returned the fire and I think we felled some of them. The Stormwind casters did their part as well, only the cursed male blew up a fireball in his face, leaving me to drag him away and care quickly for his wounds with salve and bandages while an “HFT” circled above. “Horrible Flying Thing”, the Partisans told me.

The Forsaken called them ‘Shrikes’, I remember the name. But I only saw them in the sky, never up close. But it’s safe to say that up the sky was close enough for me. Bat-like, with the masks for faces and the.. tens, donzens of talons and arms and hands and.. things beneath. The partisans hit the nail on the head on this one. Horrible. Flying. Thing.

The rest pulled back more slowly and I had to help the Knight Dawnfeld with the female Stormwind caster with the black hair, for her leg was wounded. The trip back was uneventful and we reached the village with no trouble. There I had to help care for the wound by removing shrapnel from one of the volunteers. There was so much shrapnel... Had to cut away her shirt and pull down her trousers and sat for so many minutes just plucking and plucking and using that shoehorn-looking thing to push tissue out of the way to reach more shrapnel, just like the Doctor Dead had me do. I think I did alright and I hope I didn't miss any shards of metal, or that she gets infected (she was up later this evening though. Miraculous) I stayed behind and cleaned and listened while Odán questioned the Knight Dawnfeld about our ambushed ambush and the attacking Reservists.

Why would they let us kill the Forsaken but then attack us? I suspect a few possibilities. Perhaps the Reserve doesn’t want anything to do with either the Forsaken or the Partisans. I can understand them. Perhaps they intended to just watch the Forsaken die until I set the wagon albaze with Fel fire. Perhaps they are still too afraid of the Forsaken to join us, and 'faked' chasing us off not to look suspicious. I don't know. Probably I'll never know.

The Knight Dawnfeld walked away to change and I lingered in the door. I said out loud that I would almost rather stay there in the infirmary than walk through the cold village to the inn. Odán asked if he could get me anything, such as rum. I said I had never tasted any. Then I followed to the inn anyway, figuring that it should have emptied of Stormwind soldiers by now, and that it smelled less of blood and illness than the makeshift infirmary does. Sat down by the fire and both the Knight Dawnfeld and Odán entered shortly thereafter. I was offered a taste of the rum and found it much to my liking. The flavour was rich and warm. Very pleasant. The three of us spoke of what had happened today, musing on why the Reservists acted like they did.

Then we got onto the topic of magic. The Knight Dawnfeld says he fears it and holds reservations towards it, but wouldn't intrude on my opinion or use of it. Odán was another matter... He was rather firmly opposed to the use of magic, stating it would lead any caster down a dark path of greed, pride and sloth and all other sorts of bad things. I tried defending my own opinion and in the course of it insulted the man (I think it was when I got over excited and stated magic would be worth my soul, or somesuch. A foolish notion and a foolish statement which I retracted right afterward but the damage was done) he left us for his report and said little after that. Only bid us a stiff goodnight with much emphasis on the Light warding us.

I don't want ill will between us, especially not as he is an officer and seemed friendly and decent at first (shame about that rock ruining his looks as well). I will try catch a word with him and apologize. Perhaps I should offer not to perform any magic in his presence? Yes. That might work. I prefer trying to make friends in this place. I also should not try and use the Fel unless I am certain I won't be discovered. I thought any power, even such an unholy one, would be welcome in this company but it seems it is not. Paladins, suspicious magicians, fearful Knight Dawnfeld and semi-religious and stern Odán... I can't afford turning them against me now that I have won their trust. Better stick to the musket and sword and nursing and try harder to reach for and shape the Arcane. I will miss the rather intoxicating feel of Fel.. Arcane is so much sharper.

I spoke more with the Knight Dawnfeld, mostly of the Fel. He would not condemn me for my magic, I think, but doesn't wish for me to stray down 'dark paths'. I find that slightly naive, considering our situation. But I dare not mention even to him that I have already walked quite far down that path. How that came to be, I can't remember. Was it on purpose? Did some demon whisper in my ear of greater forces? Was I apprenticed to a warlock? Did I seek this knowledge out on my own? All I know is that the knowledge is there (on good days in any case) and that I think it a waste not to use it.

I hope the Stormwind casters that saw me cast Felfire won't tell anyone I was the cause. I used to feel quite sure my potential use of Fel would be no cause for alarm or animosity (especially as the Quartermistress Gnome Ranni seems to control similar powers as well. And the Doctor Dead asked us to summon demons for the rockets. And the Doctor Dead said it had made demonic pacts of its own! Perhaps it would welcome my powers while the others loathe them) but I am no longer certain. If I am exposed as a warlock (that would be almost amusing what with me grasping so little magic and so seldom. And not remembering any 'education' as a warlock) I fear I will be loathed and perhaps shunned or punished. Not worth it.

It is unfair.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Third day after the arrival

Spoke with the Knight more during the evening. Had guard duty today as well.

Also spoke to Elia Smith. She did not reply. Her brother's death has turned her into a vengeful ghost, it seems to me. She looks as if she will fight recklessly but with extreme ferocity against the Forsaken. But I am not certain. Time will tell.

Also the Paladin in gray who came with the volunteers spoke with me some. He seemed interesting enough, but I was too tired to focus. Excused myself.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Second day after the volunteer's arrival

Stood on guard duty during most of the day. A few mortars dropped and the weather was as usual, otherwise nothing specific happened. I note that this is a very uneven diary. Some days span pages while a day as uneventful as this one only occupies a few lines.

[blackwaldpartisan]

First day after the volunteers' arrival (15th)

Spent the morning studying the book on medicine. I believe I will have to start washing my hands more so that I don't infect someone. That would be a waste. Medicine is also much more complex than I thought it was. So many little details that need to be checked and taken care of while I thought it was just to clean out a wound, then seal it somehow. It also seems my stay with the walking corpses has hardened me to most of the bodily functions and dysfunctions mentioned in the book. Nothing in it sounds really gross or horrible. It's all just another piece of flesh that's gone awry somehow.

The inn has been repaired as well.

In the evening I asked the Doctor Dead if it knew what had caused my “fall” (the lack of memories that is). He said no. I did not have time to ask if it knew that all of the Reserve is afflicted, but I don't doubt it already knows that. Seems those hopes were for naught, unsurprisingly. 

The Doctor Dead then lined the new arrivals up and asked who they were and what they could do. Most seemed to be fighters but there was one magician, a Cursed one even, perhaps I will make the effort to talk to him someday. Any help is welcome. Also there are more Paladins now, perhaps I should not mention the Fel again because I hear they loathe it. Then again, all means are needed in this struggle and if they cannot see that, they are imbeciles. Not that I can tap into the Fel much anyway.

We were then sent off to re-capture the “Western Cottage and a graveyard” with a flanking maneuver. I was part of the flanking team together with the newly arrived mage, the Captain with the mask and the blond hair, Odán who is an officer but don't want us to act like he is (because then some Forsaken might shoot him in the head. That would be sad, he is an agreeable man) and a warrior in worgen form whose shiny armour we had to smear with mud. That was amusing.

Of course the whole column was fired upon as she marched down the road and our group split off while the main force continued down the road. The flanking itself and the sneaking through the woods was rather uneventful apart from a Reservist patrol strolling past just some 50 yards away. But when we reached the cottage the Reservists discovered us and fired at Odán, keeping him pinned down in a hole while the rest of us attacked. They had pikes though, couldn't reach them. I shot one or two (can't remember exactly but I could not be bothered to reload after a few shots) and tried to jab under the pikes, or chop the heads off. I got stabbed above my hip for that trouble. The warrior in worgen form whose armour we smeared with mud fired grenades at Reservists which did some good, and Victoria mauled some of them from afar. Then we had to pull back.

Odán got pissed on by a Forsaken soldier on the way back which was amusing but extremely fragrant in a negative manner. He reeked. We reported to the man-doctor's lab which is now the infirmary and there were plenty of wounded. I was about to clean my wound out when the young Paladin woman offered to heal it for me. It was amazing yet again. I can't imagine what it would be like to be blessed with the Light, but it must be marvelous. I wonder if it feels as good as magic when they channel it? It ought to, what with being divine and all. In any case the wound is more or less closed now. I also removed the bandages around my left shoulder because the bite has healed (I now carry matching marks on my shoulders. Almost looks intentional) but left the one around the arm because it is still scabbed over and sore. The cut on my cheek is healing well again also! I am relieved that my increased washing of it has helped. For a while I feared it would never close, or that I would end up being blood poisoned (I read about that in the book today. It is a wonder no one has caught it yet)

Back at the inn they all spoke of today's events (of course) and their kill counts. I was surprised that I could not tolerate it no longer but it felt so grim and callous. I care nothing at all for the Forsaken deaths and wish their rotten souls to burn in the Twisted Nether... But I cannot bring myself to hate the Reserve. There were too many people like me, and too many people I know. There were those among them that deserve to die, yes, but not all of them. When the others speak of them with such loathing (even some of the newcomers do) it is hard not to feel apart. So I left. I watched the sea again and the Knight Dawnfeld followed me (his presence really is rather comforting) and I told him as much. I am not one for crowds and especially not a crowd wishing my former friends, companions and fellow scared Gilneans dead. He seemed to understand my point, but would not budge from seeing the Reserve as traitors. I understand that. I pity those that are left. I am so lucky have been captured as I were. We spoke a little more and then the Doctor Dead came. If it had anything on its mind, I don't know, because it drew others to him like bad odors draw flies. Before long I found myself in the middle of a small crowd again, blabbering away about guns and cannons. I have little to no interest in those things. The talk about where to flee was vital and interesting enough (I do like the plan of reaching Tempest’s Reach. It should be a little more deserted now what with so much of the Reserve deployed in the Blackwald. It's not really an option with the broken bridge and Forsaken presence though) and of course the talk once again turned to killing filthy Collaborators.

I (probably with an audible excess of sarcasm and spite. Stupid and rash of me, really) expressed the opinion that we should simply storm the place and kill them all, then stalked off. The Knight Dawnfeld did not follow this time.

I am lucky and grateful to be with the Partisans. I am not so happy to bleed for them (more than I ever bled for the Reserve) but if that is what it takes to get out of this alive then so be it. I enjoy killing the Forsaken (more than I ever suspected I would. Never knew I was this vengeful) but I have to steel myself every time I am to kill a Reservists. Each face looks like a friendly one, even when they spit 'traitor' in my face and try to kill me. But if they must die for me to live, then so be it.

Tomorrow I will try get a moment to talk with the captured Reservists. I heard Eton Smith died. I am certain Elia will take that hard. Need to make sure she don't break.

I wish I had a pleasant memory from before all this that I could look back on, long for and lose myself in.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Eh, why you write so guud?

Thank you :) I write a lot so maybe that is it. And enjoy it!

[blackwaldpartisan]

Tenth day after the battle (I need a new system. Every day is a battle)

Volunteers from Stormwind arrived by ship today. Many battered and wounded but apparently they sunk a few Forsaken ships in the process of getting here. Well done.

So while my morning was spent digging up vegetables, the evening was spent tending to their wounded and getting to grips with this new influx of people. Some are returned Gilneans who have been living in Stormwind (I envy them) while others are Stormwindians (is that what they are called?) and there is even a Gnome who appears to be a writer of some sorts (he also makes wonderful tea). I am not certain what to make of them yet, but I am grateful for any assistance and I do believe our chances of survival have increased.

I got to assist the Doctor Dead again and it left me to finish the wound, sewing and bandaging. It also gave me a book which I will study further in the morning, about healing and acting like a nurse. I think it will be interesting and certainly useful. With the way I keep getting myself wounded and with how worthless my magic is... Perhaps Ailiam Beech will have to become a nurse to be of some use. That would not be so bad. Nurses are appreciated.

I then assisted the newly arrived Elf-druid. She too has demon-eyes but seemed calm enough. She is not at all like the Doctor Dead, but I will try not to spent too much time around her in any case. I was then given tea and more or less fled the inn after it was mortared.

Also, while I was stitching up one of the men from Stormwind (the one they call “Captain” and who wears a mask. Blond hair) a Gilnean man called out my name, approached me and stared into my face and claimed he had known me in the City. That I used to shop at his (or was it his brother's?) bakery. Before I could answer and betray the pathetic state of my memories, the Doctor Dead excused me and said I had had a bad fall. A good excuse. I am grateful to it. The man seemed to accept this, and backed off. I need to speak with him again! If what he says is true, he will be able to tell me whether or not the Reserve and Forsaken told the story of my life correctly! This is great news. I hope he doesn't die before I can talk to him.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Ninth day after the battle

Spent the late evening in the trenches. Shot several Forsaken (must practice with musket more. One recoil split my lip) and stabbed one (with help of the Knight Dawnfeld. The Forsaken got me across the back with its sword. The nurse Alba has seen to it) I also got shot through the thigh (the nurse Alba saw to that as well. It stung terribly as she removed the bullet) and the stern officer-like one healed me with the Light some. It was amazing, truly. Wonderful (if strange) feeling and sight. (note: should probably avoid using the Fel around him. If I can tap into any at all, that is)

It is hard to recall a clear image of that happened, but we beat the Forsaken back for now. That much I know. Several of our own dead, including Reservists I should think. I don't think we can hold the front in the long run, even if we dig more trenches. The Knight Dawnfield also believes we will have to flee Stormglen. I spoke to him after being treated by the nurse Alba.

I also spoke a little to the returned Partisan with the rapier and who is religious and whose love died. He said I am not to call him sir but “Odan”. Must remember to do this.

The conversation with the Knight was pleasant. I asked about the kiss. Apparently it was impulse. That sounds good. No need to worry about misplaced affection or ulterior motives or some such. He seems too much of an honest Knight to try something like that in any case. He told me of his background. It was really rather fascinating. Mine seems so simple in comparison. Or at least the background I have been told of.

Did the Forsaken alter our memories with something in our food? In the medicine? Were their priests responsible? I really need to tell the Doctor Dead. It always knows things so perhaps it will know about this.

The trenches were awful. Mud, noise and death and gore. The death and gore were not so bad, I am used to it by now, but this was truly taking it to another level. The noise and tension were awful. I would not have been able to focus a spell if my life depended on it. (my life did depend on it. One well-placed inferno of fire would have helped so much. So very much)

Please, Light, show me a way to regularly access my magic again. Shadow focus my thoughts. Elune and the druids spirits? I do not know. I want just someone, anyone, anything, to tell me what to do and how to do it.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Seventh day after the battle

I spent more time with the former Reservists in the trench today. I practiced loading a musket and aiming it and holding it properly. It turns out Salin knows of Meiren, so we have that in common at least. I told them what I've been through since I was captured and they spoke a little of how things have been back at Tempest's Reach. The desertions are not appreciated by the Forsaken. They seem to prefer to pretend they are just rumors but firmly state that deserters are cowardly traitors, spies, brainwashed by the partisans.

I am apparently a three-times traitor now? Turncloak traitor. Filthy Collaborator and Partisan whore. It is a wonder all these people even fit inside my humble mind, soul and body. There's even room for a worgen monster!

Nothing in particular happened today, really. None of the Reservists opened up like I had hoped they would, but I told them my story anyway. The more that know it, the more can remind me if I forget it.

Didn't see the Knight Dawnfeld around. Makes sense.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Sixth day after the battle

He kissed me. After everything we went through today, after everything I spilled out and told him... He kissed me. Right on the lips! What should I do about this? Can I do anything? This is not the time! Then again, will there ever be time? Either of us can be dead tomorrow. This needs thinking. Much of it.

We rescued Reservists. Me, the returned Partisan, the crazy man-doctor and the Knight Dawnfeld (did he show interest as we were out there? No. He did not. This is all so odd, so quick!) the Reservists were surrounded in a ruined mill and we called mortars on them until they gave up. One of them (Oddan Fisher his name is. Must remember) ran out before the others and were nearly shot as a traitor. The Knight Dawnfield saved him. We escorted them to Stormglen (none of them are familiar. How I wished Meirin, Temell or Adrian would have been among them) and one ran and was shot and two others attacked me and the Knight Dawnfield. He knocked his attacker back, jarring his jaw badly. Mine wrestled me to the ground and the Doctor Dead shot her in the back as she lay on top of me. I owe it, him... It. I don't know. She could have had my throat out.

The defectors were rounded up in the square, none of them wished to take the oath (of course they didn't) and they were sent off to the Western trenches, with guns, to fight the Forsaken. They were afraid, but I think they will fight. I offered to talk to them, calm them down and such, and the Doctor Dead agreed and sent me off. The Knight Dawnfeld escorted me (kind of him) I spoke to them, answered questions and gathered names and tried to see what they were like.

Oddan Fisher, the one the Knight Dawnfeld rescued, seems extremely grateful towards him. Could even become devoted. I think he will stay and fight gladly.

Jack Bishop is the one whose jaw the Knight Dawnfeld nearly broke (or is it broken? I do not know. He can speak but not well) and also seems grateful, a little awed and wary. He is glad to be alive. Will fight. Might try to run again but I don't think so.

Elia and Eton Smith are brother and sister. They stick close to one another, very protective. I think Elia might be slipping but she hates the Forsaken with a passion. She kept glancing over her shoulder and hugging her musket. She will fight well. I will watch and see so she doesn't break. I think she has had a hard time with the officers hazzling her. She's very pretty. I'm glad she's safer here.

Salin Marsh seems like a hard woman. She, if anyone, will go back to the Forsaken, I think.

Doubt any of them will. They know, like I know, that if the Forsaken gets any of us we are doomed now. We have sealed our fates. Or, in their cases, their fates have been sealed for them.

I am glad they are here. I will try befriend them, but not at the cost of what little trust the other Partisans have in me.

When I left them I asked the Knight Dawnfeld about the Curse. If he had experienced that his past faded, or had heard of anyone it had happened to. He hadn't. It seems it is only us Reservists. It must be Forsaken work then, I suppose. I don't see how, but I do see why. I don't know what to think or feel about this. If it is not part of the Curse, then perhaps it can be cured. Or perhaps it will only get worse. Maybe I will stop forgetting things now that I am not with the Forsaken? Perhaps all those forgotten things will come back? I doubt it.

The Knight Dawnfeld seemed intrigued why I would ask and so I told him that most of the Reserve find their memories and parts of their personality fading away. He wondered if the Forsaken manipulate our memories and I actually laughed at him and spoke of it all.

I mentioned the grieving and slipping man who I helped forget the wife the Forsaken murdered. I told him of the woman. Of the man from the North who the Forsaken claimed was from the city... I said far too many things. He just stared at me in disbelief, eyes wide. Especially when I told him about my own story. How I fear it might not be true. How would I know? I can't recall. It makes sense, it does, but so did many of the stories I told. I don't know. I regretted it right after and told him to forget I ever said anything. He said it needed to be mentioned to the Doctor Dead. I don't know how I can put it forward but if he really is a doctor, perhaps he will know what the cause is, how bad it will get. Perhaps. Maybe. I will talk to him.

Then I was kissed. I said goodnight and wondered if there was anything else he wished of me. I think I smiled as well, I try to do that. He smiled back and said “Maybe there is one more thing” or some such. Then he stepped in and kissed my lips and put his arms around my back. I kissed back some, don't think I did too well. I don't know what to make of this. Why did he kiss me? Pity? Lust? Love? A crush? Impulse? Is this some sort of deceit? I am very confused. I suppose I like the man, but I hardly know him. He looks decent. He is a Knight! A Knight kissed me. It is like a fairytale. Only with more gore and I am no fair princess. I am a young, stupid, cursed woman whose memories are failing and who is probably headed for madness. I've spied my reflection in windows when I am certain there are no demons around. I look haunted, like one of the Forsaken almost.

I think the best way to handle this is probably not to think of it. He is unlikely to kiss me again. I feel like a silly girl when my belly flutters. No time for butterflies.

Though, if we are besieged and won't get out of here, I will make sure to take a decent kiss off the man before we die.

[blackwaldpartisan]

To help me remember...

[Sketched roughly into the margins of the journal are occasional faces of Partisans. Or Ailiam’s impression anyhow. The penmanship is rough, some of the likenesses crooked, but the sketches catch an essence of personality and facial features. Next to the faces are notes, often added to, that describe the person.]

‘Doctor Dead’ - The elf. Skin purple like a bruise. Pockmarked, scarred. Eyes a malignant, glowing silver with demons behind them. Breath, manner, language and smell are all foul. Blue hair, shorn into a crest, he reminds me of a bird. Beard for days, things in it, bristly. Missing fingers, limps. The first time I was put before him he had a leech dangling from his forehead. I have yet to see that repeated. Not seen him fight, but he carries a handgun. Intense. All-seeing.

‘Worgen with a wolf’, ‘the one with the throat’, ‘Hik’ -  Foul mood, suspicious yellow eyes. I’ve never seen the woman turn human. Maybe she can’t now that her throat’s been slit. Hardly heard her voice either, but looks are enough. She doesn’t trust me. Ragged mane, but tied back from her face, so a little civilized there. Big wolf at her side. Rifle too. Knife. Seen her handle them too. Large slash across her throat still looking bad. Especially with fur shaved away from it. Watch closely in case she decides I am more trouble than I am worth.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Fifth day after the battle

In truth I am too tired to put all that happened today into writing, but if I don't do it now I fear I will forget. Nothing of import happened during the day apart from Forsaken ships appearing on the horizon, one by one until we are now blockaded. Looking at them I find myself wishing I had magic enough to bring them all down in smouldering ruin from the shore.

As evening approached we were to patrol the Blackwald and chase out or kill as many Reservists as we could. Only then the fliers heading to the village (with supplies and bringing some wayward religious Partisan) were attacked by rockets from the forest. As they flew overhead we could all hear the spirits or demons shrieking madly within… In the rockets that is, not the fliers. I do not approve of these weapons (though they seem a fine way to destroy demons as they explode). I and a number of others (the Knight and the runner-man from the tree among them) were dispatched swiftly to destroy or capture the wagon we thought was firing them.

It has been explained to me that the rockets are constructed more or less like gnomish fireworks. Which was then explained to me as metal tubes filled with explosive materials set aflame to create propulsion, with a payload of stronger explosives on board which explode upon impact. But unlike these ‘fireworks’ which fly where they will, at the mercy of human aim and strong wind, the imp rockets have been enchanted with, well, imps. Small demons with just enough capacity to steer a rocket to a target. Should they cooperate. I heard of such things in the Reserve, but never handled any, or knew anyone who handled them.

We found the wagon quickly enough, after having been attacked by a banshee (I can see now why they are so feared. Terrible voices. The first one did not phase me however) and we attacked. The Knight Dawnfield and the stern leader-fellow held the Reservists in worgen form while I went for the wagon. It went well. I was not even shot. Then came more banshees and it was as if the Nether had been wrecked loose upon us. The men screamed and fell right and left, clutching their heads and it was so hard keeping the wagon from sliding back with only me and another pushing (by now I had shifted. I suspect I howled about as loudly as the banshees shrieked but thankfully none made remarks on this beastly behaviour. Must learn better control) but the Doctor arrived and helped us.

Then even more banshees arrived and I knew no more than their demonic song in my head. Pain and fear both at once. Next thing I remember I was pushing myself from the wagon which was suddenly many yards downhill. The banshees were fleeing and a man shouting at me to get back up the hill. The wagon was supposed to be blown up. (I am surprised they did not leave me at it and just blew it up anyway. I can hardly be much of a loss for them. Pleasantly surprised though. Perhaps I am finding a place here) But instead we pushed the wagon back towards Stormglen.

Me and another fellow were sent off to find one of the fliers which had apparently crashed. It was naught but a wreck, the pilot probably exploded into tiny bits of flesh. As we made our return we stumbled upon the mad man-doctor, now even more maddened. He was clawing at his ears and shaking. I tried to soothe him (now thankfully back in proper human shape) and tried most of the tricks I learned back with the Reserve. Speak softly of good places, giving new things to think about. The Doctor Dead arrived and helped me drag the man-doctor back. I think the banshees broke his mind, but he cooperated sluggishly and didn't speak as we walked back. (I would not say his mind would be a great loss. He is as eerie as a Forsaken and is clearly going mad if he isn't already. I recognize the signs. Someone should help him find someone better inside himself, as the Reserve did... I could help. He might crack again but at least he would last longer)

Well inside our options were discussed. A Forsaken division is marching on Stormglen and apparently a helper in Stormwind has been gravely wounded. I did not listen closely but focused on a glass of lovely, warming brandy. Tea and brandy and chocolate cake. For that alone defecting has been worth it. They are familiar flavours somehow. And scents. I wish I could recall the moments they seem familiar from.

In any case... It would seem we will have to flee this village soon. I will make the most of living inside a warm house while I still can. I do not doubt we will be driven away, I just hope I live long enough to leave.

The Elf pilot from the surviving flier has strange and very bright hair.

Afterwards, and after the Doctor Dead (dread more like) had removed shards of glass from the mad man-doctor's thigh, it asked (the Doctor Dead that is) that I and the quartermaster, who is a Gnome with red hair, come with it upstairs because there was work for us. It had already said to me, before this, that it wanted my help with a “speech” for the Reservists, to make them defect for the Partisans, like I did. I found the situation rather... is it cynical or ironic? In any case... Amusing but in a twisted way. 

The first piece of work was to amplify its voice so it could hold its speech. I confessed I was afraid I would harm something if I attempted it, but the quartermaster Gnome suggested a spell and also loudspeakers. The other task was to bind spirits or demons to the rockets we retrieved with the wagon, like the Reservists had done.

I really don't want part of this. Spirits I can handle, with instruction, but binding demons will end badly! I know it. I said as much but neither the Doctor Dead or the quartermaster Gnome seemed much impressed. The Doctor Dead also spoke of demonic pacts it had made, and earlier it had some sort of.. seizure. I am more certain than ever that something evil fuels it (I must find better wards than a horseshoe and lump of wood) It also asked for whatever rumors the Reservists have of the Partisans, so I supplied some. It wanted to give his speech right away and quizzed me on more suggestions as we made our way towards the forest (another man followed, dressed in red. Perhaps a friend of the woman who often wears red? ) There the Doctor Dead suggested I also speak to the Reservists so they knew it spoke the truth.

It then gave its speech, a rather good one. I also tried to see how the quartermaster Gnome wove her spell and used her magic. In the speech the Doctor Dead promised Reservists that among the Partisans their memories would remain intact... I have been thinking of this much myself. Even the Cursed ones among the Partisans all remember things like normal. No memories have been lost to them and apparently they do not break as the Reservists do. (I must ask the Knight Dawnfeld about this. He is also Cursed and seems a very honest and decent man.) It all suggests it is the work of the Forsaken that our minds fray so. But how? I don't know how I feel about this. Perhaps it can be reversed, if it is Forsaken work, perhaps it will only deteriorate further. I wish there was another Reservist here who I could talk to. There is no one here I would confide in. Even this paper will burn rather than be read by them.

I also gave a speech. I can't remember what I said, but I think it was all honest. I want the Reservists to join the Partisans. It would mean I could return to my friends. It would mean my friends would not have to fear the Forsaken. It would mean the Partisans have a chance again.

Afterward I retched. The quartermaster gnome warned us the spell would cause nausea. It did. I also think the Doctor Dead complimented me and touched my shoulder. It seems unlikely and I don't know what to make of it. I do think I am more accepted now, though. I hope so.

I can't recall anything else I need to put down except I might be able to get some magical instruction from the quartermaster gnome. If I have the necessary requirements, more or less.

I am tired. I write too much.

[blackwaldpartisan]

Gilneas