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Parigan Blackmane's Journal

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The following is written in High Common, in the distinct style of a Gilnean scholar. To be deciphered, the reader must have knowledge of such script.

I've never kept a journal before, as I never found any use for keeping a documentation of the events of my undeath before now. Why I've decided to start might have something to do with my little Charlotte. Perhaps someday she will want to know what became of her father, if I never get the chance to tell her myself.

Let's see, where to begin...

Last night I ventured to the Cantina at the Orgimmar docks. Tahzani and Lilliana were the only diehards left after what was clearly a long, challenging night of drunken brawls. The two of them were evidently discussing some recent radicals of some sort, spouting on about their blind faith. I can relate to the irritation they both displayed at the notion of belief for the sake of it. However, I did not expect Lilliana, a troll of the Grim, to be so against radical behavior. From all I've witnessed, the Grim is full of those similar in mind. Perhaps she is different from the rest: more reasonable at the very least. Our few short conversations together have led me to believe she is more childlike than brutish. In any case, I must continue to observe their members for the sake of learning who I may one day deal with.

Tahz and I spoke at length about our lines of work. He expressed a dissatisfaction with his own, which I discovered was bartending. Evidently he owns the Cantina, not that it comes as much of a surprise. He is rather personable, despite being proficient in the arts of a warlock. There aren't many fel casters I have met able to hold a normal conversation while restraining themselves from mentioning the dark arts. It is refreshing to find a new perspective on the matter. Tahz does not seem to like the demons much, and in fact made it clear he preferred to fight them to keep the world safe from their wrath. Behind that very troll-like exterior I believe lies a heroic soul. It'll probably get him killed someday. A pity.

Speaking of demons, when I mentioned the recent outbreak of vocal doomsayers in the Barrens, Lilliana seemed upset about all of it. I can sense she was involved with the Legion in the past, and that whatever occurred soured her to the very idea of another attack by the demons. I suppose I can't blame her, but this again surprised me. She is turning out to be a far gentler soul than I expected. My theory is that she hates the Alliance above any others, which is why she joined the Grim. In any situation where the Grim turns against those of the Horde, or other potential ally, I suspect she may be reluctant to fight. It's a work-in-progress theory, and I need to investigate further to come to any conclusion, but it gives me a small sense of that dreaded emotion I've tried living without these days. (Hope)

The two of them now know I earn gold for someone else. I must be more careful what information I divulge to these people. If I were to ever let slip a name, the whole plan would fall to pieces. Not to mention it would put Brin and Charlotte in danger. I've been playing with the idea of visiting them, but I haven't quite gotten around to it yet. Hopefully soon.

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Second entry.

Dalaran. The city of magic and mayhem. When I was but a child, I heard tales of its grandeur. It was always the center of Brinnea's fantasies when we were in Gilneas. "Someday," she'd say hopefully, eyes full of gleam, "Someday I'll go to Dalaran and learn magic from the masters." That dream she'd gotten from her father, though at the time there was no one she wished to imitate less. Still, it might have been for that reason she desired magehood so badly. She's always felt the need to forge a path that she knows will be hard for her. She would rather take on a challenge that no one else will just to lend a hand where she can. 

In any case, I have taken up residence in Dalaran, in the Underbelly of all places. It was Brin's request that brought me here, to watch after the city for Charlotte's sake. The girl is still young and vulnerable. And the situation in Dalaran is unstable. A demon hunter has taken to hunting Alliance mages instead, draining them of their magic, and their lives. I fought against the devil, even blasted him into a wall. Yet, it seemed little more than a nuisance to him. He almost drained the life from that warlock, Ophinnia. I wasn't about to let that happen. Seeing it jarred something loose in me. I haven't felt anger such as that since that night...

The devil tucked tail and ran in the face of our onslaught. Borrowed Time has some impressive fighters, but they lack true resolve. When the time comes for them to face a genuine hardship, I doubt I could rely on them to keep me alive. Not that that's anything new. I've been on my own for years, now, and I don't see how that would change now. I wonder to myself if I still write this journal for Charlotte, or for myself. Who do I address it to? Who will read this someday down the line, if anyone? I've revealed more of my life story to Deathrage and that other orc at the Faire. I cannot seem to restrain myself anymore. It is imperative that the truth never be told, to any of them. If so much as a whisper of it reached the Grim, I'd be hunted. And so would Charlotte. I cannot put her at greater risk because of myself.

When I was alive, I didn't have much in the way of friends. I had my brothers, and Esmerra, but no one outside the family, really. I shared my first drink with Ersolon. We always went out to our favorite bar together. We would talk for hours about the stupidest things. Women we knew, who we'd like to marry most, hunting, going outside the walls, our frustrations with Father. I was always able to just talk with him. It didn't matter if I felt what I said was inappropriate, out of place, or disrespectful. I said it, he listened, and we would drink on. Of course, nowadays the drink does nothing for me. It's just an exercise I find puts people at ease with my presence. Why I've even bothered trying to make them comfortable with me I don't even understand. I suppose I just miss having someone around to talk to. Ridiculous. I'm not some foolish school child lost without a friend in the world. I don't need anyone. I shouldn't need anyone.

I used to enjoy playing with children. Their carefree attitude and innocence put a smile on my face and a warmth in my heart in even the darkest and coldest of times. I remember it well when Esmerra and Terenas were young. And when Ersolon had his first child. Those memories are what kept me going with Brinnea when she almost walked out on me. I deserved it, of course, but part of me is glad she collapsed on her way out. That we found out, together, that we were going to be parents. And now, we have that chance again. It excites me, and terrifies me. I know that's supposedly normal, but I'm not really normal anymore, anyway. I have to take the chance and see her. Just not tonight.

When that demon hunter ran from us at the bordello, I went after him alone. Damn anyone who declares that foolishness. When an enemy that can do you harm flees, you follow and put an end to them. It's simple military tactics. I figured mercenaries would understand that notion, but they gawked at me like simpletons at a magic trick. Even Deathrage did. I had her pegged differently. In any case, I gave chase to the coward elf until the trail went cold in the Underbelly. Two more humans died down there while we sat and waited at the bordello. Whatever sha magic kept me from leaving right away is responsible for those deaths. But the demon hunter is the one who must die first. That dark presence can wait. Drunken Alliance citizens found me with the corpses. They assumed it was my doing. That's also nothing new. It's the same every time I try and help people. They always think I'm the one trying to hurt them. They can't see clearly. Not where an undead is involved. The fear of my kind runs strong in the Alliance. The drunks tried to restrain me, to get the guard. They wanted to see me put away for crimes I didn't commit. They gave me no other choice. I can't leave the city, and I'm not letting myself get thrown in the Violet Hold for the sake of a few worthless drunks. So I cut them down where the stood. I'm not sorry for it. They weren't just in the wrong place at the wrong time, they made the wrong decision. 

I'm not sorry. I can't be sorry. Not with so much at stake.

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