Mal’koreth’s Journal – Torn Page

Found loose between entries, appears deliberately removed

[Date unclear – torn section]

Lieutenant Korven sent me to scout a place the recruits are calling “the Whispering Gorge” alone today. “Lost patrol needs investigating,” he said with that smug grin of his. “Perfect job for our veteran specialist.”

Right. Perfect job for someone he hopes won’t come back.

Two weeks of constant sneers and dismissals have worn me down more than I want to admit. “Old-timer,” “washed-up,” “past his prime” – every day brings fresh reminders that I’m not welcome among Garrosh’s chosen. Maybe Korven is right. Maybe I am just taking up space.

Found the patrol, or what was left of them. Alliance ambush, clean and professional. But while examining the scene, the earth spirits began whispering about something else entirely. Something hidden nearby, sealed away and forgotten.

Took three hours of careful work to find the entrance – a cave mouth concealed by ancient wards and natural camouflage. The elements recognized something in the stonework and helped me break the seals. Inside, untouched by time or weather, was a chamber that was out of place with any Pandaren civilization I’d seen.

The altar was carved from single piece of black stone, covered in symbols that hurt to look at directly. But it was the notes scattered around the chamber that truly caught my attention. Detailed instructions, written in multiple languages, describing a ritual of life transference. How to sacrifice a sentient being and claim their remaining years for yourself.

Fascinating. Horrifying for some I wager, but fascinating.

I was studying the texts when I heard movement outside. Alliance scout, young human judging by the sound of his breathing. Probably tracking the same missing patrol I’d found earlier.

I could have let him pass. Should have, maybe. But looking at those ritual instructions, feeling the weight of every dismissive comment from the last two weeks, I found myself wondering…

The capture was simple enough. Earth bind, quick strike to render him unconscious, drag him into the chamber before he could call for help. When he woke, bound to the altar, the fear in his eyes was almost intoxicating.

He looked up and pleaded with me. I really should learn common one of these days.

The ritual was more complex than I expected – precise incisions, specific words in a tongue that seemed to bypass the mind and speak directly to darker forces. But when the life finally left his eyes, I felt something… New. Something filling every crevice of my body. Energy. Vitality. Every inch of my body felt better. Stronger.

Younger.

I look about the same, maybe a little less grizzled. But I FEEL twenty years stronger.

I incinerated the body in the chamber and sealed the entrance again. Let the Alliance wonder what happened to their scout. As for the ritual site itself… I’ve taken the notes and will destroy them… Once I’ve committed them to memory. The location doesn’t seem important, but I’ve also marked that on my map.

Returned to camp three hours before dawn. Korven was waiting, clearly disappointed to see me alive. “Find anything useful, grandfather?”

“Just Alliance tracks heading north,” I replied. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

He looked confused for a moment – probably wondering why I seemed so much more energetic than when I’d left. But youth sees what it expects to see, and he expected a broken-down old soldier.

If only he knew what this broken-down old soldier was truly capable of.

They say that some lines, once crossed, can never be uncrossed. But I crossed that line many, many years ago.

[Page ends here – torn roughly from binding]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Records from the Rebellion

Entry 1 – Fourth Moon, Early Summer

Arrived at Sen’jin Village today. The journey from Pandaria gave me time to think, but nothing prepared me for what I found waiting.

Vol’jin’s village is bustling with activity that has nothing to do with normal troll daily life. Warriors, shamans, hunters moving with the urgency of serious military preparation. But what caught my attention immediately was the lone human woman standing near Vol’jin’s hut, flanked by nervous-looking guards from both sides.

Vash’ta met me at the docks. “Told you it be getting interesting, mon. But even I not be expecting… dis.”

He nodded toward the human. Even from a distance, the tension was obvious – Horde and Alliance representatives in the same space, neither side comfortable with the arrangement but both recognizing its necessity.

“Dat be Jaina Proudmoore herself,” Vash’ta whispered. “Been here since yesterday, and everyone be walking on eggshells. One wrong word and dis whole thing could explode.”

He led me toward Vol’jin’s hut, where I could see the Darkspear chieftain and Jaina in what appeared to be a carefully formal discussion. Both leaders looked like they’d rather be anywhere else, but the gravity of the situation was keeping them at the table.

They broke off their conversation when I entered, the relief at the interruption obvious on both faces.

“Ah, Mal’koreth Cinderstorm,” Vol’jin said, rising to greet me. “Da Dark Lady be waiting for you. She arrived dis morning.”

As I left to find Sylvanas, I heard Jaina comment quietly, her voice tight with barely controlled unease: “If he’s who you think he is, this arrangement might actually work.”

The fact that Alliance leadership is here at all tells me everything I need to know about how desperate the situation has become.

Entry 2 – Fourth Moon, Early Summer (Later)

Met with Sylvanas in the village’s war planning tent. Seeing her again after so long brought back memories of Silverpine, of watching her die and rise again. But this was different – not the commanding general addressing troops, but something more personal.

“You look well,” she observed. “Pandaria has been… beneficial to your health, it seems.”

Sharp as ever. She’d noticed the effects of the ritual, though she didn’t press for details. Yet.

“The situation has moved beyond what any of us anticipated,” she continued. “Garrosh’s corruption is complete. The Heart of Y’Shaarj has made him something other than orc, other than Horde. He must be stopped.”

“Vol’jin and I have been coordinating resistance efforts for months,” she said finally. “But we lack intelligence from inside Orgrimmar itself. The Kor’kron have sealed the city, eliminated most of our contacts. We need someone who can get inside, establish themselves, and feed us information when the time comes to act.”

“And you want me to be that someone.”

“You have the perfect background for it. Veteran shaman with recent Pandaria service, no obvious connections to ‘troublesome’ leaders like myself or Vol’jin. Your record shows loyalty to the Horde above personal politics. Exactly the kind of soldier Garrosh’s people would welcome.”

The plan is simple enough. Return to Orgrimmar, request reassignment due to ‘concerns’ about the alliance between rebels and Alliance forces. Play the part of a loyal soldier disgusted by Vol’jin’s ‘treachery.’ Get embedded in the city’s defenses and wait for the signal.

“When the siege begins,” Sylvanas said, “you’ll be our key to getting inside. But understand – this is not a mission you can abandon halfway through. Once you’re in Orgrimmar, you’re committed until the end.”

I accepted without hesitation. Some choices are easier than others.

Entry 3 – Fourth Moon, Mid-Summer

Arrived in Orgrimmar three days ago. The city has changed dramatically since I was last here – Kor’kron guards at every gate, checkpoints on major streets, an atmosphere of paranoia that makes even loyal citizens nervous.

My cover story worked perfectly. Reported to the duty officer claiming disgust at Vol’jin’s ‘alliance with Alliance scum’ and requesting reassignment to ‘real Horde service.’ The young Kor’kron captain ate it up completely.

“Finally, a veteran with proper loyalty,” he said, stamping my orders. “Too many of the older soldiers have been corrupted by soft thinking. We need orcs who understand what the Horde truly represents.”

I’ve been assigned to the city’s inner defenses – specifically the underground tunnels that connect major defensive positions. Perfect for my actual mission. They think they’re putting a loyal veteran in a position of trust. In reality, they’ve just given their enemy a detailed map of their most vulnerable points.

The atmosphere here is poisonous – nothing but good old-fashioned paranoia and hatred. “True orcs” versus everyone else. Guards eye each other suspiciously, citizens report their neighbors for “disloyalty,” and anyone who isn’t orc gets treated as a potential traitor.

Garrosh has built a city where fear and malice are the primary tools of control. Effective, but brittle. If you don’t have the strength of arms to protect this facade you’ve built, it only takes one crack to come tumbling down. And this kind of environment breeds dissent.

Entry 4 – Fourth Moon, Late Summer

Three weeks embedded in the city defenses, and I’ve learned more than Sylvanas and Vol’jin could have hoped for.

The tunnel system is even more extensive than the rebels realize – not just defensive positions, but escape routes, supply caches, even a direct passage to Garrosh’s private chambers. More importantly, I’ve identified the key chokepoints that could bottle up the entire Kor’kron response if properly collapsed at the right moment.

My position as a ‘tunnel specialist’ has given me access to areas most guards never see. I’ve been mapping everything, noting guard rotations, identifying structural weaknesses that could be exploited. They assigned me here because they trusted my loyalty, but that same trust is giving me everything I need to destroy them.

The paranoia grows worse daily. Found two guards yesterday convinced their squad mates were “Alliance spies in disguise.” Another beat a troll civilian unconscious for “looking suspicious.” The city is eating itself from the inside out.

Received my first coded message from Vash’ta today, hidden in routine supply paperwork. The rebellion is moving faster than anticipated. Alliance and rebel Horde forces are coordinating for a major assault within the month.

Time to start positioning for what comes next.

Entry 5 – Fifth Moon, Early Autumn

The siege begins tomorrow.

Spent the last week making final preparations. Key structural supports in the tunnel system have been carefully weakened – not enough to collapse them prematurely, but enough that a properly placed tremor will bring down entire sections. Guard rotations have been memorized, patrol patterns mapped, vulnerabilities catalogued.

Tonight I received the final coded message: “Dawn brings thunder. Open the gates when lightning strikes.”

Translation: the assault begins at first light, and I’m to provide entry points when the main attack commences.

Found myself thinking about Ariok tonight. About the brotherhood we shared in Silverpine, the lessons he taught about loyalty and honor. He’d approve of this choice, I think. Not the betrayal of oaths, but the protection of what the Horde truly represents. Sometimes loyalty to an ideal means betraying those who’ve corrupted it.

Sylvanas was right about one thing – there’s no going back from here. Tomorrow I either help save the Horde from Garrosh’s madness, or I die in the attempt.

But I’ve made harder choices than this. This… This feels like serving something worth protecting.

Entry 6 – Fifth Moon, Mid-Autumn

It’s over. Garrosh is dead, the Siege of Orgrimmar successful, and the Horde is free from his Tyrannical grasp.

My part went exactly as planned. When the assault began, I triggered carefully prepared collapses in the tunnel system that cut off reinforcement routes to the city’s outer defenses. Then opened the hidden passages that allowed just enough of the rebel forces to bypass the main gates and cause chaos. This allowed the main force to break through the outer defenses and make their way into the city.

The fighting in the tunnels was brutal – Kor’kron forces realizing too late that their ‘loyal veteran’ was working for the enemy. I lost count of how many I killed down there in the darkness, using every trick I’d learned in decades of violence. Skills honed as a bandit now served to liberate my people.

When I finally managed to make my through to Garrosh’s inner chambers, the battle was already ongoing. What I saw was barely recognizable as the orc who’d once been Warchief. The Heart of Y’Shaarj had transformed him into something monstrous, consumed by power and paranoia. His death was a mercy to everyone, including himself.

Afterward, as Alliance and rebel Horde forces sorted through the aftermath, Sylvanas found me in the tunnels where I was cataloguing the damage.

“Well done,” she said simply. “The Horde owes you a significant debt.”

“The Horde owes me nothing. I did what needed to be done.”

She smiled at that – not her usual calculating expression, but something that seemed almost genuine. “Spoken like someone who truly understands what service means.”

Vol’jin has been named the new Warchief. A good choice – he understands unity, respects the contributions of all Horde races, and has the wisdom to avoid the mistakes that led to this crisis. The healing can begin.

As for me… I asked one favor of my Dark Lady: To keep my name out of the History books. She obliged, and I think that had been her inclination all along. Somehow I imagine a grizzled orc shaman of little renown is of more use to her than any war hero.

[End of rebellion records]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Records from the Pandaria Campaign

Entry 1 – Second Moon, Early Spring

Arrived at Domination Point today after two weeks aboard a transport that reeked of sweat, vomit, and desperation. The war in Pandaria has been grinding on for almost a year now, and it shows on every face in camp.

The soldiers here look exhausted. Not the good kind of tired that comes after a hard-fought victory, but the hollow-eyed weariness of troops who’ve been pushed past their limits without clear objectives. Half the conversations I overhear involve complaints about supply shortages, conflicting orders from the capital, or rumors about purges back home.

My assignment briefing was handled by a Kor’kron officer who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Kid looked at my service record and sneered. “Another old-timer from the northern wastes. Hope you’re ready for real combat, grandfather.”

Real combat. As if the Silverpine campaign was a training exercise. And I’m only 35!

The tactical situation is complex. Alliance forces established their own foothold when this continent was discovered, and we’ve been fighting over strategic positions ever since. Some local Pandaren have chosen sides, but most seem more interested in keeping both factions from tearing their homeland apart. Can’t blame them for that. Meanwhile, our supply lines stretch back across an ocean to a capital that’s apparently more interested in loyalty tests than logistical support.

First patrol tomorrow. Time to see what this “real combat” looks like.

Entry 2 – Second Moon, Mid-Spring

Three weeks of patrols, and I’m starting to understand why morale is so poor. The Alliance has dug in deep across the continent – they’re fighting just as hard as we are for control of strategic resources and territory.

But it’s not the enemy that’s breaking our troops. The land itself seems to react to the violence. Not the way elements normally respond to disturbance, but something deeper. More hostile. Places where major battles were fought now radiate an aura of pure malice that makes even hardened veterans nervous.

Asked my patrol leader, a scarred orc veteran named Gorth, about it. “Sha corruption,” he spat. “Happens when too much negative emotion builds up in one place. Fear, anger, hatred – it takes on a life of its own. Pandaren try to warn both sides about it, but nobody listens.”

Sha. Another cosmic force I don’t understand, can’t predict, and definitely can’t control. Just what I needed after two years of wrestling with Val’kyr mysteries.

The worst part is watching what it does to our own troops. Good soldiers turning paranoid, picking fights with their own squad mates. Others becoming recklessly aggressive, charging into Alliance positions because they can’t think past their rage. Some just… break. Sit staring at nothing while their minds collapse inward.

And through it all, orders keep coming from Garrosh demanding more aggressive action, faster results, total victory regardless of cost. Sometimes I wonder, is it better if Garrosh doesn’t know the impact this place has on his troops, or just doesn’t care?

Entry 3 – Second Moon, Late Spring

Met with Vash’ta today. He’s established quite an operation here – information brokerage, supply smuggling, even some legitimate trading with the local Pandaren. Impressive to see what he’s capable of outside a frozen wasteland.

“Mal’koreth, mon! Good to see you made it in one piece. How you be finding paradise?”

I told him about the sha corruption, the troop morale problems, the tactical situation. He nodded grimly.

“It be getting worse every month. Warchief keep pushing for results, but he not be understanding what kind of situation we facing here. Alliance got their own bases, their own supply lines, their own Pandaren allies. Meanwhile, all dis fighting be tearing da continent apart, making both sides weaker.”

He’s been tracking the political situation back home as well. The purges are real – anyone who questions Garrosh’s methods gets labeled a traitor. Vol’jin is under house arrest. Several tauren leaders have simply disappeared. The unity that made the Horde strong is being systematically dismantled.

“Word is he be planning something big,” Vash’ta said quietly. “Some kind of weapon or ritual dat will end da war in one stroke. My contacts in Orgrimmar be very nervous about whatever it is.”

Great. Maybe it will get these men home sooner. I’m sure there won’t be any consequences to whatever he has planned that we’ll all regret.

Entry 4 – Third Moon, Early Summer

First major engagement today. Alliance forces hit our supply depot just outside Honeydew Village- a well-coordinated assault that caught us completely off-guard.

The fighting was brutal, chaotic, exactly the kind of situation where my abilities should have made the difference. But every time I tried to call on the elements, the sha corruption interfered. Earth spirits that should have answered readily instead whispered of violence and hatred. Water became poison. Even the air itself seemed tainted with malice.

We held the depot, barely, but the cost was higher than it should have been. Lost twelve good soldiers because I couldn’t provide the elemental support they were counting on. Meanwhile, Alliance forces withdrew in good order – they’re learning to use the sha corruption too, letting it weaken us before striking.

Afterward, while helping with the wounded, I overheard two Kor’kron discussing the battle. “Should have expected problems from the old shaman,” one said. “These veterans from the outer campaigns don’t have what it takes for real warfare.”

I wanted to grab him by the throat and explain exactly what “real warfare” looked like when I was staging avalanches to murder entire caravans. But that would just prove their point about questionable loyalty.

Instead, I kept my mouth shut and focused on treating the wounded. Some battles aren’t worth fighting.

Entry 5 – Third Moon, Mid-Summer

Disturbing intelligence briefing today. Apparently Garrosh has found some kind of ancient mogu artifact – the Heart of Y’Shaarj, whatever that means. The briefing officer was vague about details, but the enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable.

“Finally, a weapon that can cleanse this continent of Alliance presence once and for all. No more prolonged campaign, no more resource drain. The Warchief’s vision will be realized.”

Y’Shaarj. I’ve heard that name before. It was in one of the few Icecrown texts I could read. It was about Old God influences. One of the ancient entities that corrupted entire civilizations before being destroyed by the Titans themselves.

If Garrosh is playing with Old God artifacts, then everything Vash’ta suspected is true. The Orc currently leading the Horde is willing to mess with forces that have time and again proven to be beyond mortal ken.

The elements here whisper of something vast and malevolent stirring. Not just sha corruption, but something deeper. Older. Hungrier.

I hate to say this, but I’m starting to think our biggest enemy in this war isn’t the Alliance.

Entry 6 – Third Moon, Late Summer

Orders came down today for all “non-essential” personnel to evacuate forward positions and consolidate at main bases. Translation: Garrosh is about to do something that will make large areas of Pandaria uninhabitable, and he doesn’t want witnesses.

The evacuation is chaos. Soldiers who’ve been fighting the Alliance here for a year, bleeding for every inch of ground, now forced to abandon positions without explanation. Even some of the Kor’kron officers seem confused about the sudden change in strategy. Morale, already poor, has collapsed entirely.

Vash’ta found me during the retreat. His usual grin was nowhere to be seen.

“Time to be choosing sides, brother. Word from my contacts is dat what’s coming next… it not just be about beating da Alliance anymore. It be something else entirely. And not everyone in da Horde be happy about it.”

He gestured to a figure standing in the shadows nearby – a Forsaken woman in warlock robes, her face hidden beneath a deep hood. “Dis be Morwyn Darkwhisper. She got a message for you, mon. From someone you don’t want be Ignoring.”

The Forsaken stepped forward, her glowing eyes studying me carefully. When she spoke, her voice carried the unmistakable accent of Lordaeron nobility, though touched by the hollow tones of undeath.

“Mal’koreth Cinderstorm. The Dark Lady sends her regards, and a request. You are to return to Kalimdor immediately and meet her at Sen’jin Village. Vol’jin will be there as well. The matter is… urgent.”

She handed me a sealed letter bearing Sylvanas’s personal mark. “This contains your official transfer orders and passage arrangements. The ship leaves tomorrow at dawn.”

As she turned to go, she paused. “The Dark Lady wanted me to tell you specifically: ‘The time for choosing approaches faster than anticipated. I have need of someone who understands the true cost of power.’”

After she vanished into the crowd of evacuating soldiers, Vash’ta shook his head. “When da Banshee Queen and da Shadow Hunter start working together, you know things be getting serious. Whatever dey planning, it bigger than dis war in Pandaria.”

The question is what to do about it. I swore loyalty to the Horde, but what happens when the Horde’s leader betrays everything the Horde stands for?

Time to find out where my real loyalties lie.

[The War continues…]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Records from Northrend Deployment

Entry 1 – Tenth Moon, Early Winter

Arrived at Warsong Hold today. The posting is exactly as advertised – a garrison assignment maintaining Horde presence in a “pacified” territory. With the Lich King’s fall, Northrend has become a frozen wasteland of ruins and memories, watched over by bored soldiers counting days until rotation home.

Perfect for my purposes.

The commanding officer, a Tauren named Stormhoof, barely glanced at my orders before assigning me to “perimeter patrol and reconnaissance.” Translation: wander the frozen wastes and report if anything tries to eat the camp. Arthas’ minions now shamble almost harmlessly across the wastes, so this amounts to paid sightseeing.

The other soldiers spend their off-duty time gambling, drinking, and complaining about the cold. I’ve volunteered for extra patrols, citing my “desert background” making me eager to study different climates. They think I’m mad, but they’re happy to let someone else take their shifts.

What they don’t know is that my real interest lies in the ruins scattered across this continent. Particularly Icecrown Citadel – that monument to power and ambition that nearly consumed the world. If I’m to understand what I witnessed in Silverpine – the Val’kyr’s sacrifice, Sylvanas’s dominion over death itself – I need to study the source.

The elements here whisper differently than anywhere else I’ve been. There’s an… emptiness to their voices. As if something fundamental was torn away when the Lich King fell.

Entry 2 – Tenth Moon, Late Winter

First expedition to the Citadel’s outer ruins. The sheer scale of the structure defies comprehension – a fortress built not just to house an army, but to serve as a monument to absolute power. Even in ruin, it radiates an aura of dread that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

Found the remains of what were once Val’kyr chambers deep in the Citadel’s lower levels. The room contains a lot of ancient writings that are beyond my comprehension – as is everything about the Val’kyr right now.

What did the Lich King do to obtain these creatures? What ARE they? Sylvanas seems to think they are… Finite. So are they something that is made outside our world and we lack the means to bring them here?

I realize now that her first thoughts being of the sacrifice of the Val’kyr has weight I hadn’t considered: they saved her, yes, but at the cost of less Val’kyr to raise new Forsaken…

Entry 3 – Eleventh Moon, Early Spring

Deeper exploration of the Citadel today. Found what appears to be the Lich King’s personal study – a chamber filled with artifacts from across the cosmos. Weapons, armor, and stranger things that hurt to look at directly.

But it was the books that truly interested me. Tomes written in languages I don’t recognize, filled with diagrams of beings that exist in forms of matter I can’t comprehend. The Val’kyr were sketched amongst the pages, but unfortunately the text is more akin to mystic runes than an alphabet.

what did I witness in Silverpine? What is the nature of this Bargain. What is the nature of their bond?

The more I learn, the less I understand. I think my time would be better spent looking into Sylvanas herself than the Val’kyr.

Entry 4 – Eleventh Moon, Late Spring

Strange encounter today. While exploring the Citadel’s eastern towers, I was approached by a figure I initially mistook for another scavenger. Closer inspection revealed a Darkspear troll – lean, scarred, moving with the predatory grace of a professional killer.

“You be Mal’koreth Cinderstorm, yes?” he asked, somehow knowing my name despite our never having met. “I be Vash’ta Shadowstep. Been watching you explore dis place for weeks now.”

My hand went to my weapon, but he raised his hands peacefully. “Easy, brothah. I not be here for trouble. Just… curious about what got an orc so interested in da Lich King’s old toys.”

Turns out he’s been operating in Northrend for months, “acquiring” artifacts and information for various clients. A broker of secrets and forbidden knowledge – exactly the sort of person I once would have either used or eliminated, depending on convenience.

But something about his manner intrigued me. Direct, pragmatic, but with an underlying code of conduct. When I asked why he’d approached me openly rather than simply monitoring from a distance, he grinned.

“Because you be asking da right questions, mon. Most people come here looking for treasure or power. You be looking for understanding. Dat make you either very wise or very dangerous. Either way, worth talking to.”

We ended up spending the evening sharing information. He’s learned much about the Citadel’s deeper secrets, while I could offer insights into shamanic interpretations of the necromantic processes. A surprisingly productive exchange.

Before parting, he mentioned something that caught my attention: “Word be spreading about new lands discovered across da sea. Pandaria, dey calling it. Whole continent dat been hidden for thousands of years. Could be opportunities there for someone with my… skills.”

Interesting. Change is coming to the world again.

Entry 5 – Twelfth Moon, Midsummer

A full year in Northrend, and I’ve learned more about the nature of power than in all my previous years combined. The Citadel has become a second home – I know its passages better than most of its original inhabitants ever did.

The Val’kyr mystery deepens with each discovery. Found evidence today that, as best as i can tell, suggests they weren’t created by the Lich King, but were beings from another realm entirely – captured and bound to serve through processes that required enormous expenditures of spiritual energy. Each one represented years of preparation and sacrifice.

If Sylvanas truly commands their loyalty rather than their enslavement, she’s accomplished something that Arthas himself struggled with. She’s earned the devotion of creatures that exist beyond normal rules of life and death.

More importantly, I think I understand now what drives her. It’s not just leadership or even protection of her people. It’s the knowledge that she stands at the intersection of life and death, bearing responsibility not just for the living but for the balance between worlds. The weight of that understanding would crush most minds.

But she carries it. Makes the hard choices. Pays the prices that others can’t even comprehend.

Vash’ta stopped by today with news of his departure. “Time to be moving on, mon. Northrend got nothing left to teach, and Pandaria be calling. New continent mean new opportunities, new secrets to uncover.”

He’s offered to keep me informed about developments in the wider world through correspondence – apparently he values our exchanges enough to maintain contact. I find myself genuinely sorry to see him go. Another friend, in a life that once knew only allies of convenience.

“You ever get tired of da cold and want to see what mysteries da new lands be hiding, you let Vash’ta know,” he said with a grin. “Always room in my operations for someone who think like you do.”

An interesting offer. But my education here isn’t complete yet.

Entry 6 – Twelfth Moon, Late Summer

Breakthrough discovery today. Deep in the Citadel’s heart, behind warding that took weeks to unravel safely, I found what can only be described as a communication chamber. Crystals and mirrors arranged in patterns that suggest methods of speaking across vast distances – not just physical space, but dimensional barriers.

The setup is similar to what I’ve seen described in texts about summoning, but far more complex. This wasn’t just for calling servants – it was for negotiating with powers that exist outside normal reality entirely.

Experimentation with the device yielded… unsettling results. Brief glimpses of other realms, other forms of existence. Whispers in languages that bypass the ear and speak directly to the mind. And underlying it all, the sense of vast intelligences watching, evaluating, judging.

My time in Northrend has taught me much about power, about sacrifice, about the weight of command. But most importantly, it’s shown me what true strength looks like – not the ability to destroy, but the wisdom to build something worth preserving.

The Dark Lady isn’t just our commander. She’s our proof that even in a world of monsters and cosmic horrors, choice still matters. That we can be more than the sum of our darkest impulses.

Worth following. Worth serving. Worth protecting.

The elements whisper of changes coming to the world – conflicts that will test every bond of loyalty and brotherhood. When those trials come, I’ll be ready. Not as the predator I once was, but as someone who understands what’s truly worth fighting for.

Entry 7 – First Moon, Early Autumn

Received a letter from Vash’ta today – first correspondence since his departure for Pandaria. His words paint a troubling picture of the situation developing there.

“Greetings from da Jade Forest, mon. Dis place be beautiful beyond words, but underneath all dat serenity be something darker stirring. Da Warchief, Garrosh Hellscream, he be making moves dat got many in da Horde questioning his judgment.”

“First ting – he be pushing out anyone who not be ‘true Horde’ in his eyes. Trolls, tauren, even some orcs who served honorably for years, suddenly finding themselves sidelined or worse. Only his inner circle of Kor’kron getting real authority now. Creating divisions where dere should be unity.”

“But dat not be da worst part, brother. Word spreading dat he be seeking power from… questionable sources. Ancient mogu artifacts, sha corruption, whispers of Old God influence. Da kind of power dat come with prices no sane leader should be willing to pay.”

“From tactical standpoint, I understand da pressure he be under. New continent, unknown enemies, need for quick results. But alienating your own people while chasing powers dat drove civilizations mad? Dat be strategic stupidity of da highest order.”

The letter has left me deeply troubled. Vash’ta’s assessment rings true in ways that make my stomach turn. I’ve spent two years in Northrend studying the consequences these very kinds of cosmic powers. The Lich King’s reign of terror should serve as warning enough.

But it’s the other element – the systematic exclusion of loyal Horde members – that truly disturbs me. Even if you don’t believe unity is the Horde’s strength, you’ve built a whole society around these races cohabitating. You’re asking for trouble trying to split them all up now.

Besides, during my time in Silverpine with Ariok and the Forsaken, I learned the value of diverse perspectives and skills. That campaign succeeded because we combined orcish strength, Forsaken cunning, and shamanic versatility. Garrosh seems determined to throw away that advantage in favor of… what? Racial purity? Personal loyalty over competence?

And the Old God influences… that’s where my blood runs cold. My research in Icecrown may not have born real fruit, but even being surrounded by all this Saronite, my blood runs cold if I ever stop to let myself think. The whispers start as offers of power, but they end with complete corruption of purpose. Every civilization that’s trafficked with such forces has paid the ultimate price.

If I were in Garrosh’s position, would I make the same choices? The pressure for results, the weight of leadership, the temptation of seemingly unlimited power… I can understand the appeal. But I’ve also seen what Sylvanas accomplished through wisdom rather than raw force. She built loyalty through competence and protection, not through purges and fear.

More importantly, she understands that some prices are too high to pay, no matter how attractive the offered power. That’s the difference between a leader and a tyrant.

The elements whisper uneasily tonight. Whatever comes next in Pandaria, I suspect the Horde itself hangs in the balance.

Entry 8 – First Moon, Late Autumn

Official orders arrived today. Transfer to Pandaria, effective immediately. Report to Forward Command Post Durotan for assignment to “special operations requiring shamanic expertise and unconventional tactics.”

Seems the Horde has need of my particular skills after all.

The timing can’t be coincidental – Vash’ta’s letters describing the escalating conflict, followed immediately by deployment orders. Someone in command has decided that the situation in Pandaria requires more than conventional military solutions.

I’ve spent the last two years wandering this godforsaken waste hoping to learn something, anything, of value. And all I learned is that there are forces In this world far beyond my understanding. It is… Infuriating.

Tomorrow I leave for Pandaria, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Too long I’ve been caught up in my own head.

The elements sing of conflict ahead – not just military engagement, but a war for the very soul of the Horde itself.

I intend to be ready.

[End of Northrend deployment. Next entries: “Pandaria Campaign – Into the Mists”]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Records from the Silverpine Campaign

Entry 1 – Seventh Moon, Late Winter

Arrived at the Sepulcher today. The air here tastes of death and ancient magic – fitting for Forsaken territory. The twisted trees and perpetual gloom should feel oppressive, but instead there’s something oddly comforting about a landscape that doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is.

Been assigned a partner for this campaign – an orc warrior named Ariok. Son of Eitrigg, apparently, though he carries the name quietly rather than as a boast. First impression: competent, direct, no patience for politics or posturing. When I introduced myself as a “desert specialist,” he simply nodded and asked what I could do.

I gave him a practical demonstration – called up a minor earth tremor to collapse an old wolf den we’d been ordered to clear. Clean, efficient, no wasted motion. He watched with the eye of someone who understands the value of unconventional tactics.

“Useful,” was all he said. Then: “We’ll work well together.”

No flowery speeches about honor or brotherhood. Just a professional assessment and acceptance. I find myself respecting that approach.

Our first briefing is tomorrow. Something about Worgen incursions and Alliance naval operations. The real war begins.

Entry 2 – Eighth Moon, Early Spring

Met the Dark Lady herself today.

I’d heard the stories, of course – the banshee queen who defied the Lich King himself, who carved out a nation for the forsaken and damned. But stories don’t prepare you for the reality of Sylvanas Windrunner.

She’s beautiful, oh yes she is beautiful, but that’s the least interesting thing about her. What struck me was the way she commanded the briefing room without raising her voice. Every Forsaken officer hung on her words, not from fear alone, but from genuine devotion. This is someone who understands the weight of leadership – the burden of being responsible for people who have nowhere else to turn.

She outlined the Silverpine strategy with brutal clarity. “The Alliance seeks to establish a foothold here, to threaten our very existence. We will not merely repel them – we will crush them so thoroughly that they never again consider our lands vulnerable.”

When she asked for questions, I found myself speaking before I’d planned to. “What of civilian casualties? How are we to distinguish non-combatants in the human settlements caught between the armies?”

The room went silent. Several Forsaken turned to stare at me – an orc daring to question the Dark Lady’s strategy. But Sylvanas simply regarded me with those glowing red eyes, as if seeing something she hadn’t expected.

“Civilian casualties are regrettable but inevitable,” she said finally. “However, we are not monsters. We fight to protect our people, not to satisfy bloodlust. The distinction matters.”

After the briefing, Ariok pulled me aside. “Interesting question,” he said. “Not one most would ask.”

“The line between necessary violence and mindless slaughter matters,” I replied. “I’ve seen what happens when that line disappears.”

He studied my face for a long moment. “Yes, I think you have.”

Entry 3 – Eighth Moon, Mid-Spring

First major engagement today – the assault on Pyrewood Village. Alliance forces had fortified the settlement, using the civilians as shields. Textbook coward’s tactic, but effective.

Ariok and I were tasked with creating a distraction on the eastern approach while the main force struck from the west. Simple enough – a few targeted landslides to block their retreat routes, some localized flooding to force them into defensive positions.

But when we reached our position, we could see the human families huddled in the village center. Children. Elderly. People who had nothing to do with this war but happened to live in the wrong place.

“The earth spirits are eager,” I told Ariok. “I could bring down the entire hillside, bury the Alliance position completely.”

“And the civilians?”

I looked at those terrified faces and felt something I hadn’t experienced in years – hesitation. The old me would have triggered the avalanche before I even registered those faces as anything other than targets. Collateral damage was just part of the cost of doing business.

But that wasn’t who I am anymore. Was it?

“There’s another way,” I said finally. “More complex, but surgical. I can create tremors that will damage their fortifications without leveling the buildings. Force them into the open where we can engage them directly.”

Ariok nodded approvingly. “Do it.”

The operation took three times as long and required twice the effort. But when the dust settled, the Alliance forces were routed and most of the civilians were alive. As we escorted the prisoners away, I caught sight of Sylvanas observing from a nearby ridge. Even at that distance, I could feel her gaze weighing my choices.

That night, Ariok and I shared a bottle of Thunderbrew ale he’d been saving. “My father would approve of what you did today,” he said quietly.

His words weighed on me heavily. I thought about my own adopted father. Would he have approved, for the first time in my life?

“…It was the tactically sound choice,” I replied, but we both knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Entry 4 – Eighth Moon, Late Spring

The campaign intensifies. We have pushed the Alliance back to the Greymane Wall, but they’re fighting with the desperation of cornered wolves. Literally, in some cases – these “Worgen” are more beast than man, though they retain enough human cunning to make them dangerous opponents.

Ariok and I have settled into an effective partnership. He handles frontal assault and tactical planning while I provide unconventional support – reshaping terrain, creating obstacles, occasionally calling down lightning when the situation demands it. We’ve developed an almost telepathic understanding of each other’s capabilities and limitations.

More importantly, he’s become something I never expected to have: a friend. Not an ally of convenience or a useful contact, but someone whose approval matters to me. Someone I would risk myself to protect.

Tonight he told me about his father’s involvement in the founding of Orgrimmar, the weight of living up to such a legacy. “Sometimes I wonder if I chose the warrior’s path because I wanted to honor him, or because I couldn’t think of anything else to be.”

I found myself sharing more than I intended – not the full truth of my past, but fragments. The loneliness of growing up different. The struggle to find purpose beyond mere survival. The fear that you might be fundamentally broken in ways that can’t be fixed.

“We’re all broken,” he said. “The question is whether we use those broken pieces to cut others, or to build something better.”

Words to remember.

Entry 5 – Ninth Moon, Early Summer

Disaster. Everything has changed in a single moment of treachery.

Lord Godfrey served faithfully throughout the campaign – fought alongside us, followed orders, seemed committed to the Forsaken cause from all reports. We had pushed the Alliance back, secured Silverpine, achieved total victory. The Dark Lady called a meeting with the Alliance forces to discuss their surrender.

I was there when it happened. Godfrey approached Sylvanas as she announced that the Horde Victory. Then, with no warning, no hesitation, he drew his blasted blunderbuss and fired.

The shot took her in the back. She collapsed instantly.

Those of us gathered erupted in chaos. Forsaken officers screaming for vengeance, guards rushing to surround the fallen queen. Godfrey and his cronies put up a pittance of a fight, his face twisted with satisfaction and madness.

“This is for Gilneas!” he snarled. “For every Gilnean soul you’ve damned with your plague!”

Before anyone could stop him, he cast a spell, teleporting him and his cronies off the battlefield.

But that wasn’t the end. As we knelt beside Sylvanas’s still form, the air grew cold. Dark wings of the Val’kyr surrounded her. I don’t recall who said it, but I heard an orc bark a command: “Fix her! FIX HER!” Without a word, without ceremony, they began the ritual.

I watched as the Val’kyr – the beings which Sylvanas herself had entrusted the future of her people, faded out of existence. Watched their essence flow out of their form and into Sylvanas. Watched the Dark Lady rise again, more terrible and beautiful than before. The wound that should have killed her became nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Find Godfrey,” were her first words upon resurrection. “Bring me his head.”

That’s what I would have expected anyway. But no. Not Sylvanas. Her first thoughts, her first words, were about the sacrifice of her Val’kyr. She thought of them before herself.

She really IS the epitome of a leader.

Entry 6 – Ninth Moon, Mid-Summer

Godfrey has been found – holed up in Shadowfang Keep with a handful of loyal followers and an army of undead abominations. The bastard thinks stone walls and necromantic minions will protect him from the Dark Lady’s wrath.

He’s wrong.

Ariok and I were part of the assault force that stormed the keep. The fighting was brutal – Godfrey’s undead servants felt no pain, no fear, only the compulsion to destroy the living. But we fought with something stronger than necromantic magic: righteous fury.

I’ve never unleashed my full power like that before. The earth itself seemed to respond to my rage. Walls cracked, floors buckled, entire sections of the keep’s foundations shifted and groaned. It wasn’t just that I was calling forth the elements with an unheard of fervor, though. The elements responded more powerfully as well. I don’t know why, but they leant me power I had never before seen.

When we finally cornered Godfrey in the keep’s highest tower, he tried to bargain. Tried to justify his actions. Said he’d struck a blow for “true” Gilneans, that Sylvanas was an abomination who deserved death.

We let him speak. Let him pour out his hatred and self-righteousness. And when he finished, I took the liberty of responding:

“She didn’t even come here to finish you herself. I think you’ve grossly overestimated your relevance.”

What followed was a battle between two forces of rage. Unfortunately for Godfrey, I’ve yet to find a match for my own rage.

Afterward, standing in the ruins of Shadowfang Keep, Ariok observed quietly: “I’ve never seen you fight like that before.”

“I’ve never had something worth fighting for like that before,” I replied.

And it’s true. Watching Godfrey’s bullet strike down someone I’d come to respect – someone who represented everything leadership should be – had awakened something primal in me. Not the calculating predator of my bandit days, but something fiercer. More protective.

The Dark Lady is not just our commander. She’s become our symbol of what strength can accomplish when it’s wedded to purpose.

Entry 7 – Ninth Moon, Late Summer

Final day in Silverpine. Transfer orders approved – I ship out for Northrend tomorrow aboard a Forsaken transport.

Said my farewells to Ariok today. We didn’t speak much – warriors rarely do when the words matter most. Just a firm handshake, a promise to watch for each other’s names in the dispatches, and the understanding that our paths will cross again when the world has need.

“You’ve changed,” he said simply. “For the better.”

“So have you. Your father would be proud.”

“Yours would be too, I think.”

If only he knew. But perhaps that’s the point – not where we came from, but who we choose to become.

Had one final audience with the Dark Lady before departing. She received me in her private chambers rather than the throne room, a surprising honor.

“Your service has been exemplary,” she said. “Why seek transfer when promotion awaits here? And why to a post so separated from the world?”

I chose my words carefully. “I’ve learned much about loyalty and purpose in Silverpine. But there are aspects of leadership – of the burden you carry – that I don’t yet understand. Northrend will test whether these lessons hold true in darker circumstances.”

She studied me with those piercing eyes, and I had the unsettling feeling she could see straight through to my core. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because she nodded slowly.

“Northrend changes everyone who goes there. Many don’t survive the experience. Those who do return… different. Make certain the changes serve the Horde’s interests.”

“And if they don’t?”

A slight smile touched her lips – not entirely pleasant, but not cruel either. “Then you won’t return at all.”

Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who understands the true cost of power.

The transport leaves at dawn. Time to discover what the frozen wastes will make of the orc who learned brotherhood in the shadow of the Greymane Wall.

For the Horde. For the Dark Lady. For the brother I leave behind.

But most importantly – for the person I’m still becoming.

[End of Silverpine Campaign journal. Next entries marked “Northrend Deployment – Into the Frozen Wastes”]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Records from Valley of Trials and Razor Hill training

Entry 1 – Fifth Moon, Final Days of Summer

Arrived at the Valley of Trials today. The irony isn’t lost on me – here I am, a grown orc with decades of violence behind him, standing among whelps barely old enough to hold an axe properly.

The training sergeant, a grizzled veteran named Gornek, looked me up and down when I presented my recruitment token. “Bit old to be starting fresh, aren’t you?”

If only he knew.

I told him the story I’d prepared – a hermit shaman from the deep desert, finally ready to serve the Horde. Not entirely a lie. He assigned me to the same trials as the younglings, despite my protests. “Everyone starts the same,” he growled. “Horde doesn’t care what you were before.”

We’ll see about that.

The other recruits are… pitifully eager. They speak of honor and glory like children reciting lessons they don’t understand. One, a young orc female named Vasha, actually asked me about “the spirits” after seeing my totem collection. I nearly laughed. If she knew what my spirits whispered about, what they hungered for, she’d run screaming back to whatever farm spawned her.

But I played the wise elder, spoke vaguely about “listening to the elements” and “finding balance.” The words taste like ash, but they bought me acceptance. For now.

Entry 2 – Sixth Moon, Early Autumn

The trials continue. Today we faced the Sarkoth – a massive scorpion that’s apparently been terrorizing the valley for months. The other recruits approached it like a test of courage, charging in with war cries and clumsy swings.

I took a different approach.

While they distracted the creature, I reached out to the earth beneath it. Just a small tremor – nothing that would be noticed among the chaos of combat. The scorpion stumbled, off-balance for just a moment. Vasha’s axe found its mark cleanly.

She thinks she struck the killing blow through skill and luck. The others cheer her victory. Gornek nods approvingly at our “teamwork.”

None of them realize I could have opened a chasm beneath the beast and swallowed it whole. But that’s not what they want to see. They want to see an orc learning to fight alongside his brothers and sisters. So that’s what I show them.

The deception comes easier than expected. Perhaps because, for the first time, I’m using my abilities to help others succeed rather than ensuring their failure.

Strange.

Entry 3 – Sixth Moon, Mid-Autumn

Combat training with Lieutenant Doren today. He’s teaching us formation fighting – how to move as a unit, cover each other’s flanks, coordinate strikes. Basic tactics I learned to exploit during my bandit years.

But experiencing them from the inside is… different.

When young Khral stumbled during the shield wall exercise, I found myself automatically shifting to cover the gap his mistake created. Not because I was ordered to, but because leaving him exposed would have compromised the entire formation. The instructor praised our “instinctive unity.”

Instinctive. As if I didn’t have to consciously suppress the urge to let the weakness reveal itself, let natural selection take its course.

After training, Vasha approached me again. This time she brought others – Khral, a troll rogue named Zenjin, even a Forsaken mage called Morteus who rarely speaks. They wanted to hear “wisdom from the desert.”

I found myself talking about survival. Real survival – not the predatory kind I once practiced, but the kind that comes from understanding your environment, respecting the dangers, adapting to circumstances beyond your control. They listened with the intensity of students before a master.

When did I become someone worth learning from? When did their survival start mattering to me?

Entry 4 – Sixth Moon, Late Autumn

We’ve been transferred to Razor Hill for advanced training. Sergeant Akama is less patient than Gornek, more demanding. Good. The younglings need to be pushed harder if they’re going to survive what’s coming.

War drums echo across Durotar. Word spreads of conflicts in distant lands – Stranglethorn, the Barrens, whispers of something stirring across the continent. The Horde mobilizes, and we raw recruits watch the veterans march out with a mixture of envy and trepidation.

Morteus approached me tonight while I was maintaining my totems. “You’re not what you pretend to be,” he said quietly. Death has given the Forsaken an uncomfortable ability to see through facades.

I waited for the threat, the demand for truth, the blackmail attempt. Instead, he simply nodded. “None of us are. But we’re becoming what we need to be.”

Perceptive, for a corpse. He’s right, though. The person I was in the desert – that calculating predator who saw other people as resources to be exploited – that orc is dying. In his place, something else grows. Something I don’t fully understand yet.

The elements still whisper to me of destruction. But now they also speak of protection. Of the strength that comes not from standing alone, but from being part of something larger than yourself.

Entry 5 – Seventh Moon, Early Winter

Final trials today. A live combat exercise against invading Northwatch marines – Alliance soldiers who’ve been raiding supply lines. Real enemies, real stakes.

I watched Vasha hesitate before her first kill. Saw Khral freeze when his opponent’s blood splattered across his face. Witnessed Zenjin struggle with the difference between training and actual murder.

I felt… protective. These aren’t prey or rivals or obstacles to be removed. They’re my unit. My responsibility.

When a marine emerged from a blind corner and charged toward the stunned younglings, I didn’t think. Earth spikes erupted from the ground, impaling him mid-stride. Clean. Efficient. Lethal.

Sergeant Akama stared at the display for a long moment. “Impressive shamanic work, recruit. Where did you learn combat applications like that?”

“The desert teaches harsh lessons, Sergeant.”

He nodded, but his eyes held questions. I suspect my background won’t remain secret much longer. But maybe that’s acceptable now. Maybe I’ve proven myself worthy of trust.

After the exercise, Vasha found me sharpening my axe. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For watching over us.”

I wanted to tell her that I was a killer long before I was a protector. That the spirits I commune with have tasted the blood of innocents. That everything she thinks she knows about honor and righteousness would crumble if she knew what I really am.

Instead, I just nodded. “We protect each other. That’s what it means to be Horde.”

And for the first time in my life, I think I actually believe that.

Entry 6 – Seventh Moon, Mid-Winter

Graduation ceremony tomorrow. We’ll receive our assignments and be sent to our first real postings. The younglings are excited, nervous, ready to prove themselves in the wider world.

I’ve been assigned to the Silverpine Front – apparently my “desert survival expertise” and “advanced shamanic abilities” make me suitable for unconventional warfare operations. If they only knew how unconventional.

But that’s the past now. The bandit who used earthquakes and floods to murder travelers for coin – he’s dead and buried in the sands of Desolace. What emerged from the Valley of Trials is something new. Still dangerous, still capable of terrible violence, but violence with purpose. Violence in service to something greater.

Tonight I said farewell to my unit. Vasha has been assigned to Ashenvale. Khral goes to the Barrens. Zenjin will serve in Stranglethorn. Morteus heads across the sea with me to the Undercity. We may never see each other again.

Strange how much that possibility bothers me. When did I start caring whether these people lived or died? When did their success become more important than my own advantage?

Perhaps that’s what the Horde really offers – not just purpose, but transformation. The chance to become something more than what you were.

The elements whisper of great changes coming to the world. Wars that will reshape nations, conflicts that will test every bond of loyalty and brotherhood. Whatever comes, I’ll face it not as a solitary predator, but as part of something larger.

The Valley of Trials has made me Horde. Now it remains to be seen what the Horde will make of me.

[End of training journal. Next entries begin “Silverpine Campaign – First Assignment”]

The Journal of Mal’koreth Cinderstorm

Personal records from the final months of his bandit career

Entry 1 – Third Moon, Early Spring

The merchants from Crossroads have started taking the eastern route through Thousand Needles instead of my usual hunting grounds. Word travels fast among their kind – they speak of the “cursed canyons” where travelers vanish in landslides, only for their goods to be found scattered and looted days later.

Cursed. If only they knew how right they are.

I’ve had to range further north, closer to Ashenvale borders. The pickings are leaner, and I’m competing with actual bandits – crude fools who rely on rusty blades instead of the earth’s own fury. Yesterday I watched a group of them bungle an ambush on a night elf caravan. Sloppy. Wasteful. They killed three guards for a handful of silver when a properly timed rockslide could have taken the whole group and their cargo.

The elements whisper of change. The earth spirits seem… restless. Agitated. Something stirs in the world beyond my small hunting grounds.

Entry 2 – Third Moon, Late Spring

A close call today. Too close.

I struck at what I thought was a lone goblin merchant heading south with a pack full of engineering supplies. Triggered a flash flood in the narrow ravine – textbook execution. But when I arrived to “rescue” the survivor and claim my prize, I found him sitting calmly on his floating pack, completely dry.

“Interesting technique,” he said, adjusting his goggles. “Water elementals, right? I’d estimate… maybe a dozen minor spirits channeled through that upstream boulder formation?”

My blood went cold. No one should be able to read my work so clearly.

Turns out he was a Horde military engineer, studying terrain for some operation up north. Knew enough about shamanic practices to recognize my “disaster” for what it was. We stared at each other for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“You know, the Horde could use someone with your… talents. Unconventional warfare is becoming quite popular.”

He left me a Horde recruitment token before departing. Said his name was Fizzbang, and that he’d “forget” to mention our encounter in his report if I “happened” to turn up at the nearest recruitment post within the month.

I’ve been carrying that token for three days now. The metal feels warm against my palm.

Entry 3 – Fourth Moon, Early Summer

The Tauren have found me.

Not the soft ones who raised me – these were Grimtotem warriors, following reports of “unnatural disasters” in the region. They knew what to look for, could read the signs I’d left behind. When they cornered me at my camp, I thought about fighting. The earth spirits were eager, hungry for violence.

But their leader, a scarred bull named Magrok, didn’t draw his weapon. Instead, he spoke of the old shame – how the tribe had failed me, failed to guide my gifts properly. How my adoptive parents had sent word years ago, asking if anyone had news of their lost son.

“Your parents grieve for you still,” he said. “They know what you’ve become, but they remember the confused child who only wanted to belong.”

I almost killed him for saying that. The rage that filled me in that moment… I could have brought down the entire canyon wall. But something in his eyes stopped me. Not fear – understanding. He knew exactly what I was capable of, and he wasn’t afraid. He was disappointed.

They left me alone, but with a warning: the Grimtotem won’t be so merciful if they find evidence of my work again. “Find a better path,” Magrok said, “before someone else finds you first.”

That night, I dreamed of Mulgore. Of warm fires and patient elders and the sound of someone calling my name with love instead of fear.

I burned the dream away when I woke.

Entry 4 – Fourth Moon, Midsummer

I’m being hunted.

Not by Grimtotem this time – by Alliance forces. A paladin named Marcus Redpath has been tracking the “Desolace Disaster Sites” for months. Smart bastard figured out the pattern, realized the “natural” disasters were too convenient, too precisely timed. He’s got rangers with him, and at least one dwarf who knows enough about geology to spot my work.

Found their camp yesterday while scouting. Heard them talking around their fire. Redpath has connected at least seven of my “incidents” and estimates over forty deaths. He’s determined to find what he calls “the dark shaman responsible for these abominations.”

Forty deaths. Has it really been so many? I’ve never counted before. The number sits strangely in my mind.

They’re closing in. My usual hideouts aren’t safe anymore, and I can’t keep running forever. Every time I strike now, I leave traces they can follow. The elements themselves seem to be betraying me, leaving signatures that can be read by those who know how to look.

I found myself staring at that recruitment token again tonight. The goblin – Fizzbang – said the Horde needed people with my talents. Unconventional warfare. Maybe it’s time to see what he meant.

Entry 5 – Fifth Moon, Late Summer

I’ve made my decision.

Last night, Redpath’s group almost had me. I was forced to trigger an earthquake just to escape – brought down half a hillside to cover my retreat. But in doing so, I revealed my position to every tracker in a day’s ride. By morning, there will be a dozen groups converging on this area.

I could run again. Disappear into the deep desert, start over somewhere new. But I’m tired of running, tired of living like a scavenger on the edges of civilization. The goblin was right – my talents are being wasted on petty banditry.

The Horde offers something I never had with the Tauren: a place where my nature isn’t seen as a flaw to be corrected, but a weapon to be wielded. Where destruction serves a greater purpose than mere personal gain.

I’ve buried my few possessions and erased the traces of my camps. Let Redpath find empty caves and cold fire pits. By the time he realizes his quarry has vanished, I’ll be wearing Horde colors and learning to channel my gifts in service to something larger than myself.

The elements sing of war coming to the world. Great conflicts that will shake the very foundations of Azeroth. If I’m to be a creature of destruction, let it be destruction with meaning.

Tomorrow, I ride for the nearest Horde outpost. The bandit Mal’koreth dies today. What emerges from his ashes… that remains to be seen.

But I suspect the Horde will find me quite useful indeed.

[Final entry in the journal. The remaining pages are blank.]