Journal of Sariella Sunblossom Entry 2

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Dear Diary,
My trial is to take place in a place called "Stonetalon Mountains". Earlier this week, I paid a visit to the area. I got a little lost, however, but with the help of an Orc from the Shatterfang Clan (I think), whose name I can't remember, I eventually found my way there.
Afterwards, we went to an inn for some R&R. And it was lovely. Though run by a troll woman, it was certainly very cosy and homely. It reminded me nothing of home, but it lacked a certain savagery and... Orcishness. Refreshing.
I stayed in Ratchet for a short while. Gremkarc paid me a visit, unexpectedly. We shared some fish that I'd caught. He seemed impressed by my unorthodox, unsportsman-like method, of sending Light down the line to strike any unwilling fish dead.
I returned to Orgrimmar, then. Not a whole bunch happened for a few days, so I returned to Silvermoon, praying I didn't bump into Soraya.
Oh, yes. I've done a very stupid thing. All those pictures Thracen drew, all the words he used... of me being the head of a rose, and Soraya being the prick on it's stem... I'd demanded he tell me if he truely loved Soraya, and told him he had to answer.
He said he didn't. I felt heartbroken. True enough, I felt a little something for Thracen, myself, but I was more concerned for Soraya. What followed was a massive, confused crock of lynxshit where I told Thracen to "TELL HER"!
Little did I know, he meant "No, I don't need to answer".
I'm practically on the run, now. I've intruded where I don't belong and it bit me back. I suspect Soraya wont be too happy to know i've endangered her engagement. But I couldn't sit still and stay silent if I thought Thracen was being insincere. Could I? I still love Soraya deeply. I don't want to see her hurt.
She's not a civilian. She's not the stock. She's not the type. She's seen too much, experienced much hardship... and probably commited unspeakable sins in her duty-fueled time as a Master, in the dark times of the early days of the Order.
She's a soldier, and I hope Thracen is prepared for that. I can see it in his eyes - He's NOT the soldier type. Soldiers don't draw pretty pictures of young elven ladies, or compose sentences made of words of magic. OR get smashed in the face by a helmet and hide the resulting scar. Most warriors would view such a scar as a sign of honor or valor. Not Thracen.
I almost wish I could spectate their future together. I suspect it will be full of emotion.
I went to Karazahn, with some of my future clanmates. Most of them were idiots. Blundering, blind idiots. Naive fools. And a fair number of them, more than I care to recall, are Forsaken. Bunch of maggot-ridden canabalistic cunts.
Yet we all managed to survive what happened in there. Some how? They're resilient.
But still idiots. I took control of the situation on numerous occasions, and they always managed to fuck it up.
Where we stood around, gawking at a bunch of Warlocks, fearing what should happen. I got bored. I didn't see the threat. So I ran in, and engaged the enemy. And won. Little did I know, though, one of OUR warlocks got themselves killed by a momentary surge of valor or some shit. He followed me, and I hadn't a clue he was there. I suspect his magics were enough to set off whatever was dormant in the room, and what followed was... odd to the extreme.
What followed all that was even odder. We'd reached a large, circular liberary... our goal before us - A portal to and from Ironforge. We were to shut it.
We inadvertantly, however, created a new bane to the world. An arcane anomoly - an abomination.
If I hadn't enough things on my plate, I'd have stayed there to help out. But I am no Totem yet - I have no real duty to aid them. Nor did I want to. It's going to take me a long time to grow used to Forsaken.
Death Knights, on the other hand? They share the same smell, that unmistakable itch on the back of my ear I get when I'm near a walking corpse. But this one, the one I'd talked to... Vitanisus, was it? He was... damn it, friendly. I can hardly believe it. He lacked the maliciousness, and the smugness of Forsaken. He seemed to genuinely possess a shred of decency.
I could work with him.
This is my second entry.
End of entry.