#executor maulfalcon is MEAN

[simply-suggesting]

Journal 02 – The Nandos Got Too Cheeky

[One page of the journal is covered in the illegible scrawl of a drunken man. The paper is flecked with little droplets of liquid that dried ever-so-slightly green. Appletini, or plague tears? Either way, whatever emotional rant Thadric went on last night is largely indecipherable except for a few standout words bolded and underlined with an angry application of too much ink. Someone had a Bad Night Out.

The following page is much more legible...]

I can’t read what I wrote last night, but I know what I felt. Foolish. I wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t wrongly convinced myself that this was going to be different, but this station is just like the rest: The Charnel Corps are going to use me for my talents, then distrust me and mock me and show me no respect. I’m not one of them and I will never be one of them. I got carried away last night believing that could ever be the case. 

At least I can respect Atlas. He had the honor to make no qualms about disliking me from the start. The rest of them pretended to be on friendly terms with me until it was convenient and ‘hilarious’ to have a laugh at my expense. 

I know how I look. I know I’m disgusting and undesirable and the concept of anything otherwise is laughable at best and nauseating at worst, even to Forsaken who live in filth and depravity. They don’t have to remind me of it.

More than anything, though, I’m disappointed in myself. I should have stood up for myself. I should have been cruel to Executor Maulfalcon for making jokes at my expense, but even after everything I couldn’t do it. Even after all this time, I still don’t know how to be cruel to certain people. I almost called him something I would have regretted – not even on his behalf. I almost called him an embarrassing halfie bastard, but I couldn’t. 

I thought about Dean for the first time in a long time last night. We were playing drinking games and she kept coming to my mind. I mentioned her out loud for the first time in years, though not by name. Of course they were incredulous I could have ever been married. I wasn’t always hideous. How could other undead forget that? But I thought of Dean last night, and I thought of her when I failed to insult the Executor. 

Executor Maulfalcon is exactly the reason she and I never had children. I couldn’t bring a child into this world knowing they’d be called what I nearly called him. As much as I loved her, and as much as I wanted it, I couldn’t let a child be tormented all their life the way he must have been. I couldn’t let an innocent heart turn cruel like his because the world is horrible. But I’m not going to admit that to any of these people. I regret that Executor Maulfalcon’s life and unlife must have gone so wrong to make him so detestable, but I don’t pity him. What we are and what we do aren’t under our control, but who we are and how we act are. Of all people he should know not to be unkind to others for how they look. 

Still. I want an apology. None of them would have been drinking and celebrating last night if it weren’t for me. They look at me with suspicion out of the corners of their eyes and disrespect me right to my face, and Zyandahl even had the audacity to conspiratorially talk about blindfolding me – as if I didn’t know he was asking for future reference, for the inevitable day that they’ll all incapacitate me and brutalize me. But the fact remains, if I hadn’t done what I did to that Windi woman they wouldn’t have uncovered what they uncovered at the Sunwell. 

I want an apology. I want to be respected. For once in my unlife. They don’t have to like me, but they are going to respect me. I don’t care about the consequences or how long it takes – I’ll hear Executor Maulfalcon apologize to me eventually. Either he’ll do it when I ask him nicely, or he’ll do it when I ask him less-than-nicely, but he’ll do it. 

I am keeping my word to Mr. Atlas, though. I’m not going to let them call me a liar on top of it all. No mind control. No ‘invalidation of free will.’ Not hard. It just means I’m going to have to be more creative. 

Before I forget, Harborym was as sweet as ever. I don’t know how he manages to be so kind. He gave me his cloak when my shirt and vest were ruined (Goruul) and I felt like I had a shred of dignity walking home in it. He’s a very nice young man. I’m sure people are unduly cruel to him about his appearance, too. I wish I could stay as positive as he does or be as selfless as he is. I want to talk to him about what happened at the Sunwell, about the third trial we underwent, but I don’t want to overstep my bounds. I only hope he didn’t make the choice he made for the same reason I did. 

PS – Who am I kidding? I can’t even fantasize about comeuppance without shame and worrying over the consequences. No wonder I’ve never avenged myself for a single thing that’s gone wrong in my life.

[shithowdy]

Can you introduce us to your Warcraft ocs?

UHHH gosh, I can, but I’m no longer active in the game or RP community.

My Death Knight Oliver is my oldest WoW OC, and the guy in my icon. He was a Knight of the Silver Hand, a stock Lordaeron soldier before that, and a chicken farmer before that. He’s dumb as rocks and is almost suicidally determined to do the right thing all the time at all costs (alignment: Stupid Good), which conflicts pretty heavily with the whole endless hunger thing, and also with the fact that he married a criminal woman (played by @lightandwinged​) 35 years younger than him because she was the first person who didn’t think he was too gross to kiss. When he’s not having an identity crisis or being an absolute freak on the battlefield, he likes to feed the Cathedral Square pigeons and whittle.

My paladin Chadley is Oliver’s son from his marriage in life. He’s a bleeding heart like his father but actually understands concepts like “odds of survival” and “personal boundaries”. He began as a little stringbean healer with no control over his empathetic abilities and a frothing hatred for undead that nearly had him fall in with the Scarlet Crusade, but he was lucky enough to instead squire an Argent. His character arc was all focused on growth, overcoming prejudices and self-doubt, and becoming fucking shredded with the power of the Light. He power bottoms for one-legged Richard Armitage, and he earned it.

My mage/necromancer Norberon is a rude old bitch who just wants to create monstrosities and ascend to lichdom in peace but people keep knocking on his door for runic body enhancements because they know he’s too strung out on arcane dust to remember to charge them money. Before joining the Forsaken he was a slave to the Cult of the Damned and forced to apply his lifelong trade of runework to the creation of Death Knights, but you don’t escape that sort of thing without becoming a little touched by it–  he thinks that Lady Deathwhisper was totally right about undeath being the superior state of being, the Scourge just really blew it with the whole “mindless” thing. 

He married arguably the worst person on Azeroth, Executor Maulfalcon, (played by @s-c-r-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e ) and thinks this means he has some kind of authority. No one ever told him it doesn’t.

I do have some other minor characters but those are the ones that matter, I guess!

[daetur]

Breaking and Entering (Dyrihm Personal Event Log, Part 2)

After speaking with Dyrihm earlier in the week, Nob’s concerns continue to eat at him until, finally, he suggests checking in on the Death Knight, with Rey in tow. The three decide to take action, to get a better picture of this sinister “Father Trevarde,” and Nob sets out to sneak into the man’s house and snoop around.

Jackdaw toys with his gloves absently, nodding.  "Might not be a bad idea t'check in on 'im... he promised me he wouldn't do anything stupid, an' if I'm gonna believe anyone t'actually hold ta that it's Dyr, but..."

Jackdaw has seen a whole lot of Stupid in this unit he Knows you people.

Reyanel | Doubt.  Rey thinks Dyr does stupid things all the time because he never takes care of himself.

[Reyanel]: Well, we can stop by his place then.  Best to get back to the City anyway.

Jackdaw nods, the faintest hint of dawning horror behind his ghostly eyes.  Riding tandem again.  Light, he needs to get a bat.  Or not. Not... has perks...

Reyanel doesn't see this horror as he looks up to call his bone beast.

Reyanel | It doesn't need calling.  It clatters to the ground with a snort.

Dyrihm has left the hatch that leads down into his home ajar- an invitation. He can be found bustling around his kitchen.

Reyanel slides right in, looking absolutely fine for once, "Dyrihm." He greets, "Good, you're not dead, excellent."

Reyanel | Well....deader.

Dyrihm raises a brow. "Not any more than usual, no- should I be worried?"

Jackdaw gives Rey an Odd Look at that greeting.  "I think he means, he's glad nothin fishy's happened with that Father wossname fuck.  Yet."

Reyanel settles in the chair Frost has pointed out to him at the Winter's Veil party, gesturing towards Nob. What he said.

Dyrihm says, "Trevarde." He seems to mull the name over, an furrow between his brows. "Yes, I- haven't heard anything from him. Or the Blade, so far."

Reyanel kicks his feet up like he just lives here.  Rey, don't be so rude!!!  

Dyrihm | Rey is allowed to be Dyr's shitty visiting sibling.

[Reyanel]: Anyone in the Blade I should keep an eye out for by the way, Dyrihm?

Dyrihm gives Rey a look. "Besides ALL of them? They still think you tried to kill me to escape with your runeblade, remember? If they find out we're fuckin' pals, I'm toast." He sounds like he's spent a lot of time on this train of thought.

Reyanel winces. Right.  That.

[Reyanel]: Trevarde stopped by Hael--Varun's place and I met the priest there.  So he knows me.  I don't know if they've connected us.

Dyrihm puffs out a breath. "Well, he's not really Blade, so it's unlikely he recognized you, at least. I just wish I knew who he was reporting to."

Reyanel pauses. "I wonder if any Knights would know." He ponders that, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Jackdaw raises a hand, completely useless as he's being invisible.  "Excuse me?  Invisible man?"

[Jackdaw]: He's prob'ly stayin' in the city, right?

Dyrihm nods. "I assume he's staying at the return address on his letters- it's residential. Which is... frankly, real stupid."

Jackdaw is already planning to fuck with the Apothecarium why not add another vindictive, dangerous organization to the list.

Reyanel looks at Nob. "If someone looks into Trevarde, it might help in the long run."

Reyanel | Cough, someone. He's a terrible influence.

Dyrihm stares at where Nob's voice has been coming from. "Not just anyone with shadow magic can see you, right?"

Jackdaw shakes his head. "Most folks CAN'T see me, even Shadow priests an' the like.  Atlas ain't been able t'see me until we got, uh- linked up, like."

Dyrihm nods. "All right, hopefully safe there, then- Nob, you know you don't have to do this," he blurts. "I don't want any of you getting in over your heads just for my sake."

Reyanel tilts his head. "I could try looking into it as well." He muses then looks to Dyr with a sharp smile.  "I have orders to hound the Blade, Dyrihm, don't worry."

Jackdaw smiles at Dyrihm. "Light's sake Dyr, ya let Reya half kill ya doin' him a favor, least I can fuckin' do is raid some priest fuck's office."

Reyanel flinches. Just slightly.  He looks up at the ceiling.

Jackdaw is just trying to make a POINT about how STUPID people are in this GROUP about their SELF DESTRUCTIVE TENDENCIES

Jackdaw 'noooo its only okay when -I- do it'

Dyrihm grimaces. "I know, but-" He sighs. "So many of you seem like you're ready for friends to turn on you, just doesn't feel right, you risking yourselves for my sake, when I-" He makes a frustrated noise. "I'm not sure you'd really believe I'd do the same."

Jackdaw is aghast. "What the fuck ever- what gave ya THAT bloody stupid idea, mate?"

Reyanel looks at Dyr. "Honesly, Dyrihm, who have you been talking to?"

[Dyrihm]: Varun and Maul!

Dyrihm gives a frustrated grumble.

[Jackdaw]: They're fuckin' PARANOIDS!

Reyanel sighs.

Jackdaw drags a hand down his ghostly face.  Chill.

Jackdaw makes an effort, and Appears, with only mild flickering.

Dyrihm sighs, drawing in. "I'm sorry. I'm just- maybe I'm a little paranoid myself, lately."

[Reyanel]: I think I understand why the Executor said to get some of us after pirates.  I think you need to blow of some steam.

Reyanel deadpans at Dyrihm, lounging in the chair.

[Jackdaw]: Look. Varun is- he's Varun, all right? He's jes LIKE that.  An' Maulfalcon's a giant bloomin' arse wart of a man who don't respect no one.  They ain't the best measurin' stick fer this kinda shit.

Dyrihm rubs the back of his neck. "I- I suppose maybe I do need more than Frost and I have been-" he clears his throat, as Nob speaks. "They may not be the best bars, but they're in CHARGE, Nob! When push comes to shove, if they don't think I'd be there for them, why would they risk the Corps for me?" Ah. There it is.

Reyanel makes a small FACE at where that first sentence was going.

Jackdaw groans. "Maul's jes bein' a VAIN SHIT, 'cause he's got some kinda stick up his ass 'bout bein' an elf, right?  I tol' him 'bout the letter, okay?  An' he weren't happy about it none- he WANTS ta make sure they ain't breathin' down yer neck, right?"

Reyanel sobers though as Dyr continues then, quietly, almost hesitantly. "You know the Executor's sending me after the Blade so we can figure out why they want to know you so badly?"

[Jackdaw]: Ya don't- folks DO care what happens to ya, don't be daft.  Honestly.

Jackdaw huffs.

Dyrihm glances at Rey. He scrubs a hand across his face. "I- of couse that's why he'd send you after Blade." The Knight sighs. "I'll try to stop second guessing that. Guess I'm just... not myself, lately. Everything with the Blade, and... well. Fresh memories.

Dyrihm You know."

Reyanel looks to Dyrihm. "I..I don't know about fresh memories." He glances towards Nob. "But if you need an ear, we're here, you know.  Don't have to go along on your own."

[Reyanel]: We're a team, Dyrihm.  And I think the Executor made his point about communication earlier, and that's that we all don't.

Dyrihm snorts. "Well, he's not wrong about that."

Jackdaw backs down a little, abashed.  "Sorry. Yeah, it- shit's been weird since that time stuff.  That was... hard enough.  Ya don't need me yellin'.  But- Lightssake, don't think we don't care about ya."

Dyrihm crosses his arms in front of his chest. "All right, well- You're right. I'm always a damn hypocrite about this. There's not much I wouldn't do for you guys. So, I'm glad you've got my back." He looks between the two of them. "I want to know more about Trevarde. I have a couple hunches- try and find out his first name, if you can, for starters."

Jackdaw nods. "Worth a go."

[Dyrihm]: Find out who he's reporting to- that's going to be your best bet for Blade to go after, Rey.

Dyrihm still looks worried about that, but he's committing.

Reyanel looks to Nob. "You're better at clandestine work than me." He states.  Simple fact.  "If you catch anything, I can get moving to look for whoever he's talking to."

Jackdaw grins. "Course.  I'll head there an' have a look tonight, even."

Jackdaw is fucking delighted to BE GIVEN A JOB IN HIS SKILL SET do u relaize that's all Maul would have to do to get him to stop being asuch a sullen fuck.  Just utilize him man.

Dyrihm nods. "Careful and quick," he says. "Nothing risky."

[Dyrihm]: They haven't contacted me yet, so I doubt they've come to a decision. And I don't plan on doing anything stupid to push them to make one.

Jackdaw pulls off a pin-tight salute, smiling gamely, a thing that continues to be odd when consciously considered, as most of his face is not visible.  "They won't know I was there."

Dyrihm looks to Rey. "Suppose you can wait to see what Nob finds, or try to get lucky."

[Dyrihm]: Might want to hide your face, though, to be safe.

Jackdaw helpfully tosses his cowl into Rey's lap.

Reyanel can't help a grin, teeth showing.  "I mean, I did technically try to kill you in Archerus.  Could just be looking for you to finish the job."

Jackdaw is downright chipper, after what a sad sack he was at Rey earlier it's amazing.  He just likes to feel USEFUL.

Dyrihm makes a considering face. "I hadn't thought about that. That's true."

Reyanel picks up the cowl and wears it across his face like a mask, arching a brow at Nob.

Jackdaw chuckles. "Dashing.  Mysterious."

[Reyanel]: Why, thank you.

Reyanel settles the cowl over his arm, looking to Dyr. "Could work, it's an option..."

Dyrihm nods. He looks... relieved. "Thank you." He shifts, a bit awkward. "I- It feels strange not to be doing anything. Having you two taking care of this."

Reyanel shrugs a shoulder. "You're pointing us in the right direction." He flashes a smile, sitting up properly.

[Jackdaw]: No point walkin' straight inta the lion's den when ya got resources, right?

Jackdaw seems honestly pretty damn excited about this.  The little nerd.

Dyrihm smiles. "True."

Reyanel stands up, rolling his shoulders.  Dear void, it's so weird not to be tense there...

Reyanel shrugs, “Anyway. I do have to stop by home." He looks to Nob. "Comm me and don't forget to report."

[Dyrihm]: Be safe.

Jackdaw nods, smirking faintly.  Even his leathery real-face gets in on it.  Seeing his actual physical expressions is weird. "'Course."

Reyanel flashes a smile at Dyr. "I will be.  I'm always careful." And he waves over his shoulder as he leaves.

Jackdaw bows with an obnoxious flourish, and vanishes.

Jackdaw already had the address memorized- he books it through the city, fast when he wants to be.

|| It was a residential home indeed, what Nob found at the address. A simple wooden door with a single lantern, and a small address plaque of tarnished bronze. There are no windows.

Jackdaw is patient, when he needs to be.  He waits outside, invisible, for some minutes, listening, watching for any movement or light under the door.

| | There is no light to be seen under the door, and the house is quiet, as far as can be heard from the outside. The lantern gutters. It has been lit for some time.

Jackdaw | Reasonably satisfied that the occupant is either asleep or out, Nob quietly tries the door. Locked?  That'll be interesting.

| | The door is, indeed, locked. There is also the faint tingle of magic.

Jackdaw grins.  He's ready for this.  Thank the Light for favors from uptight techno-magus nerdlords. He produces a key.

|| The latch clicks, and the tingling subsides. The home is dark inside.

Jackdaw slips in, his usual 'being as thin as possible' maneuver, and leaves the door open for now just for the light.  First things first: a quick look around to be SURE whether the occupant is home.

|| The home is small- a large, study-like room functions as both the entrance and main space, it appears. There is an orderly desk, papers stacked upon it, small personal affects clustered around the corners, a pen in an inkwell. A bookshelf stands against the far wall, far less orderly- stuffed with ratty journals and texts, each sporting a myriad of torn parchment bookmarks. A table is set in the center of the room- one chair only. A birdcage hangs above it, and something dark slumbers within. A doorway to the left leads to another dark room, but the light doesn't reach it.

Jackdaw decides leaving the door ajar is an acceptable risk for now- better than lighting a candle, and an escape route if someone is in that back room.  He's not a fan of the birdcage, but he'll have to work around it.

Jackdaw heads for the desk first- correspondence is awfully illuminating.  He intends to make this place look like he was never here- he's very careful with the papers, going through in an organized fashion and stacking them carefully in order.

|| Nearly every letter is signed slightly differently- the same handwriting, but the tone changes, seeming to suit the recipient. "Father Trevarde," is common, but some bear "Ebon Liaison Trevarde," "Shadowpriest Trevarde," "Shadowmender Trevarde," and one letter- a copy of something addressed to Atlas- is signed "Ebon Liaison Father Trevarde, formerly of the Church of Holy Light."

|| Of particular interest are a set of letters addressed to Knight Solis, all simply signed "Magnus." These appear to be reports, and grow increasingly frustrated.

Jackdaw is Heartily Entertained by all of this.  He reaches under his tabard and produces a tiny sheaf of paper- note taking will be part of your final grade.

|| The reports contain some odd comments along with more expected ones. That Dyrihm "Appears to be much like the man I remember," "Cannot be trusted to adhere to orders above emotional attachements," and "Comrades appear protective."

Jackdaw | Shove it up your ass, you manipulative old fuck. Nob notes the varying names and titles, the essential contents of the reports and their recipient, and replaces everything on the desk as closely as he can manage to how it was before he disturbed it.

Jackdaw creeps over to the bookshelf- notes, perhaps, or personal entries.  Again, great care is taken to leave no sign of what he's moved.

|| The journals are nearly all research- into Void and Shadow magic. Most entries are impersonal, academic. The oldest handwritten notebooks are about defensive spells and debilitating threats. The newest ones... seem to be about ways to avoid true death- phylacteries, rituals, the Shadowlands, soul manipulation.

Jackdaw, both interested and disturbed for personal reasons, makes a note of this progression... and perhaps lingers a little longer than he should, pouring over the newer material.

Jackdaw, too curious for his own good, EVENTUALLY gives up the journals in favor of the rest of the room. Step one: determine what the dark, possibly sleeping shape in that bird cage might actually be, before approaching.

|| It appears alive, and feathered, its body rising and falling with its breathing. The tingle of void magic can be felt from it, upon attentive inspection. It is about the size of a clenched fist.

Jackdaw doesn't care for THAT bullshit AT ALL.  He avoids the Likely Familiar, and slinks around the margins of the room to the interior door.  Closed?

|| Ajar. A dark room lies beyond, but the light from the entrance doesn't reach it.

Jackdaw replaces his tiny notebook From Whence It Came, and from that same disturbingly deep pocket produces... a lighter.  A Goblin lighter.  Light help him.  He clicks it.

Jackdaw covers the flame with his free hand, partially dampening it, and risks a peek in the room.

|| The light illuminates a messy bedroom- notes strewn across the bedside table with its small drawer. A few sets of robes hang from pegs on one wall. The small bed is untouched.

Jackdaw |  No occupant, no problems.  The notes are promising.  Those first.

|| Many are intelligible scribbles, some about the Void. A few appear paranoid, frightened. Another stack seems to be planning for his reports- one here is concerning. It reads, "Spoke with an undead at Deathstalker Varun’s residence- very little to no information on Dyrihm, but the undead willingly impersonated an Undercity official- suspicious- Dyrihm fraternizing with a non-Blade Knight? Any known connections to rogue Knights matching this description?"

|| On the bottom of this note, in a different pen, perhaps written at a different time, is one hastily scrawled word. "WRAITH."

|| Interestingly- this was not IN any of the reports.

Jackdaw , horrified, fumbles out his notebook again one-handed, and writes that one down word for word.  His usual pretty penmanship is a left-handed, frantic mess.  Rattled, he tucks the notebook away again and looks for any other leads in the room.

Jackdaw has never in his life been above going through pockets.

|| The robe pockets are mostly empty- some coins, blank papers, and a few dark, purple feathers that feel oddly cold to the touch. In one pocket, however, is something hard and metallic. A set of old, tarnished dog tags. [Magnus Trevarde], they read. [Troop 77]. Clearly, the man no longer wears them, but they must mean enough to have kept.

Jackdaw 's little packet of papers appears once more in his hand.  It's a difficult job with the lighter, but he makes a rubbing of the tags in his notebook.  No better proof than proof engraved in fucking metal.  He also pockets one of the feathers.

Jackdaw |  There's something magical about this shitty animal- if HE can feel the cold, it's magical.

Jackdaw automatically distrusts it.

Jackdaw has to have a go at the drawer, at least.  Though he's beginning to worry about pushing his luck.

|| The drawer is locked, but not magically like the front door.

Jackdaw is still in possession of a perfectly functional skeleton key, enchantments or no.  He'll try it, for shits and giggles.

|| Whatever key this drawer takes, it's not the same style as the skeleton key. Alas. A mystery remains.

Jackdaw , personally offended, produces lockpicks.  This is the LAST STRAW.  

|| Click! The drawer opens. Inside is... a personal notebook. Not academic, like the others. It contains pressed feathers and flowers, and frightened entries about visions of what awaits the undead after true death. An old, shabby portrait of a group of people is tucked between the pages. Six people standing side by side- A grim looking fellow in dark armor in the center, flanked by two hooded, smiling women. To the left, a blond giant of a man with a bright grin, and a dour looking sort in a robe, with long dark hair. To the right, on the end- is a familiar face. Yellow eyes instead of blue, and a fleshy jaw, but it is unmistakably Dyrihm.

Jackdaw , not for the first or hopefully last time in his sham of a life, curses his inability to draw. He tries to ignore his own interest in the priest's scrawlings, doing his best to commit the picture to memory.

Jackdaw tucks the entire affair away carefully when he's done, and re-locks the drawer.  Time to get the fuck out of here.  Okay, he's curious about the bird, but... no.  Fuck it.  It might talk or- have a mind link to the man or something.

|| Probably wise.

Jackdaw turns up at Dyrihm's doorstep like a lost dog, kicked and confused.  But Light help him, he's going to let Dyr know what's going on.

Dyrihm is busying himself in the courtyard again today- tending a few sad-looking plants.

Jackdaw rasps somewhere behind him, "Hey Dyrihm."  He's thoroughly invisible back here.

[Dyrihm]: Nob! How did it go?

Jackdaw pauses just slightly too long.  "Heh. Went smooth.  Found some stuff you oughta hear, I think."

Dyrihm turns, looking curious, and sighing with relief. "Oh good, it went well? What- what did you find?" How fucked am I?, it sounds like he means.

[Jackdaw]: Well, ya wanted 'is name.  First name's Magnus.

Dyrihm curses, colorfully.

[Dyrihm]: I was afraid of that. Light.

Jackdaw shrugs, unseen. It's a relief to know he can stay invisible.

[Jackdaw]: I got the impression he knew ya.  So... true, then.

Dyrihm nods, looking a little reluctant. "Long time ago. We haven't spoken since I became a Knight. It was... a different time."

[Jackdaw]: He's gone off th' deep end fer shadow magic, if that means anything t'ya.  Necromancy stuff.  Phylacteries, soul magic.  He had a picture've ya with some folks.  Ya had a regular jaw still.

Dyrihm looks grim, and a little sad. "Yeah, I would've- probably of our old unit." His brows furrow. "He still had it? It's been more than a decade." The Knight shakes his head. "I don't know, he wasn't- he wouldn't have done something like this, back then. I was hoping it wasn't him."

Jackdaw rasps, "I got no idea what he actually thinks he's DOIN', so if you do kindly fuckin' enlighten me.  He's been writin' all over t'folks tryin' ta get info on you."

[Dyrihm]: He wouldn't be trying to get a friend killed.

[Jackdaw]: D'we know fer sure that's what he's aimin' at?  Anyway, contact's someone called Knight Solis, if that rings any bells.

Dyrihm sighs. "I don't know why he's- well. Maybe..." He rubs the back of his neck. "No, don't know any Solis, more than any of the other Knights up in Acherus."

Jackdaw nods uselessly. "Well- he'd figured out who Rey is, so ya know.  But far as I can tell he ain't actually wrote anybody about it.  maybe he ain't reported it."

Jackdaw is, beneath his cloak of shadows, looking pretty miserable right now.  But he's faking it hard, and manages to sound relatively normal.

Dyrihm pales. "Shit, that's not a good card for him to have. Okay. All right. If he hasn't told anyone-" Dyrihm looks frustrated and confused. "What the hell DOES he think he's doing, if he's digging like that, but not reporting something that big?" He sighs.

[Jackdaw]: Sorry mate, I jes- can tell ya what I found, but not what's in 'is head.

Dyrihm smiles, kindly through his worry. "Sorry. Just thinking out loud, I know you can't. Thanks, Nob." The Knight looks thoughtful. "Maybe- if it really is the Trevarde I knew, I could try dropping by after all..."

Jackdaw rasps, surprisingly firmly for the usually skittish little man, "Not without me ya ain't."

Dyrihm chuckles. "I remember. I'll bring backup, don't worry." He shifts, suddenly, looking guilty. "I, uh- I haven't told Frost, yet. I don't want him doing something rash. Mind mentioning that to Rey or Reya, next time you see them? I just- I need to talk to him soon, I know, but- I want him to hear it from me first."

Jackdaw cringes, unseen. "Yeah.  Sure, I'll pass it on."

Dyrihm nods. He looks a little comforted. "Thanks for having my back, Nob. Really."

[Jackdaw]: 'Course. Always, mate.

Jackdaw really, honestly sounds like he means that.

Dyrihm smiles. "I- Normally I'd invite you to stay, but I've got a lot on my mind, and I- well. I think I'd like to be alone with my thoughts." An unusual sentiment, from Dyrihm. He sounds a little shaken by what Nob's brought him, frankly.

Jackdaw nods.  Light, it feels like he's forgetting something important... but he's just drawing a blank.  "Sure, Dyr.  No worries, right?  You jes'... take it easy, an' lemme know if ya need anythin'.  I already- I reported, so.  Varun and Rey know."

Jackdaw 's shitty, croaking voice breaks faintly on that last line.  He clears his throat.  Just a hardware error.

Dyrihm nods. "All right. Good." He pretends not to notice, but his lips twitch slightly. "Take care of yourself, Nob."

Jackdaw mumbles a "You too," and it already sounds like he's running the fuck away before it's half out.

[simply-suggesting]

Journal 03

Quite a lot has happened since I last wrote. I’ve been hesitant to put my thoughts to paper after a particular individual broke into my home and stole one of my older journals from my time in Silverpine. However, I looked back on what I’d last written and I thought: For posterity’s sake I ought to clear up my opinions on my new unit:

I like them quite a lot. Even the ones that I hate, I like. I can’t help but be concerned about them, to want good things for them. I never thought I’d be one to write this, but: I think I’ve finally, after all this time, found my place in Forsaken society. And isn’t that the way it goes? Now that I’m months from ascending, I’ve found people I want to stick around for.

In all honesty I had written a scathing review of Mr. Nobody after the incident with the demon ‘Gurt’ on the mission to save Froststrider, but I tore that page out and threw it away later. He wronged me, but... He also showed me a kindness that I don’t believe I fully deserved. He humbled me. He reminded me of a time when I was more like him. Not a idiot, I mean, but more emotional, more kind, more respectful. I feel bad for him. The rest of the unit ignores him or calls him ‘pleasant’ names like ‘Arseling.’ Poor soul. I’d like to meet with him again soon, but I haven’t seen him. More than usual. I think he’s actually been gone? I hope he comes back.

Dyrihm, likewise, is a man like I used to be. I respect him greatly. We have so much in common! Not just our beliefs (admittedly, we diverged on matters of a future for the Forsaken) but in our histories. He’s like a brother from another life – and I feel like I must not be the only man to say that. He’s well-respected among the group. I’ve offered to help him discover any nascent memories he may have of his life. He was torn, and understandably so, so I’m giving him time to think.

Not too much time, though. My condition is progressing quickly. After a duel with Ironsol in which I might have gotten slightly carried away, the Shadow overtook me and I slipped into a strange place. I think it was the Shadowlands. Dark, with a grey, swirling sky. I could see the unit still, watched Rey(a) and Dyrihm duel. I felt like Rey(a)’s magic was there with me, physically, even while everyone else was not. I tried to call out to the others, but I couldn’t find my voice. I thought of home, focused hard, closed my eyes, and when I came to I was in my apartment again. It took me a few more hours to become corporeal, which is right around when Nae showed up.

My arm never rematerialized, but I know it’s still there. Nae made fun of it, but I didn’t mind. She’s not a nice woman, but it is nice to hear a woman laugh, even if it is at my expense. We had a good time before she left.

I tried a little mentalism on Leileran. He’s so dim, poor soul. Who, when invited to the home of a man named Interrogator Willbender, comes without telling anyone, then sits down and willingly asks for me to do mentalism on them, only to expect I won’t physically stun him? How has he lived so long? If I were a meaner man I could have killed or possessed him. I didn’t do anything too untoward, of course. Mostly probed around to see what it was like in there. I couldn’t find any ulterior motives in his head, which surprised me, but I still don’t trust him. He wants to know too much. And any breather that willingly spends time with Forsaken like myself and Executor Maulfalcon and Goruul – the suspicious and dangerous and violent kinds – must be up to something. I don’t like that he’s a Light-caster, and I don’t at all appreciate that he’s interested in the Shadow. He expects me to teach him more mentalism. I think I’m going to avoid doing so. I don’t like the idea of him bolstering his defenses against me in the event I ever have to subdue him. Can’t trust the living. Can’t let them have power over you.

And speaking of having power over someone, Atlas is now my little indentured servant. I’m going to torment him terribly. Oh, this will be horrible for him. A real punishment. Deathstalker Steel made the right decision sending him to me.

I’ve just remembered: My hand rematerialized after Atlas’ little Light stunt. I know exactly what this means, or anyways strongly suspect, but I refuse to entertain the notion. I would rather die. I would rather give in to my ascendancy than subject myself to that again. 

[simply-suggesting]

Journal 01

On first meetings and the casual mention of fighting dreadlords. Charnel Corps namedrops, implications that Atlas is up to no good, and the merits of sexing demons.

Two days into my assignment with the Charnel Corps, and it’s been eventful. The very first day I arrived in casual clothes not expecting to be fighting any dreadlords.

Needless to say, we fought a dreadlord.

Maybe more accurate to say the Corps fought the dreadlord and I wrestled with an inability to control my magic and my form. The demon’s mastery of shadows must have been disrupting my ability to cast. I’ve never had such an issue, spells fizzling like I was an amateur. It was embarrassing. The demon did quite a bit of damage to us, but nobody died and I was able to heal a few of them despite the disruptions.

Executor Maulfalcon took a hit for me despite the fact that I’m sure he dislikes me. I brought it up to a few of the Corps and none of them seemed surprised at all. I won’t expect any more of it going forward, but it was a surprise to me. Pleasant? Not pleasant because he was wounded for his troubles, but not a negative surprise. I’d also like to note he’s a very brave person, and organized enough in combat. He ordered his team with confidence and physically threw himself at the demon to stop it. Though his attitude out of combat is repugnant, I think he’s going to be a better leader than reports suggest. This may be a decent assignment after all.

Arcanist Thor’del did not show any grace or gratefulness for me healing him. I should have expected it. Not sure why I didn’t. I’d like to say I won’t heal him again, but I know I will. Wish I wasn’t like this.

The man who introduced himself to me as ‘Zyandahl’ seemed friendly, I’m making a note to meet with him as soon as possible. Know nothing about him aside from that. Likewise, the deathstalker, the tauren, the death knight with the runic jaw.

Last night met with Mr. Atlas. He has the emotional range of a teenager, which makes sense, because he looks 17 or 18. No clue on how long he’s been dead, but I imagine it hasn’t helped him mature. Speaking with him was an extreme exercise in restraint, as he was incredibly opinionated. He doesn’t like mentalism. I promised him that I won’t ‘scramble any brains’ on the team (I did clarify on the team) and he flippantly promised “If he remembers” to not cast the Light on me unless it’s life or death. I’ll say this much: If he conveniently ‘forgets,’ the deal is off. Not that I was ever going to mind control any of these people, except for the moment when the Arcanist and the Executor told me I ought to. (They were joking. Potentially?) If I have to rearrange anyone’s thoughts it will only be at the Executor’s orders, and then I can completely shift the blame onto him. Still, I haven’t seen any evidence that anyone here needs to be retrained in any way. They’re all very sincere and tried their hardest. It was good to see.

Interestingly, Mr. Atlas became incredibly upset when I suggested that I can do helpful things with my abilities, such as returning memories to people. He immediately demanded I not do so. Red flag. I’ll be keeping an eye on the situation. Strongly believe he has already tampered with their thoughts and does not want me to see evidence of such. Hesitant to put that into any official report without proper evidence, but recording here for posterity. Could explain why he dislikes me so much. (Note self: He did not find humor in my joke that if I were here to mind control people I would have made him less obstinate. What wasn’t funny about that?...)

Harborym, Rey, and the associate Mr. Ironsol: All very good people. Mr. Ironsol has a wealth of knowledge, and I wouldn’t mind learning more about what he knows. And he lived in Dalaran before the bubble! Very exciting. Pleasant to talk with him about it, if only for a moment. We will have to get together again soon and reminisce. Light-caster. Do not touch him. (As an aside, and if I might be so bold, I think he’s a sexually inexperienced young man, because he was absolutely incredulous at the notion that people would have sex with demons for the thrill and with no care to the ‘health hazards.’ Then again, aren’t I the one who was scandalized when Harborym mimed oral sex? Though it was very funny in hindsight...)

The death knight ‘Rey’ was very quiet, well-mannered, mostly listened. I learned that he has another ‘entity’(?) inside of him, which he calls ‘Reya’ and describes as more friendly than himself. Another soul? Another mind? Unsure. He told me that he does not want me to enter his mind, so I might never know. Said that Reya might take me up on violin lessons, which is exciting! Next time I come around I’m bringing my violin to play for the Corps.

Harborym, the Illidari, is probably my favorite – not that I would ever choose favorites. Sincere, forthright, slow to anger or offend, casual, calm. However, did burp in my ear as goodbye. Did not appreciate and did not mean to smile. He taught me quite a bit about the Illidari and being a demon hunter, which was very interesting. They consider themselves predators of demons. Very different from warlocks, I think. I thought he seemed a very selfless man despite his humility and insistence that he was not. He touched my claw without my permission, but after being so open about himself I couldn’t begrudge him his curiosity. I did not mean to scratch his head after, make note not to do so again in public – or ever.

I think the greatest part about meeting with those three was... Joking. Humor. I feel like I haven’t heard a joke that wasn’t at my expense in ages. It felt so normal. I didn’t know how much my soul missed a little laughter, a little friendly conversation. Thinking about it is making me embarrassingly emotional. I think I’ve written enough tonight.