#mujee

[dazaralor]

It has been longer than I intended since my previous entry. I shall explain why.

My excursion to Duskwood saw several days of uninterrupted observation, investigation, and rumination on the nature of what I discovered there. A second sigil had been discovered, one not yet complete, and after being delayed by fruitless posturing from the unliving locals I proceeded with a more appropriate investigation. Indeed the nature of this second, unfinished sigil was of such a repulsive aura as to surpass the miasma the Nazmani inflicted on Nazmir, even at the height of G'huun's activity prior to its destruction. It sought to entrench its magic in my veins, and corrupt me from the inside out. I held vigil for several days until Zajora and others arrived, much to my relief.

This relief would not last long.

In the course of briefing one another on what had come to pass and repairing to the sigil's location unknown hands had rapidly completed its shape, ushering in the rise of its macabre power. The mindless undead which teemed around us responded to it, and hordes of carrion insects assembled in the sky like a great war band. We had to act, and as some among us took to disposing of the grand and befouled stump in which the sigil had been carved to loom over us like a promise of our impending death, others lead the charge on the trail of a mysterious figure perhaps connected to its completion. This led us to an old memorial, I assume to some important human or another, and as the swarm roared closer and the air became heavier with the coalescing power of the grave some among us became unnerved.

For my part I took to steadying Deh'meva, taking her by the shoulders and offering a warm, living presence to anchor her amidst the undead, sapient and otherwise, that choked the space and air about us, as well as steeling words bereft the charnel rasp of the grave. She found her center then, there in the dark, and I was not surprised: I saw her face well for the first time, and amidst its beauty I could also see a quiet strength, something perhaps unassuming to others, but plain to myself, for in my own way I also know the dark.

As her and others among our number recovered themselves the botflies descended upon us and attacked, decimating the statue in an eruption of pulverizing debris. I lunged for Deh'meva, bringing her out of the trajectory of the shrapnel, but others were not so fortunate, and our situation became desperate as the flies prepared another strike, our stricken required aid, and the dead began to marshal themselves to join the attack.

Our flight was quick, and one amongst us stayed behind to keep the dead at bay. I do not know yet what has become of them. Our pursuit of this stranger led us down into the crypts, which we sealed behind us before continuing our pursuit. Leading the vanguard I found myself coming upon the figure in the sepulchral dark, discovering him to be no more than a human farmer enthralled by whatever malevolence was orchestrating these myriad terrible events, and though I tried to calm him enough to cleave his head from his shoulders and set him free, he doused me in rancid blood and absconded into the dark. Though I attempted to follow him I was thrown back by an unseen force, and as Deh'meva helped me to my feet more blood was loosed upon the charnel earth, amalgamating into a most concerning form:

Dire trolls.

It is troubling that here, so far from even the fallen Gurubashi, something so singular and intentional with its shape should be formed against us. The implications for the potential reach of whatever entity is behind these malodorous hauntings and possessions are dire, to be mild, and we must hope it is but an extenuating circumstance that allowed something tied to the ancient depths of Zandalar's histories to take root so far from her verdant and lovely shores.

The battle that followed was not without casualties, but our number at the least did not dwindle further as we pressed deeper into the crypts and were confronted with our quarry. Where we expected a last great battle, however, he instead was simply rotted away, no longer useful to the entity marionnetting his body and soul. I have not forgotten the atrocity and grief the humans brought to Dazar'alor, indeed to all of Zandalar, but this man had nothing to do with it, and in the end was likely consumed like kindling for nothing more than wanting the return of his son. Another tragedy I could not avert, even if it was not mine to do so.

The entity did not depart idly however, and Deh'meva was stricken with some affliction that left her screaming and terrified. It was not until later, after ascertaining my own health and purity, that I was able to visit her in the infirmary to ascertain the nature of what had been done to her. As I took my place beside her bed she was fitful and restless, disquieted even in her solitude. I took her hand, and it was not so warm as it should be, and asked her what ailed her.

I can see, she told me, but all I see is dead and rotting.

Such cruelty dragged my heart to depths even Gral could not brave to dive, nor Hi'reek navigate the dark of. I squeezed her hand and began to speak to her of other, kinder senses, and as we walked away from the deceit of her eyes together she began to calm. Most auspiciously, the Lord of the Midnight Sky was able to use myself as a conduit to return her to the dark which she knows so well. Not blindness, but darkness, for I believe Deh'meva likely sees many things the rest of us do not. There, anchored closeby and sharing the dark of Midnight, we helped Deh'meva find peace and rest, and I stayed with her for some hours into the night so she could sleep unbothered. It is a ritual I have repeated some nights since, though she is improving rapidly, to my great delight.

There is much to do still, much and more that needs to be learned about what we face and what hold it may still have over our companions, but we cannot burn our own spirits down to cinders in an endless toiling, either. The days and nights have been hard, and I think that tomorrow I will ask Deh'meva if she'd like to accompany me into Zuldazar to enjoy an afternoon of proper tranquility to offset the nightmare of the aftermath of Duskwood.

If she says yes, perhaps I'll show her my garden.

[frickyoueli]

i love love love music rn.

this shit is GAS

like music right now i feel like there’s more independent artist than ever. and even bigger artist pushing back against the industry to give artists more creative freedom. i jus love this shit tbh

<3

[dreamboatt]

the only thing clearer than the Wi-Fi is the smog

[the-prophecy]

I'm a swiftie of ofcourse I'll leave everything and hop on a grainy live stream at surprise song o' clock

[pawl3ss]

If I don't see rudy again soon I'll cry

[masterkirby]

Sam spożywczy

sam < samoobsługowy (self-service)

spożywczy = grocery store

[mish-me]

Iss app pe itne pyaase log kyun hain

[heehoee]

Soja

🙄

[helloforgottenlibrary]

[dazaralor]

To cut is to seek obliteration of the self. This precept is infallibly true, for to cut clean and true one must erase all illusion of self, efface all distraction and desire till all that remains is the flame of will bared and roaring like an inferno. One must swing not with their arm or their wrist, but with the center of their chest, bereft of all doubt and other desire, knowing with absolute certainty that their will is to be made manifest on reality, and the sword, the glaive, the blade is the extension of that will, so as the brush is when composing verse, or illustrating an image.

I have walked the sevenfold path and confronted my aspects, have meditated toward the oblivion of self to see my will become manifest in reality with every stroke and swing of my glaive, yet even for all my years of pursuit I would scarcely claim to have even approached the cusp of mastery. It is a lifelong dedication for all but those select few, who whether by the grace and favor of the loa or the fire of their own hearts step into the hall of high legends, or the annuls of cataclysmic villains. I would not say this, yet neither would I say my progress is negligible, or even middling. False modesty is worse than unfettered ego, for at least ego is loud and honest, and guides one to its heart.

I do this so my blade might find purpose, for a blade honed for its own sake will inevitably cut down any it find it has opportunity to cut, and such indiscriminate violence is the ruin of the soul, the fallowing of the heart into a desolation in which nothing may grow or flourish, only die a lonesome death.

Of late my purpose has taken a new and unexpected trajectory, seeing my glaive raised on behalf of a man by the name of Zul'Rajai, the captain of a vessel in service to Zandalar and, by extension, the Horde. He is an intriguing man with a comportment that reminds me of a distinguished hero from one of the epics from the Empire's younger years, works of such age and character that it's a wonder they survived the turbulence of the age of the Council of Tribes. He is a man with a want to see good done, but tempered with a pragmatism that I shall take the measure of as time goes by and provides opportunity. They must be carefully balanced, good intention and pragmatism alike, else either lead to ruin of the soul. It is my hope we will share drinks, draw blades, and exchange stories soon.

I encountered Zul'Rajai, his wife Zajora, and a blind healer also amongst their crew named Deh'meva while attending the opening night for a gathering known as the World's Faire Carnival. By circumstance we all wound up occupying one space among the crowd, and certainly I had an appreciation for their presence as I watched a troupe comprised largely of members of the Alliance perform an oddly familiar style of drumming, and perhaps a familiar story, mere years after assaulting our ancient capital city and assassinating our king. I suppose some things simply can't be helped however, and once the opening ceremony finished, we dispersed. I may have gone on my way had I not encountered Deh'meva on her own, separated from the others, and though I had no doubt she could find them regardless of her being sighted or not, I still volunteered to assist her so she would not feel surrounded by small, pink creatures. We wound up separated along the way, but eventually I came across Zajora, reunited with Deh'meva, and we were re-joined by Zul'Rajai not long after.

I would be remiss to neglect to remark on either of the women I shared the evening with. Zajora, Zul'Rajai's wife, is a woman who makes an immediate impression of her practical and decisive nature. Though I could only hope to know the particulars through a gift of scrying, for certainly a woman as her would guard the secrets of her heart and story as a Sabertusk guards her young, she still makes apparent the strength of her character, her impatience for meandering and time wasting. A woman that would be excellent to befriend or ally with, and terrible to have as a foe. As for Deh'meva, she was more reserved, quiet. I believe the most we spoke of was regarding her unfortunate allergy to birds before she succumbed to its malady, and retired for the evening. A shame, for though I only briefly engaged she seemed a sweet, thoughtful soul, and I hope to find a moment to share her company again soon.

The evening that followed was almost inauspicious, a variety of sedate night as I seldom find myself in possession of. I am often on my own given the unpredictable course of my journeys, but even with these strangers there was a pleasant tone to what may well have otherwise been an obnoxious evening for the simple charm of their company, company that did not feel so jarringly misaligned to my own as is often the case when I sojourn from village to village, city to city, following what esoteric guidance I am prescribed by the accumulating presence of Hi'reek, or the jeering cackles of Jani. Perhaps it is good my solitude is ending, for a time.

Eventually we joined another of their crew, Harun, and while I had spoken with Zul'Rajai and Zajora of their work and the possibility of joining their crew, the circumstances of Harun compelled me to expedite my decision, as he had been afflicted with a terrible curse tied to some undead malady afflicting the Stormwind province of Duskwood. The particulars of this curse, at least such as they were outlined to myself, and the way they taxed the tauren, compelled me to take action sooner rather than later. I will be absconding for Duskwood following the completion of this entry, and will outline my findings upon my return. May Hi'reek's shadow never be far from my path.

[desifleabag]

When someone asks me what being grateful means to me, I find myself without a clear answer. It seems I have never truly felt grateful for the people around me, those I love, or even for the cream rolls I enjoy during snack time. However, there is a reason I yearn for more from life. I seek to find deeper meaning and fulfillment within myself because I feel like a deep well that is so empty that a random act of kindness or a bag of money wouldn't make me feel grateful or happy. Yet, despite my struggles with gratitude, I find solace in the song "Lag Ja Gale" by Lata Mangeshkar.

I can't recall the exact moment I first listened to this song, but it might have been when my mother used to sing it in the kitchen or when my dad hummed it while driving me to school. As I grew older, the song transformed from being merely a love song to a reminder of the importance of gratitude in my life. Every time I hear it, I am reminded to appreciate life fully and not underestimate its unpredictability, as we never know when it might be the last time we see someone we care about.

The beauty of life lies in cherishing every moment with our loved ones. The song encourages us to embrace them tightly, engage in heartfelt conversations over a cup of tea, and promise to meet again. I now realize the significance of living in the present and not putting off expressions of love and appreciation for later.

Looking back, I wish I hadn't believed in the idea of "next time." I regret not hugging someone tightly when I had the chance, not seeing my beautiful friend before she passed away, and missing the opportunity to receive blessings from my grandfather. It's a common habit to assume there will always be another chance, but this song has taught me the importance of being grateful and showing appreciation without delay.

[dreamboatt]

pura saal bhar Mumbai mei thi and jis din trophy Mumbai mei hai uss din mei Pune mei kyu 😭

u missed this

[the-prophecy]

[cherryvazquez]

…⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷᴗ⁠•⁠◍✧⁠*ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷᴗ⁠•⁠◍✧⁠*ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷᴗ⁠•⁠◍✧⁠*⁠。

[kuldeepkingtv]

[ddurandals]

i love it when you call me dumbass

Does this count as anon hate. Sounds like harassment.

This is shrishti isn't it. Tera degradation kink line me la dumbass‼️