A new book

all battered and churned up. Garrosh used the desecration of this place as an excuse to go for Theramore, as I hear it, but the army from Mulgore marched so close by the ruins that Taurajo’s even more of a mess than before.

It’s not normal behaviour for the tauren, I think it’s been forced. I couldn’t bring myself to honour the place in their custom after seeing that, so I made a wreath of wildflowers in human fashion and set that by one of the burned tents instead.

Even empty, the place charges me.

That’s not clear. As Forsaken I pick up on bad tension, I see bad things and I hear bad sentiment and I take it in more than anything good. There’s been a lot more of that sort of thing about lately. I get a kind of pressure between my eyes everytime someone speaks bitterly about our movements, or when I see things like this: Taurajo in ruins and the marks of peaceful hooves all pressed in close for the war-march.

What I mean is that the state of the Horde makes me uneasy, and my own state of undeath turns that uneasiness into nervous energy: lots of it.

After the Wrathgate, Horde and Alliance and Legion alike poured into the Undercity and killed indiscriminately. Our brutality was mirrored right back to us from all those sources. Has Garrosh forgotten? I think his orc honour has blinded him to the similarities. Anything can be justified when your creed is one of warfare. Or, not warfare, I mean anger.

Wrathgate was down to anger: the rage of my people against all that has happened to us. I wonder if Garrosh would like that thought, the thought that he now wears the mantle of Putress. His shoulders will soon bear the weight of his Horde’s severed souls.

Anyway, this is a fresh book for my journal so I should introduce myself again. I find my thoughts of me make a good approximation of where I am in my own life, or in my own head, if that makes sense.

I am Nyxrinne, once called Corinne in life. I am a Forsaken apothecary, and eighteen months ago I was sent to Feralas by Master Apothecary Lydon to be forgotten (deliberately, because Lydon has what is called an eidetic memory, so he won’t have forgotten at all, but presumably Faranell and the others will do, or have done already).

Out in Feralas I grew to know my tauren hosts at Mojache. They claim I’m in the state of owa’hane, which loosely translates as a loss of the whole of which I should be a part; the loss of a strong cause.

There is some truth to it, but, despite the increased corruption of Lydon, who was my mentor, and the crescendo of warmongering behaviour from the Horde, I don’t think I have lost my way particularly: I am still working toward the defeat of the plague of undeath, and though the path is more overgrown and strewn with troubles than ever, I will keep to it.

Out there in Feralas, anyway, I met with Alliance contacts: three dwarves who are herbalists and alchemists, and a gnome, who is an arcanist. I wore traveller’s clothes instead of my robes and pleaded old notes of humanity, which washed, and we worked together on cataloguing the precise makeup of plants, which is mostly about all the different liquids and solids that go together to make a thing.

With the flattening of Theramore this alliance has been broken; the sentinels from Feathermoon looked ready to make sure of it so I left before they could. I’m on my way back to Orgrimmar, because I feel I need to witness as many corrupt cores of power as possible.

I have seen Faranell and Sylvanas, I felt the weight of the Lich King on my own mind, and I worked at the foot of the Icecrown Citadel, so I am curious to see how Orgrimmar fares. Perhaps there is a unified darkness to them that could be picked apart and understood. Perhaps it could be broken into its component parts and cured, bit by bit, like I hope the plague will be cured, bit by bit, body by body.

I am near the Crossroads now, I am resting in some shade, because I will not make it before noon, and the heat will swell my body if I try to press on under the full blast of the sun. It will not be long before I am amongst the orcs, and I can begin my diagnosis.

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