zarathehunter

[zarathehunter]

Entry 28

-Entries 13 through 27 appear to be mostly day-to-day, slice of life news and logs of hunts, parties, social events, and otherwise. Notably he mentions receiving a Saberguard medal and a ritual at the Silver Circle, as well as Nameless passing on. Also included is the arrival of the dracthyr and the Dragon Isles.-

Feyahni and I at last made landfall on the Dragon Isles with a ship of the Dragonscale Expedition. While she sought out scouting and reconnaissance roles, I put my habits and skills as a hunter to use. The wildlife is enormous, and brings unique challenges. I've assisted in founding leatherworking and skinning operations in the Waking Shores, as well as making quite a bit of coin and notoriety for myself by helping take down the wild proto-drakes.

The native proto-drake population appears to be explosive. They have no natural predators, and they are as numerous as rabbits. And they are fixed on destroying any foreign influence on their islands.

In one of our trips back, I joined her at a meeting of the Kalimdor Collective, where they discussed returning a dragon to her homeland, a young whelp named Lumigosa. I met more members than I ever have; all kaldorei or highborne outside of Feyahni and myself. While my reception wasn't perfect, Commander Maeshkin Darksong extended the hand of friendship and unity, and welcomed me fully into the ranks of his organization.

I confess, I feel somewhat strange 'belonging' to something again. When I worked at Trueshot so many years ago, I was just another hunter; the last time I really belonged was the Fourth War, with Stromgarde. Highvale Lodge doesn't quite count either, though Lethian Starblade is very much intrigued by my new involvement with the Isles and the continent of Kalimdor. The Highvale community has fully cemented me into their ranks- but under the Collective, I will be able to be an equal, *active* member. In Highvale, however, I will never be considered a true Farstrider or even a Ranger of their organization, though I am a heard voice in the small, valuable and tightknit community and have found immense pride bonding with my elven heritage and the bow over the years.

However, now sworn to defend my new allies as well as staking a protective stance over both Kalimdor and my homeland of the Eastern Kingdoms fills me with determination. Four years ago, nearly, I walked into a tavern in Stormind lost and aimless. I had lost my drive, my predatory instincts, was down on my luck, and had few coins to my name. Now I stand under the banner of two organizations I can throw my heart into; interestingly, both led by elves. It seems my time standing mostly in the human world has come pass- with my father's retirement and my return from the Broken Isles, I find greatest company within the fairer half of my blood.

Of course, I'll also be able to stand side-by-side with Feyahni as a peer in some respects, now. While she noticeably outstrips me in a tactical sense, I feel I have plenty to offer as a salt-of-the-earth, responsible sort of professional for the Collective, and going from introductions to inductions with her organization leaves me a feeling of pride and accomplishment. I don't just represent her as I grow into this guild; I represent all of the "strays" as a certain Priestess put it. My actions as a foreign, unknown element could set the tone for their future interactions and alliances with other important individuals.

Speaking of Feyahni, we've drifted deeper into my learning of the Shadow. She has proven a most fruitful teacher, and while I have a long way to go, our most recent session sees me breaking forth into actually holding some of my own Shadow energy, not just borrowing hers. As I grow stronger with every step, it seems the magical force grows more intent on punishing me. For now I emerge victorious, but gripping the Shadow with my own mind and body left me nauseated, puking and blacking out from even the slightest direct contact.

I don't envy the ren'dorei. Few in number though they are, the burden they carry would drive me to end my life in a few short weeks, I fear. Other Shadow-infected creatures, like Kahleem, perhaps, struggle in the same vein. At least I-for now- have the luxury of releasing the magic I undertake when I am finished with it. This expression of Shadow, taking it's very nature and disease into my body and mind, is far different than simply activated the enchanted Black Arrows. Though, I wonder...I only have two of the Arrows left, so I'm saving them. But were I to set them ablaze with that summoned Shadow instead of my usual tap of mana...what greater damage could they cause? I will keep this in mind for future perils.

It seems everyone experiences this unique school of magic differently. For me...it changes the world around me. Veils it in darkness, warps the edges. Like a keen drunkenness. It summons past grievances, and when I break those walls, those boundaries- when I see clearly, or at least past the illusion, and when I dispel those nagging thoughts and evil voices, it resorts to noise. Echoing, disturbing, nauseating noise. At the start, it sounds like discordant violins and cellos, something you'd hear in an orchestra at Suramar or Quel'thalas. But as I push further, the strings are replaced with heavy, erratic drums and a low, haunting scream of a siren or woman in pain. The howling noise and thumping drums intensifies the further I go, till it threatens to drown out all reality.

I seek many things in the future; to grow and learn with the Collective, to explore the Isles in their entirety and destroy their greatest predators, and to quiet this insanity I struggle against, to greater master the Shadow. It offers every predator's greatest wish- to disappear, totally and completely, from view. What else could it give one with the respect and firmness to take it?

P.S. I'm already working on a new proto-dragonscale uniform! My hawkscale garb has served me well, but it's about time for an upgrade...

[zarathehunter]

Entry 12

"Dear Me,"

What's in a name, I wonder? What's in mine? Riverglow. A rather beautiful, weighty title- one that meant nothing to me. But as I sit here at this table, across from my love, sparing a moment to order my thoughts to paper, I realize it...never could've meant anything to me.

Assyria Riverglow, my mother, had a son with my father, Morgan Halt. That son was of Elf and Man. His name was...is...Zara. This creature called 'sullied' by the pure, was called odd, strange, and wrong. Chided by father, and as of recently, spurned by mother.

I do not know who I am MEANT to be, but I know that my heritage does not define me- not negatively, and not positively. I am only who I am. My mother is...out of reach. Forever, I think. So I have cut ties. My father is...also distant.

I have many claims to birthright. Do I belong in Dalaran, after all? Where I was born? Or do I belong in Arathor, in Strom, a Halt, where I fought and bled, where my blood calls home, where the wild winds blow across the prairie and I hunted many years? Or perhaps...do I belong in Quel'thalas? Where I was first raised, hidden from prying eyes? Do the gilded Eversong Woods call me home, after all, to the warm, sunkissed shores I played upon with Nameless, call to me as Riverglow?

That is a decision only I can make. I have decided...for now, none of them. I have built a home here, in the Hinterlands. I can visit those places, but I cannot rely on my heritage any longer. I cannot be chained to this 'thing', this idea. Elf, Man, mixed within- I am half of both. No, not only made of halves, of imperfect parts. I'm not my species. My worth is not tied to the land, blood, birthplace, house names, or an Elf or a Man. Well, maybe one Elf, of shadowed hue and echoed voice...but that is different.

I am Zara. Just Zara. I am a hunter, a trapper, and a provider. A wild man of wild places; the world is my birthright, the wilds my highest high home. A fighter? Maybe. A lover? Of course. I have never been much of a combatant, with no impressive magic to speak of, and perhaps I truly am slow of wit- at least, I am told that.

But I love with all my heart, my mind, and my soul. I love this world. I love my friends, the people in it. I love the wilderness, the wild, free places. I love my dearest, most valuable partner, and I love my feathered companion.

I am not my father- and to Assyria Riverglow, I "am not her son". And so I am not her either. I still do not know who I am meant to become.

But now? I am Zara. And that's good enough for me.

This dramatic respite concludes. It's time to set my sights back on the hunt- as it should've been, all this time.

I'm gonna take down a devilsaur.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 11

Dear Me,

Many events cloud my brain. First, a most joyous thing- Feyahni Lan'thel has chosen my house to stay at TWICE now, through the evening and into the dawn. Sharing time with her, talking, walking, and being near one another is...nourishing to my soul. I hope to know more and more about her head, her heart, and that peculiar affliction she wears so well.

She delivered me a poem of her own craft that would put Wallace Kirdrin's bardic works to shame. I shall tuck it into my journal, never to be lost.

Kahleem has offered the eco-dome again, but seems to have...disappeared recently. Eneoke, too. Both of them have vanished, Eneoke into the Dreamway and Kahleem somewhere in the Outlands. What is happening?

And for me? What is happening? Why now...why, when I am happy with the love of my life, when my holdings are in order, money is in the coffer- my life is good, for once...and she is here.

My mother. My mother wrote me. Stalked me. Found my home. Found my friends; possibly even watched me at the Red Wing, the night I took Feyahni home. How much has she seen of Feyahni? Of us together? She writes that Fey is...afflicted. She writes as if Nameless is a common pest. Is she insane? Or am I overreacting?

I lock the door this eve, with Nameless inside. Father says she's insane. How insane? I refuse to meet her in Dalaran.

I will write to her tomorrow, and request we meet in Quel'thalas, on even ground, with Nameless and Feyahni at my side. I refuse to open Pandaria's Box alone. I will write to her- no, probably transport to her, tomorrow, and spill everything that may be a risk to her.

As I lay here in bed, the stone door sealed, my companion wheezing beside me, I pray I hear no sounds, feel no magic.

But my nerves are telling me that someone is watching me tonight.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 10

"Dear Me,"

*Entry 10 appears to be written sloppily and roughly.*

"Gods damn it all. I knew I was doing something wrong. Between my study and Kahleem's crystals, I...I was too careless. All the practice, the mana manipulation up to now had been going perfectly- finally, I was in control of my own energy! From meditative levitation, to charging and discharging mana, I felt...good."

"And then I tried that fucking Black Arrow again. Where once, I could fire it to my own exhaustion, but for my survival, and recover, now...now it haunts me even to think it. I must write this down so I do not forget."

"Whatever foul magics are used to create the Black Arrow must be discovered. It is parasitic and violent; when given more mana, more focus, and freely fired from the bow of one who speaks its power into action, it appears to aggressively drain everything it can in its quest to its target."

"Incanting the Arrow to power, I summoned my newfound control over mana and let fly, intending to practice its power against the ancient oaks of the Hinterlands."

"Previously, the Black Arrows I fired would impact heavily, like the bolt of a ballista, and could even knock a dragon senseless as I saw in Dustwallow. It would drain the little mana I had, and inflicted a great deal of injury and magical burn on its target."

"But this time? As soon as the words left my lips, I felt as though my very soul was being sucked in a vacuum wave out of my skin; all the mana I had accumulated and intoned was ripped violently from my body. Barely able to keep the Arrow steady, I retained just enough consciousness to fire it and complete the spell- close the Third Gate, as Akemi would say."

"Upon closing this Third Gate of casting magic, and with the departure of the Black Arrow from my bow, I fell to my knees, unable to breathe. Helpless to steer or control the Arrow, I watched from pained eyes as it rocketed through the tree, traveling around four hundred meters."

"That distance is barely achievable in volley with an elven longbow, arced to the sky- let alone straight forward and with the atrocious impact this Arrow had. It's trajectory was only ceased by it crashing into a hill in the forest, causing an immense cavitation of Shadow magic."

"Rather than the usual explosion of wispy, noxious Shadow that dissipates, this impact instead seemed to suck everything around it inwards and burn it violently, viciously, completely with Shadow magic, like the ghastly, toxic fires caused by the fuel in dwarven tanks."

"Just as quickly as it came, it burned off, leaving nothing but charred earth, a large blast radius around the embedded arrow, and the foul, toxic reek of cursed soil. I fear that corner of the forest to be infected with something terrible, and it is all my fault."

"Not least of my concerns either, is that the fletchings of the Arrow scored down my arm as it took flight; my entire right arm from the bicep to the fingertips is lacerated with bloody, rather deep cuts, the skin between burned, and they do not seem to want to heal."

"Oh, gods of all kinds, what have I done? What have I done?"

[zarathehunter]

Entry 9: Concerning Elves

"Dear Me,"

"The kingdom of Arathor was the unification of the human tribes; a great warrior nation that later became Strom. The Men of that place were and are hardy, broad, strong. Dignified and confident, brash and bulwark-ish."

"The kingdom of Quel'thalas was and is decorated with the most beautiful elven people; their great spires and floating citadels inhabited by those of fair skin and hair, long-lived and magically-inclined. Proud, arrogant even, and timelessly designed."

"The average half-elf is an odd, short individual, more like a Man than an Elf, struggling to bear even a fragment of his heritage's wizardry and losing the raw strength and spirit of their young-lived side. Cursed are they, to live longer but not long enough, seeing those of Men die as they age, but dying before the Elves they may call friends."

"Who are you, Zara? Bastard son. You have no last name you know of; your father hides away in the Grizzly Hills, forgetting his own blood and fawning over the children of the druid he brought with him to that deep forest. Who is your mother? She, too, lacks a last name."

"What legacy do you carry? Who could you possibly be? Brother, they say. Cousin. Friend. Lover. The words of the kaldorei and the few quel'dorei that stomach you, a poignant reminder that you were never, and will never be truly related to them, too impure and muddled. You walk amongst their ruins, more alike those fallen stones than the standing spires."

"What was it, Eneoke had said? A damning mark. An icon of a dying empire. You are a dead empire. An essence…there is an idea of Zara, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my lost gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there."

"Arathi and Quel'dorei. Man and Elf. You've seen neither homeland beyond the surface; have made no home for yourself. You are a living icon of the greatest nations, and how they fell to ruin."

"...and these are the things I can never say. Will never say. This is my burden to bear, and mine alone. Tiphaela and Maeshkin meant no harm; rather the opposite. They may not know what it is to be...apart. I will shoulder this, and carry on the way I always have. I do not know who I am. I do not know who I wish to be. All that makes sense is the bow in my hand, and the arrow that takes down the greatest of beasts."

"So small, am I. Surrounded, it seems, by great, mighty elves, along with dragons and the legacy they lead. From Loreth'aran to Seradane, from Eneoke to Feyahni...Snowy to...well, wherever Snowy goes along, I suppose. What legacy shall be mine? Shall I walk through Val'sharah below the tutelage of the Rider? Do I hide away in the Hinterlands forever? Shall I continue to chase the beast, the ephemeral ghost of trophy? Or do I pad along after the mighty, hoping for a crumb off of the table of greatness?"

"Gods, do I wish to run screaming into the woods and never return, some days. This smile is awfully heavy to hold. But Zara, why? Why is it so? Look around you, look what you have. Put these thoughts out of your head, at least until night falls again and they join you under the covers in silence. You're too young to struggle so; think of those kaldorei that welcome you the way they do, all they've seen. They carry on? Can't you? Can't you? CAN'T YOU?" *Here there are some nonsensical scribbles that aren't really legible.* "Alright, I'm done. Tomorrow's a new day, and I believe there's some worgs in the woods that would fetch a pretty coin for the hides."

"Smile, half-elf. You've got a stupidly long life ahead of you."

[zarathehunter]

Entry 8

"Dear Me, I have decided to write a double-entry to cover a great deal of news."

"Professor Sharpshot replied in earnest; having worked with him before, my resume preceded me, and I was quickly attached to an Expedition funded by himself, though he did not join us."

"I looked forward to the possibility of finding a new companion with Nameless, though he seemed...less than interested, at least at first, and my thoughts instead turned to hunting something worth bringing back. Perhaps a sky beast of some sort, that darkened the trees above us."

"The five of us, three guides and two researchers, were dispatched to the Crater via gyrocopter, another Westhorne Imports model, similar to the one I operate, but much, much larger. The pockets of the Explorers' League are very deep, it seems, even for their general archaeology division."

"The other two guides were...not as friendly as I had hoped. Both tauren, and grizzled veterans of the wilds. One, I gather, was named Tao'we, but the other spoke only Taur-ahe, and generally kept to himself. The two researchers, Bann and Riggs, were dwarves of Professor Sharpshot's own exploratory unit."

"We were there primarily to recover the notes of an expedition weeks prior that had gone missing near the Lakkari Tar Pits; they had vanished without contact. Tao'we and I found common ground besides coin in the desire to see more of the dinosaurs much like myself, Tao'we was primarily a hunter, and he aspired one day to bring down a devilsaur on his own. While not intending to do this trip, he promised to let me know by mail the day his dream came true."

"Speaking of mail, I was able to send a letter through one of the camps stationed out in the Crater to Feyahni. Even out here, doing what I love, my thoughts turn to that curious elven maiden, turning glasses in the Lamb. Peculiar, for one like myself."

"Progress through the Crater proceeded without incident. The nights were long, though day was also dark, and we primarily relied on Tao'we for guidance, myself and the other tauren mostly being bodyguards. Thrice did we have to bring down predators, and we did so with ease. I myself have claimed a pterrordax hide for myself, and Tao'we and his buddy seemed content to harvest lasher 'teeth'. Nameless proved exceptionally useful, his nose being early warning. I did not ask him to fight or engage, and he did not do so of his own accord. Eneoke seems to be right."

"Upon arrival to the tar pits, we found the remains of the expedition camp- it had been made into the nesting grounds of a raptor family. These were very, very large raptors; unlike any I had seen before, seeming to have some kind of odd glint in their eyes. Tao'we encouraged us to exercise caution. We opted to bait and trap them, and did so...mostly easily."

"Setting the bait of a riverbeast, we were able to poison them with a sleeping agent that put them out for over half a day. Riggs and Bann went into the camp, collected what hadn't been ravaged, and managed to reclaim the logbooks of the prior expedition as well as a bone excavated from the tar pits, which Riggs claimed was part of an undiscovered species of dimetradon- the purpose of the original group."

"As we exited the camp, delicately passing the comatose raptors, I noticed in several of their nests were random eggs that seemed unlike the others. Questioning the tauren, Tao'we's companion only repeated 'ishamuhale' and 'big awak'. Tao'we said this means 'spear teeth' and awak means 'large evil'. He also related that these giant raptors of the Crater were known to steal eggs from weaker packs and raise them, slaying the parents. I shuddered at the sobering, dark words of the otherwise silent tauren. Tao'we's companion pointed, repeating 'awak.'"

"While the dwarves finished their last checks of the ruined camp, I investigated one of these strange stolen eggs. Large, like the rest, and flecked with black speckles over its pinkish-cream coloring. Nameless was intrigued as well, sniffing them over and over again, as if trying to recognize something. I didn't take any of the eggs, and decided against an Un'goro candidate anyways, seeing them as too violent and strange."

"Tao'we wanted to have no part of the nests, and insisted I not touch them, lest the 'big awak' raptors think we tampered. I obeyed, and we departed without difficulty. I think I shall write Professor Sharpshot and see if he knows more about these stranger raptors."

"We arranged for pickup that same evening from the League, and after a long flight and a quick portal, I returned home to prepare for a brighter occasion."

"I have decided to take Feyahni horseback riding through the Hinterlands; I hope she will derive as much joy from this as I will, and I think a change of scenery and pace for us both will be enjoyable, regardless."

"As I lay in bed, freshly washed of the Crater's filth, my mind drifts from the elven maiden to thoughts of those peculiar reptiles, and as I wind to sleep, I am tossed into fitful dreams of leering, glinting eyes in the night and a tauren voice saying 'awak...large evil.'"

[zarathehunter]

Entry 7

"Dear Me,"

"This morning I rose early, to find Nameless sleeping in the house instead of in his hutch outside. I'll bolster it regardless if he wishes his space, but I think we've reached the silent agreement that he moves inside now." "Just before sunrise, I went into the yard to practice the swordsmanship Feyahni taught me. I worry about my balance; I am used to standing still and tight to use my bow, but the melee seems more a loose, fleeting dance." "I have also decided to start taking Nameless to Seradane when time permits. I'll arrange to purchase a new wheel for the wagon out front; he shouldn't have to take such a long trek on his talons. Seradane, despite being such a ghostly, empty area, seems to emanate a peaceful, healing energy just by proximity to the great tree. And the air is warmer, there." "A question also remains; I know Nameless will refuse to sit quietly quite yet, but he cannot fight, and likely won't enjoy hunting as much, though he's kept up thus far. Everything we've done, and learned...we've done together. I don't think *I* know how to hunt alone all the time. I sat with him near the lake today and delicately discussed an option."

"He seems to take no offense to the idea that he could help raise a new raptor. I don't want him to feel replaced, especially with...recent developments. But I think the company would do him good, and he would enjoy the sense of purpose." "I am writing a letter to Agrant Sharpshot, a professor of paleontology and dinosaur physiology. Having recently accompanied Professor Sharpshot to Zandalar to secure tracings of devilsaur footprints, I believe he would have no issue allowing me to sign on to another expedition of his; he mentioned going to Un'goro Crater. There, I believe, Nameless and I will be able to select a candidate of training." "It's been some time since I've trained an animal. While I did used to do it for the hunters at Trueshot, Nameless came naturally, as a friend. I do not underestimate the intellect and prowess of raptors, and I feel this will be different. Nameless' tutelage will be crucial in ensuring this new hunting partner is raised properly and safely, for all involved." "I was also able to get some of the medicines that Eneoke mentioned, from the Wildhammer shamans at Aerie Peak. Already he seems more like himself, though now, I am painfully aware that his agility is temporary. Regardless, a daily ministration shall bring him to proper athleticism, at least for now, and I hope the energies of Seradane will slow or reduce his arthritic pains and stiffness." "I have already begun packing in anticipation of Professor Sharpshot's response, and a pack for Nameless, too, with his medicines. He seems very eager to be out on adventure again, just us."

"As a note to myself, I must devote some time to using my practiced magical developments to testing the Black Arrow with proper direction...and those Black Arrows tipped with dragonscales. Similarly, I should look at maps of Val'sharah, and Bloodmyst Isles. I feel I am closing in on the end of my quest to know of Loreth'aran." "Until next time, I close this logbook pending my trip and return to Un'goro Crater."

[zarathehunter]

Entry 6

(( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9zIeQizeL4&ab_channel=SamuelKimMusic For maximum impact, I recommend this.))

"Dear Me,"

*A single wet spot stains the top of the page of the notebook.*

"Today, I learned that Nameless is...a very good friend. A loyal companion, that puts his partner first over his own pain; that pushes his limits to keep his family safe. Who sacrifices himself in the face of danger, for no other reason than being asked to."

"Today I learned that Nameless is...old. Too old. If it is as Eneoke says, and he has maybe one or two good fights left in him- I will ensure he selects those moments on his own, and is otherwise comfortable. I'll be placing an order tomorrow for reinforcement wall material for his hutch, and spread thicker, more comfortable nesting material."

"But today, I primarily learned that...no good thing lasts forever. And that...that hurts."

The bottom of this page is stained with several more wet spots. It seems here, the half-elf stops writing and instead reminisces in his memories.

Fifteen years ago, a young elf is running through the trees of southern Quel'thalas, racing for the coast. He looks about twelve summers old; barefooted and clothed only in torn shorts and a dusty tunic, leaves in his hair and dirt on his face. At this point, the elven boy begins to look a bit...odd. His frame is wider than normal elves, his ears have stopped growing, and his hair is muddy brown. Is he a pure quel'dorei?

He spins, bouncing backwards and hopping to a stop. He cups his hands around his mouth, yelling out in a high, youthful voice. "Raaaaptooooooor! Come on!" He bounces on his heels. The treetops thrash as a raptor, equally as young as the boy, leaps from the branches and crashes to the ground next to him.

Easily less than two summers old, the raptor is half-grown and has a lustrous golden mane of shining feathers, and a rowan hide, tiger-striped with rich streaks of blood red. The raptor lets out a series of sharp, laughing barks as the elf takes off, chasing him.

It is clear the raptor could outstrip him if he pleased, but he instead runs alongside the youth. They make their way, panting and laughing, to the coastline, leaving a pair of humanoid and three-toed tracks side by side in the sand. Splashing into the warm waters as the sun bleeds its setting light across the sea, they frolic and wrestle in the shallows, tumbling and getting soaked.

Laughter mixes with barks and hisses. After a time, they march back to the grassy knoll overlooking the sea, shaded by trees and collapse, panting and damp. The elf boy throws his arms around the raptor's neck, burying his face in the creature's scales. "You're the most bestest, only-est friend I have! I'll never let you go, you hear me?"

The raptor rolls onto his back, wheezing and hissing as if pretending to be choked. The boy releases him, laughing, and the nameless beast laughs along with him in sharp, giggling chirrups. They settle at last, sitting down. The boy ruffles salt and debris out of his hair, staring out at the water. The raptor tucks itself close to him, resting his head in the elf's lap.

"Someday we'll go out there together, you and me! We don't need anyone else. As soon as we move, we'll be free! No more hiding from the village, no more cages when the guards come by, and no more stuffy basements for us to wait in when elves visit."

"We'll be great, you know? You and me," the boy whispered, resting his forehead on the raptor's head. "We'll show them."

Suddenly, the boy's ears prick as footsteps approach from behind. "Zara," the deep voice says. "It's late. You shouldn't roam so far." The boy looks back at his father; a man of maybe five feet, six inches, with flowing, golden blonde hair and piercing, stern blue eyes. "Let's go home."

Zara stands, dusting himself off uselessly. "Alriiight...I guess..." he mutters. The nameless raptor jumps up at his side. "You weren't seen, were you?" his father queries. "No, papa. I wasn't seen."

The blonde, older man nods approvingly. "Good. Now, let's get you cleaned up, you little mess," he says, warmth speckling through his cold tone as he ruffles Zara's hair.

"Race you home, papa!" he says, bolting suddenly and sprinting into the trees towards their sequestered cottage. The raptor lets out a trill of glee and pounds after him; as he draws alongside the boy, he lowers his neck.

Zara leaps into the air, grabbing onto Nameless' back and scrabbling to hold on as his noble steed thunders through the trees at full tilt, heading for home. As they sprint away together, his father's shouting voice fades into the background.

"We can do anything, as long as we're together!" Zara shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and gripping the raptor's belly with his legs. He lets out a cheer, mingled with Nameless' own victorious cry, echoing triumphantly through the darkening woods.

"Anything, forever and ever and always and together!"

In the present day, the half-elf man lay passed out on his bed, his notebook fallen to the floor, a large, ancient raptor curled up next to him, head resting on the man's chest as their snores intermingle.

Nameless' grow slower.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 5

"Dear, Me"

((Fair warning. I stumble through this entry very high on restricted dosage sleep medication. It may be fudckered.))

I have acquired quite a wealth of knowledge from the elves Lyastei, Lynarane, Eneoke, and Snowy. Between recommendations of training, words of lore, and leads about Loreth'aran, I definitely have a few projects ahead of me. Soon enough, I will begin writing down my own tome of knowledge about this people group.

Nameless and I left the house together this eve; I returned home with the wolf from yesterday and sold it for a pretty penny. Not foreseeing Feyahni visiting yet, I secured the door and locked up Nameless' shack as well, utilizing the gryphon system at Aerie Peak to navigate to a portal to Pandaria. I would quite like to be amongst friends again, and Ming's bar was one of the best.

Tonight's locals were many familiar faces; Gulao, Kairon, Maewynn, Eneoke, Kahleem- the list goes on. Kyrik was tending this eve, not Ming. But most pleasing to see was Feyahni Lan'thel, with whom I had little correspondence of late. My mood vaulted skywards upon meeting her gaze, and after rounds were made and Nameless fed, I hovered in her vicinity most of the night.

We talked at length, for hours; I convinced her, perhaps too slyly, to drink beyond her constitution, but we had rousing conversations and shared many personal weights and histories. I admire her intelligence and graceful tact, even when inebriated.

As the night wore on and the patrons cleared out, I noticed Feyahni a bit off. More than usual, perhaps. She expressed silly things, like her being a poor ghostblade or not worthy of having friends and relationships. I helped her outside to get some fresh air. We stood on the steps, watching the sky, and then watching each other. In an uncharacteristic moment, Feyahni confessed feelings to me. Drunk though I was, the pit of my soul was sober indeed, and a warm, giddy weight arced through my body at her words first, and then her acceptance of my own feelings.

A reciprocal charge, volting between us as we touched skin for the first time in that way; our lips embracing as our hands intertwined, her cool, shadowed, smooth skin contrasting my warm, pale, rough hands. Twice we shared this intimacy, and otherwise rapidly grew comfortable in each other's arms.

She produced a rift that sent us to Stormwind; Nameless and I walked her to the place she calls home now, and once I knew she was settled, retired to an inn nearby to prepare for the hangover.

Saying goodnight to Feyahni this time was one of the most charged moments I've felt in a while. I feel lightning crackling between us at every touch, every glance, and it feels wrong to pull back, to walk away and let doors close. But it is right that we move in this direction, like this. I will not be "only" a hunter, and I trust...I trust. I trust that she will not treat me like some exotic toy to be shown off to others.

But I feel ever more alive; the age, the trials, the uncertainties, and newnesses be damned. I stand with this future. I want this.

Until next time, myself.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 4

"Dear Me,"

My chest has finally healed over and the archery theorem I've been studying is being put into practice. Already I can sense deficiencies in my prior methods; while these elven manuals are not the be-all, end-all, they are definitely helping, and it feels hopeful to have some kind of regimen of training that is more tailored than the hunting methods I was brought up to use by the Lodge.

My pet project of tracking down the history of Loreth'aran is frustrating, at best. I've spoken with several kaldorei, including a Red Dragonsworn, and they all share mostly the same account. I'm hoping Snowy will be able to shed some light where nobody else can. It has devolved into a point of pride at this measure, as opposed to curiousity. I'm determined to find out the story of this people of history, come what may.

I met some peculiar individuals last night. I did a short hunt into Duskwood to bag a wolf to skin and sell for money; my coffers are once again running low, and as I have mostly healed, I need to be gainfully employed as much as I can.

Kahleem of course, was there- he traded me a mana crystal for my father's titan box. He seems to want to jump forwards into illusion magic before I am ready- and at any rate, my magical training is greatly arrested. Time will tell.

I also saw Kairon again. We bonded greatly over a few shared memories; both of us reminisced about the history of worgen in recent times, having been confronted with a member of The Hounds; a group my father swore were dissolved.

Finally, three new individuals stuck out to me:

One, a blood elf named Unre. They seemed very...taciturn. They brought along some sort of twilight creature; I doubt it was a real whelp. Nobody just 'has' a dragon whelpling following them around, and certainly not the corrupted Twilight. I reckon they're a trickster of some sort, and they quite refused any advance of politeness I made as well as insisting I was very dumb for being skeptical.

Next, a ghost knight, named Sir Thomas Bates. Sir Bates is a spectral guardian of Duskwood, and much as my body groans to think it, I have a feeling I'll be helping him with the Duskwood issue- particularly that someone seems to be trapping and killing the ferals again. He also has a very interesting sense of humor. ((Here is a rough sketch of a knight on a pale horse; the armor and colors are very old-style, reminiscent of the 1st War.))

Lastly, Eneoke, a kaldorei druid and red dragonsworn. What an individual! Her fair grace was as enchanting as her words, and her dreamy, head-in-the-clouds conversing perfectly mirrored her wistful beauty. She progressed my knowledge of Loreth'aran a bit and suggested I seek out Wyrmrest Temple for an audience with a dragon to learn more about magic, Loreth'aran, and perhaps more about dragons themselves.

((The rest of this entry is dedicated to a very detailed of a kaldorei woman, likely the Eneoke of the prior paragraph. It is flatteringly beautiful and was made with great care and respect to the muse.))

[zarathehunter]

Entry 3

"Dear Me,"

Tonight was a tearful reunion. Finally, days later, Nameless is healthy enough to leave the hospital. My beloved companion can barely walk, and doesn't move quickly, but he is home, recovering in his own nest. My thanks can never be enough for the veterinarians in Dalaran, and I did have just enough to cover the fees...although now, I must seek work again, faster than I thought, to make ends meet in the future.

Tonight I visited Kunbo's tavern and visited with Gulao and Maewynn; later, Maewynn and I went to an open-air park bakery in Dalaran, where I met three new individuals:

Firstly, Braedyn, a high elven baker. She had a kind personality and makes the most delicious brownies and the most aromatic coffee. ((Following is a sketch of a short, busy-looking elven woman smiling cheerily with flour and powdered sugar coating her hands and face.))

Secondly, Pyraelia; a sin'dorei mage and...wool farmer. She went on at length about her alpacas! I hope she gets the job in Dalaran as she wanted. Her hand was also quite interesting... ((This sketch is of a tall, slender auburn woman with a nervous grin, waving with a mechanical hand, filigreed in silver.))

Finally, Renalia- a fellow walker of the woods and a cheerly, bard-like personality. I spoke with her the least, but I hope her hunts are well. ((This is just a headshot of a platinum blonde; her features are not too distinct, but she is definitely an elf.))

There were many more personalities there, and all but two were elves! High elves and blood elves, and of course, Maewynn, a night elf. I was very excited to be around such familiar kin, until I was hit with an odd sense of nostalgia.

While conversing with Pyraelia, we spoke about growing up in the same area, and almost out of nowhere, I felt a pang of pain. These thalassians, all of them were full-blooded and pure. They knew where they came from; who they were on the inside.

My connection to Quel'thalas is only superficial, and my knowledge fades of that land as I grow further from my childhood memories. Yet, I was only fleetingly in Arathor, and then Hinterlands, and the Grizzly Hills; none of those human communities felt truly like home.

Am I cursed to be an anomaly? Never to find a group I fit in with? And thus, in a rare moment of deeper emotion, I had never felt more alone than when I was surrounded by distant relations. Even Feyahni, outcast though she may be, knows to whom she belongs.

Assyria, who are you? Where are you?

[zarathehunter]

Entry 2

"Dear Me,"

After a visit to the Red Wing Tavern to seek out Kahleem, I found both him and a strange pandaren Wizard named Akemi. Between the two of them, I got what I needed to start learning more about magic.

Another kaldorei present, an undead sort named Maeshkin, related to me the story of the highborne and recommended I learn Darnassian to study the old ways of magic. Considering I can barely write in Common, I have a long way to go.

The book in question Akemi recommended is an old trilogy of tomes from the school Scholomance; published prior to the Third War, she specifies. I have located one of the tomes, the first one: An Introduction to Frost Arcana. Upon immediate surmisal, it deals chiefly with mana manipulation and the basics of drawing on the arcane! Perfect for my needs thus far. The other two tomes are in Dalaran's library, and I don't know of any other copies.

It seems books from Scholomance's "post-war" period are highly guarded, and I don't meet the requirements to consign them from Stormwind's library- I wonder why? As a pet project, I'll be doing more research on this strange school later.

I took father's sword to a local smithy in Dalaran while I was awaiting word on Nameless' condition. He polished it, rewrapped the grip, and told me something quite interesting; the blade is edged with truesilver, a very rare and prized metal. The sword's fuller and other components are steel, but the edge is truesilver, alloyed to the shaft of the blade in a way that implies dwarven master craftsmanship. I shall look forward to showing Feyahni.

Likewise to the magical tome, I've also located a book on the histories and physiognomy of the Dark Rangers; one of their mysterious, evil ilk is the forefather of the very Black Arrows that drive me to understand magic.

Finally, Nameless grows healthy enough to be moved back to our home in the Hinterlands. I can look after him myself at this point, though it will be several days before he can be up and about, and likely weeks before he's fighting fit.

For now, I recuperate my own injuries, await Feyahni's training, and pour knowledge from these two tomes into my naive mind.

[zarathehunter]

Entry 1

"Dear Me,"

It has been many moons since I pet pen to paper. I hope I remember how to write.

It seems my life is changing, far quicker than I intended. When I left Trueshot Lodge, I went looking for real adventure; and I have been delivered.

Firstly, who am I? What if this record is found on my body in some forgotten vale, in the ribcage of a long-dead animal? I am Zara, son of Morgan, half-elf of Arathor and Quel'thalas.

It will help me, I think, to put these words down to clear my head. Maybe this will become habit. Perhaps not.

Recently, Nameless (my beloved companion of seventeen years) and I left Trueshot Lodge and the huntsmen there. Turning our eyes to adventure, feeling restless, we hung up the hides and took up adverts and papers for adventure.

Firstly, within a week of my departure, I was face to face with a black dragon. Me! It nearly killed me and my party of explorers. Then, shortly following, I was hired on to a research party that went to Zandalar; a short two day trip, but fruitful nonetheless. More on that, later.

Then, most recently of two nights prior, I was again asked on as a volunteer to investigate some shipping routes in Feralas. Surrounded by shal'dorei and emboldened by my success against the dragon, I went willingly; but we were ambushed by fel naga and monsters, and Nameless almost died. I myself am still recovering as I write this at my home, in the Hinterlands.

I left seeking a better hunt, a real prize; and I've only gotten myself chastised by the violence of the world. I was never a participant in the great events of our time; rather the opposite. However, I find myself now inexplicably drawn to keep chasing the dragon (metaphorically), or rather the ghost? The wind? I don't know. My father was the poet, not I.

But this I know; the itch is unable to be scratched. I've seen things; run under the wings of white dragons, chased devilsaurs through the canyons, and carried my own raptor out under fire. The pain is great, but the rush greater; alas for waiting this long!

I've also met a curious ensemble of individuals that I long for the company of. The lodge hunters were friends, yes, but these are...different people.

First is Gulao, an interesting tailor who desperately keeps trying to put me in a shirt. The pandaren is very friendly and I lean heavily on his advice. ((Herein follows a full-body sketch of a well-dressed Pandaren with a neat hat, smiling at the viewer and waving politely.))

Next is Kahleem, and his wife Muzzammil; real ethereals! I believe Kahleem can teach me some things of magic. ((Herein follows a rather poor approximation of two ethereals. One has a 'chest' added to differentiate them.))

Maewynn Darkroot, of course; a kaldorei with a troubled past. I think I can help her, instead of being helped as I mentioned prior. She also seems to peddle drugs, which may prove useful later. ((This image is only a bust; it captures her head and neck with detail to the kaldorei's burn scars and strange expression.))

Oh, and of course, Feyahni Lan'thel; a ren'dorei with a quick wit and quicker blades. We've seen death's door together already- nothing like catastrophe to bring friends closer! She has already proven herself a loyal companion, with intelligence beyond her significant years and a multitude of skills. I find her to be quite the bizarre and funny character, and a valuable partner. She's also good for free drinks. ((This image is a full-body sketch of great detail, a posed, proud ren'dorei woman with two knives about to fight an imaginary target.))

And...Assyria. My mother's name, learned at last. ((There is an outline, a beginning of a quel'dorei woman's face, but it is completely featureless.))

Lastly, I've done dealings with this so-called Saberguard. They seem powerful, but more dangerous as allies than enemies. I'll have to be wary of them going forward.

I suppose I'll set some goals, then.

One: Learn to fight with a sword. I found dad's old shortsword; it is very old but it seems well-cared for. Feyahni has promised to teach me.

Two: Study more on the subjects of mana and the arcana. I will need a greater control of my own innate abilities to utilize the Black Arrow.

Three: I believe I'd like to find my mother, and this peculiar ring that is so valuable to her and my father alike.

Four: Have as much fun, and see as many things, and meet as many people, as is possible while remaining above snakes.

I doubt my entries will be this long. I've cross two whole pages! Well, until I remember this old thing again.