They say, scholars, that Medivh was born insane. That he was spawned from a demon inside his mother, who had been a fruit of Sargeras herself, and that his destiny was to destroy Azeroth and all the worlds beyond it. These logs mark the trials of the world itself, following the path of a Knight along the Brotherhood of the Horse.
This log tells of Danath Trollbane's entry through the Portal, Anduin Lothar's slaying of the Boy-Man Medivh, and Khadgar's Destruction of the Great Gate to Draenor. It tells of the Guardian of Tirisfall, Aegwynn, and her destruction of Stormwind through her bastard son. It tells of General Turalyon taking the fight of Blackrock Spire, when Lord Anduin Lothar had died on the slopes, driving back Orgrim Doomhammer.
The year is 571, and the time is noon. The tidings of Medivh's Sorcery have spewed across Old Stormwind, giving way to rumors and speakings of filthy Dark Magics. Enter the court of King Wyrnn III. Open this journal and be warned, reader, for some secrets of the past are best left to the past.
Frenth glares oddly at the boy-child Medivh strangely. The new addition to their party of friends is odd, Frenth can sense something strange about him. But, as we know about children, naivety and stupidness are different things. Frenth, being a small child, innocent of all things, joined the large group of friends
(Sargeras, O' Sargeras)
and begins to play. After the few seconds stench of un-clean he recieved from Medivh, Frenth joined in the fun, recieving no more bad airs from the child.
The cobbled streets of Stormwind sparkled and glistened in the mid-day sun. Following the path down the Market District, you can find a small alley way just near Olivards Tailoring Supplies. As you go down this alleyway, it forks off into another section of backroads, leading you through to the Milltia District, finding yourself near the Point of Command Center. If one were to go around the front of the large stone building, one would appear behind the command center, and one would find a window facing inside, where a beggar sat inside a murky cell, picking his nose.
Passing by the nose-picking begger, and out of the cell, you will find a table and chair. On three of the seven days you will see Ardred Gaunt and Milt Frenth sitting and enjoying their game of Coins. The room they sit is a gaunt little room, in it the cell you passed a minute ago, and two kegs of whiskey. The cell is located in the western most area, with the door at the east, the kegs at the north, and the two guards at the south, with their table and game.
Exiting this room, you will come across a long, stone table, tucked with wooden chairs. It can often be found seating guards of the Arathor Millitia, discussing women, drinking ale, or inspecting their clothes. The table is located dead center in a larger room than the first, tapestries and torches garbing it's weather worn walls. The main door is located just past the table, through a small hallway at the east end of the room. At the southern most end, there is a flight of stairs. Following this flight, you reach a second door, wooden and reinforced like the first. Painted on the front of the door in chipped red letters is 'Danath Trollbane, Arathorian Captain of the Millitia'.
Today, we open this door. Inside we find two men. Their portraits can be located below, in rough sketches by the author of this journal. By their tones we can tell their annoyed with eachother. Their tones, harsh, sarcasm inflicted for insultative purposes.
The one in red turns to the other from his position facing the view-pointed window, which would look out unto the quad below, to address the second man, in the garb of armor.
"What do you think I am, Lieutenant, a coward? I know that the times call for measure, but the Ogres have done nothing. They don't deserve a slaughter, for stealing a book of all things!" He exclaimed this as if it were common logic.
"You damned fool. If the Ogres are allowed to encroach, encroach they will further and further until nothing is left," said the garbed man. His voice was booming, and resonated with an odd feeling of involved magic.
"So you say."
"So I know! I did a quick skirmish--"
"What?! Who gave you the order for that? Were my men involved? Tell me now, you Light-Blinded fool!" The man spoke hurried, worried.
"I alone. I killed four of their number." He puffed proudly.
"And did you not think of the reprocussions? Did you not?! Get out of my barracks. GET!" Danath Trollbane finished with a shout, sending the arrogant Turalyon striding from his quarters and outside into the tabled area below. We sit alone with Danath Trollbane. But as he starts to settle into his seat, we view the bumpy road of a rider in white golden armor, a Brotherhood man. Not just any, though, the leader, Anduin Lothar charges across the murky terain of Sunnyglade (which is now known as Darkshire), treading dust and sending small creatures scurrying. Ashkandi, his greatsword, deftly hangs from the sheath on his back, his white mare pounding the ground mercillesly. In pursuit of the Ogre Thieves, several men follow behind him. Northshire has been left behind, to the Deadmines of Westfall they ride, to the lair of the Ogres.