Exorcism

Location: Ledgermain Lounge, Dalaran
Lunar Phase: Waning Crescent

Journal, journal.

Strange things have happened since I have last written. I had made the decision to go through with the dissolution of my marriage to Ludovick von Diehl. I simply cannot bear to have the last name of a traitorous coward.

I'd decided this one evening while I was at the Cathedral. I've taken to my vices a great deal more than previously, and one Ghodfrey Valorsworn had caught me having a smoke in the back. I'd thought I'd been reasonably concealed behind the stonework, but I suppose the sweet smell of cloves travels far. He was a dear and helped me to my apartment in Dalaran.

It was after that evening that I had decided to go to confession (Ludovick would love that, I'm sure). An older member of the clergy took me in, and I told him everything. About Lordaeron, about Zeal, about Miss Dray… and the most curious thing happened! He offered his hand to me in marriage, to ensure that I do not continue down this "dark path."

I laughed at him. Laughed right in his face, he sounded so much like Ludovick there, I could just ring his little high-collared neck.

Here is where things get particularly interesting, journal. Many of the events thereafter are fuzzy. I know that it was one day later, I was riding my horse from the Dwarven District when another man came to me with a letter. He dropped a small glass orb onto the ground and I vaguely remember following.

What happened thereafter is really only bits and pieces. The stonework of my memories looks perhaps dwarves. Very dark, covered in ages of soot. The experience was strangely both sensual and terrifying. I remember a knife in my neck, and blood pouring from my body. Despite the warm room we were in, I felt very cold.

Journal, I'm pretty sure that I died. I don't know how else to explain what little I remember, and then the scars… there is a Y-shaped scar on my chest that is commonly used with autopsies. I woke in the Burning Steppes, and managed to muster enough energy to teleport.

Mister Garhelm found me-- he's a nice man, possibly the second Risen I could ever like-- and speculated that the flickering rune on my chest is necromantic in nature. It makes a reasonable amount of sense, considering my death theory, and how much Light magic hurts, rather than helps.

I think I'm afflicted with some sort of curse that mimics the undead? Necromancy is not my forte. I truly have little to go on.

But I think I need an exorcist, and someone to sift through my jumbled memories. The only mind readers I know of are that elven buffoon Marius, Ludovick and Senkha. At this point, the girl is the least of such three evils…

I need a drink, and I'm almost out of scotch. Light damn it all.

--F.P.