Val’sharah
Shala'nir has been one of the most hazardous archaeological sites I've ever dug. That includes tunnels full of undead Nerubians and canyons where I was chased by ogre artifact-thieves and mutated orcs. This site in Val'Sharah has a lot wrong with it, starting with fel-tainted demonic relics in a matrix of Nightmare-infused soil, root matter, and fungal mycorrhiza. The diggers the Explorers' League sent with me are well-armed veterans. They've already fended off two bands of satyrs without any casualties. When one of the trees at the edge of the site “woke” and began lunging at us with its branches, they had it down in a matter of minutes. That doesn't mean they're ready to handle the mental and metaphysical dangers of corruption.
We're only working three or four days at a time on site. I've issued strict orders that no one is to remain in the afflicted area after sundown. We have enough gryphons to get us all out in a couple of trips, and I've got them quartered at a bed-and-breakfast southwest of Lorlathil. All the ancient demonic material we retrieve goes back to Ironforge every night through a portal, and I have a warded area in the Hall to secure it. Still, I'm just waiting for something to go really wrong. The landscape tainted by the Nightmare is very different from the unstable sands of Silithus, and the air is full of the whispering of the trees instead of the buzzing of wasps, but it's very familiar. It also reminds me of that terrible pocket dimension that Effrem experimented with so rashly, the one that was supposed to be Gilneas, but wasn't. We came so very close to waking that which slumbers nearby that I still don't want to go back to the real Gilneas, in case part of it is buried there too.
I'm glad Issy is safe back in the Forlorn Caverns, as safe as she's ever going to be. Perhaps I'm on edge because of what happened in Stormwind the day before I left. It was such a little thing. I'd been having the dreams for weeks: a city of bleeding towers with eyes for windows, strange constellations in the skies above them, and chanting voices off in the distance. Dreams don't upset me anymore. But they leave me exhausted when I wake up, and I must have been tired to let that ragged druid get so close. But it was the middle of the day in Cathedral Square; I'd fallen into the habit of considering that area safe, which is remarkably stupid given who I am. Some elf in mangled Cenarion vestments grabbed my arm and started shouting at me about rejecting the gifts, the raven and the key, and I don't know what. Then he mentioned Ny'alotha. I fended him off with my staff and ran for the armor shop. He didn't follow. The Cenarion Circle sponsored a full-scale invasion of the Rift of Aln a while back, just as they did for the Temple of Ahn'Qiraj not so long ago. Certain of the casualties ended up mind-blasted and infested, wandering Cathedral Square with the rest of the crazies, just like they did in Cenarion Hold back in the day. It's nothing personal. I need to forget about it and focus on the dig.















