#ockale

Apologies for the delay, oh, who am I apologizing too? Myself?

I have been hard at work crafting a cloak for my champion to use against N'Zoth, using the scales of Onyxia and other fellow brethren I found in Blackrock Descent. My champion is a Death Knight named Puriaa, who has the strangest sense of humor is very quick with a flirt. She...tries my patience, though I'm certain I've tried hers as well. Regardless, she does well against the machinations of N'Zoth.

He appears at random through the world, the Black Empire bleeding through the fabric of reality. He seems to be concetrating his efforts in Uldum and the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. That beautiful vale has only just begun to heal after the chaos Garrosh wrought upon it so many years ago. It's horrific to see.

It helps her undead nature shields her from much of N'Zoths influence. We successfully infiltrated a vision wrapped around the Halls of Origination, undoing a plot to capture the device. it has given me and idea, but it will require some fine tuning.

I can't stop thinking about Kale. I took a walk today, and found my gaze lingering east, towards that filthy hovel he calls home. Why can't he stay closer? I could get him a tent easily. The man prefers to be alone. I felt...wonderful has he held me in his arms. Writing this down is embarrassing, but I fear I must, as it certainly helps me get my thoughts in order. He's enamored with my body, for sure. I crafted this visage to be attractive to mortals, male and female, but I was never aware of it going this far.

I've given it much thought. Well, I've given plenty of things plenty of thought, especially the time I spent with Kale as he lay bleeding over me at the Steam Pools.

His agony upsets me. The man is in constant, never ceasing pain, and yet he still continues. Still fights on. At first, I judged him for taking power from N'Zoth; I thought it fool-hardy and arrogant. While I still hold these views, I have tempered them with understanding. He would, of course, have taken what power he could to rid himself of that agony, no matter the cost. I have devised a method to impart some of my innate, aspectral power to Kale. Untested, of course, but I have my reasoning: The Black Dragons never lost their aspectral powers, we all, what few of us remain, still have our titanic powers. I only hope it will help him.

It is done. The man is sleeping beside me. He's awfully handsome, even when asleep. It seems my power flows easily into him; it strengthened him; he immediately perked up. I, however...was left drained, as I expected. I'm situated in his arms, a position I'm quite comfortable with. I...have no idea why I'm feeling this way, only it's useless to try and deny it. I'm falling for this man, quite rapidly, and it's terrifying to behold.

I can't sleep. Dragon's need less sleep than mortals; that is, I can function on much less. My mind is reeling; I have to write this down before I forget it, or worse, change my mind about this ordeal.

It had been an idea of mine for some time to craft a sort of barrier between N'Zoth's machinations and the wearer. A cloak, if you will. I have a history with the garments. I brought it up in the chamber, and it was decreed that I would travel to Blackwing Descent (About a weeks quick flight from here.) and gather the scales of the dead dragons there; specifically, Onyxia. My aunt. How strange it is to call her that. I remember Anduin telling me of Lady Katrana Prestor. Her moods and her candor. Her love of attention and her seduction of his father. That...had been awful to hear, and for him to say, but he bore it well. How much she and I seem alike, in odd ways...

I digress; the scales, and a bit of clever spellwork by myself will act as a buffer, allowing the wearer to venture into the most hideous realms of N'Zoth and remain unscathed. This, I fear, is something we must do, to learn of it's intent and it's plans.

(An ink blot stains the page, the writer appeared to have made a mistake in a start.) Kale has just left. He's silent as he walks, silent enough he managed to sneak up on me. Bastard. I can't help but feel...satisfied, however, that he approves of my plan. Indeed, when I told him of it, his face lit up. He smiled and placed his hands on my shoulders. Anyone else I would have been affronted at their daring, but Kale...I felt myself swell with pride. Misplaced, idiotic as it is, I am actually happy the man approves. We set out at dawn. Even now, the baleful red glow of the sword piercing Azeroth's flesh seems to lessen with the coming daylight. I plan to portal myself there, and Kale seems to have his own method of travel. I must interrogate him about it later.

My previous journal I left for posterity; for the world, or, perhaps the one person if they followed my directions, to know that I have changed, or at least am attempting to change. This journal I keep for myself. I am at a turning point; a monstrous enemy looms ahead of me, and despite feeling somewhat prepared to face it, I find myself dealing with thoughts and emotions I felt I would never face. Perhaps in writing I can understand what on Azeroth they mean.

It's Kale. Seeing him in the throne room sent a shiver of terror running through me. His gloating face, his form wreathed in shadow and absolute power; he simultenously disgusted and attracted me. Writing it down, I feel a fool, but it's true. The feelings only grown stronger the more I've learned about the man. His time away from the spotlight, the things he's done. He's incredible; he's bold, he's ridiculous and asinine, and he's immensely powerful. Even without this "borrowed power" from N'Zoth, he managed to convince a Void Lord to take the plague from Lordearon, effectively cleansing it, after months in meditative stasis. He won't tell me what this entailed; I wonder if he even remembers it. He escaped the Legion's clutches and lived through excruciating pain for years. His control over the Void is...I have no word that strikes my fancy. He is dizzying. I crave being near him. He could saunter through the encampment, instead he walks around it. He still walks with that hunch that many Planore have, and he's so...meek in most of his communication. Meek may not be the right word. Humble. I can see frustration building in him; his inability to enter the heart chamber upsets him, more than he'll ever let on. That handsome face of his... (The parchment is stained with ink here, as if the writer attempted to cross out the paragraph, thought better of it, and walked away from their musings.)

So if you've paid attention to the boring updates about my lore, you'd know Kale has a grand daughter. Actually he has four grand daughters. Nyota, in his attempt to have a boy, tried three seperate times to acquire one, and ended up with 4 wonderful daughters instead. The thing is, his unique talent, the ability to bond a dragon and shape shift into a drake as one enters adolescence, is specific to the male line. Undeterred, Nyota raised Kimani to be a fierce Queen-to-be. But it always upset her that she would never be as her father and grandfather, soaring on the winds with other dragons. As she neared the age of 13, she prayed every night to be able to shapeshift, and was met with nothing. Come the end of Dragonflight, and the flights decide, uniformly, that Kale's line is to blessed by them for his aid in fighting their fight, and restoring the Black Dragonflight to their potential. Merithra, astounded by Kimani's scholarship and bravery (Kimani did some stuff with the Bronzes.) has decided that each female would get a bond of their own, this time by choice rather than happenstance. Gerithus, her son, has chosen Kimani, and she him, and thus, the first bond of the green flight is born. It never set well with me that Kale's power was only on the male line, but it also didn't set well that it could also be granted to females. This is a unique solution that I find great, as it is born of merit rather than birth.

Kale - Nefarian (X) Nyota - Zaladormu Kimani - Gerithus