- Faded Journal
- Item Level
- <Right Click to Read>
- Vendor 6
"A druid's gift is his freedom to embrace and explore all facets of nature."
so often spoke these words. I was once foolish enough to believe that he truly lived by them. Yet while my shan'do spouted this freedom, he disgraced me and my druids of the pack by banning our form. I can still recall with great clarity his angry tirades whenever he discovered us practicing in secret.
"The pack form cannot be controlled. It will consume you, and endanger us all."
The ignorance with which Malfurion passed judgment on us is infuriating. Does he not realize that the spirit of the wolf ancient, , is by nature's grace within me and my pack brethren? We did not choose it. It chose us. To shun it would be to turn our backs on nature itself.
It only pains me that at a time like this, when our race is threatened by war with the vile satyr, Malfurion rejects us -- the very druids who could turn the tide of battle in his favor.
It matters little now. Today my brethren and I will depart from night elf society forever to begin life anew in the wild. We will show our shan'do's beliefs to be wrong and prove that Goldrinn's spirit can in fact be controlled.
Six nights have come and gone since we carved out our new homes in the heart of the forest. Our pack leader, Renthel, has taken charge over the community, and under his wise leadership I have at last found true freedom.
Each night we practice our form at the roots of a fallen tree where we have placed Goldrinn's fang. A thing of beauty it is... merely being in its presence seems to empower me. At times I wonder if the wolf ancient left this remnant of himself on the world as a gift to those who pursue his form.
These nightly sessions have filled me with renewed confidence in my ability to harness Goldrinn's spirit. Although Malfurion so often spoke of its dangers, even now we are proving him to be wrong.
There was an argument tonight. A seasoned druid named Thaldrus laid claim to leadership of the pack over Renthel, and both druids settled the dispute in pack form. They circled one another for what seemed an eternity, mouths foaming and fangs bared, until Thaldrus lunged at Renthel and pinned him to the ground.
Renthel honorably accepted his defeat and relinquished his leadership with no further violence. If only Malfurion could have witnessed the dignity with which Thaldrus and Renthel acted on this eve.
Something strange has been happening of late. My brothers spend more and more time in pack form throughout the day. Many of them claim that it is a necessity to mastering the form, yet I feel that it is not the sole reason.
An urge, primal in origin, grows inside of me. It is a desire that I can only sufficiently sate when I take on the pack form. I fear that the others feel it too.
Tonight, under the two moons, we ventured through the wild in pack form and felled three stags. So famished were my brethren and I that we simply ripped into the creatures, clawing and biting at each other while we feasted. Euphoria washed over me as I sank my teeth into the stag's raw flesh. Even if I had been without an appetite, gorging on the creature would have satisfied me.
First time out of pack form in seven nights. Live as a wolf like others, from one night to the next. Pack leader Thaldrus says night elf bodies are weak. All trust him. All follow him. If he saw me now, he would kill me.
Goldrinn's spirit consuming us. Fighting it feels just as wrong as giving in.
Still taste pack leader Thaldrus' blood in my mouth.
Cannot recall details. Only remember Thaldrus taking Goldrinn's fang from fallen tree. Caught him dragging it into his den and--
<This part of the page is illegible due to blood stains>
Took two nights for Thaldrus to come out. We were waiting. Fangs and claws and rane. Tore him apart. Fur and flesh everywhere. Only gnawed bones afterward.
No leader now.
Much has come to pass of late, and I feel that at last I have regained a portion of my sanity. Five nights ago, I left my den to discover that the other pack members were gathered around something, or as I soon discovered, someone. A night elf whose scent I recognized as , a druid of Malfurion's ilk.
As one we encircled him, yet the intruder held his ground. I smelled not a hint of fear on him, despite the fact that he remained in night elf form. His arrogance was quite infuriating.
Three of my enraged brothers charged Ralaar, and the newcomer took on the pack form and bested the challenges with little effort... yet he did not kill them.
In that instant I became aware of a difference between him and us. We had become savages... scarred, lean, and disheveled. Ralaar, however, was powerful, majestic, and still rife with Goldrinn's essence.
When no others dared challenge him, Ralaar took on his night elf form and spoke. In a tirade that reminded me of Malfurion, he berated us for becoming mindless animals and squandering what he referred to as the purity of Goldrinn's essence. Yet unlike my former shan'do, Ralaar also promised to teach us the true path to harnessing the wolf ancient's spirit. I sensed tremendous rage in his voice, tempered by a self control that I had somehow lost in recent weeks.
One by one we all left our pack forms. I can only guess that my brethren, like I, felt a strange affinity to this newcomer, as if here were a messenger of Goldrinn himself.
Ralaar has since begun teaching us as he had promised, though he no longer answers to his given name.
Rather, he now refers to himself simply as Alpha Prime.
Patch 4.0.3 (15-Nov-2010): Added