One by one, my people fell. The river of blood was coursing like fine wine from a lord's goblet to the drowning gullet on a late afternoon. It was on one such afternoon, when our world was plunged into uncertainty.
The safety of Teldrassil's brambled pathways had always been a given. So long as my people were nurtured below its roots, among the twilight wilds, we thought our lives complete. As I now look onto the carved swirls upon my moss-covered and bloodied hearthstone, I recognize that we grew weak, complacent.
And what of Elune? To Her I pledged my life, my bonds and vows. For her Light, I live; a barefoot hermit flung about by the welcoming whims of a dwindling faith. Her betrayal stung more than the trivial steel arrows of a dozen Dark Rangers, more than the molten rocks flailed about by the Horde's catapults, more than the hubris of the Banshee Queen and of her plague. If you still hear my voice, Mother Moon, please answer.
I grow in despair.
[This note was recovered from the ashen ruins of the World Tree, torn off a journal attached to a dead Night Elven body mere feet from it.]
[Just some extremely light reading, since I noticed that it's been a while since anyone posted anything In Character. Feel free to criticize it, probably going to be writing more if my schedule takes pity on me.]