Weathered Diary - Dates from the Third War

Entry 1

Before I could understand what was happening, the devastation was upon us. The ground trembled and our fair spire, which had stood citadel over Dalaran since the Second War, shattered.

I remember screaming as my father's face disappeared behind the tumbling scaffolding, but I heard nothing. Even in my terror, I thought of my magical training. If I could only slow this disaster-but the spells died within me. Traces of demonic power barred my efforts. There was no hope. I closed my eyes and waited. But somehow, I am still here.

Entry 2

The wreckage shifted for hours. I was certain each new thundering tremor would finally end it. Instead, I remain huddled beneath an archway that had once framed our view of the bustling market streets. How many times had I seen my sister returning from there, her arms loaded with goods? Now only dust and stone stand before me.

Entry 4

I must believe in the Kirin Tor. The great mages of Dalaran would not desert their people. This rubble that imprisons me is no more than a trifle to a skilled spellcaster, I will be saved, and one day, I will finish my training and stand among them.

Entry 5

There are no signs of others or of my family. I have called for them. Everything above is silent now, I am not sure whether I am blessed or cursed. My heart would quiet itself and follow the others to rest, but my mind is thick with fear.

Entry 6

It grows darker and the air is thinner. The faint lights I summon to write burn into my eyes. I can do no more. My energy must be saved for what may yet come. I am audacious enough to hope that these scraps of paper will hold out against the silence as I cannot. I would become a voice, singing up through this abyss, softening until a whisper, and then fading into the sky.