Celia's Journal

Had I not seen it with my own two eyes, I would have never understood just how fragile these mortals can be. My brother and I were tasked by our father to watch over this filthy kingdom. Courtiers at the keep of Greymane, sent by Lord Prestor— an influential voice in the Kingdom of Alterac —my brother and I quickly forced ourselves into the ranks of trusted nobles, reaching the ear of the King.$B$BIt is then that we began to slowly poison his mind with thoughts of rebellion, creating distress between him and his own people. Foolish humans, they could never have understood the weight of their own actions.

After we turned Genn against his most trusted man, killing his wife in the process, the King became so depressed that a mere touch and a kind word was all it took to have him wrapped around my finger. During that time, there wasn't much in the works aside from the rebellion—save for the time we imprisoned the children of our so-called sovereign and told him they'd faced a terrible death. They were lost at sea, thanks to the foolish Perenolde, whom Genn allowed into his kingdom — or so we told him.$B$BThe King became so dependent on me that I had him retreating to his chambers, allowing Gilneas to be in the capable hands of my brother and me.

Alas, we had met our goal, but no word ever came from our father. Where was he? We had completed our goal—took over the country and slowly made it rot from the inside out. And so we waited, and waited, and waited some more. Many events occurred while we kept isolated in the city. My foolish brother even began to lavish in the desires of mortals, while I was responsible for keeping our King—happily insane and under our control, that is. Convinced that our father abandoned his plan, Mortimer decided he enjoyed this life too much, regardless of whether our father returned or not, and so we both decided to keep on living here and claim this place as our nest.

At one point, however, we still felt the need for leadership. Each day I would see the King depend on me for instructions and guidance—he clearly had no intention of making any more decisions by himself. At that moment, I felt jealous—a fit of jealousy overcame me. He was so codependent, yet at the same time, his thirst for direction was exactly what I myself was missing. Why would our father abandon us? Where would I even begin to find more supervision? How could I even trust such a thing?

Fate decided for me, however. It came at night, growling and inhaling the air of the room as if it already belonged to him. At the sight of a hideous creature— a Worgen who crawled upon the walls and came from the Silverpine Forest, he called himself Father Lycan, a sentient being clad in tattered robes, covered in muck and blood. He claimed to be a preacher of blood who had pierced the veil between his world and ours so that we too could enjoy the gifts he had brought us.