Filling my soul, the hate for that item is limitless. Every minute of my bleak existence, I can feel its grip, yet it is not I who carries it. No, it rests in the hand of my companion, draining his person while feeding his strength. It is the nightmare to my dreams…

For years, I just dreamed of being the grandest Marshall, controlling armies vast and numerous. The masses would flock to my rally, turning peasants into natural soldiers! Such a grand scheme that I have planned for myself. But such a fool I am. I should have known that day was something ominous; that day so many years ago. That day before the death of Medivh, before the destruction of Dalaran, before the banishment of the Deceiver, that day upon the mountains. Yet I was greedy...

I am a fool!

I should have ignored his plan, I should have listened to the my self-concocted story! But I was a fool. Selfishly, all I desired at that was moment was for the lost, all I desired was for the destroyed, all I desired was my honor. Oh, how I yearned for it, and how we earned it. I remember the fights, I remember the monsters!

Marvelous fights, fights that shall echo across the cosmos for eons! Servants of the Gods fell. The Gods themselves reeled upon the blade of our might! Demons bowed to our seeming immortality, while Lieutenants of a Titan failed. Yes, such marvelous feats of valor.

But now…

Feeding ceaselessly, the item searches the realms of living and dead to find the power it desires. The invincible made vulnerable, the potent made feeble, the sane drove to madness. It draws the good to evil, from following the light to damning those who do. It is the text of nightmares.

Yes, I, Voat Brighton, am haunted by this object.

Yet, another is entranced by it; one man is entranced by it. This same man drew me to the promise upon the marshes of the wetlands. This same person I follow loyally and obediently. This same person is who leads many and controls the powerful. This same man I have known for years, yet apparently knew little.

This is my friend. This is my comrade. This is Dalaray. And in his hands rests the book that screams chapters of horrors, fills my mind with horrible visions. In his hands rests the lost text of the grand wizard Medivh.

All of this saddening, for all of my dreaming to command the vast armies of power, all of my dreaming to control the populace, was lost; I am now the commanded and the herded. I am simply a pawn amongst the book. I am an insect upon a page.

I am simply a part of the mighty Final Chapter.

Please, feel free to review any part, or all. I am still editing and checking for errors --for at least the fifth time-- and any insight about the story would be appreciated, as well as extremely helpful: Mainly because I have an idea for a sequal ready, and I am wanting to know if anyone would be interested in reading it.

Note: The lore may not be 100 accurate, so if there are any errors feel free to post those as well -- Tried my best from some readings.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy reading my story.