Prologue
Settling herself against the base of a tree, in a bed of moss glistening with dew, Aellea Mothlight began to write. Her embroidered leather journal was small and light, crafted from a kind soul in town, and she made use of every thick, beige page. This journal in particular was reserved for poetry. Its fragile daintiness assisted Aellea in not growing too serious or gloomy in her expression. It wasn't much larger than her hand.
Again I hear the murmur of these autumn waters, she wrote, rushing in from the Cliffside. She read the two lines again. That was all she could manage, for today at least. The rains had started falling heavily over the last few weeks, perfectly in tune with the ocean's increase in strength. The clouds hung low today, ready to release again.
What a home for a Druidess. There was a peace that came with the duality of Darkshore. The serene veil of the dense forest could be quietly lifted, and suddenly the coastline would erupt the senses with its chaos, rhythm, and ferocity. A retreat from the unpredictable sea was only a few paces inland, where the trunks of the forest gently enveloped the body. To learn from these juxtaposed surroundings offered a wealth of life, wisdom, and calm. The landscape reflected the inner self.
Years were changing it, though. The occupation the Kaldorei had in the region was waning; the destruction of Auberdine and the lives taken with it, and the foul presence of those who would do the land harm consistently pulled at the heart of Darkshore. Aellea could feel the rocky coastline's anger, the woodland's resistance to the dark members of Twilight's Hammer. The soil mourned the loss of many Druids, Sentinels, and Priestesses.
These issues, however, couldn't be dwelled upon too deeply. For Aellea, there was work to do, lessons to be taught, poems to write, and a voyage to Stormwind to prepare for. She briefly fondled the coral seashell ring on her right hand.