Okay, some odd things have happened to me since I started publishing this journal.

You may remember that I’ve held forth on my Problem with Dwarves. I may have even advocated murdering them for sport in various ways. I have nothing in principle against any of my fellow Azerothians, and frankly would rather hang out with my racially-diverse brethren in the Cenarion Circle than, say, people who are theoretically my allies but who want to exterminate all life. Yeah, okay, guys. How about we just have a beer, instead, huh? Oh, the beer’s coming right out the… let’s just… oh, geez, it’s really just running right through… ugh, and some tumours are washing off with it… look here’s a bucket, we’ll just slip it under the tabard… there — no one will notice. Just… stand still.

Nevertheless, dwarves. I wouldn’t think any of them would read my journal, let alone enjoy it. But apparently copies are circulating in Alliance towns, and I seem to have picked up a — a stalker? I guess?

I can’t complain. She buys really expensive shoulder and helmet inscriptions and mails them to me (apparently this is okay). But every so often I get weirder shit, like the following, which I have reproduced here in case any of you, dear readers, can make heads or tails of it.

I think it means she just helped kill the Lich King. I heard something about that. Beyond that, though…

And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I wish she would stop stabbing me to death whenever she sees me. The rose left on my corpse really is… something, but I could do without it.