The sand trails between my toes as the water rushes past my feet. Even as it attempts to reach a distant tree line, the sea falls back to its depths and swirls about, leaving my wet skin open to an incoming breeze. I don’t care how the moist grains are rough on my ankles, or how the wind brings a chill to anywhere the ocean touched. My mind is in the clouds as my butt makes an imprint in the shoreline.

I am a wanderer. Unlike the waters of Azeroth, I am not contained in one location for very long and I don’t visit the same places so frequently as to become a pattern. Still, I cannot help but think of the places I’ve created connections to; Silvermoon, Ramkahen, Halfhill … they have become regular places for me to stay for...

Once while I was in the forest like I heard one of the Ancients--huge tree peoples--grumbling about something. Not liking when peoples are unhappy I peeked out from behind the tree in my path and like asked:

"So, um, what's the problem? You seem kinda unhappy."

"A Forsaken Priestess used Mind Control on me. Even though they killed her I still feel disoriented and sick."

So we thought about ways to make the Ancient feel better. I asked... well, I dunno what gender they are, so like I asked them: "There's a camp on the other side of Ashenvale with several um... Ancients. Do you wanna go there and ask them for help?"

My new acquaintance agreed and we journeyed across Ashenvale Forest. I rode on their shoulder and we kept our...

Dear Diary,

Now I have a new life in the Alliance. I'm still the same woman just not part of a house of minor nobility. That means I have to earn my reputation. How do I do that? I make perfumes, I sew women's and girls' clothing and I practice destructive warlock powers against enemies of Stormwind.

My perfumes have ingredients from around Azeroth. A popular seller is mageroyal, firebloom and peacebloom. It has a subtle scent at first, then a spicy cinnamon smell second and as the last remains on your skin you receive a pleasant flowery smell.

How do I make women's and girls' clothes? First I take their measurements. Then I ask for details about what type of clothing and style they want. If I have the proper fabrics in my...

Dear Diary,

Did you know you are my only true friend? After the trial in Stormwind they assigned me a court ordered therapist. I can't say her name even on your pages. She was a friend for a time... and then she was taken from this world.

I fell in love with a warrior whose hatred for demons scared and excited me. His battle cries were fearsome and his presence on the battlefield was undeniable. I helped disguise him as a wrathguard.

A teacher agreed to take on a new pupil. So yes, I had several friends and yet I still felt distance and disconnection. I requested a portal to Theramore to speak with Ms. Proudmoore about possibly negotiating with the Horde again. Because I wanted the fighting to end and for my family and friends...

Sister Anetta followed the crowd as it surged through the front door and around to the side of the tavern. On the ground, a few feet from the building, was a member of the Night Watch holding a torch and kneeling on the ground next to the body of a young man. Sister Anetta moved through the crowd and stood at the edge of the firelight and looked down at the body.

The man was dressed in simple clothes, not the type that one would wear on the road. His head was turned at an odd angle and his arms and legs were spread from the body. The priestess looked up at the tavern and spied a window on the second floor that had been broken out. Turning back to the body, she watched as the militia man placed a finger on the man’s neck. After a...

Edit: Tagging people works. Just type @ in any post or comment box.

- It will notify the characters/people who got tagged.

- It will notify them per email as well if they got the setting on.

@kharris

@khaeris

Try it out.. it does have autocompletion (should work on desktop browsers)

Previous edit:

Known lmitations, for now:

- does not work in comments (only posts)

- does not notify the people mentioned

Please report any issues in the comments section of this post!

Dear Diary,

How are you? Do you even care about what I write in your pages? Would you feel it if I burned you a little? Ah-ha so much fun to tease.

While I support receiving powerful weapons to fight the Legion I wonder if we are turning our backs on magics, on regular soldiers, turning our backs on healers of the medicinal variety... and if several Artifact Weapons are sentient do we even have need to train soldiers anymore?

Technically I am a hypocrite since I stole a staff off of an eredar lord when my friends and I from House Witchhawk were done finishing it off. Too bad about those Void portals it opens to try to... escape back home maybe? As I lie on my bed writing this I wanna know: Is the fighting Ever going to stop? I heard that...

With the permission of King Wrynn's emissary myself and the sentient Infernal who I called 'my child' flew away from the walls surrounding Stormwind City by griffons. Actually my child was too big to fit in the saddle so instead it followed me as a fel meteor. We arrived in Ashenvale Forest where my little project had taken place.

We were in an Orc encampment. They eyed me and the huge demon beside me with... suspicion? Why? I'm only here to help!

They told us that they had seen some flattened and broken vegetation on the way out of their lumber camp. We followed the rather obvious trail until we reached the second of my children.

"Please... come with me back to Stormwind? The Horde won't take y-you apart... if you--" I started...

My family has said in like public that, um, they'll only use their magics for good and that they consider themselves lowborn now. They still have some traditions that they follow. Some are based on like druid arts, some on values of femininity and some on relationships and marriages.

Like they're totally for preserving the forests by protecting them with magic. My father and boy and girl children in my family and the extended family would journey the roads from Darnassus to Shadowglen looking for aberrant creatures, aggressive beasts or dangerous bandits. My mother earned the total adoration of the Sentinels and Priestesses for her dedication to using Frost magic to turn into rain to water the forest, or to put out fires or to freeze...

Sister Anetta sat in the common room of the tavern in Darkshire, sipping a glass of noir and listening to the sounds of the room. Next to her sat a young gnome, his hair ruffled and his his clothes showing the worse for wear.

“I’m telling you, miss. The future will be in pneumatic catapults.”

“You seem quite certain of this,” the priestess said as she sipped her wine. The gnome had been regaling her with scientific descriptions since she initially struck up the conversation. 

“Of course!” the gnome blurted out in response. “It will be so much quicker that going by horse or ram. Even by gryphon. One straight shot and your there. And you won’t have hire mages for those pesky portals.”

“But what happens when you...

A human warlock that no one knew drifted into Dreadscar Rift. She convinced two other warlocks, myself included, to perform a summoning ritual that would bring in her coven from somewhere on the Broken Shore. Believing that she was telling the truth and feeling we needed each and every drop of help against The Burning Legion I asked the other two warlocks in attendance--a goblin with jeweled earrings and scars on her face and an orc who had graying hair--what did they think about the human woman's offer?


"She seems trustworthy and besides, girly... whadda think every warlock and demon available in the place is gonna do if they attack?" The goblin smiled examined her long polished fingernails.


"I agree with her," Tiagra was gesturing at...

Benjamin and Lohgan watched from the window of the second floor of the Caravan inn. Quietly, the two boys speculated on what the explosion was that they had heard only minutes earlier.

“I bet it some evil wizard coming from that haunted tower,” Ben offered.

“Or maybe its the horde coming to attack the city,” Lohgan countered.

“Maybe it was one of the worgen.”

“Nah. They wouldn’t know how to make explosions that big.”

“Look! They’re coming back with something.”

The two boys scrambled out of the window and ran down the stairs, stomping so loudly that Ben’s father called out for the two to knock it off. Bursting through the doors, the two boys made it to the road just in time to watch several members of the...

The captain of the Night Watch stood next to the door, leaning against the jam and watching. The small office was crowded with various pieces of furniture: a desk covered in papers, two chairs placed in front of the desk, a small table with two chairs at the side, and a sofa against the side wall. In the middle of the sofa sat a young lady, her legs drawn up with her arms wrapped around. A blanket covered her shoulders and rippled slightly as she seemed to sway at little from side to side. Next to her, on the closer end of the sofa, sat another woman in the robes of a priestess.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Miss Jensen?” the captain asked. “I can get you some water if you want.”

The young lady shook her head, causing the...

“What about Watcher Keller?”

Benjamin threw the ball to his friend, Lohgan. The two boys were in the front yard of tavern that Ben’s family owned, tossing a ball back and forth.

“Yeah, he probably has. What about Watcher Ladimore?”

“Oh yeah,” Ben replied. “I bet he’s fought tons of skeletons.” Ben grunted as he caught the ball that had been thrown back to him.  “What about Watcher Hartin?”

“I don’t know,” Lohgan replied before catching the ball again. “He’s always quiet when I see him.”

“What about Watcher Royce?” Ben asked as he held up his hands in the air.

“Watcher Royce? But she’s a girl!” Lohgan said before thrown the ball again.

“So what?”

“Girls don’t fight skeletons,...

Marachius had been sitting on the edge of the canal for the better part of an hour. The bucket beside him held three fish. They were decently sized, not terribly big but not too small either. With his line in the water, the young man would twitch his fishing rod a little bit every now and then as he tried to entice more fish to his bait. 

After a few more minutes, he felt a tug on his line. Marachius reeled the line in and lifted up his fishing rod. Another decently sized fish hung above the water and started to swing back. Marc reached out with one hand to grab the line and pulled the fish closer. Setting the rod beside him, the paladin pulled the hook out of the fish’s mouth and put it in the bucket with the others. Then he...

He gets a suite out of habit and because what's the point of money unless you can throw it away on frivolities? Doesn't intend to share the room with anyone, and doesn't mean to stay longer than a night, but the amenities are nice and there's always a balcony in case he wants to throw himself off of it later.

Two things are set aside, the room’s selection of herbal teas and coffees dumped into the trash so he can make use of the tray they are arranged on. Just him, alone, third wheel to this pretty little pairing for his ugly little conscience. A metal tin, four little sachets of powder within, and the small blue vial. There’s a nebulous reminder flitting in the back of his mind to take as directed for the sake of his health...

Lunch at the Legerdemain.

It sounds quaint. Like something you'd do on a first date with someone you don't know but would like to. Sensible entree that’s middle of the road in cost. Don't want to seem cheap, but not like a braggart either. Coffee.

Wouldn't know. Doesn't like dates.

Not in the mood for cappuccinos or conversation, either.

Lunch is to-go: shaved sprouts, julienned cucumbers, sweet baby spinach with an avocado and goat cheese mash, for two. Winning combination of nutritionally sound and thoughtful gesture.

In the time he waits, it’s only a short trip to less reputable establishments. Back before it’s even parcelled up and ready to take.

It’s a working lunch.

Chiseling out a brick from the outer hearth of the...

Never has been one for routine but, inexplicably, has been drawn to a creature of habit.

Before, this manifested as a gentle exchange of whispered goodbyes and half-remembered kisses, the echo of warmth beneath the seed-stitched cashmere as they traded spaces and wakefulness.

Now? He's another step.

A glass of tepid water and two sets of pills. One to purge the last bits of resistant infection from his system, the other a palliative measure to blunt the knife-edge of his discomfort.

It works, in a way. Takes away the point.

Doesn't do much for the still-sharp serrated edges tearing, ripping away at his resolve.

Stitches are inspected with practiced hands as he slouches in the near-dark. Cleansed, doused in petroleum ointment,...

Dinner is fine. Enjoyable, even. Two glasses of water he’d wished were rum, mechanical consumption of a blackened mackerel fillet on a bed of rice, even a stolen taste of the grilled peach and sweet potato salad that wasn't his. The balsamic drenched bite had earned him a familiar look — warm affection muddled with fake annoyance — but tinged with just a taste of something far more souring. Pity? Sympathy? Understanding?

He'd like nothing more than to bite the expression off of those lips.

Or is it the pain talking?

Yes, maybe so. That's the easily digestible answer — just like the diet of bland rice and toast suggested (imposed) upon him to average out the nauseous highs and lows of his strictly regulated medicine intake.

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