Enoch
It has been some time since I have contacted anyone that I knew from Silvermoon, months a matter of fact. That city is so full of ears, bureaucrats, aristocracy, and perversion that it sickened me. I have been on the run from a certain meddling paladin that I once made a promise to several years ago; a promise in which I never broke, though it seems he and his family had.
Ever since the incident with Lorthrial, a certain powerful mage, who used me to assist him in taking the thrown of Silvermoon, for such a brief time, Niavan had been endlessly working to find a way to have me imprisoned for war crimes, crimes against humanity, or some such nonsense. He recently stepped up his efforts after Adaira and I began a humanitarian mission, so to speak, hopefully showing Niavan Dawnstrider that he indeed is not without flaw for we thought that we could keep bad luck from following this poor soul everywhere he went by showing him that he was not perfect; and his holier then thou attitude was bringing him all his bad luck. This apparently blew up in our faces because it put him in some sort of comatose state, this made Evea, his wife, and everyone else involved think that we were trying to kill him. Once he awoke from his comatose state he started a crusade to not only imprison Adaira and myself, but destroy the Order of Wrath.
Since that time I have been on run making my home where ever I ended up. My only contact being Urakabermeil Ashure of Silvermoon, the most down to Azeroth Blood Knight I have ever known; and Adaira Rainwood, my only love in all of Azeroth, the one who inspires me to continue my pitiful, unworthy existence.
*Enoch closes his journal for now after signing off on it, placing it carefully back in his bag as he rests his head in an abandoned house he commandeered as he hears rain falling on the roof, howls of the Worgens that litter the area, and the occasional hoot of an owl.*