This first one is in the POV of my level 71 tauren druid which explains why she's doing such a low level quest. 
The next one will be with my hunter, I promise! And with all the italics and <>'s, that's kind of like your character's out-of-journal commentary. Think of it like a in-game quest with all the <"Character" sighed before handing the key back to you with a look of sadness> thing. It makes alot more sense then.)<What a strange journal... And more strange is the fact that it was sitting so neatly on the shrine atop Frostblade Peak in a small pool of blood, open to the first page thanks to the fluttering winds. You hesitantly move over to the alter, subconsciously aware that there was a foul aura near the shrine; something you've never felt before, even in the presence of Scourge...>
Journal Entry 1: The Beginning
I can't believe this... I'm actually, truely, in Northrend! Sure, the coldness bites at my face and there's always packed snow between my paws when I'm traveling as a lion but it's the thought that I'm actually going to be aiding the war efforts soon that get the energy pumping through my veins... What better way to fight against Arthas than to do it by hand-to-paw combat?
At the moment, I'm camped in the bitter winds of Frostblade Peak, meditating for a quest a fairly new friend, Sage Mistwalker, sent me out to do so I can progress to help him with something he saw in a dream. Something about Inner Turmoil I have to get rid of... I dunno, it didn't make much sense to me, and nothing happened when I first meditated at the shrine but ever since I set up my tent when the sun was setting and actually settled down to sleep I feel as if something is... Lurking out there, for a better choice of non-creepy words.
<At this, there is a large ink stroke across the paper. Apparently, somehing startled the author enough to make them jump violently before they seemed to steady themself to keep writing.>
Eurgh, I hate this place at night. I've been camped here for three days and I've meditated at the shrine multiple times. What am I doing wrong? Do I need an item of sorts? Maybe I should go back to Mistwalker and ask when dawn comes to chase the darkness away.
<At this point of the journal, dried teardrops spatter the page. Apparently an emotional turmoil washed over the author, making them burst into unrelenting tears that made it apparently very hard to write, as the entire next couple of sentances is written in unsteady strokes.>
I miss my home.
I miss my homeland.
I miss my love.
I know my sister, Deathly, wanted me to do my best out here but she doesn't know how stressed I am. She doesn't have a lover, to the extent of my knowing. The last I heard of her, she was exploring the frostiest region of this continent; Icecrown itself. I haven't heard from her in weeks, and it's starting to get me worried. Maybe I should fly over there and scout around as a harmless looking hawk...
<After rambling a little more on the author's sister, they seem to hop back on track of what they were saying before, but you're pulled out of reading the rest by a seemingly hungry growl from somewhere nearby. After looking around frantically, you assume it was just the wind (hopefully, atleast) before finding your place again.>
Bah. Deathly knows nothing of emotional stress; she can't possibly imagine having someone practically on the other side of the world from her, training somewhere in the lush, prehistoric-like jungles of Un'goro Crater. I had problems with thoes damn Devilsaurs that roamed the crater while I was there and I know their offspring will be as volatile to strangers as their parents. I know Irion wants to sharpen his mastery of every beast roaming Azeroth, but why must he of chosen Devilsaurs for the Old Gods' sake?! Couldn't he do what my sister did and befriend a wolf for the time being? Wait, what was that? I swear to the Old Gods, I thought I heard a sinister laughter outside my tent just now. What is this, I don't even-.
<The rest of the page seems to be blacked out by a huge ink splatter after this, but it's uncertain if the author did it or an outsider's hand had erased everything with an apparently overturned bottle of ink. Irked by the interruption of the paragraph, you flip to the next page to see if the author continued, but reel back when the only thing waiting on the next two pages are large words, obviously scratched in blood with a different, more jagged and unholy, handwriting than the author's.>
I'D SUGGEST YOU RUN, PREY...
<The sound of rapid footsteps in the snow behind you make you whirl around and let out a yell but before you can do anything to protect yourself you're struck down by what looked to be like a ink-dipped carbon copy of your own weapon, held by none other than what looked to be an ink-covered carbon copy of yourself. As you start to fade into unconsciousness, a malicious laughter can be heard at the edge of your hearing in a voice that sounds like your own, but isn't and you struggle to stay conscious but fail as the... thing appraoches you with slow and meaningful footsteps before it crouches in front of you, blade to your throat.>
"And that, fool, is why you pay attention to your surroundings before you start reading unfamiliar journals."
(By the way, feedback is welcome! xD)
-Stomped on by Devilsaur-
