From [A] A Strange Voice in Shattrath:

The Lorekeeper sagged into her chair, knocked back by the emotion of what she had heard and glimpsed. The Consul’s image brought tears to her eyes, but she managed to stave off her emotions long enough to get back to the task at hand. The library was quiet, the vault full of tomes was as still as a grave.

How apt a description, for it was amongst the knowledge of the long-dead that she hoped to find the source of that which plagued the living. Her constituents were becoming increasingly distressed by what they were hearing. Questions raced through her mind, distracting her in several minute increments.

Who was doing this? Why? Are the voices truly of the dead? Who were they? When did they die? Where did they die? Why were the voices happening now? Who was Xe’dri?

The riddle that hit them all at once, like a simultaneous choir of desperation, frustrated her the most. She spoke the words aloud. Tapped them out on her hands, sung them until they were committed to memory:

“Divided it may be, a piece yet represents a whole. What happens there will echo here. A distant, conjoined soul.”

After a while, she shook her head. The Consul was right. It was time to speak to A’dal.