Conversations with a Helling Magister

[Lysimachus]

Good evening. My name is Nevitt Autumnburst, and I am a Silvermoon City magister in the service of the esteemed House, dej Dynastus. In the interest of possible political leeway and legal pragmatism, I shall henceforth be recording the discourse, so often as it occurs, between myself and my employer, the Marquess Lysimachus dej Dynastus.

Apparently, he has grown senile enough to actually speak privately concerning delicate matters of intrigue or personal occurrence. I do relish the situation.

Thus proceeds the first of these discussions.

Conversation I - Concerning Helling Romance

Lysimachus returned home relatively late this evening. This is unusual for him, as he tends to drink tea and smoke pipe tobacco at a set hour every evening. Immediately upon hurling his cowl and robes at one of the three slave-boys (I do not prefer to pay attention to the urchins), he began to rant.

"Helling Magister! Why the hell are you still awake?"

"Good evening, sir. It happens that I was finishing some manus-..."

interrupting me "Have you ever been on a..." (with some trepidation) "helling date?"

I was quite surprised at this question. It is well-known that Lysimachus is not among the most skilled romancers, not by any disability of his own so much as personal preference. I responded calmly.

"No, sir. I have not, at least of late, charmed another in any sort of 'helldate.' I cannot say I would not be open to such a proceeding, howe-..."

"Well, don't helling do it! I can't have my employees wasting their time dancing about in ladies' vaginas."

"..."

"Well?!"

"Of course not, my lord."

"God hell."

He then proceeded towards his bedchambers. Often, I do not understand the content or importance of our conversations, but I assure myself all of this material will come in good use.

[The_Golden_Wolf]

(( Bwaahaaha!! Hilarious, keep it comin' ))

[Cabriel]

((Tee hee.))

[Lysimachus]

Conversation II - Concerning my Tongue, an Orb, and my Lord's Poor Morning Habits

Shortly after I took over the management of the fel-crystals from my associate, magister Tellurion Trayle, the Marquess rose from his bed, shouting, as he tends to do, for his 'god helling milk and vodka.'

"Where the HELL is my drink? What do I PAY you people for?!"

He was speaking to me.

"You pay me to manage these crystals and conduct your affairs in the Arcane, sire. I was not aware that I was to prepare for you your morning whis-..."

"THEN PERHAPS YOU SHOULD BE FIRED, THEN? YOU'RE FIRED!"

"Very well, my lord. I shall pack my things immediately."

Of course, when one knows the Marquess, one knows that the morning is not his strongest point during the day. I merely returned to the library and organized the books, waiting. I did not have to wait long.

"LIBELLE! WHERE THE HELL IS HELLING MAGISTER?! I CAN'T FIND MY SCRYING ORB!"

A timid response. I could not understand what was being said. Several seconds later, the curtains into the library burst aside.

Lysimachus, speaking forcefully, "Where the hell is the Orb, you good-for-nothing heller?"

"It is sitting on the table in your workship, sir. Where you left it last time we observed your niece during her coupling with Demitri."

Silence.

"God hell."

He storms out. Several moments later, he returns with his Scrying Orb in tow. It is a very expensive implement, freshly imported from Lysimachus' contacts in Dalaran. Often, he instructs me to spy on members within his own House, most often his niece, Libelle dej Dynastus. I am not entirely sure of the legality of the whole situation, but I imagine he knows what he's doing. Or so I like to hope.

(He points at the orb) "Count Mitiuth Ascent VII of the Court of Fairbreeze. Do it."

(Shocked) "E-... Excuse me? The Count? I don't imagine that he would appreciate such intrusion..."

"Just do it. It is meet and proper that one knows of the doings of one's partners."

I half-heartedly siphon some amount of energy from the nearby fel-crystal into the Orb, and, after a few appropriate keywords, the Orb reveals a large city - Orgrimmar, it seems - focusing on a building with a crudely-wrought sign, "Fairbreeze Trading Company." The image begins to focus into one of the windows, after which there is a large flash and I am knocked to the ground.

(Lysimachus, staring at me, largely unconcerned.) "I expected that would happen; I only wished to be sure. The Count is not so daft as to neglect placing wards upon his holdings."

"Sire, that could have been quite dange-"

"DO WANT YOUR TONGUE RIPPED OUT LIKE YOUR PEER'S WAS, NEVITT?! I don't pay you to speak."

Lysimachus exits. Apparently, he and Calestra dej Dynastus, an adoptee into the House, have created some sort of trade agreement with the Court of Fairbreeze, concerning the domination and development of resource-rich areas throughout the continent of Northrend. At this time, I have not been fully informed of the situation concerning the House's journey to that frozen wasteland. I pray I am not forced to join the expedition.

[Lysimachus]

Conversation III - Concerning a Certain Dysfunction of Genetics

Today, as I was attending to my duties, it happened that Exanimo dej Dynastus, the grown nephew of the Marquess, found his way into the Crystal Parlor of Dynastus Hall. This is only unusual in that Lysimachus, or so I had been impressed, had warded the Hall against him. I quickly tried to tuck away behind a nearby curtain, but I was, regrettably, accosted.

"Necktie! Monkey NECKTIE! Like oh my gosh I've MISSED you!"

"It's Nevitt. Magister Nevitt. And good day, Exanimo."

(an idiotic frown on his face) "Necktie, you KNOW I can't pronounce your name. It's almost as hard..." he giggles, I presume at the term 'hard' "as Auntie Gizmo's!"

(blinking) "...Nevitt. Neh-vitt. Ne-"

"So like, do ya have a boyfriend yet?"

"No, Exanimo. You know I am heteros-"

He proceeds to interrupt me again. This family does not listen well, I conclude.

"Hey, like, that's okay and stuff! You can have one of mine." He holds seven fingers up, silently counting them off. "Yah, I have nine so you can have one or two. I don't really like Tolten or Demitri anyway."

As I was about to respond, I noticed a shadow in a nearby doorway. Peering closer, I realized it was the Marquess. He did not look pleased. Exanimo, following my gaze, lit up immediately upon spying Lysimachus.

"Oh my gosh! Hi Uncle, I'm so glad you're home!" Exanimo rushes to greet him. He is thereupon hurled across the room in a burst of energy. (giggling as he rises) "I love it when you Tickle Monster at me, Uncle."

Lysimachus finally speaks. At this time, I began to sneak into another room.

"DON'T-" He points at me, and I halt. "you dare go helling anywhere."
(turning towards Exanimo) "How the HELL did you get in here? I thought you were dead!"

Exanimo, now grinning stupidly, "Oh, like yah, huh? I was like you know and stuff but then a like hot guy and everything, I know right, and I was like 'oh no you didn't!' but he still did that one thing so I had to give him that money. So then I came to give you and Auntie Gizmo hugs and stuff."

Lysimachus, somehow understanding this gibberish, flushed brightly. "But how the hell did you PAY him for the spell?!"

"Oh. That pretty orb in your room." Lysimachus blinks in disbelief. "you know the one, where you spied on me once when I was doing stuff with my boyfriend then I heard your voice and you were all 'the helling Gods put your helling mouth on your helling face for a helling REASON you wretched deviant!' and stuff?"

At this time, the Marquess rushed forward and throttled his nephew. Unsure of what to do, and honestly somewhat enjoying the scene, I merely resumed my duties in spite of the shrieking. I have not heard from Exanimo since this occurrence. I may perhaps inquire to Libelle as to his condition.

Then again... Perhaps I won't.

[The_Golden_Wolf]

((More! More! Encore!))

[Lysimachus]

Conversation IV - Concerning an Uninvited Guest

Yesterday evening, as I was preparing to return home (poor, tongueless Tellurion Trayle was to relieve me early), I noticed some noise coming out of the Crystal Parlor. Upon further investigation, it was revealed a certain rogue, Rethsil, as he is known, was terrorizing the other servants, tearing apart the Parlor, and generally causing unwarranted mayhem throughout the Hall. Being the highest ranking authority present at that time, I did, with some trepidation, confront the neer-do-well.

Another poor choice.

I awoke some three hours later, crammed into the brain-cavity of a stuffed fel-boar, the Marquess' infuriated shrieks echoing throughout the Hall as servants rushed to re-assemble what they could.

"No, Braloria, the helling lampshade is NOT a dress! Calestra! Take this vase to be repaired! WHERE THE HELL IS MY MILK AND VODKA?!"

(approaching him, rubbing my head) "My Lord, I was mea-"

"HELLING MAGISTER! Go find Carmenhellingsita and GET ME MY MILK AND VODKA!"

"Marquess, perhaps I would do better to first assess the situ-"

"WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU KILL HIM, NEVITT?!"

Lysimachus then proceeded to pick up a large jade figurine and, hurling it at a passing servant girl, knock her completely unconscious.

Cringing, I respond.

"Lord Rethsil, sire?"

"He is no LORD, Magister! Do NOT speak such things of him in THIS House! WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HIM?"

"I did try, sire. He quickly overpow-"

"OVERPOWERED MY HELL, YOU FLOWER-TOTING PONY-FONDLING PRISS!" He stops, and cocks his head, leaning in more closely to me. "I'll wager you HELPED him, DIDN'T you? Perhaps you..."

The Marquess whips back and around, raising his robes about him in a display of arcane rage. Planters began shattering, curtains twisted off their rods and around the House's fleeing servants.

"SERVICED HIS HOMOSEXUAL NEEDS!"

At this pinnacle of Lysimachus' outburst, everything suddenly became deathly still. He lay, apparently unconscious, on the floor. The servants looked about, shocked and speechless. I found the cause standing midway up the stairwell. Sabeinne dej Dynastus, Marchioness of the House and sister to Lysimachus, shook her head, her visage a duet of relative disinterest and amused annoyance.

"Dearest brother. Such temper does not become you." She then eyes me, grinning suggestively. "You poor dear. You must be totally distraught." She looks up the stairs, then back to me. "You will be joining Tellurion and I in my chambers, this evening." Walking back up the stairs, she comments offhandedly, "Have you ever KISSED a man without a tongue? It is positively liberating."

As she left, I turned back to the other employees and motioned for them to disperse. This entire event was really all quite unfortunate. The House already is wrought with emotional disarray, every member, or so I've noticed, being enveloped in countless personal dramas; a literal wreck of the House only fuels the flames. All these things only two days before we are to leave for the Northern holds.

I have a lot of work ahead of me.

[Lysimachus]

(This shall be a post concerning Helling Magister and Lysimachus' flaming gay nephew, Exanimo. I must first discern its location, however, having written it in on paper.)

[Cabriel]

(This shall be a post concerning Helling Magister and Lysimachus' flaming gay nephew, Exanimo. I must first discern its location, however, having written it in on paper.)

((Libelle told me last night that I had a surprise coming in regards to Exanimo. What have you done...???))

[Lysimachus]

While exploring the Saronite mines of Ymirheim in a job for your superiors, you uncovered a large stone, abandoned, in the packs of one of the deranged miners.

Conversation VI - Concerning Rather Disagreeable Possessions

There have been strange events afoot. It all began when something appeared to have taken control of my senses; I cannot describe what it may have been. I do know, however, that this strange force was not benign. Whether agents of the Lich King, enemies of House dej Dynastus, or some strange assailant of another nature, I could not be sure.

It whispered to me, madly, imploring me to perform actions which would be against my fundamental nature. Initially, I resisted. In time, though, I found it more and more difficult to ignore. Leaving my quarters in Dalaran and fleeing the city, I managed to come upon a Horde force preparing to assault what has colloquially come to be known as "The Wrath Gate."

Some of the following was spoken telepathically, some aloud. It is all so blurred by now, I no longer can tell which is which, and shall thus record it all as one and the same.

"You! Turn around, you fool! Return to City, where you are belong! For last time, vee have work to do, nyeees?"

I respond, "No! You will not control me, I do not even know who you are! None of this is in propriety, sir."

"Oh, but eet is no matter, nyeees? I am helping you... We make a ver-ee strong and power together! Eet is true; you do not come to Orc camp for help, anyways."

"Get out of my head, you monster! I-..."

Looking forward, I noticed what he was speaking of in relation to orcs. A Kor'kron Vanguard, Thrall's elite military forces, were stationed ahead. I was saved; or so I thought. I rushed toward the entry gate, presenting myself and my title, then receiving an escort to a small waiting area overlooking the pass before what I knew to be Angrathar, the Wrath Gate. The voice returned.

"Oh, look, leetle man. Is the Lich King, nyeees? At least, you THANK me, he does not make your mind his, hmm?" Some amount of demented cerebral laughing."I know he is not ver-ee plump man! But he has lovely womans, many of these. I would touch these, nyeees?"

Disgusted, I watched as the Vanguard around me changed formations and marched about, seemingly aimlessly. Then, a sudden shout from across the way; I had been so distracted by the voice, I had failed to notice a squadron of Alliance on the hill opposite our overlook. They were moving down towards Angrathar. What came in the ensuing minutes is not clear; between the chaos and the shrieking in my own head, I could not make much sense of it all.

"EET IS ATTACK! SNEAKY ATTACK, NYEEES?! RUN AWAY LEETLE MAN, IF YOU FALL I HAVE NO SPELL MAKE NEW BODY! GO LEETLE MAN! YOU MAKE PRE-TEND YOU CHASE MANY WOMANS! GOOOOOO!"

The sound of battle and ballistics raged around me. I recall only running, as the voice commanded, everything going dark soon after. I awoke, I am not sure how many hours later, to a piercing cold, the likes of which I had never experienced before.

And it is thus, dear reader, that I write to you; from the waste of this mine comes my quill-pen, and carefully carved sheet-rock comes my parchment. The voice has been replaced by something darker, even more sinister, which day after day drives me closer to the brink of insanity. I am visited by agents of the Lich King in the night, and they whisper around me as they force me to perform dark magicks. I am afraid I shall not much lon-...

The message trails off, as there is no more room on the rock. Flipping the stone over, you find the initials, N.A. scribed into the nearly-unworkable reverse. Next to these, you find another set of initials; N.dD.

[Lysimachus]

((Libelle told me last night that I had a surprise coming in regards to Exanimo. What have you done...???))

((I believe that she may be referring to the fact that now, rather than somewhat charming, he is, in fact, a lisping idiot. I may make change to this as I level him through Northrend, however. Perhaps when you reach Northrend-status, we shall level together, hmm? :o ))

[Libelle]

((SABEINNE AND NEVITT ARPEES NAO!!!))

[Lysimachus]

Conversation VII - Concerning a Flaming Escape

I have been rescued, thank the Gods, from those wretched mines. It is a wonder, to be sure, that my rescuer would be Lysimachus' own nephew. Subtlety, I must profess, is not his strongest suit. The following is a short description of the whole affair.

---

Every day, as the experimentation upon me by the Necromancers grew stronger, my mind grew weaker, allowing the voices of the Dark Below to influence my thoughts more powerfully. It had grown so wearying, I was, in all honesty, considering a suicidal end to the torment. It was at the height of these considerations, earlier today, that my would-be savior arrived.

Valkyr Prison-Keeper #1 "Work HARDER, you wretched thing! Your master requires another keep to replace the one your brethren have stolen!"

Valkyr Prison-Keeper #2, hissing "SISTER, let me help you remind him where his place is!" The whore then proceeded to whip me mercilessly, shrieking in some sort of sick ecstasy as she did so. I had no choice but to bear the pain; talking back would only bring further punishment. Of course, it was then that the demented possessor in my mind found it within himself to speak out for me, through me.

"EhSTOP that fat, witch! I do feel of pain, nyeees?! AIYEEEEEE!

Losing control of my own movements, I hurled a stone at one of the Valkyr. Another poor choice. The keeper, in an otherworldly rage, began siphoning the essence from my very soul.

I must admit, I was exhibiting piercing shrieks of relative displeasure, at this.

"I'll teach YOU to talk back, elf! Oh, you are DELICIOUS. Shall we sprinkle a bit of r-..."

A loud explosion, and the the witch turns away, eyes wide. Her sister rushes to investigate, as loud yells start traveling throughout the cavern.

"Like, LOOK at all these shirtless guys! You never told me about this, Arthas! It's like, the motherload or something! Let me put on my Gnome-Killing hat."

Exanimo dej Dynastus, whom, so far as I had been aware, was locked away in the dungeon of Vengeance Landing, somehow made it all the way to the Lich King's saronite mines!

Effortlessy cutting swaths through the attacking Valkyr, "Like, NECK-TIE! Oh my GOSH, how did you get down here?" he hurls a dead Valkyr down a nearby ravine. "Are you here for the guys, too?"

Speechless, I only nodded.

"Oh, cool and stuff! Well, I've already picked ten, so you can come too! Let's go!"

We rushed out of the mine, my fellow prisoners cheering at Exanimo as we escaped. He stopped at the entry and pulled out a rather large gun, aiming carefully at the top of the cave's mouth and blowing the wooden supports to smithereens, collapsing the portal.

Later, once the other miners had returned to their respective outposts, the Marquess' nephew and I set up camp nearby an abandoned onyx tower, where I now write this log. Even despite no longer being in the mine, something, somehow, does not seem entirely right. I imagine it must jus-...

A sudden end to the neat script of Nevitt's hand, immediately picking up in a far different style.

I can keep letters to womans too, eh? My leetle man has found brother of me, eet is so strange, but I do not luff him now. So I bash in head of red-headed paladin. Now, I have good idea for leetle man, nyeees? I take to King of Liches and make better powers, I think. I know where to start these thing.

An angry scrawl.

I will find Ant day Dinastis. I will find her, and I will make her my luff spider, I think.

[The_Golden_Wolf]

(( I love you... /turns into man and proposes))

[Cabriel]

((Sweet god. Cabriel and Exanimo might have to break up))

[Libelle]

((Oh god. Oh no. Oh my. I see where this is going, you heller. <3 ))

[Lysimachus]

(( I LOVE NICE LADIES, GOLDYWOLF! Just ask Libelle! Sometimes, we can be caught... *whispers* ILLICITLY HOLDING HANDS. She doesn't always like to, though, because then she's afraid people will think she's taken. At least, until I open my mouth.

And Potionmaker...

Exanimo has many boyfriends. He doesn't understand the concept of monogamy, you might want to talk to him about that if it becomes an issue ;) ))

[The_Golden_Wolf]

((^ /gasp. The scandal!))

[Lysimachus]

An Author's Note

Some time has passed, and I finally find myself, once again, in the employ of the Marquess Lysimachus and Marchioness Sabeinne of House dej Dynastus. It seems, despite everything that has happened up until now, I cannot wrench myself from their service. It seems I am truly dedicated.

Not that I have any other choice. The one who calls himself "A Leetle Lost Boy-man of Hoose day Deenastees" continues, somehow, to occupy my mind (and, occasionally, body); even in the event that I did choose to abandon my employment, his possession would not allow for it.

Do they even make male banshees? Not to write in any sort of discourtesy, but by the GODS this man can shriek!

There is some amount of uncomfortable space, and the text continues.

In any case, there are dark matters afoot in the House. I have been made aware of certain... pre-existing employment conditions... which I had been previously oblivious to.

It is my belief that the two heads of household shall be meeting this evening; I shall approach the Marquess afterwards and attempt to wrest from him any details I may.

Nevitt Autumnburst

[Lysimachus]

Conversation VIII - Concerning Matters of Terrible Necessity

Lysimachus fumed. "That disrespectful WHORE! How could she betray me, so quickly after receiving her reward?!" Grabbing a nearby vase, he hurled it in my direction; I scarcely had time to duck. "I was DYING, Nevitt! What was done HAD to be done. It had to be done."

The Marquess, though angry, looked far better than he did only yesterday morning. His jaw was no longer falling off, and his face had returned to its more normal vibrancy. No longer was he wearing the blue, hooded cowl he had become so attached to, but instead, a large, crystalline eye-cover, his Scrying Orb specially re-cut and inset into the device.

I nodded, not daring to speak.

He continued.

"And besides, the heller was one of those faggots, Nevitt! A deviant! Everybody knew it; Exanimo deserved to die. I was merely expediting the process, and putting his death to good use!" He spun on heel, locking his uncovered eye with mine. "Why the HELL did you send a Death Knight to do what should have been YOUR job?!" He hurled an instantaneous pyroblast at me, which was absorbed by the anti-magic field which I had, in foresight, expanded about my person.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I was not aware of the intrinsic secrecy involved with the project. Did you not only now explain that your nephew deserved to di-..."

"SILENCE! I SHALL NOT HAVE ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU. GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT."

And I did. I shall be spending the next several days away from the Hall, I expect, waiting for this whole situation to desist.

I must reiterate the question, first asked by the Marchioness Sabeinne:

Does an entity which feeds off of its own truly expect to retain, in the end, any shred of dignity?

[Cabriel]

(( o.O ))

[Lysimachus]

Conversation IX - Concerning Assignments and Duties

"HELLING MAGISTER, GET OUT THE ORB. We MUST let the girl know what she has in store!"

I tensed. Having returned to the Hall two days ago from my foray into Eversong, the Marquess has been nothing short of completely uproarious.

Not to mention that my mind is being accessed more and more often by the Invader. He must be refining his efforts.

I have made some attempts, when I find myself in complete control of my faculties, to elimininate some of his purposes for this possession. I spoke with Demitri Suns-...

"YIS MISTIR DAY DINASTIS, I WILL BE MAKING MANY BALLS FOR LOOKING IN! I make laffing times very much, Unkel ees ver-ee funnee leetle man! Eet also happen other leetle man, Mankey Necktie Ottoman, has make ver-ee sad preepairation for ruin my plannings.

"NO! Get out of my head, knave!"

"Stop thees madness, Mankey Necktie! I am NOT leetle man, like YOU! I make ver-ee beeg babees with ver-ee beeg tool! You do NOT make theese babee!"

"I swear to the GODS, Invader, once I eject you, it shall be into the body of a gnome! THEN we shall see what 'tools' look like WHAT."

"Ayieeeee! Yis, leetle man! You will has not speeking privileging, I am thinking! You CALL me, master Noctumbrus! I am DARK, like a NIGHTS!"

A Marksman shouting in other rooms, happening.
"Nevitt HELLING Autumburst! Get the HELL in here, you useless wretch!"

I am having leetle walk into Chaymbers day Dinastiss. Say, "Hello, leetle Marksman. I am Mankey Necktie at a services."

He starings at my faces. "What the hell? Stay off the thistle, heller. You're not a god-helling homosexual. There are no medicinal..." He shake a heads. "Nevermind. I have an assignment for you."

He make a paper comes on desk. I think I see ver-ee pretty womans on paper, I like looky at womans, ver-ee beeg luffsqueezees on her chests. Marksman speak. "This is one of those paladins, Nevitt. Sylphie, I expect her name is. He flip pages to more womans. Still beeg luffsqueezees, I make a water. "Here is Demitri Sunsworn's assistant, Nari-... are you drooling? Stop that! God! I thought you were gay! He hurl green kittee rocks at my faces. I am laffing, becuss Mankey Necktie is one who feels pains, heedilly hee hee hee! He makes pointing at new papers. "Narisica." Handing me too papers, he is glares to me. "Both of these women, I should prefer that you keep tabs on. Weekly reports will be mandatory. Now get the hell out of my office, freak."

Making happiest nodding, I go in laundry, make nice sniffles of Ant day Dinastiss clothes.

...what Marksman did say again, I think he want me having Luff with Ant day Dinastiss?!

Leetle reading womans, I tell to you: I will be making my luff-spider.

[Lysimachus]

Conversation X - Concerning the Improper Utility of my Personal Faculties

This morning, I lost a mental bout with Noctumbrus, whom I have determined to be some former relative to the dej Dynastus's. He, having achieved free (though temporary) reign over my actions, rushed to the Marquess' office and retrieved the Scryer.

For ten agonizing minutes I was forced to observe a coupling between the Marchioness, Sabeinne dej Dynastus, and her new sire, a man the name of whom I am not yet aware.

It was at this time my employer did arrive.

"What." Lysimachus stumbles over his words, utter disbelief apparent on his face. "What the hell. Helling." He looks to the Scryer, Sabeinne now writhing in the throes of her ecstacy. He turns around, leaving the room.

"Leetle Marksman ees make luff with hand, I am thinking, seeing such priddy luff-spider in Crying Orb of his!"

For the sake of separation, I shall in this case refer to "me" as "Noctumbrus." Because, though it is true these actions were performed by "me" in the purest physical capacity of the situation, it was not in fact I who had control over the actions of my body.

"I am thinking I would be makeing luff with hand yis, but ees Mankey Necktie who ees feel better!" Noctumbrus jabs himself in the chest. "You are THERE, Mankey Necktie?! I am knowing you hear theese word! I am giving to you maybe leetle gifts now? Yis... Lookie at Ant day Dinastiss while I am giving to you theese gift. I am horrified to find that he is now reaching within his robes, towards his loins. The impropriety of it all! After several minutes of this decadent degradation, there came shouting.

"God HELL, Sabeinne! I didn't helling hire him!"

"Yes you did."

"It isn't as though I was aiming to have my sister looked upon as she convulsed! Is this another of your TRICKS to taint my servants?!"

Again focusing my attention on the Scryer, I could see that the Marquess had burst into the scene of his sister and her lover in their passion. Sabeinne raised an eyebrow.

"Now, really, Lysimachus. I know you deny yourself of any reasonable intimacies, but do you really have to show up to ruin mine?"

He begins shrieking uncontrollably, vaguely referencing the Scryer and myself, but all really rather incomprehensibly. The Marchioness continues to stare impassively at him, while her consort has at this time risen to challenge the interruption.

As these things occurred, I, myself began convulsing. Noctumbrus deactivated the Scryer.

"I am makeing clean up. You can have leetle bodies back, I am thinking. Heedily hee hee!"

This possession, I am finally forced to suppose, must be put to an end.

It is beginning to interfere with my professional integrity.

[Libelle]

((That was absolutely horrifying. I love you.))

[Lysimachus]

Conversation XI - A Short Discourse on Enemies and Allies

~OR~

Separating the "Helling" from the "Welling"

Earlier this evening, I was obliged to attend a meal prepared by the Marquess' newest addition to his staff, a Trolless by the name of Baisez Thunderfall. Though I found the congealed monkey brain hors d'oeuvres to be at first texturally questionable, I was pleasantly surprised to find the bulk of the dinner quite satisfying.

After some time of silent consumption, I took it upon myself to spark a measure of polite conversation.

"My lord dej Dynastus, I am ahead of schedule in preparing the list of Sanctuary adherents which you had called for." Lysimachus set down his silverware and folded his hands, calmly turning towards me, but remaining silent. I continued. "Your niece was quite instrumental in assisting me. They seem a rather pleasant group of individuals, but I must venture the question, what is your interest in them?"

At this, the Marquess narrowed his eyes. Dabbing at his chin with a handkerchief, he responded to my inquiry.

"Helling Magister, do you have any idea of the marked difference between proper opponents and the factions which would have a complete downfall of the moral integrity of not only Quel'thalas, but the entire GOD-HELLING HORDE?!"

I blinked once. I hadn't realized what I would be setting myself up for with a seemingly simplistic question. I looked pleadingly across the table, at the Marchioness Sabeinne. Her expression warranted no console, save for "NOW look what you did, you helling idiot."

I turned down towards my meal. Lysimachus kept talking.

"You KNOW, since you're just so INTERESTED in the House's state of diplomatic affairs, why DON'T we just make a LIST, hmmm?!" He stood up, making a few motions. There appeared above the table several words. 'God-helling Sanctuary.' "Yes, why don't we start with the ones you ASKED about." He straightened his dinner jacket. "Now, despite the professed creed of this organization, I am CONVINCED..." He clicked his tongue for emphasis, causing the words floating above the table to rearrange themselves into a rather obscene amalgamation of several men with small horns and fangs. "that it is IN FACT a coven of homosexuals."

The Marchioness finally spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. "And what of the women of the group?"

"Well, you KNOW as well as I do that women cannot be homosexuals. Therefore -" He fluttered his hands about, the floating image changing once again into several well-shapen ladies. I was, however, distraught to find a large bulge slowly appearing within each of their skirts. "- I propose that none of them ARE, in FACT, women!"

Sabeinne stared at her brother, emotionless. "I am fairly sure that my own daughter is - in FACT - a female of the species."

Lysimachus waved this away. "She is confused. Now, you all can SEE why Sanctuary is a force to be reckoned with." He glanced at me. "And why your duties are of the utmost importance, in this case."

He snapped his fingers. The image dissipated, another name taking its place. 'Demitri Sunsworn.' "So, on the topic of your daughter, dear sister, I shall speak briefly concerning her new husband-to-be." Lysimachus reached to the table and sipped from his goblet, turning back towards the name. It slowly changed into that of a viper. "He is not to be trusted. His general disillusion with nobility warrants in itself considerable suspicion, though not so much as his refusal to align himself with any one group or faction." He looked at Sabeinne for confirmation. She nodded once, if for no other reason than to appease her sibling. "It is entirely possible that he is marrying Libelle for darker purposes than he allows her to know. Money, perhaps? Power? Or MAYBE..." He waved his hands in a figure-eight, the image taking on its final form - the viper slowly changed into a model of House dej Dynastus. The men of the House were crouching, huddled fearfully in a corner, as Demitri, shredding his clothes off, approached them. "...a truly evil scheme."

All this time, the servants had been watching from the doorway to the kitchen. While some of them expressed true terror at their Master's predictions, others did, like the Marchioness, find his beliefs largely unworthy of merit. The new Trollish cook, Baisez, was one of these. She ushered them all back into the kitchen.

Lysimachus began to speak again. I noticed a new name had appeared - The Raven Cross.

"There are, I shall be truthful, some groups which have escaped any sort of perceivable taint. These..." The words shaped into several fluttering birds "are one of them. As you are aware, Nevitt, my sister and I are now members of this very effective coming-together of backgrounds." He smirked. "And you are not."

I quirked an eyebrow. "No, sire, nor would I think to steal an ounce of your prestige in this matter." This is what he expected me to say. His smile grew broader.

"Of course not. And this is why I keep you on my staff, you helling creep. NOW."

The conjuration disappeared, being replaced with... The Baroness Winterlight? This was obviously not intended, as the Marquess' eyes grew wide and he quickly dispelled the personage, replacing it with something else.

But it was too late. Sabeinne had already pounced.

"Another ally, brother? Or perhaps she is inimical towards us?"

"A mere glitch, helling sister. You know how these magicks work."

"I find it hardly unexpected that you should be having women on the brain." She clicked her tongue, once. "Or, we can always hope - on the fingertips?"

Completely disregarding her, Lysimachus focused on me, directing my gaze back to the final name - I found that it wasn't a name, but a large tree. Teldrassil.

"I believe the most dire of the threats to our existence can be left un-described; you are both completely aware of the Kal'dorei, how dangerous and malicious they are!" He sat back into his chair. After a few moments of thought, he picked up his fork and aimed it toward me. "Consider yourself somewhat more educated on our House's affairs. No more stupid questions."

He resumed eating. I pondered the situation.

Though my Lord's assessments of certain groups and individuals are (in my most humble of opinions) often misplaced, it IS true that these are dark and unsure times. Nevertheless, and despite his outward lack of discretion, I have come to terms with the Marquess' ability to somehow thwart disaster.

I glanced up at Sabeinne.

Then again...

[Cabriel]

((o.m.G. A coven of homosexuals?))

[Libelle]

((And we just added a new one! You have to admit that Sanctuary is getting gayer day by day.))

[Cabriel]

((I know. I feel like the gay mob boss. :) ))

[Athin]

((It's the purple tabard. Purple is so not my color))

[Vilmah]

((...oh. My. God.))

[Lysimachus]

An Author's Note (II)

Several days ago, I was surprised to find the fel-crystals missing from Dynastus Hall. As my readers by now are surely aware, the Marquess, upon reclamation of the Hall, purchased and installed two such devices in what has now become known as the Crystal Parlor. These items serve as an easily-accessible replenishment for those living and working in the Hall, and are maintained by myself and the tongueless magister Trayle.

And it was a fair thing, too, as Lord dej Dynastus refused (and refuses) to make use of any of the city's other crystals; "tainted," he would say, "by the helling faggotry of the new establishment."

I have now been informed that it was not the Marquess who did move the crystals, but lord Arkaydos Stonehoof, one of the House's retainers. Apparently, he did this without having first spoken with Lysimachus, and the Master is in some amount of mental trauma as a result.

I walked into his chamber, yesterday morning, and... well, he was wearing an exceptionally feminine blue accouterment, and fitting a pumpkin onto his head. He proceeded to greet me in a rather countrified accent, thereafter petitioning me for courtship.

Never have I seen the Marquess in such a state of disarray, and I expect these missing crystals have something to do with it. I will personally be visiting Libelle dej Dynastus (she has some talent in gathering information, and I shall admit is far less intimidating than her mother) to discuss their reacquisition.

My paycheck is on the line.

[Aphraelle]

(( o.O you really are insane. <3333 ))

[Lysimachus]

The crystals were returned, fortunately, very shortly after my employer lost his mind; it happened that he recalled his normal behavior in siphoning the again available fel-energies. A job well done on my part, if I do say so myself.

Also, a package arrived today. Groundskeeper Jorge Mark VIII -- The next in a series of failed Kirin Tor alcohol-prevention policybots. Perhaps if they outsourced their engineering department to Ironforge, these defections would become less frequent?

Conversation XII - Concerning Children

After a rather exceptional lunch this morning, Lord dej Dynastus requested that I join him for a mid-day stroll through Silvermoon.

"Helling Magister, you're coming with me."

"Oh... Sir, I was just finishing these designs you had asked me to-" I was interrupted with a flat blow to the face. I wrenched back. "SIR! You can't simply strike me whenev-" Another slap. In my shock, I developed some courage. "I WORK FOR YOU VOLUNTARILY, AND I SHALL HAVE YOU KNOW, I CAN WALK O-"

The next blow knocked me to the ground. Towering over me, Lysimachus sneered. "Shall I have you ESCORTED out, you helling fairy, or are you going to JOIN me for a helling WALK?" I stared at him in disbelief. He sighed, tossing a jingling bag towards me. "God. HELL. How much must one pay for OBEDIENCE, these days?"

Frowning, I peered down, into the pouch.




Several minutes later, we were passing by the fountain of the Royal Exchange. Children were splashing about within.

"And FURTHERMORE, he NOW acquiesces to his cousin! A several thousand year-old dead man! Positively preposterous don't you... Nevitt? Nevitt, what the hell!" Following my gaze, he saw the children and scowled. "Ah, yes. There are appearing more of them, these days. What with all these over-sexed Blood Elves, I am entirely surprised our population has not sprung to seventy-six million!"

I looked back at him. "Do you think your niece has been about the business of procreation with Sire Sunsworn, yet?"

His eyebrows furrowed. I knew this was a topic of great distress to him; I must admit, at times, I revel in his anguish. Perhaps this is not an entirely professional thing to script, but by the GODS, I must be afforded some small amount of pleasure in my work!

"Of course not. Indeed, the helling wench is probably barren! Then again, based off of my observations of their couplings, a number of the activities which they engage in are..." He tapped his chin. "...they are hardly conducive to actual impregnation. Sometimes, it is almost as if they don't WANT to produce for me more heirs!"

Everything is about him. Always. "It is a dreadful state, my lord, in which to find one's own relative. Married, but without child? Really rather indecent, if I were to opine." I prodded the flames. "You know, my sister only last month gave birth to twins." His eyes narrowed. "Both BOYS. A boon, to be sure."

Without even a word or a motion, the Marquess vanished.

I have grown a fondness for Libelle dej Dynastus, but it must be noted that this fondness does not reach so far as to overcome my need to speak with Lysimachus as sparingly as possible.

[Lysimachus]

Author's Note III - Concerning the Marchioness' Displeasure

~or~

CABRIEL LOCKVICTOR?!

It has come to my attention (and my Lord dej Dynastus has made it no small issue) that, despite her prolonged absence from the Hall, the Mistress Sabeinne has no intention of losing touch with the affairs of her House. Those rare occasions she does return, it is commonly accompanied by a cold rage, her brother embarking upon some new avenue of glory or another without first consulting her.

It did come to a culmination, I believe, but two nights ago. Upon exiting the Master's quarters, her visage belied exceptional displeasure. It was at this most disagreeable of moments that the creature, Noctumbrus, snatched control of our my body and made a sexual advance toward her.

I will not until tomorrow be able to access a priest powerful enough to heal the scars.

In any event, Lysimachus spoke to me, earlier, concerning a guest, to be working in the sub-levels of the Hall.

(There is a large inkblot at this juncture of the page, the author having rested his pen here for some time, apparently unsure of his next words. It picks up again just below the dot, very deliberately.)

But surely only on sub-level one. I am to assess the condition of the Dalaran Mirror, as it hasn't been used in years - little need, I suppose, in a family of magi. I have been tasked, also, to tend only to the guest's specific and individual requests, otherwise leaving him in total peace.

Truthfully, all this would very generally not be considered unusual. The Marquess and Marchioness quite often allow use of their facilities by friends and acquaintances, as I'm sure those acquaintances do the same for them. However, what draws cause for pause are two outstanding factors.

Firstly - the acquaintance in question is Cabriel Lockvictor, a Warlock. Of Sanctuary. He is almost certainly the most singularly outspoken homosexual I can fathom.

Secondly... I did mention once, but shall reiterate - he will be using the sub-levels. Isn't that dangerous? Not to mention illegal.

My Lord's instructions were concise, and he did not betray any details explaining this strangeness. I shall be about my duty as normal, then, and perhaps it shall all be a civil, reasonable affair?

Yes. I think that is it. Civility shall have the day.

[Lysimachus]

Conversation XIII - Concerning Familial Separation

For the past few months, the Marquess has remained strangely silent towards me (as compared to formerly) concerning his personal affairs.

I would like to make it clear that this has not in most senses been a disagreeable circumstance, as I have taken the time to reign my possessor (Solumbrus dej Dynastus, as he apparently had been) fully under control, such that he now manifests himself only when I sleep.

In any case, lord dej Dynastus again came to me, late yesterday evening, raving impractically -- as he does -- though in this instance (by my estimation) with fair cause.

In the Crystal Parlor of Dynastus Hall, approximately 11:30 PM

"Mr. AUTUMNBURST, are you still HERE?" While Lysimachus' tone emitted its usual sonorousness, I could see upon turning toward him that my employer was somehow disconcerted. He slumped onto a pile of pillows underfoot. "It's very LATE. You ought to be HOME. He sniffed. "At your HOUSE."

Setting down the device with which I calculate the total output of the Hall's fel-crystals, I offered a cursory bow. "I apologize, sire. Some unfortunate business amongst the staff has delayed me -- though I should be finished shortly."

"Ah... Well. Take your helling TIME why don't you." Sitting back up, the Marquess equipped himself with a nearby hookah, puffing intermittently upon its pipe. I in the meantime returned to my ministrations.

Not intent on sparking conversation, I remained silent as Lysimachus puffed his tobacco, apparently deep in thought. Eventually, though not unexpectedly, he offered a question.

"What do you SUPPOSE... I mean, HYPOTHETICALLY speaking of course... is more IMPORTANT?"

"Sir?"

"Aha. That is, should more emphasis be placed on one or the other?"

He paused. I turned toward him. "I'm afraid I don't follow -- one or the other what?"

"WOMEN, you helling idiot! GOD." His cheeks grew red. "I mean, if they're BOTH quite likable. If you know what I MEAN."

The man was daft. Eyeballing the final tallies on my instrument, I set it aside to calibrate over the night. "Yes. Women, of course, sir. Erm..." I attempted to alter the subject to something more topical, and in my infinite wisdom, I struck what I later found out to be a high chord. "I had noticed the Mistress had some bags outside her door -- will she be taking another vacation?"

Lysimachus dropped his pipe, his eyebrows wilting visibly. He rose, slowly approaching where I stood, and stared hard at me.

---

I woke this morning from a mild arcane-induced coma.

How is it expected that I should in immediacy know that the Marchioness is vacating Dynastus Hall?!