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About Sabeinne

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  • Birthday 03/25/1989

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  1. I'm an oldtimer, though I don't remember your name--so we must be oldtimers from different eras of oldness?? I've been popping back in periodically over the last few years, but what I discovered on my most recent pop-in is that all the action seems to be on the Discord. I recommend checking it out if you haven't already!
  2. The next morning, Sabeinne lay in bed considering who she might go to for assistance. There was Aphraelle, the cautious ally. Or Setrema, with her biting laugh and endless store of gossip. And...Sulras, that grizzled old ranger with his hardened but gentle hands. A sudden warmth bloomed in her at the memory, and she huffed in frustration. How long had it been since she’d had a proper affair? The unfortunate truth was that she hadn’t spoken to any of these people in years. One by one, she had sacrificed her relationships in the name of Lysimachus’ ever-shifting vision for the House, from his forays into dark magic to his insistence on amassing a collection of ancient relics. He was insane, and she gave her whole life to him. Well. Wouldn’t Lysimachus hate to hear that she was working as a shop assistant for next to no pay? Perhaps that was motivation enough to look into the job posting. So that’s what she did. She felt a tingle pass over her skin when she crossed the threshold into Simply Enchanting, indicating that some sort of enchantment had been placed over the shop’s interior. Most likely a Freespeech enchantment, common enough in shopping districts that served diverse clientele. Her suspicions were confirmed when she approached the shopkeeper and he addressed her in Common and she understood him effortlessly--in spite of the many decades of disuse that her Common had accrued. “Good afternoon, madam. Can I help you?” The shopkeeper was a dumpy-looking human man with wispy graying hair and patchy stubble. He was holding a large magnifying glass that he had been using to examine a trinket on his desk. Rather than putting the lens down when Sabeinne approached, he held it absently in front of him as though he might soon use it to begin conducting a chamber orchestra. “Yes, I’m here about the j--” Sabeinne’s voice caught on the word. It set her teeth on edge, but she pushed through the pain. “The job posting.” “Job posting?” The shopkeeper suddenly stared at his magnifying glass as though startled by it, and turned it back and forth, peering at it closely. “Ah, which one is that?” Sabeinne frowned at the man, who had started industriously polishing the magnifying glass with his sleeve. “The job posting. On the board in the Legerdemain. You claim to be seeking an enchanter for employment here.” “Ah..? Ah, yes, that.” He placed the lens down on his desk and gently patted it, leaving finger-smudges on the glass in the process. “Well, we already have Rin for that, don’t we?” He paused and soberly gazed directly into Sabeinne’s eyes. She felt her lip twitch. “But Rin isn’t very good, I suppose. Yes, all right, come on back.” The shopkeeper spun around and vanished swiftly behind a curtain that presumably led to a back room. “I beg your pardon?” Sabeinne huffed, disoriented by the shopkeeper’s twisting line of logic. “Back here!” the shopkeeper called, his voice strangely muffled. “I need to show you what you’ll be doing.” Sabeinne pushed through the curtain into a dark corridor built out of shelves, each of which was stuffed precariously with a mess of enchanting reagents, dangerous-looking artifacts, and assorted foodstuffs. “You haven’t even verified that I’m a helling enchanter,” she called, crossly wending her way through the maze-like passage. “Well if you’re not,” the shopkeeper said, blinking at Sabeinne as she emerged into a cramped, lamplit back room. “I just won’t pay you. This is where you’ll be working.” He gestured at a small round table that was crowded with bottles and vials of various sizes. A strange creature sat at one of the table’s two chairs. No, not a creature--a pandaren, which Sabeinne was led to believe should be considered sentient. The pandaren regarded her pleasantly, offering no evidence one way or another. “You’ll just be taking artifacts from here,” the shopkeeper continued, pointing at a basket full of miscellaneous objects, “determining which enchantment is placed on them, and disenchanting them. You’ll put the reagents in these bottles so we can sell them. 20 copper per disenchantment. Simple enough.” He stared at the basket of artifacts for a moment, then squeezed past Sabeinne and headed toward the front of the shop without another word. Sabeinne frowned after him. She weighed her options. 20 copper per disenchantment was an incomprehensibly small amount of money. She didn’t think she had ever even held a copper. But on the other hand...the Legerdemain was charging her a silver a day to rent her room. Sabeinne let out a short sigh and turned toward the table covered in reagent bottles. The pandaren was still watching her cheerfully, and Sabeinne couldn’t suppress a grimace. She had a feeling it was going to want to talk to her. “Hi! I’m Rin,” said the pandaren in accented Orcish. It smiled, and Sabeinne managed not to visibly recoil. “I’m so excited to finally have a coworker!”
  3. ((Goodness, I hope I didn't miss anything while reading up on relevant lore. This game isn't exactly forgiving to multi-year breaks.)) ((Naughty language and probably other things to follow.)) Sabeinne remembered what it was like coming to Dalaran as a young woman, full of hope and fire. It was thrilling to make her own way for once, slumming it with the other hopefuls who wanted to study with the best. Her time as a student left nothing but golden memories of staying up all night, discussing magical theory and experimenting with the psychedelic side-effects of certain spellcasting techniques. And she had slept with a human. Two or three, actually. One of them was really quite talented. Of course, she hadn’t really made her own way, at all. Her future was laid out for her step by step in a crisp unwavering path. You couldn’t have told her that then, or that nepotism was as powerful a force at the University as talent or hard work. She laid claim to every achievement that was laid at her feet as she soared through her classes. Coming back to Dalaran all these years later felt the same, like a sanctuary full of promise. She thrilled at the thrum of arcane energies that seemed to imbue every stone with life. She ignored the skeptical glances that flitted toward the fel-green color of her eyes--fading, now, but still marking her as Horde. She would make her own way here again, she thought, and be free of all the baggage left behind in Silvermoon. She didn’t need Lysimachus, or the generational wealth he had squandered, or titles. Not now, not ever. Sabeinne strode confidently into the Violet Citadel and went directly to the steely-eyed human receptionist who guarded its halls. The receptionist was a bespectacled woman with graying hair, small in stature and further dwarfed by her massive desk of dark, polished wood. “Hello, I’m Sabeinne dej Dynastus, here seeking an assignment.” “An assignment.” The receptionist looked her dead in the eyes, doubtless assessing their hue. “Yes, you know--work.” A bit of disgust crept in as Sabeinne uttered the word, vulgar as it made her feel. The receptionist leaned back in her chair and peered through her eyeglasses skeptically. “And why exactly would you expect to be getting an assignment here?” Sabeinne chuckled. Humans tended to miss the little details. “As I said, I’m Sabeinne dej Dynastus. I’m sure you’ll find that our family is in quite excellent standing with the Kirin Tor.” “I see. Well, I’m not familiar with the name, but let me check the registry.” The receptionist thumped open a massive tome that sat at her desk and held her hand above its pages, which began flipping rapidly. “Dej Dynastus, was it? Ah, here’s something.” She leaned forward to peer at the miniscule text. “I don’t suppose you have any relation to...Lysimachus dej Dynastus, do you?” Sabeinne smiled graciously. “Yes, that’s right. Lysimachus is my brother.” The receptionist gazed drolly up at Sabeinne over the rims of her glasses. “It says here that he was summarily dismissed from any relationship with the Kirin Tor, let’s see...seventy-seven years ago.” A small smile quirked at her mouth. “So I’m not sure exactly what assignments you expect us to have ready for you.” Sabeinne laughed lightly. Humans and details, really. “Well, there must be some mistake. Go check with your supervisor, I’ll wait.” “Madam, this is an enchanted ledger. There are no mistakes.” “Hwell,” Sabeinne huffed. This was not going to plan, but surely it could be salvaged. “Does it give a reason why he was dismissed?” The receptionist peered back at the tiny text. “There’s a code 2, 5, 7 and 9 by his name, so that would be sexual harassment, financial mismanagement, and excessive drug use.” She peered closer. “It looks like there was also an attempted homicide, but that was downgraded to ‘disorderly behavior.’" “God hell,” Sabeinne muttered, pinching her forehead in frustration. What had Lysimachus done this time? She thought she would control her reaction, but then her memory flashed to their last, explosive argument and the anger came bubbling up, hot and viscous like bile. “Helling Lysimachus! Fuck!” She shot a fireball straight into the ground, leaving a scorch mark on the polished tile, and clenched her fists to keep from burning that idiotic huge desk straight to the ground. The human woman blinked at Sabeinne in alarm. “Ah...Madam, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The receptionist glanced quickly behind Sabeinne, who spun around to see two guards approaching. “Oh, I’m well on my way,” Sabeinne snarled over her shoulder. “Your organization is corrupt and your decor is tacky.” She pushed past the guards as she stormed out. “Don’t touch me. God.” So, that was the first blow to Sabeinne’s confidence upon arriving in Dalaran. The next came when she pawned her bracelets in the Underbelly to a suspiciously oily-looking gnome in order to pay for a few nights at the Legerdemain Lounge. And the third came as she sat sipping a glass of wine, alone, in the Legerdemain’s bar, and found herself furtively glancing over the notice board on the wall. Her attention landed on a flyer. ENCHANTER WANTED For part-time work with competitive pay Inquire inside at Simply Enchanting She caught herself considering the flyer, and felt her lip twitch in disgust. Part-time work at an enchanting shop was well beneath her skillset. Surely she would find something more befitting a Marchioness of all helling things. Right now, she just didn’t know what. This uneasy thought kept her awake well past midnight on that first night back in Dalaran, slumming it like a girl in the third-nicest room of the inn.
  4. <p>Grood! I am patient, and when the time comes, I shall suckle upon your words.</p>

  5. <p>I just barely got home, I got tied up doing other stuffs all day! I haven't forgotten my post though <img src="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/biggrin.png" alt=":D" srcset="<fileStore.core_Emoticons>/emoticons/biggrin@2x.png 2x" width="20" height="20" /></p>

  6. Hi Rizz! Welcome to the TNG! I'm just coming back from a four-ish year hiatus, so I also don't really know anybody, except for the crusty old geezers who have been here forever. I think you should join Horde because Horde is cooler. But I think I might be a little bit biased.
  7. ((Hi all, if you don't know me, I used to hang around here quite a bit, but I really haven't been around since Cata. I recently re-subbed, and that got me to wondering what exactly my characters have been doing over the past few years. It was probably this. )) Sabeinne reclined on her divan, lazily examining her fingernails and casting touch-up spells one by one. It was her second manicure that day, an activity that took precedence over more productive pursuits due to the fog that had settled dreamily over her mind. Business was slow. It had simply been too hot to tempt anyone to cross the blinding white sands, even for an establishment as reputed as her own. Enchantment maintained a pleasant coolness inside the sumptuous silk tents, but even so, scorching desert breezes crept in around the edges of the tent-flaps, infusing the interior with a stickily pleasant summer sluggishness. The effect was marred somewhat by the presence of Sabeinne's security orc, Miss Vond, asleep on a pile of cushions with her head falling back at a painful angle, snoring. Vond was wrapped in her all-weather uniform of snug black leathers, carefully chosen to provide her with a subtly threatening presence, a warning lest the customers should become unruly. In the heat she was growing pungent. Under typical circumstances this would have bothered Sabeinne immensely, but the tang of sweating orc flesh mingled gently with the light aura of incense that pervaded the tents, and in her dreamy state Sabeinne was inclined to think of it as an earthy musk. The orc’s snores beat out a slow, steady rhythm. The privacy enchantments separating this front chamber from the interior rooms of the tented palace muffled the murmurs of the pretty young men and women inside to a dull hum. The blue arcane lamps stationed at each corner of the room cast a soft twilight glow. Sabeinne’s eyelids fluttered and drew slowly, heavily closed. Only to fly open again at the blast of hot air that rushed in as a man fumbled past the entry flaps and shuffled into the room, clearing his throat nervously. His gaze darted around the room and finally landed, with a perplexed stare, on the snoring orc. Sabeinne noted with displeasure that he was an elf. Though she would never admit it aloud, her own kind made terrible customers. They frequently covered their embarrassment with outrageous demands and tipped like misers, if at all. Still. Business was business. The customer started and spun around as Sabeinne got to her feet. “Welcome to our oasis in the desert,” she began, purring her spiel by rote through the lifting brain-fog. She surreptitiously flicked a tiny bolt of arcane energy at the orc, jolting her awake with a snort. “I think you’ll find that our—“ Wait. She knew this man. The distinguished nose, the perpetually-surprised eyebrows, the hardly existant upper lip—in all, managing to form a not entirely unpleasant combination—were all intimately familiar. He was a bit grayer at the temples, perhaps, but otherwise unmistakable. It was Thelian. Husband number three. But there was some chance that he didn’t recognize her. Unusual circumstances, and all that. She quickly angled her head away and continued. “You’ll find that our—“ “Sabeinne?” Sabeinne clenched her jaw. She supposed there was no point in denying it. “Ah, Thelian. I didn't recognize you.” “What are you doing here?” “I should ask the same of you.” She paused. Now here they were, balanced delicately on the edge of a mutual decision: would this play out civilly, or devolve into hostility? Sabeinne knew which way she would go. She really couldn't help it. She narrowed her eyes. “But then, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.” Thelian’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he chose not to respond to the insinuation. He was still reluctant to fight, then. A terrible quality in a man. His eyes flicked uncertainly to the curtains separating this entry chamber from the inner rooms. He cleared his throat again. “Hmm, yes. Hello. Ah, you’re not…you don’t…” Sabeinne sneered. “God. No. I’m running a helling business here, if it isn’t perfectly obvious.” Thelian attempted a smile. Behind him, Vond stood in a half-crouch with her hand on her dagger, eyes darting uncomfortably between the two elves. Thelian laughed weakly. “Lysimachus spent all your family’s gold again, did he?” Yes, he did. And with the horrific prices Sabeinne charged, she’d been able to sneak quite a large sum back into the family coffers over the past few years. But that was not the point. “My brother’s actions hardly concern you.” Thelian’s mouth compressed. He was losing his resolve to stay cordial, now, Sabeinne could see it. A little thrill fluttered through her chest. “No, I suppose they don’t, do they?" Thelian paused and looked around, glanced uncomfortably at the orc hovering over his shoulder. When he looked back at Sabeinne, he straightened his posture with the air of a man affecting boldness. "I have to say, it’s been quite a relief not having to wonder about the two of you.” Sabeinne narrowed her eyes. Now this threatened to cross well over the line. “And what the hell does that mean?” Thelian chuckled bitterly. “Don’t pretend as though you haven’t heard the rumors. I would just say that it’s a bit odd, the way you’ll cast anyone aside like trash, but not him, not the mad brother who causes all your problems. You’ll rush to his side whenever he demands it.” Sabeinne laughed dismissively, though she felt hot anger bubbling up in her belly. “Ah, Thelian, it’s been, what, fifty years? Don’t act as though you know me.” Thelian gestured at the room demonstratively. “It doesn’t look to me as though a lot has changed. All I have to say is, you would probably be much happier if you didn’t spend all of your energies on someone who drives you to open brothels in the desert.” “Hell! What I don’t need is you, cluttering up my establishment with your presumptuous opinions!” Sabeinne pointed imperiously at Vond, who was frozen in a posture of extreme discomfort. “Miss Vond! Get rid of him!” Vond lunged and drove her dagger deep into his belly, withdrawing it quickly with a spurt of blood. Thelian croaked weakly and sank slowly to the floor. A pool of blood spread darkly and so, so quickly around him on the floor. Sabeinne gaped down at him. “Hell!” She turned to glare at Vond with an expression of mingled fury and horror. “What the hell did you just do?” Vond paused in cleaning her blade to stare at Sabeinne with wide eyes. “That wasn’t what you wanted?” “No! God! You were supposed to manhandle him out the door! What the hell am I paying you for?” Sabeinne covered her eyes with one hand and groaned. “Hellll, these men, always popping up and causing helling complications.” Thelian gurgled on the floor. Vond nudged him with her toe, eliciting a louder gurgle. “You want me to finish him?” “What? No!” She prodded Vond firmly in the chest with a forefinger. “You are going to help me get this man to a helling healer!”
  8. Hi. :3 I just came back. Hopefully this won't ruin my career.
  9. This is beautiful. And I think I remember it! Ergo, I am better than Keraph.
  10. Hurp. *trips into TNG from another dimension* I would of course call out Lysimachus for providing me with the most delicious varieties of RP throughout the years, but I think that's cheating. I remember reading this story by Nymare and Qabian a while back and being just transfixed by their wordsmithing: The Blood of the Sun And I can't find the thread (grah!) but I remember Cabriel addressing the topic of crystals with a level of detail that impressed me, a student of materials science. And then there's this story by Bir, one of my first RP contacts when I had absolutely no idea what was doing (and probably handled several situations quite poorly). This was the first thread to really distract me at work, and I must say I was also quite thrilled to make a tiny cameo in someone else's story. Watch Your Back, Stranger Geebs. Lys alerts me to Cessily's "ohelloagain" post and now I'm all bursting with nostalgia. >:[
  11. Dayumm, girl, way to make me long for the old days. :3 I'm pretty sure I only ever got to see your good side.
  12. Jung Ma is where it's at. I just discovered today (I'm a little slow on the uptake with forum business) that there are server subforums on swtor-rp.com. Here's hoping to make the Jung Ma subforum a hoppin' party.
  13. <p>As I stated on the wall of your rather handsome friend, the man below me in fact on your wall... heh, below me... ANYWAYS.... I think you and he need to return with ALL haste! How else will I revive Silvermoon RP!?</p>

  14. <p>Also what should makk namm gnomeparty? I thought we came up with such ting but am forget uhprase.</p>

  15. <p>yousa my waifu, yuh? We oughta have a winter barbecue. I'll bring the George Foreman.</p>