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Sabeinne last won the day on January 14

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About Sabeinne

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  • Birthday 03/25/1989

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  1. Love is in the air! To celebrate the loveliest time of year we will be holding a party on February 19th, complete with games and merriment. Bring a date or come solo--who knows what will happen? When: February 19th at 6 PST/9 EST (That's after Blizzcon!) Who: All the lovely members of the Horde are welcome. Where: The Garden of Night in Ardenweald (warlock summons will be available). What: A party! We will be holding the following events during the evening: - Secret Valentines: Send an anonymous message to your valentine, to be read aloud during the party. Or if you're feeling bold, sign your name! (Messages should be sent to James/Freakke or Sabeinne/Libelle via discord prior to the event.) -Race for Love: Bring your fastest mount for the main event--a race around the Garden of Night! The winner will receive a prize. Love not guaranteed. -Mingle: Get to know your fellow partygoers with a game of Mingle! (Rules will be explained during the event.) Contact James/Freakke or Sabeinne/Libelle via Discord if you have any questions!
  2. Oribos was odd, a sterile city that clearly hadn’t been built for mortals. Libelle had entered the Shadowlands in an effort to prove that she was useful to Sanctuary, but it was taking some getting used to. Staying a night in Oribos gave her some time to think and collect herself, or at least grow somewhat accustomed to the strangeness of being a mortal among spirits. Oribos was not well prepared for an influx of mortal visitors, but a back room of the inn had been stuffed full of cots which could be rented for an entirely unreasonable fee. Libelle didn’t have much money to her name, but she didn’t know where else to go. On that first night she slept fitfully, her mind spinning in strange vivid dreams that played like vignettes. She was balancing on a branch with the breeze threatening to catch her wings and pull her away. She was running with her head close to the ground, following some urgent instinct to just get away. She was floating languidly in the water, ducking her head under the surface to search for seagrass and feeling utterly unworried. She was exhausted when she woke, but she wasn’t terribly surprised. It was hard to sleep in new places, especially when violating the separation between the living and the dead. She stretched her arms above her head and nearly dropped the object that was clenched in her fist. She fumbled with the object as it fell before managing to clasp both hands around it, one underneath and one on top. She raised the top hand carefully, like she was opening a clam shell, and peered at the thing she had caught. It was a perfect white orb, perhaps the size of a small citrus fruit, with a pearlescent sheen swirling over its surface. It had a solid heft to it. Libelle lay back on her pillow, perplexed, and held the orb up in front of her eyes to examine it better. She turned it back and forth, and its weight shifted as though it were filled with fluid. She definitely hadn’t had it yesterday, right? She would remember something like that...right? But she wasn’t sure. She’d had enough lost time episodes in the past few years--maybe she’d had another. Wherever the orb had come from, and whatever it was, she felt the need to keep it safe. She emptied out her coin purse and stuffed her meager savings into the leather bag she carried over her shoulder. She re-fashioned the drawstrings into a loop that could be fit over her head, then nestled the orb in the pouch and hid it inside her shirt. Now she had a mission, at least--figure out what the heck this orb was. Libelle left the inn feeling fuzzy with fatigue. She needed someone who could help her, and at the moment she could only think of one person who she knew was also visiting the Shadowlands. She backed into an alcove off the street, not wanting anyone to overhear her business. “Sabeinne dej Dynastus,” she quietly spoke into the hearthstone, and then waited, holding her breath. She waited for a long time, and had nearly given up, before she received a response. “Libelle?” the familiar voice echoed out of the hearthstone, surrounded by a fuzzy distortion that wasn’t present on Azeroth. But at least it was working. Libelle let out the breath she’d been holding. “Yes, hi, I um...I’m in Oribos,” Libelle began, then blurted the rest. “I could use some help with something. I think it could be magic? I don’t know.” There was a brief pause. Libelle could almost see her mother drumming her fingernails on something, thinking. “Very well. Meet me at The Penitent’s Embrace in Darkhaven, in Revendreth. It’s a lovely little tea house, very refined. You’ll love it.” Libelle knew she wouldn’t love it, and she knew her mother knew it too. “Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can,” she replied, resigned to an uncomfortable afternoon. It wasn’t too hard to find transportation to Darkhaven--the afterlife was well-connected, at least. Libelle enjoyed getting to ride on the back of one of the spirit-wyrms that ferried travelers from Oribos. Its energy was warm, a little fuzzy feeling. But her spirits sank as soon as she saw where the wyrm was taking her. Darkhaven was dreary, its stone buildings looking damp and cold. The tea house her mother had mentioned was, in fact, refined, in a way that felt utterly foreign to Libelle. The floors and walls were stone, like the majority of the architecture in Darkhaven, but covered richly in elaborate rugs and portraiture. The furniture was dark wood, gleaming almost wetly in the flickering light cast by the lamps and candles that dotted the room. The tabletops were covered liberally in doilies and lace tablecloths. Libelle felt her unkempt hair and practical traveling clothes burning on her like a sin. Sabeinne was seated at a small table in the corner, lounging like she’d been born in that chair, and sipping out of a teacup that looked both delicate and violent. Libelle ducked her head and hurried over to meet her, determinedly avoiding eye contact with any of the severe, stony-skinned venthyr that populated the room. “There you are,” Sabeinne said as Libelle slid into the chair across the table. She gave Libelle a once-over that dripped with disappointment, but her eyes gleamed as though she could want nothing more than to be disappointed in Libelle’s appearance. Sabeinne leaned across the table and swiped her fingers through Libelle’s short-cropped, unkempt hair. “What on earth have you been doing with yourself?” Libelle tried to duck away, but Sabeinne gripped the back of her neck firmly with one hand and did something distinctly magical feeling to Libelle’s hair with the other. “There, I suppose that will do.” Libelle scruffed a hand through her hair resentfully, and felt it spring right back into the shape Sabeinne had coaxed it into. Whatever. It probably looked really good, actually. “So, that thing I wanted to ask you about--” Libelle began. “Do have some tea,” Sabeinne interrupted, pouring Libelle a cup from a pot that was also fashioned out of aggressive-looking porcelain. Libelle took the cup and looked uncertainly at the brownish liquid. She set it down in front of her. “Um, that thing I wanted to ask you about,” she said again, this time pulling the pouch out of her shirt. She opened the pouch and took the pearlescent orb gently into her palm. “I found this in my hand when I woke up this morning. I don’t know where it came from.” “No time to catch up, hmm?” Sabeinne said, but the jab lacked conviction. Her gaze sharpened with interest when Libelle produced the orb. She held out her hand expectantly. “Here, let me see it.” Libelle reluctantly handed it over. Sabeinne hefted the orb in the palm of one hand and gently probed it with the fingers of her other hand. Libelle couldn’t tell what she was doing, but a frown was deepening between Sabeinne’s eyebrows as she examined the orb. She hummed lightly with thought. “I don’t sense any arcane energies about it, but it doesn’t appear entirely inert, either,” mused Sabeinne. Keeping the orb nested in her palm, she raised it to eye level and peered at it closely. “It doesn’t feel as though it’s solid all the way through. We could cut into it, to see what’s in--” “NO!” Libelle cried, snatching the orb out of Sabeinne’s hand. She cradled it protectively to her chest. Her outburst had gained the attention of the tea room’s venthyr patrons, and she could feel their disapproval. The tips of her ears burned hot with embarrassment. Sabeinne raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. “Very well,” she said with extravagant patience. “We shall keep it intact. But I believe we’ll need to consult someone else if we are to learn anything more about it.” Libelle nodded, curling down into her chair and willing the nearby venthyr to stop glancing at her and murmuring. “Whatever you think will help, just as long as no one hurts it.” Sabeinne gave an authoritative nod, raising her teacup back to her lips. “I have made a contact here who specializes in magical artifacts. We shall pay him a visit.” She sipped at her tea and eyed Libelle’s untouched tea cup. “Do drink up. This wasn’t cheap.” Once they had finished the tea to Sabeinne’s satisfaction, they left the tea house and Sabeinne opened a portal. Libelle peered into it uneasily, and caught a glimpse of more dreary gray stone on the other side. “Do we have to use a portal?” “Oh, do pretend to be Sin’dorei,” Sabeinne sniped, and nudged Libelle through. Libelle hated the feeling of stepping into the air and winding up in a different place. It felt a lot like losing time--you were there, and then suddenly you were here, with nothing to connect one experience to the next. She didn’t have time to wallow in her discomfort, however, as Sabeinne immediately clasped a hand over Libelle’s shoulder and began steering her through the new location. Libelle craned her neck as they walked, trying to take in the cavernous stone space. It was full of venthyr, sweeping by tall and proud as though expecting everyone to move out of their way, and dotted with mortals who seemed shrunken in comparison. The space had the cold, clammy feeling of being underground. Sabeinne led Libelle to a small room that was almost entirely occupied by a heavy wooden desk. A slight, wizened venthyr sat behind the desk, examining what looked like an ordinary table-knife with a jeweler’s loupe. He handled the knife with pristine white gloves. The venthyr was bracketed on either side by shelves that extended to the ceiling, which were packed with an assortment of seemingly random objects. The venthyr looked up as they entered the room. “Ah, Lady dej Dynastus,” he greeted Sabeinne silkily. He placed the knife aside on a silken handkerchief. “What have you brought me? This one is so much...livelier than your usual offerings.” The venthyr’s gaze roamed over Libelle appraisingly. It felt invasive. Libelle instinctually shrank away from the venthyr, but Sabeinne tightened her grip on her shoulder, holding her in place. “Behave,” Sabeinne said, and it wasn’t entirely clear whether she was speaking to Libelle or the venthyr. “My little joke.” The venthyr chuckled, not very reassuringly. He leaned across the desk and held out his hand limply for Libelle to shake. “You may call me Ernol,” he purred. “And who are you, my enchanting young creature?” Not wanting to be rude, Libelle briefly clasped his fingers. “Hi, I’m Libelle,” she managed. Sabeinne pressed on Libelle’s shoulder, maneuvering her back a step or two farther from the desk. Libelle shot her a grateful glance. “Now that we are all well acquainted,” Sabeinne said impatiently, “we do in fact have an artifact that we would like examined.” Sabeinne held out her hand and looked expectantly at Libelle, who reluctantly removed the pouch from her shirt and brought out the orb. She placed it into Sabeinne’s waiting hand. “We are curious as to its nature and origins,” Sabeinne explained as she handed the orb to Ernol. “Ahhhh,” sighed Ernol sensually, turning the orb over in his hands. “How very intriguing.” He pressed a button on his loupe and an iridescent blue lens clicked into place. He peered at it closely, then pressed the button again, switching to a smoky gray lens. “Hmmm,” he mused. “This is interesting. It’s positively brimming with anima, and other magics as well, though nothing I can immediately identify. It appears natural in origin.” He tapped a finger to his bottom lip, the long, manicured fingernail flashing in the lamplight. Pulling open a drawer in his desk, he produced a small silver knife. “I believe we could cut into it to learn more, though that would likely do irreparable damage.” “No!” Libelle cried, lurching forward to reach for the orb. “Why does everyone want to cut it open?” Ernol chuckled and handed the orb back to Libelle, who quickly hid it away once again. He turned his gaze to Sabeinne. “My advice, then, would be to bring it to Ardenweald. If it truly is of natural origin, an expert there might tell you more than I.” He took out a pen and a small square of paper, and wrote a name on it. “Look for this person in the Heart of the Forest,” he said, passing the paper to Sabeinne. “She is a renowned scholar whom I have worked with in the past.” Sabeinne accepted the paper and, to Libelle’s relief, they turned to go. Sabeinne was able to create a portal for them to return to Oribos, but it took another mana-wyrm ride to transport them to the Heart of the Forest. When the massive tree at the center of Ardenweald came into view, Libelle could only stare. She gasped when the mana-wyrms dove to whisk them into the interior of the tree, a massive cavern that was brimming with life. When she dismounted the mana-wyrm Libelle just stood with her mouth open, gazing at the myriad fae and spirits and beasts going about their business. “How distasteful,” said Sabeinne, shattering Libelle’s trance. “It isn’t even that there is dirt on the floor, the floor simply is dirt.” Libelle just shot her mother a smile, and with an uncharacteristic jolt of confidence, she grabbed Sabeinne’s hand and dragged her off to find their contact, against Sabeinne’s surprised protests. It took them some time to find the scholar. They had to ask around, and Sabeinne refused to speak directly to any of the fae, so they were left to make due with Libelle’s fumbling questions. Eventually they were led to a small faerie with bright, lustrous butterfly’s wing. She had a much more serious demeanor than most of her fellows, and was in the midst of examining a faintly-glowing plant and taking notes. Libelle approached the faerie, though her gut clenched suddenly with nerves. “Excuse me, are you um...are you Whistledown?” The faerie looked up, blinking rapidly through a pair of thick spectacles, and glanced inquisitively back and forth between Libelle and Sabeinne. “Yes, that is me,” she replied. “Who is asking?” “I, um,” Libelle began, looking to Sabeinne for support. Sabeinne just impatiently waved her onward. “I was told you might be able to help me with something. I found an object, and it’s full of anima, but...we don’t know what it is.” “Ah, a mystery,” Whistledown said, her eyes lighting up. She stowed the notebook somewhere on her person, which was puzzling since she appeared to be entirely naked. “I always have time for a mystery. Do you have it with you?” “I do.” Once again, Libelle reluctantly produced the pouch holding the orb. She tipped the orb into her palm and held it hesitantly in front of her, not entirely ready to hand it to a stranger again. Whistledown reached right over and plucked it out of Libelle’s hand, causing Libelle to jump in surprise. “Hmm,” said Whistledown, turning it deftly with her tiny fingers and peering at it closely through her spectacles. “Why, this isn’t a mystery at all. It’s an egg. Similar to a wildseed, but not quite the same.” She looked over her glasses at Libelle. “Shall we make it hatch?” Libelle glanced at Sabeinne, who was eyeing the orb with casual interest. Sabeinne gave Libelle a shrug that seemed to say, What? This is your affair. Libelle swallowed and looked back at Whistledown, then nodded dumbly. “Hold out your hand,” the faerie instructed. She placed the orb in Libelle’s palm. Then she rummaged in her invisible pockets once more and produced a small bottle with a dropper lid. “Concentrated anima--don’t tell anyone!” said Whistledown, winking. Then slowly, carefully, she unscrewed the top and administered a single drop of anima to the surface of the orb. At first, nothing happened. But then, the orb started to move. It wobbled, only slightly at first, but then its movements grew in strength until something burst through the side of the orb and then began to crawl out slowly. The thing appeared to be nothing but a crumpled mass of hair and legs. At first it looked horrifying, like the disassembled pieces of a corpse, but then it moved again, and continued crawling out of the ruined orb and onto Libelle’s hand. It was a large white moth, damp and rumpled-looking, with shriveled wings and an abdomen that was fat with blood. “Fluttersnuff!” Libelle exclaimed. Sabeinne watched with open disgust as the moth slowly crawled up Libelle’s arm and settled on her shoulder, then began drying its wings, pumping blood from its abdomen into them to expand them to their final shape. “What the hell?” Sabeinne observed. Grateful tears pricked Libelle’s eyes and started running down her cheeks. “It’s Fluttersnuff. From before. I...I don’t know, I can’t explain it, I just know that I need him.” She lifted a finger to gently touch the tip of a feathery antenna, and the tears flowed freer. Whistledown chuckled. “Well, it may not be a mystery, but something interesting, at least. It looks like you’ve acquired a bonded spirit.” Libelle blinked the tears out of her eyes and looked at Whistledown, confused. “Wh-what? This is my pet moth. What do you mean, a spirit?” “Simply that!” Whistledown exclaimed, bursting with an excitement that more closely resembled that of the other faeries. “I can’t tell you more without studying it, which would be really very fascinating. Would you be willing to let me observe it?” She produced her journal again and looked at Libelle eagerly. Libelle nodded wordlessly, once more bursting into happy tears as Fluttersnuff began examining her face with his feelers. Her life had felt unstable for years, even more so in the past months, but for just a moment, with Fluttersnuff’s soft wings brushing her cheek, she remembered the feeling of coming home.
  3. It's time for another rousing Dating Auction, hosted by the magnificent Mozzi (Draq), the lovely Libelle (Sabeinne), the marvelous Mardalius (Mard, duh), and of course, the fantastic Phyruss (Cobrak)! It will be held at 5 PST/ 8 EST on Jan 23 in Sagehaven, Bastion. How does it work? We present the best and most bodacious of bachelors and bachelorettes, and bidders cast their gold to win time with them at the place of the bidder's choosing! It doesn't have to be romantic, it can be a friendly discourse or just a chance to meet someone you've never had a chance to talk with! (OOC contact should be considered to find out available times between the winning bidder and their date!) How do I audition to be auctioned off? Easy! Send the name of the character you want to be auctioned to one of our hosts (preferably in Discord--contact Sabeinne if you need help accessing the TNG Discord community), limit to one per player, along with a tagline what their likes/dislikes are, what their favorite hobby is, and where they would like to be whisked away to! What are the rules of the bids? We will be using in-game gold for bids. Beginning at the opening of bids, each potential bidder must offer a minimum of 25g per bid cast. Which means, opening bid is 25g, and you can increase your bid to 50, or 80, or 100, or whatever so long as it is more or equal to 25g. The auction for a person stops when either A) A Five count between bids occurs. B) Two minutes pass, in which case, highest current bid wins. C) The maximum bid total of 1,000g is reached. [If two or more bidders both go the maximum, break out the dice cause it's time for Boulder, Parchment, Shears!]
  4. Oof, I started playing around then, but I don't recall. You should try asking around the Discord--it's pretty active and there may be folks there who remember!
  5. 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!
  6. 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!”
  7. ((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.
  8. <p>Grood! I am patient, and when the time comes, I shall suckle upon your words.</p>

  9. <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>

  10. 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.
  11. ((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!”
  12. Hi. :3 I just came back. Hopefully this won't ruin my career.
  13. This is beautiful. And I think I remember it! Ergo, I am better than Keraph.
  14. 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. >:[