Acelynn

The nib of her new quill hovered above the parchment as she tried to figure out what to write. 

Aurin sat on the bench beside her, his long hair soaked and a simple pair of pajama pants on, “What are you trying to write? Another memo for the company?”

It was a sunny day in the Bay on the first of October. She'd left the doors and windows open to catch the gentle breeze that was coming in off the sea. She leaned back in her swivel chair and rolled her brand new, Roc feather quill between her fingers.

“...Leine?”

She looked up from her quill at the use of that particular nickname. Aurin stood in the doorway, his once long hair cropped short, his leather pants tucked neatly into his boots and his linen shirt laced like the buccaneers around here wore them. She dropped the quill, “...A-aurin? I don't... but... Y-you're dead. You died almost--” 

“Why aren't you married?”

The question was innocent enough. Why aren't you married? You're pretty, you're sexy, you're one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen naked... All attributes most would find desirable.

So why aren't you married?

I started with hot apple cider bought in the morning from the bazaar; the apples were actually from a human farmer, but when you are in goblin cities it isn't that hard to get the rare gems. Apple cider is amazing when it is fresh with a slight amount of cinnamon added in, especially when the mornings are chilly. Only moments after I had finished the drink had I turned on my newest style of communicator and received multiple messages about the day. I might just give this thing back to the creator, Throgmorton, if I have to listen to all the nonsense that goes through the contraption.

It seemed Acelynn was still down with something or another, making it difficult for her to do her job or even to take care of her own children. Iloam was having a hell of a time getting things done at the Booty Bay office, something about having poor penmanship, so I offered my services as a scribe so he may get the letters he needed sent done with.

It is funny, really; of all the people in ATS that I have encountered, Iloam is the only one I actually like.

The stars overhead were disappearing against the glowing light of dawn when Aelberyn finally concluded her sweeping inventory of the protections set around Bloodsword Hall.  A few standard traps and alarms, a few magical ones, but for the most part the wards and alarms were composed of Blessings, Holy Shields, and carefully prepared Prayers.  Maras had made his own rounds, using his own far more offensively focused Paladin skills to prepare protections of his own as well as prepare the guards of Bloodsword Hall for a possible siege.

Aelberyn had no doubt a siege was imminent, and could only be profoundly thankful that her forefathers had built their home with such a thing in mind.  Even so she could not help but wonder how effective their defenses would be against an insane Death Knight and the destructive creation she was apparently using to rid herself of opposition.  First Acelynn, then Liore and Tiradell; but Aelberyn knew damn well who the Duchess co

The events of last night were hazy, someone had attacked her from behind. Viciously. Of course they, whoever or whatever it was, took the effort of blocking her vision with some sort of toxic cloud. Not that it mattered much to the Paladin.

Somewhere off the shore of Eastern Kingdom lies a small cottage, previously belonging to Dellissa's ex husband and his family, a door slammed open.

Banging her way to the table the blue haired female glanced around the small cottage with a twisted scowl upon her otherwise pretty features and with a defiant gesture, she dropped her mace onto the table, the despised table of her ex husband's mother's. Satisfied by the sound of the creak of the wood as it bore the impact of the big two handed weapon, Dellissa peeled her gauntlets off before she went to close and lock the door.

It started the same as always.

She was sitting at the front counter of the small bow shop that her father owned, looking over the colorful merchant ads that had been printed for the week. She couldn't actually read the text, but she didn't exactly need to. The silence in the shop was peaceful, occasionally a breeze would blow in through the open door, bringing with it the smell of baked goods and cut grass. 

The alarm bells rang out from the south then, followed by shrill screams of panic. She put the merchant ads down on the counter and stood up, brow furrowed, before walking to poke her head out the door. Elves were running up the street as fast as their legs could carry them; Grey smoke billowed up from what she presumed was the wall of the city directly south of her location. No birds chirped, no chipmunks played in the grass, and there was no quiet hum of insects. Just... screaming. 

The odd phenomenon had been happening for a while. Occasionally, in the morning, a small wooden box would be waiting on her desk, often etched with runes to keep the contents fresh. Ace never could figure out just who it was that was leaving the little treasures. Every now and again, a white tulip would sit on the top of the box.

Tulips weren't one of her favorites (those were the blue and indigo columbines that used to grow wild in parts of Eversong and the Burned Woods, what few patches remained were slowly dying out for reasons she couldn't comprehend) but they were still very dainty and elegant. On the days there was a tulip left, she would carefully trim the stem and place it in a vase with all of her other fresh cut flowers. The large, white bulbs did stick out among the tiger lilies and pink hyacinths. 

Her plans slow but sure.
Liore gave her a prototype of pain.
Salvaging objects around the world, she picked her pawns.
Would they survive well those harsh conditions?
At the end, recruits and veterans would fight.
Cities would be embattled in war.
Her dream unfold.
The world remade in her dark glow.

The bath water was warm enough that her skin pinked up where it touched, but not hot enough to burn. The bubbles were a nice touch, but completely unnecessary. The glass of red wine was also a nice touch, and a great vintage. The lights were off save the small, fey-like Mage lights that were dotted around the walls of the large bathroom, she was always baffled at the fact that they reflected off the mirrored ceiling in a myriad of hues instead of their normal, hazy blue. Maybe the Arcane had a larger spectrum that could only be highlighted by bouncing the light off a different surface... It wasn't something that ever interested her enough to study.

We've only arrived home from our weekend holiday early this morning, but I decided to come in to the office as some sort of show of support. I can't say it's a strong one, really. Mostly I'm a warm body and the lanterns are glowing, but I'm useless to any sort of actual work. Ace is in the lobby and there's tea and coffee brewing while she tackles the bulk of everything I'm not doing. There's all sorts of letters and scrolls on me desk to go through, and an unusual parcel wrapped in brown paper addressed to me from one Ixinane Stormcren. I'm avoiding that one.

The rain outside is keeping the office a bit chilly. I watch it come down sideways in thin, icy sheets of grey needles. The docks outside the window are slippery and miserable and most the veteran workers 'ave good enough mind to stand under Port Authority awnings an' nibble on hot fried sausages or chips until the dark, angry clouds pass over.

I pull me mechano-guitar into me lap and lean over briefly to flip on the amp. An electric pop fizzes to life and fills the quiet office with a low, expectant hum. Leaning back into the comfortable leather of me captain's chair, I cross me boots at the ankle on the windowsill and adjust the guitar to a lazy angle in me lap. Me fingers slide along the metal strings and pluck out a few tentative notes I've been putting to a song I've been writing off and on while my mind wanders away from the work I'm avoiding.

It was never easy to write when your hands were shaking. Ace knew she was pushing herself far, far to hard this time, but there was too much to do and not enough time to do it in. Between fixing and mostly running the shop while Iloam was out, still being a Healer on call for the Knights, and spending time with her children…

She hadn’t slept in a week. She’d run out of coffee twice, the big canisters of it. Of course, the coffee was only a supplement. She’d figured out a way to use the Sunwell’s energy to force her mind into realizing it wasn’t as tired as it thought it was. One day, her card castle was going to crash down around her splendidly, but that wasn’t going to be today.

Ace took a deep breath and pressed the nib of the quill to the parchment, ink her signature ruby red, and carefully formed each and every letter of each and every word.

I held the solid weight between my fingers.  Heavy…dense enough that a pile of it shorter then I, would weigh far more.  Saronite, such a fascinating stone.

It was a balmy evening in Booty Bay. Light filtered through the open doors and windows of the Atlas Treasure Salvage office. Couches and chairs were situated on the roof, glowing slightly from an intense cleansing to purge the fel stench that had settled into the fibers. Inside, large sections of the walls had been torn out. Ace sat on her knees inside, wearing a beige one-piece work suit and a blue bandana to hold her hair back as she scrubbed the wooden floor of all traces of blood, stopping to occasionally dip her scrubber into the large bucket that sat beside her.

It was a balmy evening in Booty Bay. Light filtered through the open doors and windows of the Atlas Treasure Salvage office. Couches and chairs were situated on the roof, glowing slightly from an intense cleansing to purge the fel stench that had settled into the fibers. Inside, large sections of the walls had been torn out. Ace sat on her knees inside, wearing a beige one-piece work suit and a blue bandana to hold her hair back as she scrubbed the wooden floor of all traces of blood, stopping to occasionally dip her scrubber into the large bucket that sat beside her.

Just a little doodle that turned itself into a poster, enjoy!

“It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood. “
    ~William Shakespeare

There’s a certain irony in having the blood of a blood god dripping from your chin and oozing over your throat.  Well, that may be an understatement.  I was practically coated in the stuff from my fingertips up to my elbows, and almost the whole of my face was painted to boot.  I’m certain I looked like a wreck, but the others didn’t seem much concerned.

I was brought to with a flash of hot light.  Voices that spoke in words I know I should speak, the touch of a paladin’s hand.  I know I writhed, trapped in something that was not mine.  This mass of pain, charcoaled skin and body seared through, this wasn’t mine, this alien thing that betrayed me, failed me again past the paladin’s attempts.  This couldn’t have been me.

There was a bit of a scuttling scuffle down one of the dark alleys in Murder Row. Acelynn turned and squinted, a hand on the heavy libram chained to her belt. A round, dirty face topped with a knotted mop of black hair half peaked out at her from behind a crate. 

Ace frowned and squatted down; digging around in a bag at her side for a small chunk of bread she’d saved from dinner. Her hand closed around the wrapped bit and she held it out, “C’mere little one… This ought to last you until tomorrow afternoon, and then you should get yourself to the local orphanage.”

"Fine, whatever, go. Not that anyone knows you live here. Except Iloam. Why don't you stay with him?"

"Don't do anythin’ rash, Love. I promise to make it up to you however you like tomorrow, aye? Anythin' you wish."

"If I didn't like him I wouldn't be here right now, but I don't love him; By the Sunwell...I do not swoon and sigh, either. He's a dear friend, as are you. That is all."

Acelynn knew she was dreaming, but she really didn’t mind. She ran her hand along initials carved into the center tree in the orchard, AV+MF. The entire field had the hazy, golden glow of the early summer dusk that she was used to. Fireflies flew around lazily, completing the dreamscape. 

Aurin, her late husband, dropped out of the tree and landed beside her. She laughed, “Only you can fall out of a tree gracefully.”

“I didn’t fall! I jumped. On purpose,” the male elf scoffed and gently elbowed his petite wife. “I like the red, by the way. It’s not the same as the blonde, but it looks very good on you Maddy.” Aurin gently ran his fingers through a lock of her hair.

“Just when you thought the search for the Fenris Tower murderer was at a close, the case turns so fast it gives you whiplash. Brigit Darkmoor, one of the employees of the apartment tower, was found unconscious last night with some of Mrs. Van’loth’s possessions and a dress splattered with blood that matches the blood found at the scene. Jasper Sunsilver-Nox’s alibi was solid and he is no longer suspect..”