Elexandre

Her armor suddenly felt…heavier.  She’d known at first sight that the gas within the room was a bad sign, but not before breathing it in.  Aramalia stumbled out of the house until she rested on a hill patched with withered grass.  It wasn’t long before her aching head and spinning vision forced her to sit down while the Doctor and Korrelas talked about…something or other.  It sounded as if they were mumbling a language she didn’t understand.  It was probably about the investigation.  She had nothing to contribute to that, so she saw little harm in resting her head and closing her eyes, at least until her vision cleared…

“Are you awake, darling?”

She began lifting herself up from the bed, sliding the satin sheets from her legs, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  From what she could tell from the light drifting in from the windows, it was midday, and outside the bedroom door was the sound of rushing feet across stone and barked orders.  Elexandre stood at the side of her bed in burgundy formal robes, hand outstretched to help her to her feet.

“It was a fantastic idea to rest while preparations were being made, but if you sleep any longer, you’ll miss the gala entirely.”

It took her a moment before she realized where she was.  Her vision had been clouded by a filmy haze and an echo of voices she could not place still rang weakly in her ears.  However, once she regained her senses fully, there was no doubt as to her location, though she had no idea how she arrived there in the first place.  Sections of the domed ceiling were still stained with soot and parts of the western wall were still in shambles, partially repaired, but never finished.  Still, even in its state of disrepair, under layers of ash and dust was the grandeur of the Solisbane manor.   She found herself standing in the study, gawking at the tapestries, their family portrait, the shelves neatly filled with thick tomes on law and philosophy.  Holding a hand to her head, she fell back into one of the high-backed chairs that faced the mantle, still trying to make sense of what was occurring.

“Aramalia, are you ill? You look pale, my love.”

Begin Recording.

It's ironic, it would seem, that a device such as this has become so helpful to me, another little bauble Ixidos had been coming up with.  Such a fine researcher, that boy, if only he had the mind to lead...but I digress.  I record this speech from my sanctum, warded away from the world and its thousands of other recording devices called eyes, ears, and minds.  For so long, I have lived in the public gaze, always swift to recognize my face to the world first.

I have served our people for thousands of years.  I am a very, very old elf, and I know my time is finite.  These are...difficult thoughts, to be sure. 

By Risael Salvius

Silvermoon, if you've been seeing what I have, you've gotta be pretty damn annoyed right now.  Since the changing of the guard in the Convocation, we've had us a real winner of an autumn and, as some might think, a questionable future going into winter.  All I have to say is simply: Bollocks. 

What Morthain wanted most was a controlling hand within the Silvermoon Underground.  And using the Crimson Hand, he had exactly that.

The morning sun had already started to peek above the horizon, painting the dark clouds with vivid purples, pinks, and oranges, when Aramalia collapsed in her personal training grounds at the Solisbane manor.  Sweat had soaked her robes (she had not bothered to take the time changing into her armor) and her left hand lacked the shield that she was never without in battle.  Dropping her mace revealed the blisters lining the inside of her palm and fingers as well as the impressions of her fingernails dug into the flesh.

Thought I'd whip up some quick signage for Fancy Cakes -- Aestan's idea, really. Not my best work, but it does it's job. ;)

By Risael Salvius

Dear Journal,

I know you never get that feeling that you are being followed, mainly because you are a book, but I wonder if anyone else feels like they are being tracked by hidden enemies and/or allies. I know that I have had spies on me for at least a year now, but I did not think they would stick around so long. Persistent little buggers, I must admit.

Thunderbluff was as beautiful as ever. A soft rain left the plains in glow, making me wish I wasn't told to come back. I know that "come back to Silvermoon now" were not his exact words, but his words on the paper definitely suggested that Convocate Goldleaf did not want me out and did not trust me as a bureaucrat and an ambassador. So I left Thunderbluff about a week earlier than I wished. Oh well ... no time to relax I guess when there is chaos to be had.

 I walked throughout the forests of Eversong in a slight daze, not paying attention to where exactly I was headed. I was neither stealthy nor careful in my walk, my entire mind attending to the issues that had been in my head, trying to resolve them. The day just before the man known as Lord Solisbane had come up with some ideas of why I should protect the city of Silvermoon, and they hadn't left my head yet. Continuously the came back, hitting harder and harder every single time with their truth. Was I that afraid of actually protecting the people of Silvermoon? Or was it something more than even I cannot discern about myself?

Lutherion's Life (In A Nutshell)

My mind was a tempest as I crossed over the shattered yards and through broken buildings to my most familiar place. For years it had been a place of sorrow and comfort. Now, with every passing moon, I grew to dread my trips there more and more.

I paused at the door, touching the small markings in the stone to activate wards, which would block my home from the sight and thoughts of those who would look upon it. I hesitated another moment, wondering where the Lord Convocate was.

I reached out for his familiar presence, and almost immediately withdrew; having seen through his eyes, I found that I was looking in upon a moment that I had no business seeing.

How long has it been since you looked upon the benefits of matrimony or felt, Inokentei? I shook the unbidden thought away, knowing that such thoughts were only detrimental to my work.

"You can't get people to listen; in this day and age, if you want people to hear you, you have to hit them with a hammer." -Tobinius Bellsaura; The Pieces of the Puzzle

"Nothing has changed." I murmur, kneeling before the small slab of marble I took from a ruin long ago. "They don't listen. Despite what I do every day, they continue in their own ways. There are changes in the players, but not in the game."

I run my fingertips over the marble, tracing the words I carved once, so torn with grief.

"I'm breaking my promise. I'm so sorry for that." I whisper. "I promised I'd change them, change them so that it could never happen to anyone again. So no one could suffer like you did. So no one would lose anyone like I did. But they're not listening."

You need red and yellow food coloring with treebark gum and flour, but not a whole lot though, just a tiny bit. And you don't use real blood either or else it will coagulate if you wait too long. At least this way, if you get caught, you can eat it later. Sometimes to get a more realistic effect, you can add a sprinkle of arcane dust. The task is tedious and requires two people which made me thankful my eldest son was home. You can't easily apply a fake bloody sack of flesh to your own hand or else you'll just screw it up in the end.

I don't spill my own blood in promises. That's just silly, and it leaves a scar.

One says this. The other says that. And there's so many curves, coils, and twists that it makes my head spin. I'm knee-deep in frustration. But I have decided to stay low for now. This picket fence is starting to hurt my ass and I'm just wondering if I should hop down and leave the two to their own devices. Truth is, I haven't been playing fair. I'm leaning towards one side more than the other, but curiosity nudges me back over and I can't help but take a peek and see what little lies and truths may be happening over here. Neither have provided a decent gain for my interests, so it's hardly worth the effort. Executive decisions need to be made, but I can't help it. I want to see what becomes of this nonsense. Call me crazy, but when you've been in retirement for as long as I have, even the bickering of an old married couple seems slightly interesting.

[This letter is the first in a series of unsent letters written by an inebriated Solisbane.]

Letter One: Dearest Aramalia

Aramalia,

Aelitha sat up and stretched, pulling her arms above her head with a yawn, her back popping before lowering her arms. Looking around at the series of blue, silk covered beds she realized that she must have slept late again because they were all empty, and made.

-A message has been placed on the assignment board of the barracks, hand written by the Convocate-General himself.-

Legionaries, the fate of our Kingdom has fallen onto our broad shoulders once again. The Convocation of Silvermoon has declared Martial Law due to a recent attempt on Convocate Elexandre Solisbane's life.