A crisp, crimson envelope bearing a white depiction of a rising sun arrives late in the day, bearing all manner of post to point at its rush to arrive at Tylel's home so soon. A wax seal on the back of the envelope - also depicting a rising sun - shows that no tampering could have been done on this letter's short journey.

Tylel,

                If at all possible, I need you to expedite your travels. Yours and Ari's actions have blown up in my face twice over, now. Not only was your attempt to assault Asarel a poor reflection of my ability to keep my vassals in check, but now Ari has been arrested. I've done my best to speak to the Arbiter on both your AND her behalf, but her actions have forced me to explain her current state and behavior to Sir Prideaux. I'm sure Lord Triste will not be pleased, himself, when I go to him to try and clean up the mess you two have made.

Twentieth day of the seventh month one year after the great Shattering

Quel’Thalas.

My home and pride, often debauched as Silvermoon by the callous foreigners who do not believe in its original and rightful language, whose ever-increasing slip into madness and weakness, continues.

The clouds gently grazed his hand, as they had done countless times before. Yet, still there was that feeling of amazement still that feeling of awe. His clothes rippled from the chill winds on high. His thighs wore against the saddle of the creature, floating carefree underneath him. There was no Hamlen here, no, he thought, there was only a person, a spirit, perhaps. The breeze on high caught him unaware, a variable always changing in his summertime flights. His hands coalesced into the cloud, his body and his friend underneath him soon to follow. As his eyes opened to the realm above the clouds, a chilly place yet so filled with the warmth of heart he always had cherished, he beheld the setting sun to the west. His companion’s wings flew forward a slight before hovering daintily above the cloud’s edge.

The nobles danced and talked beneath their masks, he noted as he made his way through the crowd talking to the occasional guest and making himself quite the host, especially with the fine and “noble” ladies of the night. He sent them off with a laugh, their presence greatly appreciated from the male patrons of his party. He nodded with a sense of satisfaction as he approached the stairs going to the rooftop, exiting himself away from the party. As he emerged from the door to the roof, there stood three of his greatest friends, entrepreneurs all. He raises his glass with infinite glee, filled with wine and ill-gained success.

Sebastien calmly dictated to the apprentice, the young blood elf quickly scribbling as he sat with quill and paper at the smaller writing desk. 

The attack at Fancy Cakes had caused serious damage to her Torso. Akrish left a trail of blood and oil leading out of the city and dissappearing into the forest. Akrish leaned against a tree and opened a bag of tools to begin her repair when everything went black. Two other Blood Elves silenty approached; one stood guard while the other fixed the damaged unit. When the damage had been contained, the one standing guard picked her up and carried her off to a safehouse while the other packed away the tools and cleaned up any evidence of their presence.

All of them had known when Number 3 had been hurt and were recalled from their clandestine activities. Numbers 1 and 2 had assisted the damaged unit while others began cleaning up any evidence of her trail once it hit the forest and covered each other from the shadows. Number 7 was sent into the city to gather more information on the events of the night.

He holds her hand with a grin. He can feel the wind as it crashes against his face, his raven hair flinging back. In this moment, he can feel her and she him. He looks at her as they run along the lake’s edge. For a moment, he looks onto that azure pool, teeming with the life within it. Yet, in but an instant he looks back to a far more beautiful sight. She runs along with him, her hair hazel like his eyes. She giggles as she runs, looking back into his eyes, her emerald orbs deeper than the stars themselves. In this second, he can see his future, his children, and his life.

In these seconds, he is in bliss. He does not tell her. She already knows.

Posted in the Silvermoon Gazette, the Silvermoon Sentinel, and near every paper of repute.  In response to an Anonymous letter ( http://www.rp-haven.com/story/silentfox/anonymous_letter )

Unto the Citizens of the Blackened Woods and people of Quel'Thalas -

I feel your suffering more keenly than you may believe.  For centuries I have myself fought against the Amani, from the initial troll wars that brought about our first meetings with the base Humans, through the wars of our more recent age.  I fought the Scourge as they advanced through our lands, and it was only after being rendered unconscious from a near fatal injury that my own brother dragged me from the front.  I suspect I will fight the Amani and study the craft of War as a reality of our times until the day I die. 

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. 

((Hi all,

Whew! The end-of-term madness has come to an end for me, and for those interested: it would appear like I am going to be graduating! Nothing official yet, but let's keep our fingers crossed!

You might notice that the event set for Hamlen's trial has been removed - this should have happened much earlier this week, but a feeling of guilt prevented me from actually doing so. I realize it's the second time in a row that this has to be postponed, but I've talked it over with Hamlen's player, and he understands and is fine with it.

Sons and Daughters of the Horde,

Children’s Week is fast approaching.  In order to honor this important week and the children for which it is named, Quel’Thalas’ Department of the Interior is hosting a joust on the 8th of May, inviting the strongest fighters of the Horde to participate to honor their faction as well as compete for a prize for the most accomplished jouster!

As part of the ceremony, we ask that masters of all crafts present and honor their disciples this day as a testament to the many talents that these children can hope to master and goals they can reach!

Aestan, freshly returned from his morning run through the city, quietly washed himself in the bathtub of his room, removing sweat and grime from his skin. Clambering out of the tub he shivered, swiftly walking over to grab a towel and get dressed. A servant entered the room, averting her eyes politely from the General as she laid out his cleaned and pressed uniform on the chair. “Will you require a shave, sir?” she inquired.

A separate peice of paper rests on top, in clear, neat handwriting: You'll find the first few pages are abridged. The candidate interviews are verbatim. For your files I have included my written statement of discretion, signed and dated.

-Rhosyn

See below the cut!

Aramalia stood over her desk, a pile of partially-filled official papers to her left and an open notebook on her right.  Glancing from right to left, she copied the contents word-for-word onto the fresh parchment with a cautious hand.  Despite the late hour, her actions had energy, her eyes a focus that defied the lack of sleep that threatened to close her eyes.  She had hoped that there had been some underlying factor that could explain his actions, but no.  There could be no reason for these actions. Aramalia rolled her shoulders, not relieving any tension, but succeeding in making a number of cracks and pops.  Soon, she thought, soon…Checking for any missed details, she bound the pages together and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with red wax.  He had considered the Virtue of Compassion a weakness.  To those who would refuse compassion to others, there would be none.

General Aestan Firatril,

As requested, I have investigated the reports made by a number of citizens both within the city and within the Horde.  Based on their testimony, I regrettably inform you that I find it necessary to continue with a formal trial against Hamlen Prideux.  The list of charges includes, but is not limited to: assault, threats of violence, harassment, and attempted unlawful arrest.  Included are the testimonies I have collected detailing the events.  Be sure that these remain private and only seen by you.

Now, I have heard that the voting for the replacement Convocate of Regulation is to happen soon.  With Prideux as one of the candidates, this may cause a bit of trouble.  I trust that you within the Convocation will find a suitable solution.

Dutifully submitted,

Aramalia Solisbane, Lieutenant-Colonel

 Dearest Vanessa,

Citizens of Silvermoon,

The following is on wanted posters, spread around Silvermoon on all government buildings and buildings of note.

The sky is a blanket of indigo speckled with glitter. If you move just right, a star will peek out from its hiding spot to say 'hello'. Beneath the shroud stands dear, little Héra in her most favorite summer dress. A comforting haze drifts through the air, giving her a feeling of moderate protection. She wanders the night, her bare feet quiet against the cool, rain covered stone of the city's smooth streets. Alone in its glory, she can still hear the faint chatterings of people in the distance and the music from corners where unfortunate beggars usually play.

Slow and calm, her legs carry her to the familiar hub of the city, the Royal Exchange. With not another soul in sight, Héra manages to break apart from her insecurity of being left behind and steps into the cold, wet grass of the fountain's home. The fog shifts as she nears the trickle of water, and a figure appears.

((The following letter is dropped off in the early morning for delivery to Lady-Convocate Rosewater as a generalized complaint. If the guard who took the letter is questioned on the identity of the citizen, he did not get the man’s name. Description would be given as a tall, lanky Elf of mid-adult age with copper hair and freckles. The man seemed to have a brogue accent of lower class when they exchanged brief greetings. Clothing would be described as “dark”, but nothing standing out in particular to the guard’s mind))

To the Lady-Convocate Rosewater,

Dearest brother,

Silvermoon turned out to be something far more interesting that I had originally anticipated. What started out to be just another excuse for the girls to go shopping turned into a most exciting insider's look at the workings of the city. Most of which I can be thankful for because of a most peculiar man named Jakobus Nachtengaal. He's a scholar and a charmer and an utter amusement all on his own. I know you don't like hearing about it, brother darling, but his arms practically gravitate toward anything pretty, especially if it just so happens to have a pair of breasts.

His tour was a wild gryphon ride of tests and teasing challenges. Like how he tried to see if I had told him my real name, which I had, or even snatching up a copy of a library card admission just to see the details. Don't worry. I put the Academy's address on the form. I wouldn't dare lead any strange men to your door.

 MEMORANDUM
To: Lucas Malkin, Colonel of the Legion ; Hamlen Prideux, Chief Security Officer of the Legion
Subject: The arrest of Lady Aramalia Solisbane

Moments ago, I have apprehended Lady Aramalia Solisbane. I had received a note from her, requesting to meet with me just outside Silvermoon gates, within eyesight of the guards of the gate. When I met up with her, and I asked her how she had been, she told me the following about the Sunsinger Rebellion and her escape: 

Sunsinger appears to be under some form of external control. During a moment of lucidity, he decided to release her and her daughter, after which she made her way to the city. 

By Risael Salvius

Good evening Silvermoon, it's wonderful to see you all again here, reading my column.  And yes, I can see you all, it's called Scrying, I love what you've done with your hair. 

In a cozy little cottage, a haven of warmth and comfort in the blistering cold of Winterspring, Oneska and Tywyll tell Aestan about that afternoon, the slaughter of Tor’Watha. Together, they guide him through his memories, start to explore his dreams, and find something they didn't expect.

(larger image after break)

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. 

 Citizens of Silvermoon, 

By order of the Lord-Convocate Jasper Nox, all members of the so-called "Rebellion" are to be considered wanted, dead or alive. 

The charges include the attempted bombing of Silvermoon, the bombing of the Solisbane residence, murder in the first degree, several counts of attempted murder, several counts of reckless endangerment, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping. 
 
Should you choose to be part of the Rebellion, you will be held responsible for every act committed by the organization as a whole. Should you resist arrest, please be advised that deadly force will be used. 
 
- Aestan Firatril, 
Convocate-General of the Legion
------------------------------
DIRECTIVES
TO: ALL BLOOD KNIGHTS, FARSTRIDERS, SILVERMOON CITY GUARDS
FROM: OFFICE OF THE CONVOCATE-GENERAL