Current Events in RP!

**Thanks to Ghaar, who reminds me that I am indeed missing something... a super sekrit plot involving Astrani, the brickwit troll. However, part of being sekrit means I'm not spilling any details! Neener!

I have several long story arcs in the works for two of my characters. It's slow work and I am lazy, so it's just being pieced together in spurts and I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to finish them, let alone do them justice. I'm going to try, though!

Since it's hard to keep track of everything, I'm just gonna post what's happening with each of my active characters and what sort of project to expect from them.

• A slim file, obviously new, and containing extremely sparse information on one Adelaide "Skulley" Skelton now sits on Agent Jeremiah Newhall's desk.
• After narrowly avoiding a run-in with Booty Bay guards, Skulley is taking a breather before her next big job... a hunt for CURSED TROLL TREASURE! Yarr. Does she know it's cursed? Not yet!
• Unbeknownst to Skulley, an account of her life as Adelaide is being constructed by a certain ham-fisted wielder of words. Don't worry, it's a very happy story. Up until everyone dies.

• After class one evening, Thiyenn eats a massive meal of banana bread, goat cheese, pickles, chocolate cake and an entire jar of mustard. This leads to a very public heaving of guts and embarrassing revelation to nearly half of her friends, teachers and academic peers that didn't already know or guess that she was pregnant.
• Professor Arrens Caltrains, the headmaster of Stormwind University, is skilled in shoving his foot in his mouth. When he asked where her husband was, Thiyenn lied. Apparently the nuances of her relationship with the father of her child and his current whereabouts aren't meant to be discussed in front of half of the student body (and the professor's bride-to-be).
• But hey, Thiyenn now has a Super Special Job, that being the crafting of Miss Aely's wedding dress. Take THAT, Delion!
• Having been encouraged by an instructor to improve her writing (and more importantly, handwriting--she prints no better than a child), Thiyenn has taken up the task of putting down what she remembers about growing up with the Darkmoon tribe. It's good for taking her mind off more recent events. It's also her first foray into introspection, so I expect some personal conflict.

• Libby, the Rainsinger, is engaged (!) to elf (!) hunter Fenniel (!!), the original geeky belf hunter. They are getting married (!) in a ceremony (!) in Mulgore this May. Firael has been roped into the role of Best Man and will be sporting some fashionable tribal garb (read: leather straps). Oops, I forgot to (!) that.

• On the verge of a breakthrough in eye replacement technology, Ysani has put on the weight she lost during her Haydren-terror phase, mostly due to sitting around working on projects all day with Firael and Fenniel, the wonder twins.
• It's been a while since there was a frenzy of speculation on the particulars of Yissy's relationship with Firael, however, several members of the PoL tease her privately. She is adamant on the point that they are Just Friends, and, in fact, everything seems to be quite fine with her and Keilos.
• Dir creeps her the hell out. Quit staring at her tits, already!
• Where the hell IS Haydren, anyway? God only knows what sort of terrible things he's planning. One hopes he's given up, but I think we all know that's not the case.

• Ambika is readjusting to her life as a troll and seems pleased with that particular development, but grows increasingly distant. Her quest to gain more power, as far as she's concerned, has yielded paltry gains; this may lead her to new and dangerous paths as the world moves on.

• Sergeant Harker has traded the relentless heat of Hellfire for the chill winds of the North and oh MAN is she pissed. Her attitude leaves something to be desired, but she's working hard (and dressing warm), which gets her at least a modicum of respect from her peers and superiors. Something exceedingly strange happened to her the other night, perhaps she'll tell us about it soon...?

I've got a lot on my plate, certainly, and I really need to learn to stop biting off more than I can chew. Here's hoping that all these and more will get proper documentation. Did I miss anything?

RP: A quiet evening alone

This is definitely out of place. I suppose I should give you a little context: Haydren Sunsorrow, Ysani's more-or-less stalker, is travelling under an assumed name (that of Ysani's lover, to be precise) and has been lying in wait for Lamis. He has a plan to use her as a tool to get what he wants, and in her current state of exhaustion, she's unable to decline. __________________________________________________

"Oh Mister Dawnstar!" Two voices sang in unison over Haydren's stone. He was groggy from lack of good sleep, but the alias didn't phase him in the slightest. He snatched the stone off the pillow beside him and cleared his throat.

"Meg, Jenny. So good to hear from you. What's the word?"

"Miss Dal'Theron checked in a few minutes ago," said Megan.

"She looked really, really tired," chimed in Jennifer.

"And bloody," they clucked disapprovingly. "We're going to have to get the stairs mopped early this week."

He pressed a hand to his forehead. The Owings twins were creepy, vapid, and gave him a monstrous headache, but together they ran a tight ship at the New Agamand Inn. No one came or went without them knowing, and they were more than happy to share information and gossip when you turned up the charm. For a few coins they'd even wake you up in the middle of the night to let you know when your flown sparrow had come back to roost.

"Thank you, ladies. I look forward to seeing her in the morning. I appreciate you calling right away."

"Our pleasure, sir! Good luck with your lady friend, it's wonderful to see a little romance blooming in times like these," they chirped. "Do invite us to the wedding, we love weddings."

Her careless track was easily spotted. He simply ducked down to the second landing with his knapsack hanging off one shoulder and followed the trail of blood droplets that hadn't even had a chance to dry yet. They led to the last door on the second floor, and he checked the knob. It was unlocked.

Lamis lay in a heap, propped up partway against the bed in a smear of blood. It looked as though she'd shrugged off her kit at the door, axe dropped haphazardly near the bed, and hadn't quite the strength to make it into bed before she collapsed. Locking the door behind him, he crept to her side and squatted down to examine her, setting his bag on the mattress. How does one check the vitals of a corpse? He placed a hand gently on her throat, and his question was soon answered with an incredibly slow, but unmistakable pulse. Her skin was cool to the touch, and he shivered as he removed her gory armor piece by piece. Careful, methodical probing revealed that most of the blood belonged to someone else--probably many someones.

Running water was nearly unheard of in the smaller Forsaken-run inns, he'd found, but New Agamand was a fairly large hub of activity, and they appeared to value the convenience. He suspected it may have had something to do with the massive quantities and potencies of the plague operations being run outside. Even the Forsaken had to be careful here. The water pressure was low, and he had time to lay Lamis' limp body on a towel while he waited for the basin to fill.

How long had she gone without a bath? Too long, he thought, and he began the slow business of washing the woman's hair and face, careful not to scrub open barely-closed wounds on her ears and neck. It was very slow going, and he had to empty the basin and refill it many times before he was satisfied. A slim knife drawn from his belt slit her ragged undershirt and pants, and he pulled new ones from his bag. No sense in trying to salvage the disgusting things.

Nearly a dozen bloody basins later, he finished scrubbing her black-soled feet and lifted her off the soaked towel, now darkly stained with watered-down gore and copious amounts of dirt. Her body was criss-crossed with lacerations nearly from head to toe, all in varied stages of repair. Many were obviously fresh, and these he wrapped carefully in treated gauze; then he dressed her in new underclothes, a simple white shirt and pants. Through all of this, Lamis never stirred, nor did she move when he lifted her up and put her under the sheets of her bed. He was shocked at her lightness. She might have been hollow, a sack of bones; he could have cradled her in one arm. Removing his boots he crawled into bed beside her, pulling her faintly-breathing body to him. Without the layers of coppery blood and dirty buildup, she smelled oddly pleasant, like crisp autumn leaves.

He caught a glimpse of the red dragon he'd been instinctively tracking through the unshuttered window. How odd for a drake to be circling so late in this part of the world.