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Begin recording seventeen.

No matter how much one tries to bury the past, she does not want to stay buried.

As much as I wish to believe that Caeryn Matilda Ashwood is dead, there is a wretched inch of me that wants her still twitching.  Still crying for some sort of recognition that she was "Here."  That some part of her mattered.  And as much of her that I thought I'd left behind on that forest road, there always has to be some damnable orc who has to meddle about in the affairs of others ... dredging up corpses best left unbothered.

Fact of the matter is: I should be more ashamed of recent behavior of mine than the fact that I was - for all intents and purposes - CRYING like the stupid little girl that he'd exhumed.

Let us never speak of this again.

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You. Will. Never. Believe. This.

I was recognized!  As a freaking hero!
My quest for fame is complete!

Well, not really TOTALLY complete, but the fact that some nobody Death Knight knew who Audre Fucking Day was is pretty Shadow Damned amazing.

Someone needs to buy me a drink.  Like yesterday.
 

Orcs rule.
-Aud

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Begin recording sixteen.

The work has begun to take its toll.
 
Despite hours upon hours of "Sensitivity Training" I am meant to attend weekly, I cannot find a shadow damned Paladin worthy of my bother to actually use the nonsense on.  They all require a different sort of handling.  

Blunt delivery of information seems to work best with imbeciles, I have found.  Dancing around the subject "sensitively" is only likely to prolong my undue suffering of the speaker's very presence.

Between mindless Holy Grunts coming to bother me with ill found theories and best-left-behind rumors, I have better suited Paladins claiming that the Paladins are "winning the war."  Apologies to the Horde and Alliance heroes being catapulted in as fodder, I suppose.  

Such a poor idea to let such good food go to waste.

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So Caeryn has this pretty epic storyline going on right now, which I am writing a bit about in her journal, but most of it is going up over on the TBDF.  And there's a link straight to the story for those of you who want to read it.  As I have said before, it involves some characters from a previous story I wrote, and Caeryn.  Audre will not be involved, because she's off doing her own thing.  

Caeryn is OOC'ly in Icecrown Citadel.  I haven't decided at what point she'll IC'ly go in.  Possibly along side Audre, when Audre finally OOC'ly goes into Icecrown Citadel.

Audre's storylines are never epic, but they are amusing nonetheless.  Audre's book writing endeavor will probably get some IC reactions from Caeryn, and get some tie ins with some other characters as well, hopefully.  And I am thinking of doing another All-TB-RP-Community event, much like the Highwaymen storyline.

Just letting people know, so that people who read journals aren't completely lost -- as sometimes happens with journals, when the full story isn't known -- and because I think the prospect of Audre writing a book is hilarious.

But I hate doing an OOC post without a discussion spark:
How about you?  Got any epic storylines going on right now with your characters?
Got anything brewing in the old IC noggin of someone - a scheme, perhaps?  Or maybe just a love interest?
The people demand answers!

 
Okay.
So ... apparently ... according to The Axeman Caeryn is like, not the emotional little crybaby girl that she was before we kicked the bucket and became Zombie Pals.

According to the Axeman, Caeryn is after someone who pissed her off majorly in the past, and is an "Emotionless Killer" who eats her kills while they're still moving.  Okay, and get this, she KILLED someone by TALKING to them.  They vaporized, and everyone just erased them from their memories.  

Okay, so I have to make sure it wasn't me who pissed her off, because The Audre Day cannot be forgotten!
SO - What do emotionless killers love most?  GOOD PRESS!  I am gonna write a book.

It's gonna make me rich.

And make her my best friend.

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Begin recording fifteen.

Now that I have finally found a place for this contraption, I suppose it is time to tell a small tale.  A tale of Orcs overtaking the Undercity and of my resignation of the farce that has become the Deathstalkers.  I suppose that is enough.  Rogue Trainer to the Disabled, indeed.  Disgusting things.  

That being said, I have taken up post with the Ashen Verdict (what has become of Tirion's happy Paladins, and Morgraine's dour Death Knights) as their Diplomatic Liason from the Undercity.  Apparently they mean to have one for every race, but Tirions little pansy Paladins were having quite the issue making friends with their Forsaken Death Knight compatriots ... to quote one incident, "He started licking the Scourge's face!  Or what was left of it!"

Explaining the Forsaken to these humans and dwarves is about as amusing as cleaning my claws with a torturing poker.  Nevertheless, it is a way to pass time.  

And I have all the time in the world to waste ...

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Oh. My. Shadow.
The Argent Crusade is like the fucking best fucking thing ever.

Okay ... So I thought Paladins were all pure as fucking snow and whatever, but NOOOOO.  They're all, "Hey Audre, call me anytime."  "Hey Audre, thank you so much."  And basically kissing my boots and shiny metal ass.  And then I get to this Tournament, and they're all, "Hey Champion!" "Hey, Hero!"  

Man oh man oh man.  I am a fucking champion hero of sexy bullshit.

 

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Begin recording fourteen.

Now that the nonsense of that damnable Pilgrim's holiday is over, I can safely travel about Dalaran and do my work without being covered in turkey feathers. The perils of conversation have never been more felt.

I have received orders from Mr. Rosse to return to Undercity as soon as I am able. No doubt some ridiculous "team meeting" or other such wastes of time. Is he not aware that word has just come that Tirion Fordring and his little happy go lucky Paladin party has broken through to the Icecrown Citadel? This is not time for me to be returning to the Undercity for a "morale building exercise." No. This is time to exact vengeance at the source.

That is, before that bastard human want to be King claims ownership over Arthas' demise.

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Begin recording thirteen.

I suppose it should be noted that Mr. Axe was liberated in a flurry of questionnaires distributed out of stupidity, and the brilliant minds in Orgrimmar.  He spoke not a word to me, which is preferred.

Hallow's End passed without ceremony, and on its heels came the most disgraceful holiday which had Saraquael up in arms about us being TWINS of all things.  A "special day to honor the dead."  Fie.  One can honor the fel damned dead every day of the week by paying homage to the Dark Lady and her subjects.  Who honors the dead with BREAD of all things?  It is disrespectful and rude.  However, the stupid Forsaken requested it - I suppose his life beyond the pale is without the sour taste of plagued grain.

Goldshire, as it were, remains as disgusting as ever.

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Dear finger wigglers,

Please to be standing there in pretty robes waving your hands at me in a rhythmic manner.  It makes it so much more fun when I come up and BREAK YOUR FUCKING NOSE.

Now you can't cast your stupid frippy spells because you sound like you have a cold.  Boo hoo.

-Audre 
 

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Begin recording twelve.

My sacrifice to the Horde continues on so as not to have my so-called colleagues go and muck up whatever reputation I have left in the Undercity, just by association.  A woman could not ask for a more inept group of idiots to call allies.  There are only two who have proven themselves to have any sort of brain for subtlety or espionage, and one of them happens to be a part time Nether Cadet, and the other has most likely been eaten by the Grimtotem.

That being said, I have been urged to inquire about the Undercity for Mr. Axe, the very person whose scrutiny I was happy to have escaped these past few weeks after my return.  The fellow swooped in like some sort of rabid animal, judged me unjustly for my debt to the Horde, and left me appearing as quite the traitor for my allegiances and associations outside of the Zephyr Crew.  I have given every year of my unlife to this pathetic organization, forgoing my duty to serve the Dark Lady, due to a debt I owe ... and now due to the fact that these inept fools would be useless without me.

My search will be brief; it is not as if the Crew will be conducting a survey of my efficacy.

End recording.

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Dear Diary,

My life in a nutshell:
1) Get preyed upon by horny bears in thongs.
2) Get stuck under rock.
3) FOR THREE MONTHS.
4) Get picked up by Tauren Theatre Troupe.
5) Get abandoned for making too many burger jokes.
6) Get to Dalaran by sleeping with kinky mages.
7) That last part is a lie.  I had to pay a lot of money.
8) OR MAYBE THAT ONE IS A LIE?!  HUH?!  HUH?!
9) Find out that my Tome is Dark.
10) Write to Lord Assweaver.
11) Go to party.
12) Get high five from the Assweaver.
13) Nearly get knocked unconscious by flailing Death Knight.
14) GET TO JUDGE PEOPLE'S FASHION SENSE!
15) See Assweaver shove his tongue down Meri's throat.  GROSS.
16) Run into insane elf.


I think the three months under a rock, thinking about how awesome my life has been, was better than the past four hours.
Although I met a really nice hooker guy in Silvermoon.

-Aud