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Begin recording one.

It has come to my attention that certain records of "diplomatic" actions want special attention, by which I mean "the ability to be recalled later with relative ease."  The activity of the past few days, most notably the activity surrounding the unrest among the Orc people, has me considering my acts of Diplomacy a success.  Meaning that the Orcs are still worried over the temper tantrum thrown by their leader, and boo-hoo'ing over the impotency of their Clan.

Other matters what have passed my attention are the Order's recent interest in Alliance activity, which has me in a flurry concerning official word from the Undercity, and preparing "official" statements, should the Order be questioned.  However, the Blademaiden is young, and tempermental, discussions of politics and bureaucracy bore her, and she is not overly concerned with "official statements."  Nevertheless, should the Order continue to attack relatively unprotected Alliance outposts, we shall need to have some sort of official record of our deeds.

Late nights passed in Venomspite have been a flurry of thought in deed.

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Hastily written and yet necessary.  I needed to IC'ly explain Caeryn's disappearance from the server, and this is sort of my final good-bye from the character.

Stay tuned for posts from Caeryn Ashwood the Politician of the Undercity. 

 The snow fell unseasonably heavy in Dragonblight, and the discarded instruments of the Hand of Vengeance's best forgotten project were covered in a thick blanket of the white stuff, giving it a much more innocuous and innocent look.  

In a corner of the settlement, once reserved for the Hand's Blight Cannons, crouched an undead rogue working on a beaten gyrocopter.  The same beaten gyrocopter on which she could be seen working every night.  The guards ignored her, as they were all sick of her bile and ire, they themselves having taken up a sense of humor about unlife, whereas she seems to have completely missed the point.

The rogue retrieved a contraption which glowed with fel energy, a gift from the Executioner of Curse.  Carefully, she used her thin claws and sharpened raptor talon to feel her way to The Machine's guidance system, and begin attaching the Capacitor into the guidance system's wiring.

In a rather simple and practice move, the rogue picked up her army knife from the snow and went to complete the procedure ...

There was a white flash of light, and a whiff of ozone.

The Machine was gone, and the rogue with it.

When the guards made their rounds back to the vehicle staging area, they found no trace of The Machine's tracks in the snow; they blamed it on the storm.

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Begin recording eight.

I continue to stand by my own maxim of remaining ever vigilant; that one should always be at work, even when one has taken it upon themselves a bit of time for relaxation.  There is no such thing, opportunity does not wait patiently on one's doorstep while one takes time doing whatever it is one does when one "relaxes" in a time of war.  Not only does such a thing lead to a swift and easy kill for one's adversary, it leads also to sloth and complacency, which are not good qualities in any combatant.

In a fortuitous detour to The Gallows Tavern yesterday evening, not only did I finally make the acquaintance of the more competent of the Wheeler siblings, but I also happened across Rassindra Derling, who now lies bound and unconscious in a bed directly across from me.   The woman talks often in her sleep, mostly nonsense, but groans about her head ... an injury which is simply a side effect of pissing me off.  

We shall see what unfolds later this evening.  After I speak to this ... unstable hunter type.

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Begin recording seven.

The world remains as it has been: an epic failure.

I continue with my "rehabilitation exercises" this evening, and will remain doing so weekly until it is deemed that I am fit to go among regular society again without constant barrages of mindfuckery.

Miss Derling has returned to the Crew quite a bit worse for wear: through a long series of events including coffins, missing caravans, assumed names, and red-headed sin'dorei, we have surmised that there is more than one "thing" occupying the mind of Miss Drosh Derling.  I spent the better part of the night going through old records of the Derling family since their induction to Forsaken Society.  

The Argent Crusade, with whom - I am loathe to admit - I am on exceedingly good terms, has seen it fit to throw some sort of silly series of games centered around mounted combat.  I am currently on probation and am being trained in jousting, as I severely wounded two Champions, and nearly killed a spectator with my unwieldy lance combat.

Suffice it to say, I never lose.

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 Stolen from autobottrixter : Choose a character of mine, and I'll answer for the following numbered little bits of info below.  Because Vanity is Underrated.

01. Full name
02. Best friend
03. Sexuality
04. Favorite color
05. Relationship status
06. Ideal mate
07. Turn-ons
08. Last sexual experience
09. Favorite food
10. Crushes
11. Favorite music
12. Biggest fear
13. Biggest fantasy
14. Quirks in bed
15. Bad habits
16. Biggest regret
17. Best kept secrets
18. Last thought
19. Worst sexual/romantic experience
20. Biggest insecurity

( Shadow Priest Ayers stood over his charge ... )</div>

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Begin recording six.

I have been away.  I think this is best, for me - for everyone.  I do not understand ... everything is so ...

Where there were definites before - understandable lines drawn where one knew where one stood on things, now there is nothing.  Everything is muddled together.  It is all unsure.  

I am unsure.  

I have been keeping myself from the Tavern and the Crew; I no longer trust them.  They do nothing of what I ask, and seek only to disappoint me.  
As everyone does.

Perhaps it is a plot.

We shall see about that ...

End recording.

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Begin recording five.

Those in power have one great failing: hubris.

Such hubris allows them to strike deals with those they believe will help them, but - in all reality - will only strike them down with the very vengeance they intend to wreak upon their enemies. The Overseer and her deals with this Old God will only bring destruction to the Forsaken people she intends to protect, and I will not have that. However, she was blinded by possibility, and I do not believe she understood my displeasure, so she, in turn, struck a deal with me .... the results of which I believe will not entirely be to her liking.

If I understand one thing from my research on these voices and the other phenomena in this Saronite Mine, it is that one's obedience is easily bought by instilling paranoia.

Now, it is up to me to remain with that understanding, and not allow it to woo what is left of my soul.

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((Part Four))


( Loud explosions. Disorientation. Anger. )

((Part three of the Northern Exposure storyline cross posted on the TBDF and ZC site))

( The branches played their sad creaking song ... )

((The second part of the Northern Exposure storyline which is also being posted on the TBDF and the Zephyr Crew site. This particular chapter refers to the voice post I made here.))

( The priest's accomodations in the War Quarter were somewhat ... )

((This is a story I am working on that I have posted in a couple of other places, but some people don't get to read those message boards, so I am posting it again here. If you have read the Northern Exposure stuff on the TBDF or the ZC site, this is the same thing.))

( The congregated corpses stood in well organized rows ... )