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September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 8:53 am
by Jayne
Unto Captain Nathanial Vlorress
Author: J.D. Strausse
Date: 7 September 2003


Your request to license the airship 'Silgailika' is granted, but conditionally. Under the terms of your license as it has been lodged with the Chancellery, you are forbidden to bring 'Silgailika' closer than twenty (20) nautical miles from Drache proper for a probationary period of one (1) year. Furthermore, 'Silgailika' will, without notice, be subject to periodic inspection by crown authorities for a probationary period of one (1) year. Should you fail to abide by these conditions, your license will be revoked and 'Silgailika' will be confiscated or destroyed as a public danger.

You are free to appeal my decision to my fellow Chancellery magistrates or the Regency Council

Me exenim,

The Hon. Abraxas ul-Bralk Caros
Chancellery Magistrate

7. IX. 473.

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 8:55 am
by Jayne
To the Honorable Abraxas ul-Bralk Caros..
Author: Jack Allen
Date: 8 September 2003

I thank you very much for your decision, and I assure you that your requests are more than reasonable and I will be more than willing to comply. I would like to be notified before my ship is searched, mostly because of the safety precautions I added. I would not like to be responsible for any guards or most honorable magistrates.

My greatest thanks,
Captain Nathainial Vlorress

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 8:57 am
by Jayne
a letter to Magistrate Abraxas ul-Bralk Caros
Author: Aridia
Date: 12 September 2003

Lay`Trayin sat at the table for a long while then took out her writing things and carefully wrote a letter and delivered it to the chancellery on her way home. The outside of the letter bore the Name Magistrate Abraxas ul-Bralk Caros and was sealed by black wax with a seal of a wolf's head over wings

Fredas 12 day of Last Seed 473

Honorable Magistrate Caros

I am writing to you seeking a meeting to discuss the geas you had placed on me. If you leave a message at the Black Dragon Inn i would be most happy to meet at a place of your choosing to discuss this matter.



Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:01 am
by Jayne
Author: [email protected]
Date: 12 September 2003

In the evening hours it came quickly. A strike taking out two of the hired guards as they pass into the wharf district. These from behind, none noticing anything out of the ordinary for a moment. Well, not until the clang of armor and weapons is heard upon the cobblestones.

The man in lead quickly wheels about and heads back to check on them. Seeing them down he calls forward, urging them toward the ship that can be seen in the distance. Hearing something from behind the man spins. This is just in time to have the butt of a staff slam into his nose through the opening of his helm.

With a cracking sound, a cry of pain, the man draws his sword. Beneath the blade the oddly colored lizardman slips, his staff sweeping up and knocking the man upside the head. Of course, his helm protects him, but the blow shoots stars before his eyes. It's small, that much he can tell. But its size is an asset as the creature is fast.

"I don't think so!" The warrior cries as the staff comes back for another blow. The blade rises and falls, catching the staff in the center again and cleaving it in twain. The creature has to duck away just in time once more. But the remainder of the staff is brought into play. Indeed, hard he slams it into the flank of the horse, the beast rearing back and dropping the guard before rocketing off into the city.

Another quick blow finally sends the man into the darkness. The green lizardman leaps over him, then, and takes off after the carriage. Perhaps they should have had more guards. He does overtake it, but with little enough time only draws one of the large wooden chests. There being four in all. The creature races back the way it came, the chest, despite its weight resting upon its shoulder.

He quickly stoops, gathering the fallen soldiers weapons as he goes. Blades don't seem to cut through the scale that covers its hand. Not like that at any rate. No, he runs disappearing into the alleys of the city.

Hours later, perhaps two, perhaps three, the soldier, his broken nose held by a bloody cloth recites his tale. How the creature managed to best him, even giving a description of Kieg Do Noth. The rage of the merchant, one Vorfon Blargherus, a clothing merchant of some repute, is virtually a firestorm.

"You lost a thousand Sovereigns?" He roars at the soldier, a hired gun who was.. expected to be good. But breathing heavily, the heavy set man falls back into his seat and rolls his shoulders. "Find them. Now." - "Yes, Sir." The soldier responds quickly enough and rises to leave the room.

"Wait. Take this to the Guard while you're at it." An angry chuckle escaping as he quickly writes the note and seals it in wax. The note containing the entire story that his soldier told to him with an express wish that this thief be brought to justice. He presses the insignia of his own house into the warm substance before handing it over. "They should be of *some* use, at least."

The Soldier leaves then, unperturbed in the least. However, the Merchant turns in his chair to stare out the window in silence.

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:09 am
by Jayne
To Regent Councilors Marcion Aldenbar and Harlst Mhern-Lathvek
Author: Dan
Date: 13 September 2003

My fellow Councilors,

I am aware that I have a reputation of writing missives of interminable length, and thus I will endeavor to be brief. Councilor Reizeau has done a remarkable job of laying out the case against granting Tespin Vloress citizenship, and I have nothing to add in that regard. These arguments carry no small weight. I shall, however, respond to Councilor Reizeau's specific points.

1) Your argument regarding public service in lieu of other forms of punishment is not valid in this instance. What sentence has been meted out that her works of charity and good will should supercede? If your point is that she has attempted to atone for her crimes as a vampire (and both she and her husband admit that she killed thousands while she was a vampire), it is admirable that she do so. Attempting to draw an inappropriate parallel to our legal tradition is not an effective way of making this argument.

2) All these deeds mentioned in your letter were already taken into account at her first citizenship appeal, at which the King himself was present. You had judged (with my cousin's approval) that circumstances did not merit granting citizenship at the present time. You allowed the possibility that she might reapply in the future, but a month is hardly an adequate space of time to present new and compelling evidence. In this matter, I concur with the magistrates of the Chancellery.

3) The Chancellery is also sufficiently convinced in her no-longer undead state that they have upheld her legal rights as a citizen of the kingdom. I do not believe that granting her citizenship would be tantamount to condoning vampirism, but still must take into account her admitted crimes as a vampire.

4) Neither Tespin Vloress, nor anyone else for that matter, has provided a sufficiently cogent explanation of what exactly she means when she calls herself a "fallen angel" that I do not consider comparisons to the former Queen to be appropriate. Without a clear explanation of her present nature of existence, I refuse to even entertain this point. And furthermore, being the rightful heir to the throne through the bloodline of Dorn would have made her a citizen by birth, as children born to citizens outside of Arangoth's boundaries can still claim citizenship.

Therefore, I concur with the verdict of Tespin Vloress' original appeal for citizenship, as well as the verdict of the Chancellery in her second application. I do not see sufficient new evidence presented to merit overturning the Chancellery's verdict at the present time. Once again, I assert that Tespin Vloress may re-apply again in the future--after a much more reasonable period of time than a single month.

Me enxenim,

Marcion ul-Fenduth Tagran Aldenbar

[Seal affixed]

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:14 am
by Jayne
The Pebble in the Garden
Author: Shyne Blake-Kurakolis
Date: 14 September 2003

The creature was not humanoid, yet her appearance was vaguely elven. She was delicate with an ethereal quality that leant a sort of beauty to her dainty features. At times it might seem that a mist clung to her toes and a transparency about her hinted that she was barely there at all. She crept through the dark places of the city to a garden and rested there, her soft breaths panting as her frightened gaze watched the water bubble over a bed of pebbles in a fountain of modest proportions. The garden was sheltered by a high wall and protected from intrusion by magic yet she was able to be there. Her essence was magic itself, something as ancient as time. She was the condemned for whom there was no sanctuary. That which haunted her knew no barriers as surely as it knew no mercy. She thought back over the many ages of her being, the pain within growing to bring contortion to her agonised lips but no sounds from her cut the stillness of the night.

She had lived a long existence up until this time. She could remember when the world was new and people went naked or wore the skins of animals. She had been born then from rock and stone, one of a variety of her kind. She had lived through many ages and watched the world shape into the lands and continents it was now and she might have lived on for eons, passing down from one lifetime to another, hand to hand but she had chosen her own fate by running from her Master. Her kind was shaped by the one who first held them and her first Master had been a gentle creature who sought only to do good. This had imprinted upon her being and her appearance.

The one she had fled was an evil of the darkest sort and she could not, would not, do his bidding. She was the slave and yet she also had a ready mind and thoughts and feelings of her own, shaped by those who had held her. This often conflicted with the whim of the Master and this last time it had more than she could bear. Fate was her enemy which had allowed her to fall into hands she was less than suited to. She had powers beyond the imaginings of men and yet was not without limit. Her boundaries were just different from other users of the magic that made her live. It was her own kind who pursued her to this place, the garden in Drache. Her own kind who would slaughter her soon, beyond the boundaries of this walled place.

She fell to her knees, soft moans barely heard upon the night breeze as she gave birth, her agonies as sure as the human woman but no baby came forth from her loins. Instead, within the hour she cradled a small greyish pebble in her palm, fingertips stroking it as lovingly as any mother should. In all the lifetimes, with all the Masters before her, she had never been with a male until the last Master had forced her to that final humiliation to his will. The pebble was the offspring of that union, child and yet unmade until it found a Master of it's own to shape it.

"You will be called Eiste," said the hunted to the stone, Eiste would not be as her mother had been for the mother was condemned. She would have to learn her limitations where her mother had known hers instantly and she would have limits that were not her mother's. She would be unique among her kind. The tears slid unheeded from her shadowed gaze as she let the pebble slide into the fountain to rest upon the others there, indistinguishable from them but so much more in the right hands. "Good luck Eiste."

And she ran, as the shadows closed around her and she scaled the wall to this hidden garden, a safe place, not just anyone could wander here. The shadows screamed, close upon her heels, engulfing her as her essence touched the cobbles, consuming her into their hungry maw.

And the occupants of the house where the garden lay would begin to hear the haunting cries of a child, where no infant dwelt.

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:18 am
by Jayne
Kingarhn's Folly
Author: Shyne Blake-Kurakolis
Date: 14 September 2003

In the frosty fortress that Blight called home she had a special room where she liked to sit upon a frigid throne and view many scenes of the world in splintered fragments of ice. It was an improvement on her original cave, on a far grander scale but following the same basic decor of snow and ice. It was here that she liked to keep her treasures, rare or special things that she appropriated, often the property of others.

It was here that she kept the captive Kingarhn, sword of Kylus that she had stolen during the past winter when she had infected him with her Blight sickness in an attempt to make those living in the world averse to the heat. It was here that Kingarhn rested, mounted upon an icy wall, giving the Blight a headache.

“I suppose a sno-cone is out of the question?” the blue jewel in the pommel of the long sword flickers erratically as the voice asks snidely. It had been there for months, and it was, above all else, BORED.

"I suppose that your not whining is out of the question?" She snapped, the thing was driving her nuts, it was snide, acerbic and it went on ..and on .. and on. What was worse it seemed to throb with goodness and the throbbing was grating on her nerves nearly as much as the voice.

”I didn't invite myself, you poor man's excuse for an air-conditioner!” it spouts in the same tone. What by the names of the Gods an 'air conditioner' was anyone's guess, but the blade was renowned for prattling on about things that no other knew about.

"I am," she rose and stalked to the wall where the sword was mounted, looking up at it with a puckered brow, "The Blight, killer of crops, killer of all living things, why do you not fear me, and more to the point, why couldn't that incompetent of a big foot's dinner sword smith I hired melt you down?"

“Have you considered a breath-mint?” it asks, not really acknowledging her self-introduction.

"My breath is as sweet as an embraced death!" she snapped at the sword, the ice daggers like sheathed claws at the end of her fingers sliding out to press through the skin as if she would tear the thing apart with her bare hands, but she had already tried that and found herself burned by it, her shrieks had nearly shaken the fortress down. "And my ass is not fat but is as sculptured as the most beautiful icicle." she added the remark as a defence against yesterday's barbs, obviously that one was still bothering her as she admired the rounded curves of her delicious derriere in the shiny surface of the ice all around them.

“And your breast is cold as a witch's teat, yes yes I do believe I've heard this before.” it sputters, the jewel flickering brightly. Just to be a further nuisance, it manages a feeble beam of light that shines onto the far wall, placing a pockmark in the ice.

"I had not realised when I removed you from that doddering Paladin fool that he would actually be glad to get rid of you and your constant chatter. Perhaps I should send you back to torment him.. Stop that!" she shied away from the heated beam of light and mild warmth as the jewel glowed, as repulsed by that as she was by its constant insults.

“Heh heh heh,” it chuckles deviously, shooting small beams of light out, that eventually spell out something unpleasant on the wall before it ceases. Truth be told, the sword was weak after its long confinement in this cold evil place. Blight had failed to melt it down and Kingarhn had conveniently forgotten to mention a convenient way to dispose of him.

"If it was just your incessant chatter I could handle that but coupled with that constant throbbing and the snoring that echoes off the ice at night, I really have had enough," Her eyes narrowed as she spied the word he had written on the opposite wall and a hissed response was given as she ended with a shout for her trusted servants. "I do not. Flake, Flurry! We have an errand to perform."


The place was not dark; rather it was a hole of shadows and gloom in a deep place within rock. There was no drip of water for it was a frozen place where white ice ruled and attacked the sight of any foolish enough to come down here. Yet the barefoot woman who wandered passageways in the gloom seem unfazed by the cold or the white and was at home here, a slender hand trailing the bitter walls that were so cold they should burn the flesh from living fingers. Yet they did not burn her for she was colder than they. She was trailed by a madman and a mute; the latter carried the bundle in his arms, cradled almost like a babe.

The bundle muttered but the sound of the voice was muffled by the coverings and this was likely the intent of the bundling, rather than for warmth or any care for what was within. She paused finally at the very centre of what seemed to be a maze of icy catacombs. A strange light seemed to dance from the white, almost as if this glowed or had a visible pulse that beat within your gaze. Something rose in the centre of the chamber, at the heart of the maze, it was a tree of sorts which grew like any other tree but was devoid of daylight here beneath the mountain. What was unique about it was that is was a tree of ice, as clear and transparent as water. It marked the seasons within its cave with icy limbs that sometimes knew the blossom of icy leaves. When these fell they shot to the ground like shards of sharp and bitter glass and would kill any beneath them.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said to her companions as her palm caressed the tree of ice. "It is the only one of its kind in existence."

“I'm sorry were you speaking? I wasn't really paying attention..” it comments, “Have you thought about some color perhaps? It's very BORING in here.”

The madman gibbered in his own fantasy world, unable to give a lucid answer unless directly asked a question by the Blight, this lithe and pale woman who walked naked in the cold, whose raiment was the frosty gathering of ice on her bitter flesh. Daughter of winter, frozen hearted beauty of the North. The mute could not answer so both assumed she was speaking to herself and yet she was not, for she unwrapped the sword from the covering and lifted it, as if to show it the tree and likewise.

"I am the only one who can touch it, isn't that special?"

“buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp,” comes the reply to her question.

Her laughter was cruel and yet strangely compelling as she held the sword aloft, as if she might wield it;

"Any last words?" she asked.

It begins to glow feebly, attempting to burn and melt her. “Last words, last words,” it muses, “now what did I say the last time someone asked me that....I think it was something along the lines of--“ but it's cut off as the ice envelopes it, sealing away the voice that has plagued evil (and many unlucky paladins) for ages.

Then cutting off his response she thrust the sword deep within the tree, the thing shuddered but did not break nor crumble as she stepped back to admire her work. Kingarhn was silenced, captured within the icy tomb that the tree trunk made, visible to the eye but untouchable to the hand. "Rest in piece, sword of Kylus," said the Blight. "Silence is golden."

"Pebbles and bones," said the madman. "Kingarhn from the frozen tree."

Then she turned and led the way from the catacombs, leaving the sword to its fate, thinking it beyond rescue...

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:21 am
by Jayne
Needle in a Haystack
Author: Kylus
Date: 14 September 2003

"The things I put up with..." a crotchety old voice muttered on one of the side streets of Drache's BlkDragon District. A withered hand held up a piece of parchment with large, clear letters scrawled upon it with precise handwriting. The other hand--equally withered--held a nail at the top of the document, and its partner suddenly raised a hammer and with three sound *THWACKS!* drove the nail into the wood of the building.

" if I were a common carpenter." Paetines muttered and lowered the hammer. He stepped back to admire his work; not that he needed to look at this any more, for the old priest had placed about three dozen of the same parchments around the entire city:

Information regarding the whereabouts of a longsword. Composition is that of silvery metal, with a large blue jewel in the pommel.

Sword will answer (yes, answer) to the name of 'Kingarhn'

Reward offered for the sword itself or information leading to its recovery. Extra money available should the sword insult the finder's mother, father, or other immediate family members.

Father Paetines
<Seal of the Royal Church Stamped>

The old priest nodded, satisfied, and turned to head back to the Church. That was, thank the Gods, the last of the flyers. He picked up his walking stick, and started making his way back towards Church Row.

"I had a dream you were returning.." he said to himself as he walked, "I do hope it was a premontion."

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:28 am
by Jayne
Character: Livana Delaney
Author: Joanne McCabe
Date: 17 september 2003


About 23 Human years ago there lived a wealthy person by the name of .......well we shall call him Lord`Delaney. He appeared to be human but there was something about him that made you aware that he was not as he seemed. He was very secretive and tended to keep himself to himself, until he met the beautiful Hadara, a human woman.

What transpired next was a typical love story which I will not bore you with....and 4 years later Livana was born.

When Livana was 2 years old her Mother left her father after finding out about the unspeakable things he had done..... She vowed never to speak of him again and disappeared into another Realm.

The years passed by and when Livana was 19 after many years of asking her Mother about her Father, and not getting any answers she decided to go to the place that she knew they had met to see if she could find him. She moved into Delaney House, the house that they had lived in while they were married hoping to find some clue about him or at least find out who he was.

Re: September 2003 - Mail Archives

Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2016 9:40 am
by Jayne
To the Lord Chancellor Thomas L'char Bourne (Citizenship SL)
Author: Tom Long
Date: 20 September

Dear Vorfon Bourne

I write to you this day, the 20th of Hearthfire, concerning the Citizenship request of Tespin Aridia Vloress.

While your office must be commended for its initial treatment of the case, which I laud as both professional and practical, Tespin Vloress has appealed the case, as is her right, to the Regency Council.

I myself held an original interview with the Lady in question with the presence of His Majesty, Arlok ul-Dorn present to advise. At that meeting we reviewed the Tespin's case and supported the Chancellor's decision - but advised Vloress to apply again in an indeterminate amount of time once she had gathered references and continued her good works.

While at the time I considered the recommendation to imply a year or more's time, Tespin Vloress has re-applied recently and on review of her case, the Regency Council has voted to grant her request.

On Tespin Vloress' application to a Magistrate with two citizens in good standing as supporters and expert proof that she is indeed alive as she says, the Chancellery will please administer the Oath and enter her name into the roll of citizens in your keeping.

I am, Sir, your humble servant,

Prof. M. Reizeau, Regent Councilor
<Seal attached>