ToodIes

A secretary at the Chamber of Fire files the Fatebinder’s missive in a folder labeled “Shows of Force”. She then sets about the unenviable task of coordinating regalia, maneuvers and operating procedures for an organization whose charter was finalized just the day before.

Faeryel's hands are stained with ink. She longs for them to be stained with blood.

“Actually pretty funny,” comments an incredibly uninvolved dark elf. “Ruling a place for, like, a week, and taking the opportunity to start stripping peoples’ titles.”

Thirty-five odd years after she'd sworn never to visit Nor'asath again, Faeryel found herself inexplicably drawn to its architecture. She ended up in the Maehr temple, where a pair of young shamans explained to her that Qudlia had died over a decade prior. "Ah. How?" An explanation was provided. Faeryel blinked. "Do you know why she did it? Jumped?" Another explanation. "Well, that's a shame." Faeryel looked away. The shamans told her, since she'd evidently forgotten, that Maehr lived forever in the Ancestral Realm. "That's true." Faeryel brought up a hand to scratch her cheek, eyes taking the far-off look of recollection. Consulting Qudlia on ancient 'ker history. Refusing her offers of tutelage. The scarred Porôbmog passing judgement on Sarah, and then her apology, and Faeryel's acidic reply. "I can't help but feel a little glum. She was strong. Smart. Full of conviction." Faeryel looked up, swimming in memories of Qudlia, and of all the other friends and enemies she'd outlived--"Ach, well, c'est la vie."

Ithuriel's grief can be heard echoing through the Grove for many-a night; her keening stirs the trees and frightens the animals.

An elf pulls a blanket over the Wizard as she snoozes.

"you're my queen" elf says

"They really cannot get you out of their head, huh, Sare?" remarks an elf with a smile as she moves her comically-oversized queen to h5. "Check."

An elf squints at the paper over her morning tea, before showing it to the woman sitting next to her. "Clearly, the powers-that-be in the Rexdom suppressed the story," she says, sending an aggrieved glance out the window. "They didn't want to publicize such an embarrassing misstep." "I thought Kor'garr a man of greater journalistic integrity..."

Faeryel puts on her Sunday best, ready to go out and campaign with her spouse!

“Sarah?!?! You were a VAMPIRE?“ An elf is shocked, turning to her good friend Sarah while they do the dishes from dinner. “Why didn’t you tell me?!“

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH OH NO SARAH THEY MEANT YOU!" An elf is suddenly very frightened!

"Wow! That person sure has a similar name to you," an elf says to her good friend Sarah Artenin.

This was difficult to understand and can be phrased better. You should just say that anything from 2-8 cubic meters requires +1 scale emote, and anything from 9-27 cubic meters requires +2 scale emotes- and then that anything over one cubic meter consumes a deconstruction/reconstruction counter per cubic meter above 1. You should just use 8 and 27 instead of 2³ and 3³.

An ex-ghoul shakes her fist at the sky. "Back in my day, spooks were good Xionists!"

An elf frowns. She sits up in bed, narrowing her haggard eyes, drawing her knees to herself. "Really?" A confirmation. "Damn. You hate to see good doctors die." ". . .Means I'll have more work to do."

A dark elf rocks back and forth in her study, tortured by memories of the September Prince.

i think they should be able to make limbs and mini atronachs at least

"...Oh." She can't believe it; the words don't register. Her vision begins to blur. "Huh." kill myself. kill myself. kill myself. The letters twist and contort until they aren't letters, just meaningless ink on a page. kill myself. Those aren't words. Those little squiggly lines? Nonsense. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat. Alucard, gone? She'd just talked to him. He hadn't shown any signs of distress. He was just Alucard, and Alucard got into trouble, sometimes, but surely nothing bad. Surely nothing fatal. Surely not. kill myself She lets out a shaky laugh. Her fingers are sweaty. They can't grip the parchment anymore; it slips to the ground. She closes her eyes, presses her hands to her closed eyelids, and there the words are, their afterimage branded on the inside of her skull. kill myself. "No. NO."

“You subject citizens of a sovereignty in which you have no jurisdiction to illegal, unsubstantiated, random blood tests, and you have the gall to criticize that polity’s laws? Ridiculous. They should have dismantled you instead of listening to your inane arguments,” a legal scholar seethes.

If the heat is slight, did you happen to mean first degree burns? Third degree burns are the worst that burns can be.