((RSP swap?))

[Yva]

HOKAY CLOSED. Going to put up the list shortly.

Dave has his grubby hands in the name bag.

*****

Ulthanon & Jolstraer

Uthas and Tarquin

Aleros and Illithias

Phileas and Skyborne

Bellesta And Aelflaed

Yva and Fells

Delion and Lansiron

Beltar And Annalea

Bricu and Feliche

Adel and Tiforis (Man, random bag picks are random. This is AWESOME)

Threnn and Haemon

******

So just to clarify you write each others this time around, I do Fells, Fells does Yva. Was just easier than hoping to not grab the same name twice or to print out two lists. ENJOY.

[Bellesta]

"Tiforis? Oh, yeah. He's a nice guy, close friend of mine. Engineer, but it's his life, let me tell you. I don't think a day goes by where he's not talking about a new invention. Usually bombs. He and I work as partners in my machine shop. You know, when we're not blowing it up on accident. What? Oh, yeah. He's the tall one over there in the goggles. Dark hair, tanned skin. Old north blood, Strahnbrad. You hear about the Open in Netherstorm a few weeks back? Yeah, he flew my machine and won it. Good team, we are. ... wait, what? No! We're not dating. Where the hell do people get this idea?"
-Adel Ashawe, overheard bragging to someone in the Pig.

"Her? The fiery-haired one? She's a Rider, too. Real fierce woman when the mood strikes her, but she's got a healer's touch. She takes good care of those close to me during dangerous times. Which is more than I can say for most pink-skinned humans. Oh, her name? Aelflaed. No. No you're saying it wrong. It's not 'Alll-eh-fed.' You're putting the emphasis on the wrong letters. No. Say it with me now. 'Ale-Flayed.' You know. Like the drink, and then what I do to annoying punters like yourself who bother me while I'm busy."
-Bellesta, to some young draenei who was shortly thereafter eaten.

[Aelflaed]

"Bellesta, eh? Lass's wild's a werebear, an' built wi' muscles like knotted cord, all sinewy an' wrapped an' coiled t' spring. Nae jus' when she's bein' a bear eyther. Beat t' shite by sommat - prob'ly 'bout a hunnerd sommats, if I ken th' lass fair. She's got th' scars t' prove it. Oi, an' crazy wild hair - like ropes, wi' widgets all tangled in. Half think th' stuff innit's alive, air used t' be. An' I'm sure ye've heard th' rumours ay her eatin' folk wha' she's killt in battle, aye? Well, I've seen it, an' s'truth.

Y' ken how some things in th' wilds say clearly "Dinnae touch"? Aye - tha's Bell. Dinnae touch. Like t' get y'r hand torn off. Lass c'n hurt ye, an' nae in th' fun way."

-Aely Larsdottir, to a ship's cook in Howling Fjord

[Yva]

“Lady Drachmas? Damn it, I'm sorry, /Fells/. She doesn't like her title for some inane reason. Well, she's smallish, on the thin side. All right, she's far too bloody skinny truth be told, and every time I see her I want to feed her. I simply can't help it. I've tailored for her, trying to bulk her up with layers and whatnot? But it's utterly impossible. She's something like a stick with hair. The good news is she's carrying extra weight now. Remarkable what pregnancy does for a woman. Of course she seems to have food on her face rather frequently. Chocolate more than . . . I wonder if that many sweets are healthy for a baby. I'll have to find out.

I'm sure she'll be a fantastic mother, even if the poor tot is going to have that Elwynn bumpkin . . . thing going on. Though you know, she's married to that horrid man and HE sounds like he has something rammed up his ars . . . pardons. That's not very ladylike, is it? Mmmf.” - Yva Darrows on Fells Drachmas, said over the grating sound of a woman filing her nails.

[Phileas]

Skyborne? *chuckle* Och, aye...Sky, we call 'er.

She's a right 'un tae try an' tell thee abou'. She's a druid, tha ken, an' seems tae favor th' cat skin muir'n 'er elf 'un. Leas' she does when she's nae i'battle. 'f I hear purrin' ower th' buzzbox, I ken Sky's abou'. Sky's th' one wha' were readin' L'ree Lovelace novels ower th' buzzbox a month air three back...made more'n a few ay th' lads blush, frae wha' I 'ear. She's like tae be straigh' up wi' thee, too - 'f she doesnae care fer thee, tha'll ken it, awreet.

Wha, me? Och, I ken Sky likes me well enow, jus' nae as well's she likes other folk.

She's yet tae make me a gif' ay a dead mammoth like she 'as them.

Phileas Lynch, asked about Skyborne

[Tarq]

Time was, you could find the Wordweaver a mile off - you went where the crowd was. Anchoring all the adoring faces and waving arms, there'd be this dark, slight little man, hard done by life and not much to look at, with only the red hair to tell you the north was in him. Like as not to be found in a monk's robe, barefoot to shod the earth, preaching his gospel. And always this smile - like he was certain all'd come to right, if we but let it.

That, of course, was before we knew what he really was.

Had the...good fortune to see him in the flesh, since it happened. Slight as ever, yet he's armed and armored. Doesn't take much to see he's unnatural, even before you feel the great cold as follows in his wake. Nor has he that old /fatherly/ humor. Suppose being dead and damned will do that to you. Might be you've heard the rumor - his own heart torn out, in horror at what he'd done, still he walks the earth unable to die until he's repented.

Think it's a load of shit myself, of course. There's no repentance in him - but if he can't die, then so much the better. Lets a fellow get creative.

-Tarquin ap Danwyrith, letters.

[Tiforis]

"Adel? Oh man, she's something. You know how some girls do boring things like sew dresses? Not her, she puts machines together for a living and not just pathetic little constructs, mind you. We're partners out of the shop she's running, we make a good team, building killing machines for folks that can afford them. -Really- nice on the eyes, though. Long dark hair, goggles, low slung tool belt, y'see, most girls are too worried about appearances, but it's something special to see a girl covered in oil wiring machinery. I mean how often do you see something like that? It's too bad she's so attached to Dravir, the ideas that cross my mind sometime would make the most pious blush and look away, heh."

-Tiforis Sevita, gleefully chatting away to the engineers at Ulduar.

[uthas]

"Tarquin ap Danwyrith? What is he like? The world is cloaked in illusions, and few are more skilled in this art of prestidigitation than he. He would have you believe that he is a rogue with a heart of gold, or an ice-cold mercenary who only fights for coin. He'd have you believe he's The Boss of his gang, or a legitimate businessman. Illusions are sometimes truth: he IS all of these things. No man is simple enough that he isn't many colours in a prism. No, if you want to know who Tarquin ap Danwyrith really is, ask him what he thinks of Matthias Shaw, and ask Shaw what he thinks about Tarquin. When they say the same thing, you'll have your answer."

Uthas Wordweave on Tarquin ap Danwyrithe

[Lansiron]

(I'mma do this one from two angles, since I did drop Norvallen's name in there. And it's relevant...sorta.)

[Lansiron] says: "Oreweave, wasn't he? Here's it, mate; don't let him fool you. There's iron hidden under that cloak of...fuff. That's what it is. Fuff. There ain't any other word for that exact ratio of poncery, puffery, snobbery, neuroticky, preenery, and oh-see-dee pampery. Fuffy git what runs the tailorin' shop down on the harbor road. But...what was I on about? Right. 'neath all that, there's a real blood. Had my back against an army of naga once and never broke a sweat. Then there was that time with the invisible dragon. Then there was the Gjalerbron incident. Kept a straight face, he did. Mark me, cutter, deep down in there's the primordial soul of a kaldorei hero, all 'oh, oh my word, oh' as he dabs the blood and gore from his fangs with a lacy hanky."

[Norvallen] says: "Delion Oreweave is a paragon man of business. His books are kept, his trains run on time, and every hair on his head set in such ordered formation it would make an Anvilmar drill sergeant weep. And if they weren't, he'd give them that look like he'd stare at some unwashed urchin trying to polish his shoe as if to say, 'Oh my, but you can do so much better.' They would run home, consumed with shame, eager to lie lifelessly in a mouldering bathtub, crying for three straight hours, minimum. Hah! ...but if you want to risk that look anyway, go up and address him as 'Missus Fuffer'. Go on, do it. You're not AFRAID, are you?"

(Del, pick yer favorite.)

[Tarq]

((Lans, if you prefer, we could trade on Jak and Norvallen? Not unlikely that they'd know each other from Acherus - Jak's a mid-level officer with a certain amount of independence, a reservist basically.))