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Like anyone, Benoite Dawnsong sometimes found happiness to be overwhelming. Surrounded by the good will of colleagues, friends, family, their heartfelt gifts, thoughtful letters, and kind words--she was very suddenly and very direly short of breath.

The archivist retreated to the private sanctum of her office and sat behind the fortress of her desk. Since her reinstatement, all of her things had been moved back in to the cozy, sunlit space. A mixture of Snipes and interns had done the heavy lifting, but Benoite had replaced every book and every trinket in its rightful place herself.

There were a few new additions. On the wall, holding a place by the Greatmother's ode to librarians, was a framed ink drawing of yaks riding bolts of embersilk like magic carpets. On her desk there was a framed photo of a beachside picnic--charmingly out of focus from the shaking hands of an overly excited Forsaken child. Next to her favorite paperweight was a palm-sized shard of sha crystal, pulsating with the colors of bruises.

As she watched the changing hues, Benoite recalled the letter that had accompanied this particular gift, "With the light, there must always be darkness." Benoite touched a silver pin in her hair. She smoothed her skirts.

She closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to protect them all.

Renewed, the birdboned girl set out a fresh sheet of parchment and penned an overdue response to a dear friend.

Dear Mister Tazjin,

How struck I was by your intriguing gift. It inspired the theme for our most recent salon, "From Darkness, Comes Light." We discussed Sin'dorei songs of lament, how lamentations both mourn and celebrate the life of the departed, and were treated to a magnificent live performance.

I was very sorry to miss you at the event. I hope the injuries I saw upon you last have healed. Safe travels to you, friend, and I pray the Light guides you. Let us speak soon.

Fondly,
Benoite

Benoite Dawnsong
Archivist
The Royal Library

[ The Royal Library now has a website: theroyallibraryguild.wordpress.com ]

I like the picture at the top of the page. Is this a read only site? Or do you welcome comments and suggestions? Perhaps a guest book for those who wish to offer their thoughts?

Moragana strode the hallways of the library, smiling to herself over Lady Dawnsongs reinstatement. The other day, when the news went out and gaggles of colleagues swarmed her offering gifts Morgana had stopped. She wasn't sure of what to do, crowds always made her fret so. But on this bright, beautiful and more importantly quiet morning she was free to head to Miss Dawnsongs office and offer her a gift and a smile.

She got to the door of Benoite's office and paused, her hand hovering over the door. Yet again she felt the slight pang of dread and the overwhelming urge to hide someplace dark and safe. She felt this whenever a 'social' situation was about to begin. She shook her head and steeled herself. This was Lady Dawnsong after all. A good friend and not one to hurls slings and arrows. And with that she rapped sharply upon the door.

((OOC post. Sorry I couldn't make it and showed up with Gez a bit too late IRL had other plans for me! I wish I could've been there for the music and it was such a pleasure to see all the new faces!))

[ Hahnai, comments and suggestions are always welcome in-game or via forum, but the guild site will remain read-only. Thanks for your support! ]

The Royal Library presents an introduction to its Living Recordings Project, an initiative to explore and preserve our memories of significant battles and events throughout history. Several Titan artifacts from the Halls of Origination will be on display.

Revisiting the Cataclysm: Artifacts from the Halls of Origination
5pm, Sunday, September 29th
The Rangers' Lodge, Silvermoon

Admission is free and refreshments will be provided. Dress code is business casual. For more information, please contact Archivist Benoite Dawnsong.

Morgana was walking down the halls of the Undercity branch, going about her daily routine and reading some personnel reports. As she walked along, she noticed that the flyers for this weeks salon were going out. Morgana snatched one from the stack carried by an intern, watching the young man hurry off to set them up. When she read it over she gripped the paper tightly and sighed. The last time the library displayed artifacts it didn't go, well. She'd make sure that this weeks salon went smoothly!

Another restless night.

It seemed like only yesterday that he had been lying on the ground, close to death.

He made no apologies for the things he had done, but he was certainly haunted by regrets. Since the day he had chosen to close the doors to the now bankrupted Blackblade Security, Fastice had been given sanctuary within the walls of the library dormitory.

This particular night, he had chosen to spend his time within the common area, though there was little to no foot traffic this far past sundown. He'd had enough of lying in bed, unable to think without feeling sadness, or anger. He read the invitation thrice over, still going about it in his mind, unsure of what to make of it.

"Artifacts. Hm." Thinking back to the night the book had been stolen, he sighed heavily, and tossed the invitation in to the dying embers of the fire.

After all, if he didn't show his face, how could the blame be laid upon him.

((I'm almost positive I'm going to miss this one, due to a wedding I'm to be a part of. If I do show up, it will likely be on a different character, and if you don't see me, best of luck!))

The notice of another of the Royal Libraries now famous salons was sitting on her desk. Vivi fingered it with interest. Perhaps she would take time to see one of these for herself. Patronizing the Royal Library could only offer her more contacts with the society she might benefit from the entertainment she was planning.

"Zael, have you heard from the Darkmoon Faire organizers on the request I made? I know it is only a couple of weeks away, but I want to make our performers aware of the date I have set up for our first performance." she glanced over at the troll.

"Ah be not hearin' anytin', but dat not mean dey don't want us dere. Mebbe dey jus' need ta wait until da next time da Faire be ready ta open. It be hard ta com...commun...ah...talk ta somebody, when dey only around once a month." her frustration evident.

Vivi sighed. "Very well, if it appears we cannot have a performance at the Darkmoon Faire, perhaps we can find a suitable stage elsewhere. I will be attending Sunday's salon. Perhaps I can find someone willing to offer a stage for us, somewhere. I do like the Darkmoon Faire's set up." she sat back and penned a short note to the Archivist Dawnsong.

------------

To Archivist Benoite Dawnsong

I am looking forward to meeting you this Sunday evening. I have sent other representatives of Cirque to attend your marvelous salons and I feel it would be appropriate to show my appreciation of your efforts.

The Cirque is as always at your service if you have need of entertainment. Currently we are seeking a location to hold a small performance of our animal tamers and their brilliant work with their pets.

Sincerely,
Vivieka Bloodtalon

Karaoke night, half off apps. Robust, malty imports from Pandaria.

Dante sure could swing a business.

Things were starting to die down, and Bloodwing had gotten into the bourbon. Not comPLETELY smashed. Just blitzed enough to start mechanically volunteering his unwholesome assessments of life and longing. The Pandaren at his immediate right, girth absolutely consuming one very demoralized stool, had nodded off recently, his round face mushed blissfully against the bar's wooden countertop.

“Artifacts,” the warrior rumbled, tipped back on the rear legs of his seat. He worked the cuffs of his fine shirt, folding them methodically to the elbow.

“Burned an archaeologist, the other week. Miserable waste of a fine evening. Suspected demon play, turned out to just be another would-have-been cultist wearing his collar backward and whipping himself because, I dunno, daddy loved him too much, or what have you. Anyway.

“When they cleaned out his flat, they got their hands on an 'artifact' of 'timeless import' and had it shipped off to Bronzebeard's nerds immediately. Know what it was?”

Da Xiao'rin Jia snoozed on indifferent to the tale, his light snoring broken only sporadically by a moist licking of his chops.

“A toothbrush. A hell-blasted toothbrush. Half of one. Some idiot was running late and dropped it behind the tub and a few thousand years later, its regarded as some... some graven idol.”

Liore shifted forward, his stool righting itself with a wooden clack. He idly rearranged the several empty glasses decorating the counter before them, proceeded to fiddle with the bowl of pistachios. Nimble, hard fingers peeled away salted shells. Set the naked, tender nuts in a steadily growing congregation.

“Artifacts.” The word tasted stale. He chased it down with the smooth, maple-finished drink.

“Worthless baubles, eroded into pricelessness by the winds of time.”

He might have been being a bit cross. He might have felt a bit like an artifact himself. Plucked out of his own era, hollowed out. Replaced with something far older, far crueler, and set back into time as though he'd always been.

The lights were dimming and seats were being placed on barren tables. Last call came and went. The badge had its merits. Dante himself was somewhere in the back, patiently counting and recounting his profits as dawn raced to catch the night. The inquisitors were all that remained, otherwise.

“That Doctor got to me,” Liore confessed abruptly. Tilted his handsome head and thumbed his scar. “But in a good way. I think. I needed that perspective. I was too wrapped up in... in fixing. What I thought was fixing, anyway. And each second that I waste, HE's out there, getting stronger and- well.

“That's great for him. But I've got to live, too. I've got to find something to -return- to, or I won't survive him.

“If that's selfish, well. We all deserve to be happy, don't we? Or at least something approaching.”

An errant crack of sunlight threatened to pool in from the shuttered windows. It caught his eye, and he uttered an ungentlemanly oath, checking the time. Hells above. He had a lecture to give at the Library Campus in half an hour. There was a big rush, sweeping up his coat and finding his tie. He evened up with Dante, depositing a rewarding bonus for the host's tolerance.

“Good talk,” he murmured to the slumbering Da Xiao. The elf strained to lean over and planted a moist kiss on his big black forehead. “Dumb bear.”

Liore Bloodwing hadn't stalked out of the bistro a minute, before Da Xiao'rin Jia huffed an amused chortle. His flat tongue flickered over the surface of the counter, and dragged a handful of peanuts into his waiting maw.

I have a request, please note this thread and aid me in this Halloween themed thriller.

http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/10138064196

I hope we can get more interest in server wide happenings, even if it is by way of the forums. Let's have fun with this!

[ Great idea, Vira. Thanks for sharing! ]

Archivist Benoite Dawnsong’s first order of business for the day was stuck to her door with chewing gum: a hastily torn sheet of baking paper and on it, a note piped from pink cake frosting.

SOS!!! PLS HELP!!! TOO MANY BEANS!!!! CAN’T SEE CARPET!!!! WHERE IS SOFA?!

Benoite allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and to pinch the bridge of her nose before setting off for the Library’s kitchens.

She wore a reassuring smile for the nervous staff and interns as she passed. Pausing at the door of the head chef’s office, Benoite smoothed her skirts, then knocked.

“Beni?! Is that you? Don’t come in!”

“Yes, Miss Fizzlesprocket, it’s me … Is everything all right? I’m coming in.”

“No, don’t!”

“I’m afraid I must insist, Miss Fizzlesp--” Benoite opened the door and was swept off her feet by a tidal wave of … beans. Bajillions upon bajillions of hard shiny black beans. The petite archivist sank into the sea of beans with a yelp.

Atop a pool-pony, Chef Gezelda Fizzlesprocket waded towards the fallen archivist to give her a hand up and dutifully held back the giggles as Benoite picked beans out of her ears. Flushed, Benoite shook more beans out of her hair as she got to her feet. She cleared her throat.

“How do you do, Miss Fizzlesprocket.”

“Never bean better!”

“So ... Magic beans?”

“Yep!”

“I see.”

Gezelda grinned sheepishly, shifting around squeakily on her pool pony.

“I know you said you didn’t think it was the best idea, but I just HAD to see if they were REALLY magic beans! And you know what, they really ARE magical! If you just say the magic words, the beans just keep multiplying exponentially! Isn’t it amazing?!”

“Yes, Miss Fizzlesprocket. I’m familiar with the properties of magic beans, which is why I urged caution when you mentioned that you were thinking of ordering some for the luncheon menu. I really wish you--”

“Right! See, if I say the magic words for the magically multiplying magic beans--so, watch! You ready? Fee-fi-fo--”

“Miss Fizzlesprocket, no!”

“--fum!”

The air crackled with tiny popping sounds and from nothingness broke forth a torrential flood of beans, knocking the archivist off her feet again. Gezelda kicked around on her pool pony, riding out the waves upon waves of beans.

“Weeeee! Oops! Sorry, Beni!”

Benoite stumbled to her feet, coughing up a bean or two into her handkerchief. “... It’s quite all right, Miss Fizzlesprocket. But. What ever are we going to do with all these beans?”

The Royal Library presents burrito night with Chef Gezelda Fizzlesprocket. The chef will debut her original creation, Don Carlos Muy Caliente Sauce, inspired by the classic novel, The Ingenious Gentleman Don Carlos of La Mancha. A first edition of Alonso Cervantes’ novel will be on display.

Burrito Night: The Legend of Don Carlos
5pm, Sunday, October 6th
The Shepherd’s Gate, Silvermoon

Admission is free and refreshments will be provided. Dress code is casual. For more information, please contact Archivist Benoite Dawnsong.

Gezelda walked around her newly cleaned kitchen, the scores of beans having been finally swept up by the dutiful interns. She had various pots on boil, pans frying, and the oven going full blast. All filled with beans or bean based concoctions. She hummed to herself as she checked on all the dishes. The majority of the magic beans were now safely stored in the food cellar, contained in magical barrels. She has a few large jars of them sitting on the counter, the urge to say the magic words was so strong. But, duty first!

Morgana was sitting in her office, busing herself with paper work. Mr. Sparkles sat, or rather was placed by her feet. Every once in a while Morgana would idly bend down and pat his lid nicely. As she continued to work on things she heard an odd noise coming from Mr.Sparkles, not the usual slobbering sounds that he usually made. There was a blubbering and gurgling noise and then a wet plop. When Morgana looked down she saw a blob of green ooze, resting atop the box.

"Mr.Sparkles!" She gasped.

"Well it looks like you came out of your shell finally!" Morgana smiled and leaned back in her chair. Seems like Mr.Sparkles was setting a good example for her master. She your shell, and move on.

Stacks of lightly yellowed paper littered Arjah's new desk. She regarded them glumly, though in truth they were better organized than the mess suggested. The orc Grummak had known he was dying, and had at least taken the time to put his papers in order before willing them into Arjah's care.

"'...in the full confidence that she will arrange them for publication with all the competence her own works have shown,'" the troll recited aloud to her otherwise-empty office. She made a face. Her publishing at the time had been less than successful, savaged by critics and plagued by translation and distribution errors, and she had never been quite certain whether the old orc had been mocking her from beyond the grave or not.

It hardly mattered. The papers were hers, and the Library was a better home for them than Arjah's own cluttered apartment. She picked up her pen and wrote the blank of the invitation with a clear, confident hand:

Arms and Armistice: The Realpolitik Origins of a Beloved Holiday

In honor of the 8th annual Armistice Day Ball, the Royal Library presents a short symposium on the celebration's origins. Writer-in-Residence Arjah will present excerpts from the writing of Grummak "Greatheart," the troubled figure behind our contemporary understanding of the holiday.

Included will be a partial reading and display of heretofore unpublished letters from the Greatheart, including secret letters to the Alliance Defense League that later tried him for murder.

Arms and Armistice: Presenting the Letters of Grummak "Greatheart"
5 PM, Sunday, October 13
Crossroads, The Barrens (at the foot of the watchtower)

No dress code. Event will end at 6:15 PM at the latest, to allow guests time to change and make their way to the Armistice Day Ball. For more information, contact Writer-in-Residence Arjah at the Royal Library.

((Just an OOC heads up. I might be a bit late to the salon, It's thanksgiving in Canuck land, so I have dinner with the family))

((I'll try to be there if I can, but I'm actually out of town starting tomorrow so it depends on much internet time I can squeeze in! But how could I miss out on this otherwise?))

There was a time when Morgana would agree with most peoples assertions that the Forsaken were dead. Mere animated bodies shambling about, barely imitating life, just going through the motions. But not now, now Morgana felt alive. Alive for the first time in years!

I was paging through the guild directory and noted none of the marvelous guilds I rp with are listed on it. I wonder if it is possible to update it and list the Horde side? I know people often ask me who the active Horde side guilds are. We need to have a directory that is updated with the current activity.

You all seem so active here, can the Library take on this task?