Here we have the third installment of the Twitter-based TwitRP, in which our intrepid heroine and our intrepid hero get into trouble. As it should be!

If you have missed the previous installments, I highly recommend a quick trip back in time to The ORB and The Date, respectively. It simply doesn’t do to wonder about these things…

Let the Chase commence: 

@Arcania A hue and cry from the Northwest gate interrupts an otherwise drowsy afternoon at the Cenarion Refuge.

@Rhoelyn Startled from her nap, Nysse rolls off the tree branch and whistles for her wolf. She prepares her bow as they run for the gate.

@Arcania She arrives to find a scene of chaos as the Refuge personnel gather around a draenai woman on a panicky horse, another figure (c)

@Arcania (c) draped across the saddle in front of her. All three are beaten and bloody, and a collared wolf limps at their side.

@Rhoelyn Nysse slings her bow over her shoulder and shifts closer to get a better look. She nudges someone nearby, "What’s going on?"

@Arcania As the sentinel opens her mouth to reply, the draenai shouts hoarsely, "Why is no one moving?! I SAID they need help IMMEDIATELY!"

@Rhoelyn She shoves through the last bit of the crowd. "I’m no priest, but I have skills with tending wounds." Nysse stands next to the (c)

@Rhoelyn draenei’s horse to help lower the second figure. She calls out, "I need water, clean rags, bandages and ointments! NOW!"

@Arcania The woman, a priest from her garb, slides her hulking charge to Nysse, casting one last Renew against his wounds despite (c)

@Arcania (c)her exhaustion. Nysse finds herself struggling under the weight of Valerio’s unconscious form. "The others are still out there!"

@Rhoelyn "Rhese!" Nysse forces herself to look over Valerio and the wolf. She speaks to the crowd without stopping. "Go help them!"

@Arcania Responding to the orders of one of their own, a sentinel steps up, gathering three others and a pair of druids to accompany her.(c)

@Arcania (c) They mount up and ride off, following the tense, yet controlled priest into the wilds of the Zangarmarsh.

@Rhoelyn Nysse begins caring for Valerio’s wounds. She doesn’t realize how upset she is until a tear hits her hand. She speaks to (c)

@Rhoelyn herself and an unconscious Valerio. "What happened? Is he out there? He was with you…" Nysse speaks softly.

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Length: 7,467 words   Style: First Person, Alternative Voice   Genre: Humor / Action

Look, before we even get started, I just wanna make one thing perfectly clear.

I don’t like the human or anything. Not like I’m gonna invite her to the Nether for tea and crumpets, introduce her to the sansgender chaos partner, and let her hold the spawnlings and coo over how their fel energies look just like mine. I’d as soon watch her writhe in torment at the feet of our Dark Lord. I mean, I want the Ultimate Chaos as much as any other demon, ya know, and I know it’s gonna consume her and everything she knows.

I’m cool with that.

Just that… well, I mean, as these things go, she hasn’t been so bad to me. Her summons don’t usually involve my immediate, gory defenestration while she runs for the hills; she doesn’t kick me more than a few times a day (unless she’s in a bad mood); and she gets into enough trouble that I go back home with a belly full of energy. A humble imp really can’t ask for much more.

No, really. He can’t; asking for more is how humble imps get dead.

Anyway, I’m not suffering the shakes from energy starvation. I don’t spend my free time playing kick-the-ball with the doomguards (as their ball). I’m gathering up enough violent thoughts and ill will from the mortal plane to make my Rank Replenishment Quota each and every month with a few new implings to spare. And I’m just barely honest enough to admit that it’s all thanks to the ignorant, bossy, no-good fleshbag I call my Master.

So if I help keep her around, it’s certainly not cuz I have any undemonic sentimentality. I got a good deal going here, signed in blood and bound to the mortal’s lifetime. Gives me a bit of incentive to keep the human intact and all those ridiculous bones in their proper places. Think of it as me putting her to good use (by doing everything she tells me to do, naturally).

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This is the second installment of a little Twitter-based role-playing fun. If you’ve missed the beginning of the story, in which our intrepid little huntress, Nysse, meets up with the druid heart-breaker, Rhese, I’m going to suggest you start over here – at the beginning. That’s where I also explain what the smickety-smack this is.

And now, on with the show…!

@Rhoelyn Nysse tugs self-consciously at her dress as she steps into the Lower City inn. Her eyes rake over the tables in the dim light.

@Rhoelyn Nysse frowns, but talks to a barmaid before sitting at a table. Minutes later a simple mead is set down as Nysse watches the door.

@Arcania By the end of the first mug of mead, Nysse has watched many people enter and leave the inn, but no dashingly-handsome druid.

@Rhoelyn Nysse narrows her eyes and walks up to the bar. While asking for another mead, she checks to see if anyone left a message for her.

@Arcania The barkeep checks a small stack of notes she keeps behind the counter, but shakes her head. "I have nothing addressed to a Nysse."

@Rhoelyn "Thank you." Nysse picks up her drink and heads back to her table. He’s late. If he’s not arrived when she finishes her drink…

@Arcania Perilously near the bottom of her second mug, Nysse glimpses familiar silver hair and pale violet skin join the crowd at the bar.

@Rhoelyn Nysse, not wanting to seem overly eager to greet him, casually finishes her drink. She casually adjusts her dress and grins.

@Arcania After a brief word with the barkeep, Rhese turns and scans the room, his eyes lighting on Nysse. Smiling in relief, he approaches.

@Rhoelyn Standing and smoothing the folds in her dress as she stands, Nysse smiles politely, "Good eve, Rhese. I trust you know the time?"

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It sat, alone and still, in the midst of chaos. Abandoned amongst the clinking armor and thomping boots of hundreds of passing adventurers.

I don’t know when it was left there. I don’t know if I was the first to see it. But I found myself drawn as if by a lodestone the moment I finally laid my eyes on it.

A book, ancient and dusty and smelling of leather and steel. It was thick enough to reach my shin with the cover closed and massive enough to serve as my bed. Just lifting the cover proved a task nearly impossible for muscles that swing a 5-foot blade of solid titan steel as easily as a ribbon. It fell open with a crash so loud that every adventurer in the room scrambled for blade or spell before they realized the Keep was not under attack.

Inside, I found… scribbles. Ciphers. Words in a dozen languages, scrawled with a unsteady and inaccurate hand. Letters were mazes. Runes were puzzles to be unbent and reshaped into meaning. I bent my head over the page, more determined than ever.

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It’s true! We have it on very good authority…

Consider yourselves warned…