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I don't know how long thi'sll go on for, seeing as I haven't planned anything out. But hopefully you'll find it funny, even though some of the jokes will only be understood by stff members, I think. 
Chapter 1
Arthryn strode back and forth across the Lounge, beating a tattoo on her hip with her riding-crop.
“Well?” she asked, after her spiked high heels had worn a four-inch-deep rut into the carpeted floor.
“I’m getting there,” said Rinion, from where he sat at a table. “Foresight is not an exact science, and the blood patterns are particularly difficult to translate today.
“Whatever,” grumbled Hadhafang. “Just tell me when I can get off this table.”
“As soon as we have a clear sign!” snapped Arthryn, striking the back of a chaise longue with her riding-crop. Its occupant yowled and jumped up.
“What was that for?!” Thorin demanded, rubbing the back of his head.
“There’ll be no goofing off today!” said Arthryn.
“I wasn’t goofing off!”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Nothing,” said Thorin hastily, trying to hide a magazine behind his back, before it was snatched by Gonff, who flicked through it until he found the page Thorin had been reading.
“There’s an advert here for surgical enlargement,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“I, uh, borrowed the magazine from Risstalle,” said Thorin quickly.
“Oh,” said Gonff, flicking through the publication to the front cover. “I see he was kind enough to write your name on the cover.”
Arthryn massaged her temples. “Why am I surrounded by wenches?” she groaned.
“At least you’re not surrounded by blood,” said Rinion, wiping his hands on a silken handkerchief confiscated from a member. “I’m finished.”
“And what have you found?” asked Arthryn, turning to look at him sharply.
“Several things I never want to see again,” groaned Rinion. Hadhafang snickered, and lightly slid off the table. “Anyway,” he went on, “I can’t make my report until I’ve washed myself completely with liquid and solid soap, hand sanitizer, disinfectant and ethanol.”
Arthryn glared at him, and growled, “For once, forget about your OCD, and give me the facts before I stick you with Forum Games moderation for the next century!”
“Ah, right,” said Rinion, hastily wiping his hands on Fenris, who was passing, and ducking before the RPG moderator could pat him on the head. He trotted over to stand just out of strangle-reach of Arthryn. “It’s as TParis feared, he said. “The foundations of the forum are weakening, due to an upswing of spam in the AFI forums.”
“Can’t we just cut them off from the rest of the forums?” Thorin asked.
“No,” said Hadhafang. “They’re too far down the main page; if they’re removed, there’ll be nothing holding the other forums up, and they’ll come crashing down on top of the Staff Forums.
“Which idiot decided to build the Lounge in the basement, anyway?” groaned Saint Rising. Arthryn glowered at him.
“Don’t question the administration,” she snarled, “unless you want your name changed again; and this time, it’ll have something to do with unicorns.”
“Unicorns? Isn't that why Master of the Blad resigned?” asked Hadhafang.
“N-no, I was only asking,” said Saint Rising, hastening out of the range of Arthryn’s riding-crop, which shivered and transformed into a steel ban-hammer.
Arthryn turned to face the other moderators. “We’ll need to take action,” she said, thumping the ban-hammer into the table, which promptly shattered. “I don’t care if the General Discussion n00bs are obliterated, so long as the Staff Forums remain undamaged. Thorin, go fetch TParis from the Script Swamp; we have a war to plan. Oh, and Fenris, go round up all the RPG moderators; I need somebody to rub my feet.”
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