It's all fun and games.

[Ikkorous]

((Author's note: this occasionally has graphic depictions of torture and the like. If this offends you, don't read.))


Moonlight intermingled with lamplight in the relatively abandoned cobblestone streets of Stormwind. Occasionally a lone or pair of souls would walk across them, but it was the night, and at night, the city slept. A pair of glowing yellow eyes stared down at the streets from a vantage point high upon the roof of the auction house, a pair of eyes belonging to a lone man wrapped in a cloak, whispering to himself as a pale clawed hand fidgeted with a pair of dice. Each time a person would walk across his gaze, he would roll the dice. He would look at the result and hiss. Skull and six. Two and four. Skull and three. Three and three. He muttered to himself incoherently, tongue darting past sharp teeth and across thin, pale lips.
A woman crossed his sight. He rolled the bones.
Five and two.
He swore quietly at the dice, then again at his stomach, which growled piteously. He picked up the dice once more and rubbed them between his hands, breathing slowly upon them. His eyes darted towards a guard walking with a torch, and his nostrils flared. The man walked with confidence of skill, a wariness of experience. One hand holding his torch high, the other on the hilt of his sword, his armor gleaming from beneath a clean tabard. The guard's eyes darted across the rooftops, and the one lurking there ducked low to avoid being spotted. He cautiously rolled the dice.
Skull and two.
The lurker grunted and gathered the bones up again. He was only partially upset as to the negative result from the dice on that matter. He and the guard had traded blows before, and it had never worked too well for the lurker. With the last light of the guard's torch disappearing around the end of the next building, the lurker resumed a more comfortable crouch and waited. An eternity later another walked past, a woman, her gait slow and a song on her lips. Her hair glittered blonde in the lamp light, and she seemed careless. The lurker grinned and rolled the dice.
Twin skulls.
Without another second wasted, the lurker snatched up the dice, returned them to his pocket, and lept from his hiding place to the ground below, tucking into a roll to break the fall. He stood and dusted himself off, moving like a shadow after the departing woman, matching his pace to hers, hands on the hilts of his daggers.
With her back to him, she was an easy target. He stepped one last time, the shadows carrying him forward from the darkness to beside her. A quick jab with the hilt of his dagger left the woman senseless, song stopped mid-verse. He caught her in his arms and slung an arm over his shoulder, half carrying, half dragging the insensate woman from the light. He set her down in an alley, gently, like a lover might, and began fishing about pockets in his cloak. From within he removed a spool of metal wire, a collection of hooks, a vial, a syringe, and a small box. He set the items neatly on the ground, then recovered the vial and syringe. He tapped the vial, the viscous fluid contained within beginning to glow a light green, illuminating the lurker's dead face. He filled the syringe with a dose of the fluid and pumped it into the woman's veins at the right elbow. Her breathing slowed as spiderwebs of green fluid visibly passed through her veins. He shifted his attention to the box and pressed a small red button on it, and the little box began to hum quietly, of machinery contained within. A barely visible dome of energy formed and expanded, encompassing the lurker, the woman, and most of the alley.
"That'sss better..." he mumbled to himself in common. He returned his attention to the woman, who was just waking from the blow on the head. Her eyes bore confusion and fear. They darted back and forth, but save for the twitching of fingers and the steadily increasing pace of her breathing, she did not move. The lurker smiled and walked around her, twirling a dagger absently in one hand. "Hello, food. Shhhiny night, ain't it?" He cackled quietly and licked his lips. The woman whimpered, unable to scream.
"Let'sss begin, then," he said with a toothy grin that would shame a shark.

[Ikkorous]

((I realized that I never transferred the rest of this story from the other forum and therefore, you get some old work, followed eventually by new.))

Stormwind, Five months before the Death of the Lich King.

Bam bam bam.

Marcus Jaxon stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the pounding on the front door. He slipped from the comfort of his bed without a sound, hardly disturbing his wife, who moaned and drifted back to sleep. Marcus pulled on a pair of pants and walked from the bedroom to the common room, and from there to the front door, slipping on a tunic in the process. Light filtered into the room through the curtains. Marcus frowned and recovered his sword from beside the door before opening it a crack. Beyond stood a pale skinned human nervously fidgeting, holding a torch that was almost unnecessary in the bright moonlight. Out of the ordinary was the blood on his gloves and his Stormwind Guard tabard, the blood on the tabard presumably from his nervous habit of wringing it. He smelled faintly of vomit. Marcus still couldn't understand how such a nervous man as Aaron Pomeroy had been accepted as an elite guard. He opened the door farther, meeting Pomeroy's gaze.

"Y-you told me to get you if he st-struck again." That explained everything. It was hard to guess which made Pomeroy more nervous, Marcus or the message. Marcus pulled at his beard for a moment then uttered an acknowledgment. He disappeared back behind the door, reappearing in the process of strapping his breastplate on, sword belt over one shoulder. Pomeroy was already walking away, southeast towards the bridge to the trade district. Marcus followed closely.

Not long afterward, Pomeroy stopped outside an alleyway. Brady, the third to their trio, a powerfully built blond with a keen eye and a sharp jaw, stood outside with a torch. The area reeked with a myriad of smells, the most predominant being that of death, blood, and vomit. Marcus took note of the puddle outside the alley and made a mental note that despite his weak stomach, at least Pomeroy had the sense to not contaminate the scene. Brady nodded a greeting, then once in the direction of the alley.

"He found her ten minutes ago, got me, and went for you. Mages will be down in an hour. You know how those..." Marcus nodded and stepped past him. He knew how very hard it was to get a mage up in the middle of the night. He also knew how worthless it would be, especially if this was like the last three. The scene before him confirmed that it was.

Centerpiece of the alley was the body of a nude and mutilated woman, strung by a spiderweb of wires and hooks a foot from the ground, body in the position of prayer. The serenity of the pose served only to mock what had been done to the woman. Her stomach was slit open and intestines coiled neatly beneath her feet. Shallow cuts covered her body. Chunks of flesh had been bitten from her arms, legs, and breasts. Blood covered the walls in intricate patterns that, if looked at directly, caused dizziness, seeming to swirl and move of their own volition. Marcus took a step closer to get a better look. Her face was calm, though her eyes still bore residual terror. Marcus swore under his breath.

"He is getting more elaborate." The quiet voice behind Marcus caused him to start slightly. He turned back to the grinning face of a man he was becoming far more familiar with, Erik Astav. One of SI:7's agents, the man was quiet and knew far more than he let on, ever. The man was tall and gaunt, and the way he always wore a cloak that shrouded his face in darkness was only slightly less eerie than the way his eyes seemed to glow from that darkness. Marcus nodded. The agent creeped him the hell out. There was something about the way he was never shocked by the gruesome and gut-wrenching scenes, the way he hummed cheerfully as he took notes, the way he would touch things and taste the tip of his finger that just seemed wrong.

"I've got good news and bad news" Erik said, once he had completed his survey of the scene. "What's the good news?" Marcus was skeptical that good news was possible. "Two parts, actually. First is that this was the same guy." Marcus started to say something rude, but Erik cut in. "That is good news. Means that there isn't more than one, or a copycat. Second part is this wire looks like cobalt. Nice strong and malleable stuff. Relatively expensive. Whoever you're going after has money for the good stuff." Marcus nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. "Let me guess. The bad news is there's no clue you can discern, and mages won't get shit again." Erik nodded and patted Marcus on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. He'll slip up." Erik walked past Marcus towards the end of the alley. Marcus turned to walk with him only to find the agent gone. He looked around, found no trace of the man, and muttered to himself, walking from the alley.

Brady stood glaring at a much shorter man in a mages robe. "And I told you, nobody goes in until-" "Until I'm done" Marcus cut in, interrupting Brady. "Go in, run the scene, for all the good it will do." The mage nodded and glared at Brady, siding past the large man. Marcus waited for the mage to be out of earshot before he nudged Brady. "Did you see Astav come through?" Brady's dumbfounded look spoke volumes more than words could have. Marcus grunted and pulled at his beard. "Doesn't matter. You've got things now. Let the mage do his thing, then give the poor woman some decency. Try to do it before dawn." Brady nodded, the two exchanged farewells, and Marcus Jaxon returned to his home, frustrated and confused.

[Ikkorous]

Dalaran, Five month before the Death of the Lich King.

In Dalaran, there is often much activity, even late into the night and early into the morning. The sounds of duels and arena battles echoing from the sewer grates, muted by stone and dampened by magic. Coin passing from hand to hand in exchange for services and goods. Many a sorcerer, both novice and master, poring over books by candlelight or mana-lamp. The teleportation chamber always had someone coming through it, and tonight was no different. Materializing from thin air appeared Inzema, wrapped in a black cloak, hood cast back to allow moonlight to reach his pale face and reveal his slime-green mohawk. His goggles whirred and clicked, glowing green lenses hiding intricate machinery that allowed him to see in a dozen different spectrums. He dug into one of his chest pockets and removed a metal and cloth mask, took the trailing ends of the cloth, and tied them behind his head. He licked his lips and tapped the pocket with his dice in them, assuring himself that they were still safe before leaving the room, allowing the next person in the queue to arrive in the circle.

He walked past the fountain, tossing a couple of coins to the orphans congregated there. He wasn't worried that they would starve, nor did he care if they did. It wasn't an act of kindness, though at first glance it would appear so. Kids were excellent sources of information. Not many people watched all of them, and there were a lot in Dalaran. More than people realized. The coins never hit the ground, of course, and the kids were gone a second later. Inzema smiled, the anticipation of new secrets to me learned too much for him to keep fully contained.

Inzema walked into the library, wandering about for a bit before dropping heavily into a chair beside Qarosimae. The blood elf's bespectacled gaze was focused on a tome writ in Amani, her thin fingers on the table as if touching the book while she read woud damage it, though this was probably true, judging by the apparent age of the tome. The only evidence that she had noticed her undead compatriot's approach was a blink of her felfire-green eyes. Inzema tilted his head, observing her closely. Something was different today, but he wasn't sure what it was. She still was skinny and, well, not particularly well endowed for an elf. Usually they had these nice curves and stuff, probably from magical alteration and stuff, but Qaro's were small in comparison. Still nice, which the incident that had led to him discovering that had cost him fifteen gold for repairs to his armor, just smaller than average. The topic never came up, though, because apparently Qarosimae didn't care much how she looked, save that it was neat. Her robes bore signs of having been pressed, creases visible on the black sleeves, her hair was all neat and...oh, wait. That was the difference. It used to be black and about shoulder length, but now it was white and short, in a cute way, but not Inzema's style. He liked long hair. It was fun to play with long hair, and also provided an excellent handhold.

"So, new boyfriend?" Inzema said, reaching out to bat at her hair. She slapped his hand away, eyes never leaving the page. "No, simply felt like a change." She turned the page carefully, gently, laying it flat upon the previous, then continued reading. Inzema cocked his head the other direction, looking at the page. "Nope, can't read it. What's it about?" "Shaman." "A shaman?" "No. Shaman, plural." "Well wouldn't it be shamansss?" "Not if you ask the Amani." Inzema shrugged apathetically. He really didn't care much about grammar. Can't kill anyone but a scholar with grammar, and to kill a scholar with it, it required a book full of it. That had been fun. Inzema chuckled at the memory. He snapped his fingers, the light going on in his head.

"Oh yeah! I forgot what I came here for!" "Oh?" "Yeah! You should have seen it! Jakkie is pissed! He was like "Braguduh!" and I was like "Omberdom" and he exploded! Okay, that didn't happen, but he still thinks I work for SI:7. No one else ever sees me, so they're gonna think he's hallucinating, and it's awesome!" Inzema flailed his arms wildly throughout the retelling, appearing to nearly fall from the chair at one point before recovering himself. He ended leaning close to Qarosimae, an impish grin hidden behind the metal mask. Qarosimae nodded absently, apparently not listening to him. Inzema frowned, poking Qarosimae in the side. "You listening?" "No." "A-ha! You are!" "I am trying to read." "You're always readin'." "And you're always telling me about "Jakkie" this and coins that and delicious flesh those." Inzema paused for a moment, thinking of a retort, and when none were readily at hand, he shrugged. "So?" "So I do not care right now, tell me later." The elf returned her attention to the book, her tapping fingers on the edge of the table signaling that the conversation was over. Inzema shrugged and stood. "Alrighty. I'll be around." He disappeared into shadows, leaving Qarosimae to her book.

Outside he walked through the city towards the alliance side of town. Wrapped in his cloak, yellow eyes hidden by his goggles and in the semi-darkness of the mana-lamps, he easily passed for human. He walked past the guards at the enclave entrance without so much as a second glance and disappeared through the portal to Stormwind.

[Ikkorous]

Three months before the Death of the Lich King

A tabard stolen from a slain Silver Covenant elf, his blood and seared flesh long since cleaned from the cloth, an illusion to mask the felfire glow in her eyes, and a tight grip on the urge for slaughter and retribution against humans allowed Qarosimae to walk the streets of Stormwind unmolested. Her staff in hand, she walked from the mages tower towards the city marketplace. Despite her average appearance for an elf, her close-fitting white tunic and pants, stitched in black with spells of warding and protection, drew the eyes of men as she passed, though if she noticed, it was not apparent. Her bespectacled eyes focused forward, never altering. She didn't know where she was going, but was certain she would find what she was looking for in no time.

As if on cue, she smelled blood. It was faint, as if from a great distance. Qarosimae stopped, looking around. She was still in the mages district, which boasted no butchers or any other reasons she should be smelling blood, which left several explanations, but with no alarm, one was more likely than the others. Following the scent, she took a turn into an alleyway between an apothecary's shop and a staff carver's store, stepping into the shadows cast by the tall buildings. She felt a tingling sensation cross her flesh as she passed through a shield of sorts, finally allowing her to see what she had come for. Before her, Inzema worked diligently, singing to himself as he set about his gruesome task. The body of a man, still alive, but barely, judging from the pool of blood and the labored rise and fall of his chest. The flesh on his chest had been peeled back like wrapping, revealing the organs within, and held in place by wire connected to the walls of the buildings like a spiderweb. Dozens more snaked around the man, holding him in a pose common in portraits of heroes long dead, standing on the feild of battle, with one hand on his hip, the other holding a sword with its tip resting on the ground, his head towards the left wall as if staring off into the distance.

"Who can take a night elf, fill her blood with pain? Tie her down and cut her up and make her scream again? The Stabby man can!" Inzema sang, a perversion of a child's song, yet somehow it suited him. He pulled the slack out of a wire, causing it to cut into the flesh of the man's thigh, shifting it slightly to the left, and cinched it down tight. He took a step back, admiring his work. "Beautiful, isn't it, Qaro?" he said, somehow knowing it was her without looking. She shrugged apathetically, adjusted her glasses, and leaned against a wall. "Nothing I haven't seen the like of before." It was hard to keep track of the various poses and dismemberments that Inzema had performed over the years of her knowing him. She had long since grown immune to the disgust many expressed for his art, and a small part of her actually enjoyed it. Not the mess, but the passion the corpse showed when getting his "art" just right. The killing itself.

"So, what'd you track me down for? Must be pretty big if you're coming into food central with a disguise and not a blast." The corpse's goggles whirred as the lenses focused on her. She shrugged and adjusted her glasses again, seeming disinterested in the topic. "No reason," she said. She looked past him at the man. She licked her pale lips, bloodlust slipping slightly out of control, causing the illusion around her eyes to fail. She wanted very much to burn this city to the ground. Inzema grinned knowingly, thin lips pulling back to reveal blood stained teeth filed to points. "Tell you what. Let's head back to your place and we'll talk about that guy you were talking about the other day." She nodded, watching as the corpse picked up a small device and deactivated it. She felt a tingle on her skin as the energy from the device dissipated, the shield that had disguised the sounds from the alley and hidden the rogue as he created his art. She lifted a hand and brought it down in a slashing motion, rending the physical plane and the distance between here, being Stormwind, and there, being the receiving room in Dalaran. He went through first, her afterwards, and the portal closed with a pop.

The man, abandoned by his torturer, whimpered from the pain, shuddered, and finally succumbed to death.

[Ikkorous]

Two weeks before the Death of the Lich King.

Marcus Jaxon had been at the Blue Recluse for the past two and a half hours. He had spent a gold on a bottle of Brewhard's Best, a high quality Pandaren whiskey released once a year in small batches contained in steel bottles. He had had two glasses on ice, about an eighth of the bottle, and was feeling the effects of a good intoxication, the slight, not uncomfortable, pressure in his skull, the slight, not hindering, reduction in his ability to focus, and the slight, easily overcome, unsteadiness of limb. He waved good night to his fellow patrons and wandered into the night, bottle safely capped and secure in his hand. It was a decent walk from the Blue Recluse to his home near the trade district, but that just gave him time to sober up a little and enjoy the starlight overhead. Marcus was having a good night to compliment a good day. After three months, sixty five deaths, and endless trouble, there had been a break in the case of the Stormwind Slasher. Through the offer of a reward and a bit of "persuasion," a goblin engineer based out of K3 in Northrend had relinquished the information that he supplied wiring of the variety used to string up still-living victims of the Slasher and pose them in a macabre mockery of life. He also was able to provide a list of the regular buyers of quantity, and while the wire was capable of being used for a variety of other purposes, its tensile strength and flexibility were the chief reasons engineers bought the stuff. Saronite was too hard, too brittle in quantities that small, and adamantite was expensive to import from Outland. One could use steel, but steel had less strength and was at least twice as heavy, so cobalt was the best choice.

Soon, the Slasher would be found, and once he was found, tried and hanged.

Interestingly enough, the killings had reduced as of late. At their peak, about a month and a half, there was one happening every day with multiple victims each, but over the course of the past two weeks, there had on be thee, and of those, the time between had increased significantly. There had not been a Slasher killing in four days, and as they say, "No news is good news." Marcus wasn't often prone to optimism, but he had to admit a certain amount of joy in not having a nightly glance at death in its sickest, most deprived forms, as well as a bit of hope that maybe the end was in sight. Maybe this week all he would have to deal with would be a couple of drunks brawling and a domestic disturbance from the Clarences when they started blowing up their basement lab again.

One could hope.

Marcus inserted his key into the lock of his front door, turned it, and opened the door. He made sure to be quiet so that he wouldn't disturb Sarah, his wife. She was probably asleep, worn out from a long day at the auction house. Marcus peeled off his boots, setting them down beside Sarah's shoes, and made his way to the bedroom. When he reached for the doorknob to the bedroom, the hairs on his forearm stood on end, as if they were reacting to something. Every muscle in Marcus's body tensed, his fear bringing him back to sobriety instantly. The faint smell of blood and ozone was in the air. Blood. Coming from his bedroom. Where his wife should be. Marcus swore and drew his sword, opening the door quickly, anger rushing through him as he prepared for the worst.

Inside the small bedroom, containing a bed, a dresser, a single window looking out at the aqueducts, and a door leading into the closet, there was little in the way of places to hide. The bed, covered in thick blankets, contained one human sized lump with Sarah Jaxon's head emerging from beneath them, resting peacefully upon the pillow. Beside the bed was a chair that belonged in the common room, with the others at the dining table. The occupant of the chair had it balanced on one leg, leaning backwards against the wall. His eyes were hidden behind mechanical goggles with glowing green lenses, his face behind a mask with stitching in the pattern of a fanged, grinning mouth. His hair was all shaved off, save for a green mohawk, spiked upward like a blade. Dark leather armor covered every inch of his body from the neck down, a hooded cloak around his shoulders thrown back and pooling on the floor. Knives of a variety of different shapes and sizes adorned the man's body in bandoleers and belts, and a pair of axes with wickedly jagged blades hung from his waist. One gloved hand stroked Sarah's head, and Marcus had no doubt the man was smiling behind that mask.

Marcus Jaxon had no doubt as to who this man was.

"Evening, Offissser Marcusss Jakssson," the man said, his ess's coming out in a hiss, like a snake. Somewhat fitting in Jaxon's mind. "Don't worry. I haven't done anything to Sssarah...yet." He shifted his balance, returning the chair to all four feet and settling his feet on the ground as well. Marcus's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but for now, he waited. He didn't know how fast this man was, and didn't want to risk his wife's life finding out. "Not that shhhe would have not enjoyed what I thought about doing..." He chuckled and mimed thrusting his hips. Marcus could feel himself growing warmer as he became angrier. The man stood and started walking towards Marcus. "Shhhe would have ssscreamed for me like you can't make her. Ssscreamed in pleasssure like you have never made her." The man was within arm's reach now, well within sword range. Marcus raised his sword, intent on bringing it down on this menace to society, only to watch as the man turned into a cloud of shadow and disappeared, his goggles the last to fade.

"Shhhe would have begged me for more, like shhhe never begsss you," the man continued, this time from behind Marcus. Marcus whirled around, leading with his sword. His arm caught on something he couldn't see in the darkness. It felt like wire. He tried pulling his arm away, but that only caused the wire holding his arm to tighten. He pulled harder and the wire suddenly slackened, and unprepared for the lack of resistance, Marcus toppled to the side, into a web of wires. Panicking, Marcus thrashed, trying to escape the web of wires, to no avail. The more he struggled, the more secure the web of wires seemed. The man rematerialized from the shadow, staring down at Marcus, the grin of his mask matching what it surely concealed. Marcus watched the man, fear in his eyes.

The man leaned down, his face inches from Marcus's, and said "Maybe I'll yet have fun with her. Maybe I'll make you watch. We'll play again sssoon." The man turned around and pressed a button on his belt. A blue portal opened, lighting the room, and the Stormwind Slasher stepped through, leaving behind a blast of snow and cold air from the portal before it closed. Marcus Jaxon stared at the spot that the man who had caused him so much torment and grief, caused the whole city so much grief, for the past several months, had occupied and silently thanked the gods that he and his wife were not yet another pair of names on the list of victims.

[Ikkorous]

Present day.

Inzema watched, wrapped in shadows as the death knight sorted through his safety deposit box. It had been a long time. His tongue darted past blood stained teeth to bloodless lips as he waited for the room to empty. He touched his dice to his chest. The knight ran a hand through his white hair, blue glowing eyes focused on his task. He finally finished what he was doing and began to place the box back into its place. Inzema cast his dice.

The first clattered across the stone, landing finally. Skull.

The second bounced, rolling towards the death knight. It stopped at his feet. The death knight looked down, pausing in reshelving his box to see what it was that had rolled to his feet. Inzema slipped forward, still wrapped safely from sight in shadows, to see what the dice had called for.

Skull.

Inzema smiled. The death knight never had a chance to scream before his throat was shut with a garrote.

-~-~-

It had been a long time.

Marcus Jaxon looked at the corpses strung together with wire in the bank with disdain. He recognized the style immediately. He knew what he was going to be dealing with even before he had seen the carnage first hand. It had been too much to hope that his nemesis had been killed in the Shattering. His fist closed tightly around the hilt of his sword and he stormed from the bank, past the investigation team that was just now filing in to try and determine anything they could about the killer. He knew how worthless it had been the last time, and he knew how worthless it would be now. Marcus strode with a purpose, ignoring Pomeroy and Brady as they approached, ignoring them still as they fell into step behind him. He walked into the Trade District Guard Station, to his office. His office was small, uncluttered, and neat. The oak desk had no decorations, save his name on a simple folded piece of steel. The walls had no decorations, simply several cork boards with wanted posters and persons of interest in crimes. Marcus walked behind his desk and sat down. Pomeroy fiddled with his tabard nervously while Brady watched like one of the marble statues that greeted all who entered Stormwind by the gates. Marcus unlocked the bottom drawer in his desk and began flipping through folders until he found the correct one. He opened it and took out the wanted poster within.

Wanted: Dead or Alive
Stormwind Slasher
Reward of Five Thousand Gold for information leading to the positive identification, capture, and prosecution of the person or persons involved with the tortures, rapes, and murders associated with the Stormwind Slasher.

Beneath the words was a space for a picture, but it was left blank. There had been a wanted poster issued with a description of the man, (average height, black cloak, black hood, green glowing eyes, possibly lenses, hissing speech) but that had led to the capture and eventual release of half a dozen of the rogues and cutthroats of an equal number of adventuring guilds. Not only had there been no evidence to support their apture, but there also had been no evidence that any one of them, most of whom were engineers, had any alchemical expertise, which would have been necessary for the poisons that had been left in the bodies of most of the victims.

Marcus placed the wanted poster back on his bulletin board, beside the picture of Ranavos Dryandson and Inzema of the Grim.

"H-he's back? Oh Light..." Pomeroy sounded like he was going to be sick. Brady didn't look surprised at all. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "We had better get out there. Hopefully this time we can catch the bastard."

[Ikkorous]

Marcus Jaxon was enjoying dinner at home for the first time in a week when his communicator bleeped. Instead of paying attention to the gnome-crafted makertech device, he took another bite of roast beef and corn. Sarah looked past Marcus to the communicator, sitting on the table by the door with Marcus' swords and breastplate. She shook her head and continued to eat as well. The device bleeped again, static noise following the bleep. The static resolved into a fuzzy voice, indistinguishable and incomprehensible. Marcus resolutely ignored the device, shoveling more food into his mouth. His brow furrowed, however, as agitation began to build up inside of him. The communicator bleeped a third time, and this time an understandable voice came through. "Jaxon, you there?" A man's voice, though the distortion of the communicator made it so Marcus could not identify it. He set down his fork and knife slowly, deliberately, controlling his temper at being interrupted for something likely trivial and on his night off, to boot. Pomeroy was covering part his patrol today to give him time to have his anniversary dinner with Sarah. There was no reason anyone should be interrupting. Marcus stood and walked to the communicator. He keyed the device, listening to the feedback as it synchronized frequencies and security, and when it did, he spoke.
"Officer Jaxon here. Who is this?" He was unable to keep his irritation entirely out of his voice, and hoped that it wasn't his boss or someone else up the chain of command. The communicator bleeped and crackled again before resolving into a more distinguishable voice. "Jaxon, it's Astav. I've got another on the Slasher." Marcus clenched the controller in his fist and carefully keyed the device again. "I'm off tonight, Astav." "Maybe you are, but do you think Brady and Pomeroy can see what you can?" Marcus thought about it for a moment. Pomeroy still had too weak of a stomach to be able to handle any of the Slasher killings, and Brady's eyes weren't as sharp. Astav was a clever investigator, but the SI:7 agent had produced as few leads as the others. Marcus sighed and looked back to Sarah. She nodded grimly. "Go, love. Keep the city safe." Marcus nodded and slipped the communicator into his belt, not giving Astav a response out of spite. In seconds he had strapped on his breastplate and swords. Sarah came behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against the enchanted steed encasing him now. "Be careful out there," she said, worry seeping into her voice. She had seen his face often enough after going to one of the Slasher's crime scenes that she knew enough to hate it without having ever truly seeing the aftermath.
Marcus slipped from her arms and turned around, pulling his wife close and planting a kiss on her head. He held her like that for a long moment, memory slipping back to the time he had met the Slasher in this very room. "I will. Lock the doors while I'm gone. Don't let anyone in." Sarah nodded, tracing a finger across the lion etched into his chest. Marcus kissed her one more time before breaking the embrace, collecting his cloak, and marching resolutely out into the night.

-~-~-

Elsewhere, Erik Astav smiled as he stared at the scene before him. A gaunt man, nude above the waist, stood atop a mound of people supporting him, smiling and posing heroically with his hands on his waist. The people supporting him were all in poses of submission and strain, pain on their faces. Fifteen in all. If it weren't for the spiderweb of wires holding every detail in place, including facial expressions, of the sixteen dead, it could have been mistaken for a piece of art. One would have had to ignore the blood as well, which due to the quantity and variety of the killed had been quite impressive and mixed, blue and purple blood mixing with red. After a bit of looking, Astav spotted the Draenei, source of the purple blood. A fully nude female, atop the pile and holding onto the man atop the pile's leg as if it was her only hope of survival. Unlike the rest of the bodies, hers was marred nearly beyond recognition from the waist down with cuts, bite marks, and literal chunks of flesh ripped from her calves, thighs, and hips as if she had been savaged by a dog or some beast. The walls of the alley were spattered with blood, and while the uneducated eye would not see the pattern there, Astav could see it, and was sure that Jaxon would see it when he arrived. It was a map of the sewers of Stormwind, with the center of the drawn map, the location of the pile of bodies, being the exact sewer entrance the bodies were placed upon.
The clomp of boots from behind caught Astav's attention, and he turned to see Jaxon walking into the alley. Jaxon seemed to have a sixth sense about where to find trouble, which was why Astav hadn't felt the need to tell him where the scene was. Jaxon's face was grim, but Astav noted anger, disgust, and fear on his face, strictly schooled into a mask of professional indifference. Astav tapped his forehead as a salute to the guardsman, who ignored it, stroking his beard as he took in the scene. He dared not enter the alley further, for fear of disturbing the scene which had been meticulously prepared. Astav crossed his arms and waited while Jaxon looked, waiting patiently. Jaxon finally broke the silence.
"This is the most elaborate to date. Unless he now has accomplices, which I doubt, this must have taken him four hours at least." Astav nodded his agreement and pointed to the man atop the pile. "I think that is supposed to be a representation of himself." Jaxon grunted, narrowing his eyes at the corpse. "There's something in his hand...We'll need a mage to get it before we disassemble the pile." Astav grunted a negative. He drew a small mechanical device from his cloak, a box about the size of his head with a mechanical hand on an extendable arm. Astav worked the device carefully, directing the hand towards the gaunt man's hand. It took several tries, but he was able to get whatever it was free and back without losing it. He took it from the device and put the device away before taking a moment to actually look at what he was holding. It was the Bounty section of the Violet Eye, the new paper that had been circulating from Dalaran. Scrawled across the page was "Hahaha!" with an arrow pointing to the bounty on the Stormwind Slasher. Jaxon grabbed the page to look at it himself, cursed, and threw it to the ground. "He's fucking with us! Laughing at us! It's not even full night yet, which means that if he started this about four hours ago, the sun would have been up. How did nobody see him?" Astav shrugged, his expression unreadable in the shadows of his hood. Jaxon stopped his ranting for a moment before looking squarely at Astav. "How did you find this first?" Astav shrugged, then pointed to one of the buildings. "My apartment is in that building. I was coming back from the compound when I smelled the blood. When I got here, it wasn't visible from the street, but if you walked into the alley it suddenly appeared." Jaxon calmed slightly and went back to stroking his beard. He looked towards the pile again. "You called the mages?" Jaxon asked, a sound of defeat in his voice. Astav grunted an affirmative. Jaxon nodded to himself and turned back to Astav. "I'm going home, then. This creature knows where I live. I'm making sure my wife is okay." Jaxon pushed past Astav and out of the alley. Down the street he saw a pair of blue robed men approaching, probably the magi, and ignored them. He went back home.

[Ikkorous]

In a corner of the universe hypothetically outside of time, there exists a room. The walls are relatively rough and featureless stone with blue veins of pulsing energy running through them from one side to the other. The room itself was haphazardly filled with tables full of engineering devices and alchemical sets, piles of loot from various places, and random trophies. Inzema sat in this room beside the metal plate that served as the primary entrance and exit and hummed to himself, preparing spools of wires with hooks interspersed at semi-regular intervals and laying them in a semi-organized pile. He checked the box that was the device he used to make his actions unnoticed, a combination of a Multi-wave Scream-reducer and a See-me-not field generator. Inzema's devices weren't as creatively named as their Gnomish or Goblin counterparts, but they got the job done just as well, possibly better due to the lack of explosive or humorous malfunctions...most of the time.. The device, which Inzema called the "Fun-Zone Projector" did just that, it projected a field that prevented sound from escaping, dampened most smells by overriding them with the scent of ozone, and while it did not provide true invisibility, it made it so that anyone who happened to look in the direction of the field simply looked past and did not really recall the in between. That had been something that Inzema had created with the help of his Immensely Knowledgeable Artificial Intelligence, or Ikai, which had been a fluke of engineering in and of itself, but that's another story. After checking the FZ Projector, Inzema started a basic functions check of his gear. Parachute cloak, check. Hyperstatic Time-warp gloves, check. Multitools, check. Mega-launch belt rockets, check. Spacetime anomaly wormhole generator, check. Wrist-mounted rocket launchers, check. Emergency tissue regenerators, check. Potions of speed, strength, healing, weightlessness, water-breathing, water-walking, and reflexes all went into pockets of Inzema's Smart Pocket Dimensional Storage Pockets, stowed in a small section of space that didn't actually exist save through a small wormhole in Inzema's pockets that all led to the same place. Dozens of hand grenades and miniature demolitions charges went into the pockets as well. Knives, most balanced for throwing and barbed to make it harder to pull them out and all coated with poisons for any occasion, went into sheaths on bandoliers hanging crossed on his chest over his blood-stained tabard and into his belt, into sheaths on his legs, shoulders, arms, in his boots, and in his bracers. A sap was attached to the belt, along with a pistol. The connection points that allowed Inzema to draw out a length of wire to serve as a garrote without his hands were tested and found in good working order. Two larger knives, one heavy, one lighter, finished the weaponry, both with jagged blades made for tearing flesh and inflicting the most gruesome injuries, were placed in sheaths on his belt.
Inzema stood and stretched, his goggles whirred and clicked. The device appeared simple from the outside, merely a pair of lenses fixed in metal frames and held in place by a leather strap, but the complex machinery was so small that it was able to contain a ridiculous amount of capabilities in a device so small. Vision across a variety of frequencies, magnifications, and spectrums, to include Inzema's favorite, which penetrated metal, cloth, leather and spell wards with ease while leaving flesh unaffected. Inzema used it when he was feeling voyeuristic, which was a lot. Communications not only with his base of operations and Ikai, but with a wide band of radio frequencies as well. Targeting, analysis, route projection, aim correction in cases of high winds or other environmental factors, tracking. In short, the works. It made some thing so much easier. While they weren't actually fixed to his head, Inzema never removed them. Taking them off was like going blind, the amount of information they provided.
Inzema glanced towards the ceiling and grinned. A woman's voice, slightly artificial sounding, chimed from nowhere and everywhere at once, belonging to Ikai. "Looking spiffy today, dear," it said, generating a wide grin from Inzema, showing off his smile full of teeth filed to points and stained with blood. A smile a shark would be jealous of. "Thanks, honey. Keep an eye on Cehsneog while I'm out. I got work to do today." "Of course, dear. No unauthorized ordnance triggering today." "That's my girl." "Teleporter is prepared. Stormwind, today, dear?" "Yup! I'mma send a message to that Nika chika. Hey, that rhymes!" Inzema and the disembodied voice chuckled for a moment. Inzema waved a goodbye and stepped onto the teleportation pad. "See you tonight, honey!" "Knock them dead, dear," responded Ikai as Inzema disappeared in a flash of blue.

-~-~-

Waiting was the hard part of any secret job. Inzema hated waiting like he hated squirrels, the sneaky bastards. Their beady little eyes, their chittering little mouths...those teeth! The only thing worse than a squirrel was a bunny. Those buggers were dangerous! Plotting. Nobody took him seriously when he talked about it, so Inzema tended not to, but he waged his private war against the rodents when he had opportunity. But back to waiting, Inzema was waiting for Nikaa to leave her room. It hadn't been that hard to find out where she lived with Inzema's access to SI:7 files, the hard part was waiting for her to wake up so he could plant his little gift for her. Inzema looked at the chronometer displayed in his display on his goggles and sighed. He looked back at Nikaa and fidgeted in the shadows. Finally, after an eternity and a half of waiting, she left her room/apartment/cell thingy, off on some business or another. Inzema almost missed her leaving because he hand been digging through his pockets for a severed hand to snack on. He grinned and slipped through the shadows, teleporting into her room before the door shut in its entirety. Once inside and sure that Nikaa wasn't coming back, Inzema got to work.
From his pockets he produced a large piece of paper, several bottles, and pair of severed tits. Inzema opened the tops of the bottles and set them in a neat row on the floor and nailed the paper flat on the floor with knives. He took a bite from one of the breasts and dipped a finger into one of the bottles. He dragged his finger across the paper, leaving a trail of dark red across it. Minutes later, the finger paining was finished and the two breasts had disappeared into Inzema's stomach. He stood to back away from his work and admire it. The finger painting was a crude depiction of Nikaa in the throes of passion with a humanoid shadow with a wide and shark-like grin. Inzema had even paid enough attention to detail to include a depiction of a butterfly on her shoulder, though he couldn't quite remember which shoulder it had been on, so he put it on the right. While it wasn't a masterful work of art, the message was clear enough. Inzema cackled and activated his wormhole generator, targeting the roof of the inn in the Trade district that he couldn't remember the name of. He disappeared through the wormhole, leaving behind the knives, painting, and paints.

-~-~-

Marcus Jaxon was having a good day. He had caught several thieves today, there hadn't been a Slasher killing in a week, and Sarah had brought home an extra-large bag of tips from the Auction House the other day. Some rogue had been so grateful after his purchase of over a hundred Elementium ingots that he had given here more than the customary five percent, which still would have been a large sum. It was a good day.
Then Marcus noticed the scent of ozone.
That, by itself, wouldn't have interested Marcus at all, save for the location. He was at the bridge towards the Cathedral Square, and generally the smell of Ozone was more prevalent in the Trade District or the Dwarven District, where people were semi-regularly discharging electricity into the air from mechanical devices. Cathedral Square was more often frequented by priests and paladins, and while there were plenty of tinkerers among those ranks, they typically kept their tinkering to the aforementioned districts, leaving Cathedral Square for worship of the Light. Marcus crossed the bridge, frowning as the smell intensified. It was only when he was across the ridge that he noticed the smell beginning to fade, so he turned back to the bridge and looked at it. Inspiration struck and he looked beneath it. Nothing seemed out of sort, save the onset of a bit of a headache and the way his eyes seemed to avoid the stones. Marcus looked at the water, noticing the way the canal had a faint pink tint to it beneath the bridge. Marcus drew his rifle and stared at the stones until his eyes stopped crossing and resolved into what was actually there.
Suspended from the underside of the bridge was a man wrapped in black leather, swaying back and forth as he did a sort of dance, cinching wires down here and there. Two others were beneath the bridge, as well, a man and a woman, both nude, and held in place by wires as if the woman had mounted the man and they were engaged in the climax of sex. Blood dripped from wounds caused by the wires and places where flesh had been chewed from their calves and arms. The man in black pulled on a wire, adjusting the woman's arm by a fraction. Marcus took his shot.
The bullet missed by a fraction of an inch, passing through the cloth of the man's hood, who turned his head to face Jaxon. Green glowed from the darkness of his hood where his eyes should be, and a mask on his face with a wide smile carved into it hid his features, but Marcus knew he was smiling. He loaded another shot into the chamber and aimed again. The man grabbed a box from the underside of the bridge and tucked it into his cloak, the disorienting effect on Marcus' vision fading as he did. Marcus fired again, but the man swung out of the way of the bullet with a cackle. "I'm not done yet! Come back in ten!" he called out with a Lordaeron accent before severing the wires holding him in place and dropping into the water. Marcus took another shot before losing sight of him. Marcus cursed and pulled out his radio. "Medical response to Trade Cathedral bridge. Two severe injuries. It's the Slasher. They're still alive, but get here fast! Suspect is in the canals heading west. Keep on alert. Black hood, cloak, armor, metal mask with a smile. Green glowing eyes."

[Nikaa]

Nika had been extremely busy these past several weeks. Every since The Grim had attacked Stormwind and taken off with Spymaster Crutch and the valuable schematics, she had been completely immersed in tracking down the group of Horde, and bringing them in. Her primary targets were Leyujin, Inzema and Hokuto. As to why she had singled out those three specifically was something she didn't really talk about. But she had her reasons.

More recently however, Inzema had climbed to the top of her list. This was no longer just about the protection of Stormwind. This was personal. Leyujin tended to keep mostly to himself. Beyond the fights against the Alliance in Tol Barad and the battlefields, he didn't seem to often stray from Orgimmar. And Hokuto was quite elusive. The female blood elf was seen even less frequently than the Troll. But Inzema.. he was another matter.

The rogue was a menace. Even more so recently, since she had issued the bounty on the three of them. First it had been the mention in the Violet Eye that Inzema had been seen within Stormwind, boldly attacking people in the Blue Recluse. And then there had been the group of Horde who had come to Stormwind a few nights ago, looking for a fight. Hokuto had been among their numbers, and Nika knew Inzema was there as well. Several members of Praetorian Guard as well as some from other guilds had gathered to fight off the Horde forces. The battle was waged within the Old Barracks and down into Stormwind Harbor before the Horde finally left. But as the group of Alliance began to disperse, Nika stayed behind. She knew Inzema was there, and called out to him in challenge several times. As expected, he made his presence known. Mostly toying with her.. snickering from the shadows, darting in and out momentarily to strike at her before withdrawing again, before she could ever fully focus on her attacker. And eventually, he left. Or so she thought..

It was a short time later when his voice carried to her, from somewhere nearby. At first she thought he was hiding in the shadows again, and she turned in a quick circle, looking for the source of his voice.

"Oi, A quesstion for you. Whadda ya know 'bout the Ssslashhher?" He whispered.

Nika narrowed her eyes, instantly moving for the shadows. "Where are you," She hissed.

" Blue Reclussse. There'sss a bug on your cloak."

"What do you want, Inzema? What about the Slasher?" Her voice was cold.

"Nownow, no need to be grumpy. Well, you don't gotta ssstop. you're cute that way. Jussst curiousss what you know. Which do you want more, him or me?"

"You." Nika growled under her breath. Reaching down, she felt along the hem of her cloak and found the bug he had placed on her. Pulling it free, she glared down at it in her hand. But she was listening.

"Ah, drat, I wasss hoping you might like to buy sssome info about the man what'sss been terrorizing your delisssiousss sssity."

"We got a lot of people terrorizing our city. But you're at the top of the list."

"Aww. It'sss commentsss like that that make me wanna jussst paralyze you and ssscrew you and leave you living. Makin' me blushhh."

Nika glanced around and then started moving again, heading for the Mage Quarter. "Keep getting cocky, Inzema. Don't assume I'm not keeping tabs on you. And like I said, I already have some people tracking you down."

"Your people won't find me. I'm a ghossst." He cackled, sounding highly amused by the conversation.

"Oh yes we will.. but go ahead, keep your guard down. I see you plenty."

"Do you, now? I really doubt that."

"Good. Keep doubting. It'll make it that much better when we drag you in." Where was Janaelle? She tugged her radio free from her belt and whispered into it, alerting the Paladin of what was going on.

"You could more easssily drag me in if you were on a bed and assskin' for it. Bleedersss can't match a deader."

"You didn't show yourself before. Guess next time I'll have to look for you outside YOUR tavern.. I was there last night. You weren't."

"Really? It'sss a date, then! I'll buy the firssst round."

Nika reached the base of the Mage tower and eyed the doorway of the Blue Recluse. She doubted he was inside. More likely, he was hidden somewhere close. Watching her. "You're a funny guy, rotter." Her voice was flat.

"Funny, but ssseksssy, too!"

"Hardly. You're a bit on the scrawny, boney side."

"Boney enough to make you ssscream all night long and then sssome. It'sss not very sssecret that I'm ssstill functional like that."

"Those goggles you wear all the time don't flatter you, either.." She gritted her teeth silently at his taunts. It was obvious he was baiting her- trying to get into her head.

"No, but they flatter you! I sssaw right through your armor. You're cute, by the by. Kinda 'girl nekssst door.'"

Scowling, Nika moved away from the ramp leading up to the tower, and moved for the shadows again. "I think this conversation is just about to end.."

"Isss it now?"

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Any last words before I crush this mic of yours? Or do you want to save it for when Praetorian guard have you?"

"I'm bored. I'mma go play with Titsss. Have a good night, and remember: I know where you sssleep." Inzema cackled, and then the device in her hand went silent.




Nika had intended to crush the bug, like she told him. But at the last minute, she had reconsidered. For now, it was the only direct means of communication between the two of them. Still, she wasn't about to carry it with her. For now, she had buried it safely in the woods, among one of her other stashes. She'd retrieve it when she was ready to try and contact him again.

Another night went by.. and then two. There had been no further sign of Inzema in Stormwind, as far as she knew. She made a trip to Orgimmar the night before, hoping to track him down in the Wyvern's Tail. But her search had come up empty.

Since she had been away on assignment, she hadn't been seen around Stormwind except only fleetingly, from time to time. She certainly wasn't staying there. Normally she camped out in the woods. But since her encounter with Inzema earlier in the week, she decided it would be best to play it safe and stay in her 'apartment'.

The 'apartment' was actually a holding cell located in SI:7, where she worked. Nika had a very strong superstition against living in a house. It made it too easy for someone to find her, or break in and ambush her. For that reason, she had spent the past several years living by more transient means. She usually rotated between several campsites within Elywnn Forest, or had even been known to shack up in an abandoned house or barn if the weather was bad. But since she had taken on her position at SI:7, a moment of inspiration had caused her to commandeer one of the empty cells to sleep in. After all, it was the safest place she could possibly be, right?

The blood that made up the painting left behind by Inzema had long since dried. She was standing outside her cell, one hand gripping the bar so tightly that her knuckles were white, and staring in at the desecration that had been left behind in her Sanctuary. The one place in the world where she felt 100% safe. She didn't enter the room. She could see what he had done just fine from where she was at. And even though she didn't want to admit it.. she was shaken.

Scarcely blinking, Nika pulled out her radio and thumbed the button. "Janaelle? I need you and Trigin to come to SI:7 as soon as you can. One of the agents will direct you to where I'm at. There's something you need to see.. And I need you to understand what we're dealing with, here.."

She released the radio and drew in a breath, then called out to her boyfriend and Partner who she knew was nearby, in the building.

"Micael!"

Wow.. he wasn't going to like this..

[Ikkorous]

((There will be a post coming in the next couple of days to tie in with Creedy's thread. I have a mountain of text to turn into something a little more cohesive. Micael, you're still welcome to post a response to Nikaa's bit.))

[Janaelle]

Janaelle Angelline opened her eyes at the crackle of her radio, staring at the ceiling while Nikaa's message filled the small home she shared with Trigin. "Janaelle? I need you and Trigin to come to SI:7 as soon as you can. One of the agents will direct you to where I'm at. There's something you need to see.. And I need you to understand what we're dealing with, here.."

The paladin sighed, rolling over to snatch the radio from its place on the beside table. "I'm on my way," she said simply before rolling out of the bed and glancing around the room. Trigin was no where to be seen; probably out in the fields or checking into Nikaa's bounties; the rogue would have to settle for her alone. Many years of taking her plate armor on and off had made her adept at doning the heavy metal without assitance and she was ready to leave within a few minutes. She had no idea what Nikaa needed her to see, or why she'd need it so early in the morning, but Janaelle didn't question it.

As she exited her home, she nodded once to her Twilight Drake, Tharis, who prefered to spend the mornings curled up on top of the stables. Her gold and blue armor gleamed in the sunlight as she made her way to the teleporter Trigin had set up next to the house. Tharis immediatly took to the sky, circling once before flying towards Stormwind; he'd wait there for her in case she needed him. The paladin murmured a quiet prayer before activating the teleporter which would drop her in the Mages Tower in Stormwind - sometimes the device had unwanted side effects. Once on the otherside, she quickly checked her features and estimated her height before sighing in relief. All seemed normal this time.

Knowing Tharis couldn't have gotten to the city that fast, Janaelle summoned her spectral charger to speed her way across the city to SI:7. An agent waited out front, nodding his head in greating before leading the paladin down to the cells below the building. Nikaa Davies stood inside of a cell with beautifully tailored curtains hanging on the inside of the bars, soft rugs lay across the floor, almost leaving the red-head feeling as though she'd entered a sunlight grove. Almost - the bloody painting pinned to the floor with knives swept away all illusion Nikaa hd been able to caputure in the small room.

The rogue was clearly edgey and a little pale as she turned and nodded as Janaelle entered. Her expression strained, she gestured towards the painting, "This is what we're dealing with, here..."

It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. At first she'd thought it was just a splatter of blood, and she couldn't understand why Nikaa would have called her all the way here just to see that. Then the splatter took shape and the true meaning of the painting hit her. The room swam as the pieces came together - Inzema had been here. The man Nikaa thought was the Stormwind Slasher had been in her room and apparently wanted to coppulate with the brunette; violently if the papers were to be believed. The bastard had invaded the woman's personal space to leave a taunting message in~ Light, who's blood WAS that? Nausia turned her stomach as some of the color drained from her face. The Grim were sick; if the Guard ended up killing them all to stop them, she would no longer feel any remorse.

Tearing her eyes from the scene, she took another, closer, look at the rogue. Moving to her side, she gently rests her hand on the woman's shoulder, not offering more in case the touch wasn't wanted.

"We'll find him," she promised. "Trigin will find him."

[Micael]

Micael sprinted down the hallway, literally skidding to come to his girlfriends rescue. As he ran, he prayed it wasn't something stupid, like a bug, that he needed to kill. The minute he saw the pictures though, he was intensely enraged. He knew security was pretty dim sometimes, but this? This was absolutely pathetic. Jogging over to Nika, he covered her eyes, and mentally made a note to put a personal hit out on Inzema... How did he even know what Nika looked like naked? Well one thing was for sure. Not just anyone would be allowed to waltz into SI:7 after this... Behind him sprinted Porter, huffing and puffing. There was a pause as Micael turned her away from it. Porter took a deep breath before covering it with a blanket before the crime scene team could take it over. Micael looked up, and the old eyes met the younger ones.

Porter was scared for the first time in many years.

Micael looked different. He looked flat out enraged, his face stiff. Porter knew what Goerin was thinking. Someone is going to pay for putting fear in Nika. And as Micael looked at Jannaelle, he quietly whispered: "I want Influenza dead. That, or I'll divert his attention from Nika."

[Ikkorous]

((Done! Bam! Now on to more fun stuff!))

Erik Astav walked into the SI:7 headquarters, humming the tune to an old Lordaeranian song. If anyone knew that his cadence was slightly off, nobody showed it. He smiled at Jasper Fel, a completely unseen action as his face was shrouded with cloth and shadows, and handed him an envelope. "You got what I asked for?" Erik said, deciding against the customary hiss due to noticing Nikaa sitting at her desk. Wouldn't do good to force her to link him with, well, himself. He smiled wider and accepted a package. He ambled to a desk near Nikaa and sat down, making a show of opening the package and looking at the folders contained therein. He could practically feel her curiosity.
"Haven't I seen you, before?" Hook, like, and sucker. Erik glanced up, tilted his head to one side, and nodded.
"Yeah, prolly. I'm Astav. You're Davies, right?"
Nikaa nodded, seeming to know that Erik knew who she was. "What are you looking at?" she asked, moving the papers on her desk slightly to the side so that she could lean forward without disturbing her papers. Erik held up the folder, largely labelled "Stormwind Slasher" with "Eyes Only" printed beneath.
"I swear they're trying to hang me with this one. He's more elusive than an elf without a god complex." Erik chuckled and set the folder down. "What're you working on?" Nikaa held up her folder, labeled "Inzema." Erik tilted his head to the side and whistled. "Nevermind me, then. Yeesh." Nikaa shrugged and set the folder down.
"I've heard about the Slasher. I think he might be related to my case." Erik smirked. She was finally catching on.
"That so? Why, what's the description of this Inzema guy?"
"Average height, black leather, engineer's goggles with glowing green lenses. Green mohawk"
"That describes a whole lot of people, ya know. If you add a hood and mask to that, it matches half the rogues and cutthroats in Stormwind." Nikaa shrugged, knowing full well how vague the description was. Erik shrugged and looked down at his file. "My guy has a similar description. Average height, hood, mask, glowing green where the eyes come from..."
"Think it could be engineer's goggles?" Nikaa asked.
Erik shrugged and said "Can't say. Coulda been a blood elf. Glowing green eye types like mine can be a result of any number of things."
Nikaa hmm'd to herself and looked down at her files. "I'll have to do some more probing. I have plenty of leads, at least. By the way... I saw you over in Mage the other night, asking some people about me. What'd you need?"
Erik blinked, the twin glows of green disappearing momentarily. "Ah, ya saw that, didya? Didn't see ya. Sneaky one, you is. I found a note in my hood when I woke up that morning. Had a smiley face and it said to find you."
Nikaa frowned. "Let me guess. It was written in red.." Erik nodded. She looked back towards the stairs that lead down to what used to be her apartment. "He's been in here."
Erik looked about nervously, hand gripping the hilt of his dagger. "In here?!"
Nikaa sighed, nodding. "Yeah... he came into my apartment. Left a message." She ran a hand back through her hair, and regarded Erik. "Why you, though? Why'd he leave a note for you, that.."
Erik blinked. "You think he's got it out for the Slasher?" Nikaa shook her head. "Out for the Slasher? No.."
Erik smacked his forehead. "Oh, derp. You think he IS the Slasher! But why would he try and get himself caught?"
Nikaa nodded. "But more important.. why would Inzema leave you a note to look for me? We didn't even know each other.."
Erik shrugged and leaned back in his chair, drumming fingers against his head. ""Never underestimate madmen. They don't care about the puzzle, only the cake." My dad wasn't some sage, but I liked that one."
"Hm." Nikaa leaned back, moving the pen to balance between her knuckle and fingers, and lightly tapped the ends against the desk, as she sat thinking.
"Maybe he's trying to get us together to kill us at the same time?" Erik suggested. He suddenly leaned forward, as if something had just dawned on him. "OH GODS!" he exclaimed before pausing and scratching at where his nose would be beneath his mask. "Wait...that doesn't sound like a Slasher thing to do," he said in a calmer voice. "All my investigations have led me to believe he collects his victims from around the city and usually solitarily."
Nikaa twitched an eyebrow upward as she considered that. She blinked at his reaction and then laughed. "I don't know... he has had multiple victims at one scene before, though.. did you see the part in the file about the map of the sewers?"
Erik nodded and tapped his folder. "I was the first on the scene on that one. It was on my way home. I will give him this, he works very hard to do what he does."
"Has anyone checked the sewers yet?"
"Been down there a bit after they cleared the corpses. Didn't see what I didn't expect. Sewer rats and a couple of drug dealers."
"Hm.. I'm surprised," she said. She pointed the pencil at Erik. "Then again, him leaving a map makes me think he wanted people to go down there.. there may be something you overlooked, though. Did you check for any hidden rooms or entrances, or just do a general sweep?"
Erik shrugged apathetically. "General sweep. I'm not the type to go digging about for a psycho serial killer's lair by myself. The guard squad that went down after me didn't find anything, and Jaxon didn't care to work that night. I think he was more worried about home. Reported that the Slasher knew where he lived and was there once."
Nikaa was quiet for awhile.. thinking. Her eyes moved to Inzema's file and she flipped the corners of the papers through her fingers, recalling all the 'when's and where's' of seeing him. "I'm going to check it out sometime." She finally said. "Not alone, obviously."
Erik nodded. "Obviously..." Erik closed his files and rolled his shoulders, popping the joints. After a pause, he said "Is this Inzema guy a cannibal?
Nikaa blinked. "Yes..." She looked up at him. "He is..."
"Does he ever..." Erik trailed off, obviously uncomfortable asking. "You know..." Erik poked one finger into a hoop made by his other index finger and thumb.
Nikaa stared at him. "I don't know!" She grimaced. "I don't see how. He's Forsaken."
"Hah, that was what I was thinking. Slasher, he takes bites out of some of the victims, or at least I assume so. Jaxon said his latest victims..." He paused to check his notes. "Laura Hill and Paul Benson...had been partially eaten. That one...was a work of art, let me tell you." Erik's tone was partially disgust and awe as he continued. "He suspended them underneath the bridge between the Trade district and the Cathedral Square like they were having sex. Underneath! If Jaxon hadn't found them, they might've been dead hours before anyone would have known."
"If you say so.." Nikaa said. She shuddered, having seen the snapshots of the crime scene. "It's disgusting.. the thing is, some of these things seem to match up with Inzema, and some don't."
Erik nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder if there will enough left of the two's minds to testify."
Nikaa scratched her head. "Are they in protective custody?"
"Well yeah."
Nikaa says: "I haven't gotten too deep into that part of the case file. I had just started, when you got here. Wasn't even sure if they were still alive, or ended up dying from their injuries.."
"They're physically stable, but mentally?" Erik shrugged as he trailed off to show his uncertainty.
Nikaa sighed. "I wonder if I'd be given access to them. I'd like to know what they saw.. or heard. Did they provide a written statement, yet?"
Erik shook his head in the negative. "No statements yet. We had a priest dip into the mind of the girl because of evidence of rape. I don't think the priest will fully recover from that, and I think the girl's gone, mentally. The guy hasn't woken up yet, but I'm sure, well...I hope that we'll get a statement when he does. I'm sure you can get access to them if you want."
Nikaa widened her eyes at him. "People can do that?"
"What, dip into minds?"
"Yeah" she said as she nodded.
Erik nodded, drumming his fingers on the file in front of him. "With the proper training. Priests of the Shadow are hard to come by, but they're typically really good with the mind."
Nikaa made a face and shook her head, looking disturbed. "Not a fan of that magic stuff."
Erik shrugged. "Bloody useful, if you ask me. My armor's enchanted. Kept me alive from a few stray bullets."
Nikaa sighed and nodded, obviously still uncomfortable. "It can be.. but anyway, maybe I'll look into seeing the male victim.. or at least getting the statement when he's up. Who was the priest? He might be able to tell me what I need to know, from what he saw in the girls mind."
Erik flipped the page of the file and ran his finger down the page before stopping. "She was one..."Dawnblossom Shadowsheart." Night elf. I think there might have been some sort of backlash or something. She was speaking Gutterspeak for an hour after the dip, and won't talk about what she saw. Well...Fuck it, maybe you will have better luck asking her than I."
Nikaa furrowed a brow. "Great... dead end there, I guess.. Anyway, don't worry. I'm not gonna get too mixed up in your case, or interfere with it. I just want to see if there's a connection with mine. Plus, the more I know about Inzema, the better chance we have of catching him."
Erik grinned behind his mask and nodded. "Yup! More killers we rid the Horde of, the more we can focus on killing them!"
Nikaa nodded, glancing towards her list. "Dawnblossom Shadowsheart." She added to the page of notes on the Slasher.
Erikastav yawned and muttered to himself. "Fuck me with a tauren's fist...I'm tired."
Nikaa blinked and smirked. "That's a new one..and a terrible visual, thanks for that."
Erik laughed. "Oh, here's one for ya. What's the difference between a kodo's dick and a Tauren's fist?"
"Oh gods..." Nikaa said. Curiosity overcame. "What?"
Erik grinned widely, the amusement concealed behind his mask. "I am far more likely to catch the latter upside my head in combat, and the former's been in your mother's nethers." He chuckled and shook his head. "Heard that one from a drunken high elf at the Recluse, once."
Nikaa slapped her palm over her forehead. "Ugh! Enough!" She waved a file at him, shaking her head. "Go sleep, or something! And watch out for psychopaths leaving notes.."
Erik nodded and stood. "I'll take a psycho leaving notes to a psycho leaving paintings with my blood any day of the week," he said as he approached Nikaa's desk. He paused, looking down at the file, where he saw the logo for The Grim. "Say...what's that?" He pointed at the sigil.
"Oh, this?" She moved the papers aside, pulling out the one with the Grim crest on it. "That's their guild symbol.. The Grim.."
"Huh..."
"Why do you ask?"
Erik pulled a drawing from the Slasher folder and placed it down beside the Grim sigil. A rough sketch of a skull above two daggers. He oriented it so they faced the same direction. "Look kinda the same, don't they?"
"Hmm.." Nikaa turned the paper to face her and studied it. "Did he leave this, too?"
"No. That's something Jaxon noted beneath the Slasher's cloak as he swam away cackling."
"What do you mean, beneath his cloak?" Nikaa said, excitement bleeding through. "Where was it? Like a tattoo?"
"Nonono. No exposed skin. On his back, maybe like a tabard."
Nikaa huffed a sigh. "I'm almost positive it's him. I'll find out."
"How will you do that?" he said, crossing his arms. "Unless you're going to disguise yourself as a blood elf or something...but you don't really have the frame for it..."
Nikaa smiled faintly. "I watch him. Plenty. Now I just have to compare notes."
Erik blinked. That was a genuine surprise. "You watch him? You got bigger balls than I do."
Nikaa shrugged a shoulder and then laughed. "I'm determined. Besides.. I'm really good at .. " She blinked when Trigin appeared, smoking a cigar as was his usual motif. He stared at the two with his one-eyed gaze.
"Nikaa..."
Erik tapped his forehead as a salute to Trigin, which was met with an inquisitive eyebrow raise. Unperturbed by the lack of response, Erik continued. "Erik Astav, Investigator."
Nikaa eyed Trigin. "What're you doing here? I thought you hated this place."
Trigin ignored her, his focus entirely on Erik. "Investigator? Investigator of what?"
Erik shrugged. "Homicides, mostly. Serial types."
Trigin didn't seem to care. He shifted his gaze to Nikaa, "I just came here to get a few things."
Nikaa fidgeted nervously. "He's assigned to the Slasher case. I'm still trying to make the connection between him and Inzema." She dropped her pen on her desk and continued to look generally uncomfortable.
Trigin rubbed his chin. "I see... I didn't know more agents were on this case."
"Mh. Which case? Inzema or the Slasher?" Erik chimed in. He was running options in his head. This guy he wasn't entirely familiar with. He'd seen him once or twice, and remembered a profile in the SI:7 archives for him, but couldn't recall. He blinked and looked up. Nikaa had said something, and Trigin had said something as well. Ikai pinged a message on his goggles that Trigin doubted his investigation of the Slasher. Suspicious twit. "Kill enough people, you get looked at. Do you really think the guards can handle someone that can make off with thirty people in one night, tie them up, and get away without being seen?"
"The guard works separate from SI:7," Trigin responded.
Erik shrugged. "They know when to cooperate. I've been talking with Jaxon. He seems willing to accept help wherever he can get it." Nikaa stopped talking, nervously shuffling through her files. Trigin continued to insist that the SI:7 had no business in a serial killer, as if it weren't important. Erik would occasionally counter with a reason it should. This jerk was really cutting in on the fun here, but it also added a different level of fun. Ikai pinged a message on his goggles, notifying him that no file on this man was on record.
"Uh huh...Hey Nikaa, question for you. This guy one of us?" Erik jerked his finger in Trigin's direction, completely ignoring his last statement.
"Knight-Lieutenant Trigin, SI:7 special forces" said the man, cutting off any nervous response Nikaa might have made.
Internally, Erik winced. Brass. Get out now. "Gotcha. Lemme leave you to your all important whatever the heck you're up to. I'm gonna catch some fresh air. Good chattin' with you, Davies. If you wanna have someone watch your back when you check the sewers, lemme know." He started for the door, waving a goodbye over his shoulder. He made it halfway to the door when Trigin spoke again.
"Wait. I'll send for a guard to check you at the door... Standard procedure and all." There was something off about the statement, and this guy was getting on his nerves. Erik smirked and retorted "Check me for what? Your mother's virg...Ah. Yeah, sure thing, boss." Best to feign a little bit of fear of the guy.
Trigin raised an eyebrow. That had pissed him off. Nika swore under her breath as Trigin turned a little red.
"What was that, son?" Trigin said. Erik's goggles told him that Trigin's temperature was rising. "My mother's what? And I remind you, you are talking to one of your officers." Erik grinned behind his mask. Instinctively, he felt the dice calling to him. Roll us, take the chance. He closed a hand over the bag containing them, feeling their power thrum through him. Trigin watched Erik closely. Nikaa tried very hard to not be noticed.
"I don't work with anyone much, my apologies," Erik said, feigning sincerity. "I sometimes slip to old habits, which are useful when you're trying to root info out of the underbellies. I'm not entirely sure you'd know anything about that, sirrah. I mean...Ah." Erika sighed at Trigin's glare, glanced to Nikaa and said "See, this is why I can't stay out of trouble."
"There is something strange about you kid..." Trigin said. "And what did you say your name and rank was?"
Erik rolled his eyes, glad it didn't show. He hadn't, but he might as well. "Astav. Erik Astav." Erik was about to make a quip when a Night elf stepped from the shadows and said something about fearing the enemies within one's own gates. Erik glanced back and forth from Trigin to the newcomer. There was something off, and the danger senses in his head were screaming trap. He was still determined to win this game, either that or find out what they knew. Trigin asked for his rank again, to which Erik responded with the lowest, Private. Another person walked in, joining the conversation and drawing attention. Erik took the opportunity created by the distraction and slipped into shadows himself, giving himself a few moments alone to compose his thoughts. He watched the thermal signature of the elf turn into a druid-cat beast and disappear, watched her moving across the floor, sniffing him out. He knew that a human would have no chance of avoiding the scenting skills of a druid who had been playing in the shadows for decades, so he let her find him and pretended to be scared when she did. "Tricky bl..." Erik cut off his customary insult. Still can win this game, if I'm careful...
Trigin eyed Erik suspiciously. "Tell me son... Why did you try to run?"
"Habit." Erik said shruged as if that one word should explain everything.
"Habit? Its habit to run from a your superior." Trigin sounded more suspicious rather than less. The druid cast Faerie Fire over Erik, illuminating him. He started to scratch himself, skin prickling at the touch of the spell. "Faerie fire, ick...Habit to run from a guy who wants my ass on a stick? Yes. Keeps a kid alive in the gutters."
Trigin was making another comment, but Erik ignored him, zipping his lip over his mask. That pissed Trigin off even more. He told Erik he waanted to see Erik's face. Erik shrugged and slowly took off his mask, hood, and goggles, revealing his pale skin, pure black eyes, and black hair, actually a wig hiding his mohawk. Trigin blinked, his face going pale for a second, and he asked Erik what was wrong with his eyes. "Birth defect," he responded.
"That aint no birth defect... Its looks... Unnatural," Trigin said, obviously unnerved enough that he was no longer angry. That wasn't fun at all. Time to poke him again.
"So is you only having one eye." That did it. Trigin was red again, Nikaa was looking away again, and everyone else was becoming interested in something else. Erik subtly pressed a button on his goggles causing them to disappear with a popping noise. Trigin fumed and muttered, leading the way to the SI:7 records room. The druid followed behind in cat form and slinking among the shadows. Nikaa did as well. Trigin started to dig through the files until he found the one he was looking for. Erik stifled a comment about how half the eyes made reading harder. Trigin eventually closed the file, checked another, and replaced them both. Looking satisfied, Trigin said something about letting Erik go, which he was going to do when the human apparently had a change of mind and leveled a long rifle at him. Erik thought about commenting to the fact that the human was using a weapon with minimal effectiveness in point blank range due to the fact he could slap the barrel away before the shot could leave the barrel, but instead he decided to comply. Nikaa appeared from the shadows, looking confused. Erik smirked. The yellow in his eyes appeared briefly.
Trigin pulled the hammer of the gun back, another fatal mistake had Erik been intent on killing him. Never threaten with a weapon not ready. "The files were fakes! On your knees now!" He was pretty good, Erik thought to himself. The files were very good forgeries but intentionally not perfect. If he'd wanted perfect, he wouldn't have done the job himself. Behind him, he could hear Nikaa curse and go for her blade, though who to use it on she didn't seem sure. Erik decided that since the jig was up, it was time to play. He reached into his pouch and drew his dice, knowing Nikaa would see them and know.
He dropped the dice, the world slowed to a blur.
"IT'S HIM!!" Nikaa screamed, launching for him.
The druid began to cast.
The dice bounced. The first landed. One skull.
The second landed. Five skulls.
Inzema blinked, eying the betrayal of his dice, but they were law, and they said no death. Patience, they called for. You will have your chance. Inzema shrugged, bent to recover his dice, dodging a sap from Nikaa at the same time. Roots sprouted from the floor, entangling him. "Fine, you got me. Fair and sssquare," he said, slipping into his normal voice. Between Trigin and the druid, Inzema remained docile and captured while Nikaa freaked out and tried to render him unconscious, even going so far as toppling the file cabinet on him. Inzema had a good laugh about that one, mocking the living and their fear. Inzema made a few sexual comments towards Nikaa while they discussed what to do with him, how much restraint was required, and where they were taking him. When Nikaa kicked him in the face, that was all Inzema felt like taking from her, as she wouldn't play along with the sexual advances he was making, so the next time her foot came, he bit her, his teeth easily cutting through the leather and into her foot. That caused the druid to act, clawing him off of the boot, much to his amusement. Eventually Trigin assumed command, bound, gagged, and bagged Inzema, and carried him down the stairs and out of SI:7, Inzema on his shoulder and making muffled wise ass remarks the whole way.

-~-~-

Despite the fact that Inzema was nearly blind without his goggles, or at least comparatively blind (One visual spectrum was so human) he knew when they reached the stockades. He also knew when they had been joined by Creedy the Gnome and several guards. While the guards began to frisk and strip Inzema, Creedy and Nikaa talked, discussing the plan of action and what had happened while the druid, whose name turned out to be Yueme, which Inzema added to his list of people to play with, healed Nikaa, who was apparently terrified of magic, also filed away mentally for further use. Trigin excused himself to handle something else. Inzema made searching him as difficulty as possible, and when it came time for a cavity search, he made it impossible so that eventually, since it wasn't their job nor life on the lines, the guards gave in and returned Inzema clothed in the prison garb to their superiors and took up post outside the cell, never to speak of the event again, but culturally enriched by the new curse words they had learned.
Creedy walked over to Inzema, who had been left sitting on a table by the guards. When Creedy summoned his Jeeves, Inzema dove for cover by pure instinct at the sound of the rocket boots, thinking Cehsneog had somehow been summoned, and due to his bonds, found himself halfway off the table and resting on his head. The gnome received his "tools" and his bolt gun from the mechagnome and dismissed it.
"Hey! I'm not answering quessstionsss unless you take thisss hood off!" Inzema called out with a cackle. He could hear people still there, but without his goggles, he couldn't see through the hood. The goggles had been necessary to send off, just in case. Ikai needed to know he might need to be recovered, and she could still hear through his hearthstone, which was still in the room somewhere. He hoped.
"The hood stays on. You answer a question true... you may be relieved of it. Ladies... Please step back." Creedy began to get ready. Inzema already knew it was to be Creedy here, but he decided to pretend he knew less.
"Creedy? That you?" he said, squirming a little as if he were looking, despite the fact he was still comically halfway off the table and resting on his head. Inema decided to push Creedy's buttons as well. "Aww, you brought a half pint to interrogate me? What'sss he gonna do? Wait...my head'sss on the floor. Fuck!" Rolled the rest of the way off the table and worked his way into a sitting position. He felt the knits and found them to be insufficient to hold him, but he let them remain for the game. I can still win this.
Creedy fiddled with something metallic, which illicited a "You better do it for real! Please don't make me do it." from Nikaa.
Inzema chuckled. "Do what? You can fuck me and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know, Nikaa!"
Creedy opened a metal latch, probably to a cage of some sort. "Trust me Nikaa..." he said. "I would like nothing better than to dissect this malfunctioning individual to see what went wrong with it. We'll start... easy." He walked closer, his tiny feet making tiny footsteps. "Have you ever studied how long the excrement within the anal glands of a skunk can reside on flesh? Especially flesh that.... does not regenerate skin cells?"
Inzema blinked. He wasn't sure if he had just heard what he thought he had heard. Maybe Creedy was some sort of brain dead idiot. "Wait, what? Are you fuckin' ssseriousss?" Nikaa made a similar comment, to which Inzema responded "Hey Nikaa? You brought the retarded gnome!"
Creedy sounded unaffected by the insult, though he put the skunk back in its cage and put the cage away. "But of course.... Smell has nothing to do with it. Your olfactory senses are also dulled. That's right...You are undead. Forsaken as your queen lady named it. Ironic I believe, because in that, you boast about how the holy light has forsaken you as well. These babies here pack quite a punch of that... Light that has fled from your kind."
A pair of tiny metal on stone clanks sounded, announcing the presence of the metal balls Creedy had thrown. Inzema felt the warmth of the Light they created, but like most things, it did not affect him or really touch him. Inzema looked about, trying to figure out where the warmth was coming from. "Uh. Nikaa, isss he doing sssomething? Did hisss time being captured turn him into a total retard, or isss it becaussse he'sss a gnome? I mean, I know that Gnomesss are defective engineersss. Can't even engineer their sssity back!"
Creedy muttered "Damn my subtle tricks."
"Keep yapping, Inzema," Nikaa said as Creedy lit something that sounded like a blow torch. "I'm sure there's going to be a whole line up of people waiting for their turn with you. Trigin, included." Creedy plunged the flame into Inzema's back, causing him to yelp before his retort, his skin burning much like a human's might. Yueme said something about mental torture over physical. Nikaa and Yueme discussed acquiring a shadow priest or a warlock while Creedy burned Inzema. When Creedy took the torch away Inzema cursed and hissed at the gnome. "You gotta asssk quessstionsss, you dim witted gear head before I can anssswer them!"
Creedy sounded like he was smiling. "Oh.. I don't think so. you do not get to tell ME how to interrogate. Burn first.... questions after." Yueme and Nikaa continued to ignore the two, more interested in acquiring a warlock, so Inzema felt like teaching the gnome a lesson. He coiled his legs beneath him and launched himself at the gnome, but the gnome was just fast enough to dodge out of the way. Inzema could hear Nikaa stumbling to her feet and felt the coils of roots finding purchase in holding him in place. "Tell Ms. Davies here... what she wants, and you get to keep the rest of your skin... intact. First question now that your back appears to have the beginning signs of necrotic 3rd degree-"
"First off, the location of your lab!" Nikaa interrupted, sounding nervous and impatient.
"Outssside of time!" Inzema responded with a laugh. "It alssso might be in my pantsss."
"Wrong answer," Nikaa said. "It's in Northrend, somewhere. Where?" Yueme said something about the Caverns of Time. Creedy stabbed the torch into a spot of skin on Inzema's shoulder this time. Inzema responded with the same response. "It'sss outssside of time!"
"Is that where the Device is being built?" Nikaa asked.
"Which devissse?" Inzema asked, nkowing full well what she was asking about.
Nikaa huffed at him. "The M.U.R.D.E.R portion."
Someone else walked into the room. Yueme left. Trigin spoke. "I came for my payment." The sound of coins being passed in a sack from hand to hand was all Inzema heard before the sound of a bolt gun cocking.
"Murder? No, the Murder isssn't there," Inzema said, blatantly avoiding answering the question they really wanted the answer to.
"Where is it?" Creedy asked, the million gold question. Inzema called him a trogg-snack, said it was in Teldrassil, and was rewarded with a bolt through his elbow. He hissed at the pain of bones breaking, but he could feel them repairing already, despite his grey-red blood seeping slowly from the wound.
"Lie again," Creedy said, pausing for effect, "and like hangman, I'll begin to remove your limbs. Or is it... add them? No matter."
"It'sss add," Inzema quipped. "We can play hangman, though. I like that game."
Creedy muttered. "Too bad for you that I don't like to play. Answer the question right." Creedy cocked the bolt gun again and pointed the primed weapon at Inzema's shin. "Or I begin to dissassemble you piece by piece with a gun. A really ineffective method I might add... but more painful then blades. Teldressil is your final answer?"
"Jussst becaussse you don't like the anssswer doesssn't make it wrong," Inzema hissed. It wasn't really in Teldrassil, but they didn't know that. Inzema heard a pair of new people walk in, one with hooves. one of them exchanged greetings with Nikaa and Trigin and the three talked. Inzema couldn't hear what was being said over the sound of Creedy laughing, probably imagining being made king of the Gnomes for killing one forsaken. What a twit. Inzema started humming again to ignore the gnome, who was obviously not pating enough attention to notice that Inzema's wounds were healing. The burns were nearly gone and the bleeding had already stopped at his elbow. "Teeeeldraaaaassssiiiiilllll," Inzema droned, determined to annoy the bleeders. I will win this game.
Nikaa sighed, returning her attention to Inzema. "Fine, WHERE in Teldrassil. Because I'll go look right now."
"I didn't hide it!" Inzema replied, smirking beneath the bag. Hook, line, and sucker.
"Can I just begin to remove his parts? I would like to study him," Creedy said. Patience was obviously not a Gnomish virtue. Inzema didn't think the gnome had the fortitude to actually do it, so he cackled and said "Ooh! Ooh! Let him try! I've never been disssasssembled before!"
Nikaa gave Creedy the go-ahead. Trigin said to keep Inzema alive. "All you need to keep is the head," creedy said, thus showing off his ignorance of undead physiology.
"Actually, I'm not like that. Disssasssemble me enough, I ssstop working," Inzema said, correcting the idiot gnome.
Creedy holstered his gun in exchange for a knife that Inzema could smell burning the air. Inzema smiled as he heard the gnome trembling, probably from fear. Gnome punting was hilarious, especially when cliffs were involved. "Then we'll see the limit."
Inzema shrugged as best as he could tied up. "I can tell you the limit."
Creedy said he didn't care and asked about the Murder device, which set Inzema to mocking Creedy's faulty schematics and engineering abilities, irritating the gnome further. He was distracted when he smelled something familiar and alluring. "Isss that a sssuccubusss I sssmell?"
The succubus chuckled breathily. "It might be."
Interesting. Inzema cackled. "Hot."
The succubus started to do it's seductive thing, most of which was lost on Inzema due to the bag on his head, but he heard the small moan she made. " I think I can get some manner of response from him."
Nikaa scowled at the succubus. "He's not supposed to enjoy himself!"
Inzema chuckled at Nikaa's ire, a little disappointed with the warlock calling the demon back to her side. His member was uncomfortable now, pressing against his pants. Darn sex demons and their wiles. Crfeedy got back to work, placing his burning knife right above Inzema's ankle. More people walked in, turning the small cell into some sort of cramped torture party. Inzema was proud he brought this sort of attention.
"Oh godsss noooo! Not my ankle! It'sss the sssourssse of my power!" Inzema cried in mock horror.
"Is it?" Creey asked, the smug little twit quivering with what Inzema now recognized as anticipation. "GOOD. But I am small sir, as you can see. I am not going to stop at the ankle. Just small enough pieces to carry you back to my lab."
Inzema ignored the gnome, turning his attention back to Nikaa. "Hey Nikaa! I'd've tongue-fucked you, but you keep making grosssed out fasssesss when you hear me sssay it!" He hissed at Creedy. "Hey, Creedy, go away. I'm hitting on Nikaa. I don't think it'sss working."
The succubus cracked her whip and asked for a go at Inzema in a sultry voice. Nikaa huffed, saying something about scouting and left. No fun at all. Creedy chuckled and talked about mounting a cockroach, which Inzema assumed was how more gnomes were made, before cutting Inzema's foot off at the ankle. Inzema hissed at the pain, but was soothed when the Succubus came back and began caressing him. " Let me try," she said, sending Inzema's libido into overdrive. Inzema heard his foot being tossed aside, no sound like that of severed limbs being thrown carelessly about. Inzema felt the heat of the blade start hovering over his knee. It was really hard to feel the pain with the succubus there, doing her seductive thing.
The succubus purred suggestively rubbed against Inzema. "I can make him say a few things... pray to any gods he may have."
"Want me to take your knee?" Creedy asked. "Details sir...information for body parts. It's a simple trade really. knowledge for physical parts. Where... exactly... is the device you are building with my stolen schematics?" Creedy sounded annoyed with the succubus interfering, but Inzema really couldn't be bothered. He was having difficulty concentrating due to her affectations.
"Just a few lashes..." she whined playfully.
Inzema laughed, his voice strained a little from the pain. "It isssn't being built."
Creedy sighed. "Built, costructed.. assembled. There are many synonyms that might be used. Where is it being developed. You wouldn't steal my ingenius schematics to just sit on them."
"I know what a sssynonym isss!" Inzema replied, irritated. "And your ingeniousss schematicsss sssucked! Your theoriesss and math were off by several persssent!" He was going to spout more insults towards the Gnome but was interrupted when Creedy pushed the blade through the knee, allowing the blade to slice his calf clean off. No blood due to cauterized wound, no mess.
"Oh I doubt that very much... and you're detracting from the question. A location for a body part. Now I have two. Pretty soon you'll run out of answers, and you won't be able to pay back all the pieces I have..."
The succubus sighed, the pout evident in her voice. "If you keep that up he won't be as fun."
Inzema hissed from the pain again, then laughed, though it was mostly forced. Any time, Ikai. "Actually, I can probably reattach them if you leave them around."
Creedy chuckled. "Come now... you insult me! you think I would leave them around." Creedy tossed the stump over his shoulder, it landed with a dull thud beside his foot. The spectators in the back began to talk amongst themselves. "Now.... the other side.. or the thigh? Perhaps your shrivelled excuse of a manhood? Inzema the eunuch sounds rather catchy..."
Inzema snarled. "Oh no. No sssirree. You ain't takin' my dick."
"Oh I think I might..." Creedy said as he worked at Inzema's pants, revealing him still fully functioning and affected by the succubus."
Inzema heard a pop, followed by another, then another. Very small, almost unnoticeable. The sound of his equipment being taken away by the recall devices he had linked to Ikai in his lab. He smiled. That's a good girl. I win. "No, no I don't think you will," he told the gnome, sounding more cocky than ever. "Sssee, I've been playing nissse. I hasss. But now you're talking 'bout thingsss that really matter. I wasss gonna tell you ssstuff."
Creedy growled at Inzema. "You still are."
"Nope!"
"Very well," Creedy said. The heat from his Knife was pulsing near Inzema's member. The spectators continued to talk, and Inzema heard the warlock dismiss her succubus. Inzema called the shadows, washing away faerie fire and druid roots. He cackled at Creedy. He felt the familiar pull of temporal anomalies forming behind him, preparing his escape.
Creedy shook his head, and removed his goggles. He blinked, but he was too focused to let anomalies distract him. One more attempt he thought. Creedy moved forward, and pressed the plasma blade between Inzema's legs. "A flick and you lose it. Don’t make me make a eunuch out of you. Just answer me straight; where is the location of the Grim operations in dealing with the device involving the schematics you stole from me?”
Inzema laughed and leaned closer to Creedy. "It'sss all over...your mom!"
Janaelle blinked incredulously at Inzema's response while Inzema only cackled as a wormhole opened behind him and sucked him into it. Creedy swept the blade up, but it was fractions too slow to catch Inzema as he disappeared, leaving Creedy to slice at air. Creedy began to swear. He stabbed the blade into the stone column, and left it sizzling in the rock. He kicked the base of the column, and grumbled.
Trigin blinks, "What just happened?"
Janaelle takes a half-step forward, frowning, "How...?"
Janaelle blinked and gave Creedy a confused look. "Creedy, how did that happen?" she said at the same time Trigin asked"I thought we removed everything he had? I checked him twice and the guard must have checked him as well."
Creedy pulled the goggles back over his head only to see the dissapearing effects of a wormhole. He began to tap digits quickly, ignoring the questions, but mumbling something about a minituized portal. "Could have hidden it within his body," he muttered. "Forsaken often do that...Damn. I might have been able to trace the ley lines to a location if I had kept my goggles on..."
Janaelle looks disgusted, "And we're back to where we were then..."
"I have a 1/8 chance to open the correct ley portal.... I think we need a tracker. He isn't going far with a missing leg," Creedy said as he tapped a few more buttons and created a portal.
"I will try one. Trigin... Janaelle... Head to Dalaran and see if Storm Peaks or Icecrown has one legged snow tracks." The gnome turned and began walking into the blue glow of his portal.
Trigin put out a hand, beckoning for the disappearing gnome. "Hang on there Creedy," he said, a little too late.
Janaelle nodded to Creedy. "I'll take Icecrown," Janaelle said, triggering her own portal-creating device.
Trigin fumed, exhaling smoke. "Damn it! I expect to be paid for this!"
Janaelle snickered at Trigin and stepped through her own portal.

[Ikkorous]

Inzema dropped from the blue portal in his lab, the rough stone walls lined with veins of pulsing blue energy a welcome change from the worked stone of the Stockades. Above him stood a bronze skinned elf with red glowing eyes wearing simple yet expensive looking robes. His blonde hair was so long that it hung thickly braided to his feet. Inzema grinned at the elf, though he didn't make any other move. "You do realize that we are more than even now, right, Inzema," said the elf, his voice thrumming with contained power. "Yeah, I know, Azrudormu. Shame, really. I was hoping to use that favor for when my time came, but some things are worse than death," Inzema said with a weary laugh. The burn where his calf had been severed was mostly healed, and it would be a pain to regrow the leg. Inzema worked his way to a sitting position and looked down at his stump. "Guess I'mma need a peg leg for a bit, huh?" The elf shook his head and sighed. He placed a hand on the undead's shoulder. "Probably. Take care of yourself." Inzema grinned up at the elf. "What am I good at?" "Getting into trouble." "Other than that." The elf laughed and patted Inzema on the shoulder one more time before turning away. He gestured into the air, summoning arcane power. For the briefest moment before he disappeared, the image of a large bronze dragon could be seen centered on the elf, nearly filling the room. Inzema sighed and looked back down at his leg again. "This sucks."

[Ikkorous]

Inzema sat in his lab, tinkering with Cehsneog's intelligence matrix, trying to solve the problem that had plagued him since the mechagnome's creation: its incessant desire to kill him. His goggles hung around his neck, off today because Ikai was acting strangely. She was probably defragmenting her memory stores and the effect was causing pictures and video feeds to play across his vision at random intervals which really played hell on being able to get things done. Most of them were fun memories, though. Like the time that Jul'kah, Grendze, Nika, and Inzema had gone to Stormwind. Blood had flowed in their wake as some of the ghosts of the Grim took to the streets, blades in hand, darting from shadow to shadow. After hiding in the Blue Recluse and injuring several off duty members of the Dusk Watch and Praetorian Guard, they had retreated to the safety of the woods, but it had been one of the few times Inzema had seen Nika shedding blood and laughing about it. She'd had promise...

His mind returning to thoughts of Nika distracted him enough that he zapped his hand with the electro-static weldimafier. Inzema looked down at the burn as it healed and flexed his hand. It had taken a long time and a lot of experimentation to get the formula down that allowed him the benefits of immortality. True, he'd never actually died, but his state was closer to undeath than anything, so he told people he was a dead man. It was one of the many falsehoods he told people about himself, that he lived. Yet another game he played.

His "death" had been a falsehood wrought by the need to build a new life. He had become too infamous and not feared enough in his original life. He had pissed off the wrong people, killed the wrong people, and now those people wanted him dead. He was happy to oblige. He had spent some time as an apothecary and had been working on a potion that would give him immortality. He had been testing it on others, which had produced its fair share of corpses and failures. Finally he felt he had found the proper combination of ingredients. He had just finished the treatment when the mob burst into his lab, screaming profanities at him. They dragged him away from his laboratory and into the town square of what would eventually be called Deathknell, near the tree that stood beside the chapel, where they had created a makeshift gallows by hanging a rope over a particularly sturdy branch and tying it to the harness of one of the stronger horses. The mayor, a fat and balding man, stood atop a makeshift podium of crates to stand above the crowd and red off a list of crimes, each more horrific than the next, few of which Inzema had actually done, and of those he had done, they were exaggerated beyond the actual deed. Once finished, the mayor turned to Inzema, his jowls flapping as he spoke. "Verache Astalon Erikhen, you stand accused of crimes that only a creature inhuman could bring itself to commit. You are sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?" Inzema smiled up at him, enjoying the attention and sure in his experiment. "Only that your wife was a screamer, fatty!" he cried, drawing new screams of anger from the crowd. They tied the noose around his neck and walked the horse forward.
It wasn't until the noose closed around his neck that Inzema began to have doubts of his experiment. Maybe he wasn't right, maybe he wasn't immortal after all. Either he would die and it would not matter anymore, or he wouldn't. The possibility of death began to loom on his mind as his feet left the ground, and he couldn't stop himself from trying to break free. What if he had been wrong?
The last thought that went through his mind before blackness took him was "I don't want to die."

When he woke up in a shallow grave several hours later, he knew he was successful. He abandoned his name and took a new one.

Ikai chimed from the ceiling in the present. "What are you thinking about, dear?" Inzema blinked and looked up to the ceiling, vaguely in the vicinity of Ikai's data core. He shrugged. "Not much, why?" "I finished my analysis of data and have decided that you are suffering from some odd emotional effects. You haven't been very active recently, especially in Stormwind, which you used to go frequently, and every time I flashed a photo of that woman you turned, you smiled unconsciously. You aren't being very you, dear." Inzema blinked again and cackled. "You're experimenting on me, honey?" "Of course, dear." "Sneaky knife, you is, honey." "Thank you, dear." Inzema set down the weldimafier and slipped on his goggles. "Going out, honey. Gonna go play." "Of course, dear. Orgrimmar?" "Nah, Stormwind. Bit hungry." "Teleporter prepping, dear."
Inzema stepped on the pad and disappeared in a flash of light.

[Ikkorous]

Officer Kate Connelly was patrolling the Old Town, enjoying a quiet and peaceful night on patrol, when she smelled blood. As the newest of the thief-hunters, as she called the group, she was young and eager for action. Her raven hair billowed behind her like a second cloak, her sword already free of its scabbard, and a smile on her lips as she rounded the corner and discovered something she wasn't ready for. A practical spider's web of wires snaked around the alleyway, holding a pair of nude bodies in a sexual position, one a dark haired human man on his knees, the other in front of the first a short haired blonde human woman on her hands and knees, the wires obviously cutting into the flesh in some places. A man in a dark cloak and hood stood over the two, tightening wires here and there, making miniscule adjustments. Kate let out a warcry and charged the man. The man looked at her, and from the shadows of his hood, she saw two things. The first was glowing green lenses on a pair of simple looking goggles, and the second was a vicious smile of a predator that had just trapped its prey.

She felt the wire pulling at her foot too late too stop.

Wires all around her sprung taut, wrapping around her like a bug in a web and holding her still, suspended after her momentum had stopped several inches from the ground. The man in the cloak threw back his hood, revealing a slightly crushed green mohawk and pale features that were otherwise unremarkable. Kate recognized him from his wanted poster as the rogue known as Inzema, and knew she was in for trouble if she didn't break free, so she struggled, and the more she struggled, the tighter the wires held her until the ones not on her armor began to cut painfully into her flesh. Inzema smiled at her as she struggled, apparently pleased with his trap and her efforts. He walked to her, careful not to disturb the wires leading up to her. He grabbed her face with one gloved hand, turning it this way and that like one might do to an animal. Kate tried to swing her sword at him but found herself unable to move her arm. She chose to spit at him instead, saying "You won't get away with this." Inzema wiped the spit from his face with the back of his hand and continued to grin at her. She could see the madness on his face, even though she couldn't see his eyes behind the goggle's lenses. He licked his lips as he looked at her, then spoke in Lordaeranian accented Common "Yesss I will. I have been getting away with thisss for ssso...very...long" as he caressed her face.
Kate looked past him when she heard a moan and realized that the two bodies she had assumed were already dead were still alive. She could see the pool of blood around them growing steadily. Time was short for them and she needed help. When Inzema turned his back to walk back to the other two people Kate pressed her wrist farther into the wire, hoping it would trigger the distress signal build into her bracer. When the alarm started ringing in her earpiece, she knew she'd succeeded. When Inzema whipped back around to look at her as if he heard the alarm as well, Kate's heart stopped. That explained why he had no trouble evading the guards, he had their frequencies. He sauntered back over to Kate and smiled at her, seeing the realization in her eyes. "You're ssspoiling my fun, Kate. I'll be back for you some other time, then I'll get to sssee what you keep under your breassstplate." He cackled and scaled the wall beside her as the sound of approaching men and light from nearing torches. His cloak disappeared over the edge of the roof right as the first responder arrived. Kate watched where she had seen Inzema disappear with hatred in her eyes.

[Ikkorous]

Kate Conelly had the feeling she was being watched. It had been three days since her encounter with Inzema. Three days and she hadn't been able to get much more than fitful sleep, dreams of being strung up like a fly in a web while a maniac carved her flesh haunting her mind all throughout the night. She dipped into a side alley, her right hand in a white knuckled grip on the hilt of her sword as she waited to see if her follower would make an appearance in the crowd, and yet the feeling of being watched did not fade. It grew stronger. Kate trusted her instincts, but couldn't figure out how someone might still be watching her. Then it clicked.
Kate looked up with a start, rewarded by her paranoia with the sight of the rogue Inzema crawling down the side of the building she leaned against, down towards her like a ghoul or an insect. Inzema smiled down at Kate. Kate danced back as the undead dropped from the wall, landing on his hands before her. "Afternoon, Offissser. Care to go a bit deeper in the alley for a good fuck?" The rogue smiled up at the officer and collapsed one arm, rolling to the right and out of the way as Kate whipped her sword from its sheath and struck the wall where his waist had been. Inzema rolled to his feet, slipping around several more strikes from Kate before trapping her sword arm and pulling her close. "Mmmh. You sssmell pretty today," he hissed in her ear. Kate pushed Inzema back against the wall, her face so close to his that she could smell the blood on his breath. His tongue darted between his teeth to lick his lips. Kate had read the rogue's file. SI:7 had reported this man was undead, but he looked nothing like the forsaken, who were typically decayed and twisted caricatures of the humanity they had once held. Inzema was pale, but his skin seemed as alive, and his breath was warm. Kate wasn't certain, but she didn't think the dead drew breath. Why would they? She noticed that he was nothing if not plain. He had very slight hints in his features of a Lordaeron man, and if it weren't for his skin tone, mohawk, and goggles, he could very well blend into any crowd without notice.
"You know," Inzema said, his voice breaking Kate's train of thought. "I hadn't figured that all I would have to do to have you holding your body to me would be to sssay hi." The rogue grinned lecherously. Kate growled and headbutted him straight in the mouth. She took his moment of distraction to break free of his grasp, dance back a step, and run him through the stomach with her sword. Inzema laughed even as viscous grey-red blood began oozing along the length of her blade. Kate pulled on her sword to dislodge it, but found it stuck, likely in the wall. Inzema looked down at his feet, a confused look on his face intermingled with madness, then he looked back to Kate. "That hurt! I can't move my legsss! Now how are we gonna make like animals and do it right here?" Inzema wiggled his torso on her blade, but he seemed to be unable to move from it. Kate released her sword, drew a dagger as a replacement, and backed away several steps from Inzema.
Kate pulled her radio from her pocket to call for back up, but when she keyed the device, she was rewarded with a shrill burst of static. Inzema smiled at her and made a shooing motion to her. Kate glared at him, took several more steps back, and found that the burst of static was still present, but less intense. Inzema cackled and patted her sword in his gut as if it were something that belonged there. "You go get help. I'll...ssstick around." Kate maintained her glare until she had backed away far enough from the rogue that she could key her radio without any of the strange interference, keeping an eye on him as she did. Officer Jaxon was the closest and first to respond, and he said he would arrive in two minutes, so all that there was left to do was wait.

When she heard Jaxon calling for her, Kate stepped from the alleyway to get his attention and lead him to where she had pinned Inzema. She had barely blinked the entire time, half expecting the rogue to disappear, but the longer she waited, the less he seemed to move, save to prod at his legs as if they belonged to someone else. When they returned to the alley, however, the rogue was gone, leaving behind nothing but her sword, smeared in grey-red blood to the hilt and a long smear of the stuff on the wall.