Raphael Vanderzee

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About Raphael Vanderzee

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  1. Sins of a Patriot: Act 1: Rise of the Shattered Son

    The already dim lighting of the foreman’s office flickered with the rhythm of the hydraulic presses within the munitions factory below as the sounds of the machines at work would comfortably drown out any unwanted noise inside well before it could be detected by those whom resided in a proximity of the building. With each wax and wane of the lighting the shadows threatened to consume the triad of the office. Two were goblins tied to chairs facing parallel to each other; one a sobbing female, the other an older and unconscious male. Between his captives was the final occupant of the room, a looming monster of a man. It was nigh impossible to distinguished where his silhouette ended and the room began thanks to his dark attire and features. With each flicker the girl tried to get a better look of him as she pleaded for asylum from what malice this imposing figure had planned for them. Though he seemed, for better or for worse, to pay her no mind for what seemed like ages as he shuffled through paperwork from the cracked safe on the wall behind her father’s desk. No matter what she said, what she tried to bargain-- the man didn’t acknowledge her existence since her bondage to the chair. That was, until her father finally stirred from his repose. He groaned as he tried to get his bearings, his hands pulling at his binds before he froze. The realization of his predicament had taken hold. “Shit. Look, we don’t want any trouble… take whatever you want and just… please, don’t hurt us!” “Funny, she said somethin’ similar,” the stranger’s voice was rough, and though the accent was faded, the hint of the Bay lingered. The glove grasped for the revolver that lay beside him, his face turning towards the goblins. The beard made it hard to read his jawline in the dark. The lightless, mixed-matched eyes were a different story. “Problem with that though. You see, if I take your meager stash here… still don’t rightly un-pissoff my boss.” “Boss? Who--Fuck!” The elder of the captives began to thrash in his chair as unleashed an onslaught of curses at his own misfortune. Of all people for them to send… it was the man who was supposed to have died five years ago. “Yes, my boss, the one you sold counterfeit shards of Frostmourne to? And he’s rightly pissed off about it; so much so that I’ve been having to hunt your little start-up cartel to find a way to soothe his temper. And you’re going to help me find a way to do so.” The man picked up a revolver from the counter behind him, he moved in deliberate motions as to ensure his audience could see what he was doing. His right hand dragged a box of bullets where the bound duo could see. The branding indicated it was from this very factory. He unlatched the cylinder and began to load the chambers as he continued his little speech, each sentence accentuated with a new bullet. “He ain’t really a pleasant man when pissed off, this makes my job harder. And by making my job harder, you’ve pissed me off. So, today we’re going to be playing a little game from the good ol’ days.” “That’s what this is about?” The gentleman, if you could call him that, bound to the chair gave a forced laugh. “This… this is all a misunderstanding! We sent one of our boys to deliver the goods, and he ran off with ‘em! Oh that bastard...” “I think you misheard me, we received the product, what was delivered was not what was promised. So we’re going to see if all the products you produce are of poorer quality than what you advertise, or if we’re a special case. Tell me, have you heard of the game Ratchet Roulette?” Neither goblin immediately answered the man’s question, electing to exchange looks for a couple moments instead as the tried to devise a way out of this mess through silent expressions. Then the dangerous man from the Bay got impatient, setting the last two bullets in his gun and clicking the cylinder in place and pointing it at the girl. So the elderly of the two spoke up, “Yeah! I do! But Van… please, let the girl go. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this…” “Better come up with somethin’ to please the boss then. And quick, you’re already late on your shipment to the Horde as is.” He pulled back the hammer, taking careful aim on the youngest of his two captives. The elder behind him was stammering as he tried to come up with something. “Then we’ll start with the line of questioning. Refusal to answer, I fire. A lie, I fire. Where did the shards come from?” There was no clear answer, just more stammering. He was given thirty seconds to respond before the trigger was pulled. He had aimed for her shoulder, but the bullet struck the gobliness in the neck. Behind him the man meekly cried at the horror of both the gunshot and the sight of his daughter quickly bleeding out as the projectile had struck an artery, causing a flood of her red life fluids to pour like a fountain. “...Shoddy ammo.” The rogue noted before giving a wicked laugh as he turned to point the gun at one of the man’s kneecaps. “Turns out we weren’t a special case after-all! Well, I suppose you should count yourself lucky I found you before the new Warchief… I hear she is known to be quite cruel to those who cross her. Now, I’ll ask again… where did you find the shards you sold us?” “Why did you kill her!? She wasn’t part of this! Why?!” The elderly goblin shrieked in grief. Another non-answer to the question asked. With a sigh, the man spun the cylinder and then shot another bullet. The rogue waited until the scream of agony died down before he spoke again. “Shh. Easy now. From one grieving father to another, I don’t like doing this… I know your pain. But if you don’t tell me what I need to know, he’s going to send me after the rest of your family. I’ll have to line them up as I did you and her, and play this game with them until either I get what I need to ease his anger… or he’ll take solace in knowing all of those stupid sons of bitches that tried to scam him are dead, and that the message was well received by anyone else with the bright idea to cross us. So, I’ll ask again.” He used his thumb to roll the chamber once more to prove his point. “The shards you sold us, where did you find them?” “...Icecrown.” “Where in Icecrown? The Citadel or the area surrounding it?” The goblin remained silent on the matter, leaving his interrogator to give a sigh as he made the motion to spin the chambers once more. He pulled the hammer back before asking the question again. “Where in Icecrown did you find it?” No answer. Van pulled the trigger once more, another bullet was fired into the goblin, his last healthy kneecap. He spoke over the screams of the goblin. “And now you’re probably never going to walk again, you stupid mother fucker. All because you think putting on a brave face is going to save you. It’s not. You have a three and eight chance next time of losing an arm, and then you’ll be running out of appendages. So please, do yourself a favor and tell me what I want to know… see your kids again. What fucking part of Icecrown did you find the shards you sold us?” “At the gates! We found them laying next to a powerful death knight after the battle! We thought we could use it to make some money, get out from Gallywix’s thumb. Please, you have to understand, he tried to use us as slaves!” “Who was in on this? I need names.” The goblin opened his mouth to protest, the man twirled the revolver’s chambers to silence him before putting it to the elbow left elbow of the goblin. “Tell me who your associates were, sell them out to save your own life and limb. They did it to you.” “...Kankle Bentdust, Jord Brightbreak,” the elderly goblin looked away from his interrogator in shame as he started to list names, “Gezmi Fusehammer, Benk and Klek Slicksmile…” “Dead, dead, dead and dead. Who else?” He pulled back the hammer. “Nanak Dullbulb… Memi Niftfingers…” “Also dead. Go on.” “Neshma…” “Last name?” “...I can’t. They trusted me, they were business partners.” “Have it your way.” He pulled the trigger, the goblin flinched with a whimper. But nothing happened. Just an audible click. “You lucked out… this time. Do you think you’ll be as lucky if I pull the trigger again? Eh?” Whatever the response from his captive, it was lost in the sudden burst of encoded beeps within the interrogator's right ear: - .... . / ... ..- -. / .-. .. ... . ... --..-- / - .... . / ... .- .. .-.. --- .-. ... / ... . . -.- / - .... . / .- .-.. -... .- - .-. --- ... … He gave a growling, “Shut up. I’ll be back with you in just a moment,” before heading back to his original position that overlooked the factory. He took out some sort of mechanical device and tapped in a response in some unknown code. - .... . / .- .-.. -... .- - .-. --- ... ... / ... .. -. --. ... / - .... . / ... .- .. .-.. --- .-. .----. ... / ... .... .- -. - -.-- Almost instantly a replay came. .-. . - ..- .-. -. / - --- / .--. --- .-. - --..-- / .- / ... - --- .-. -- / .. ... / --- -. / - .... . / .... --- .-. .. --.. --- -. .-.-.- / .- -. --- - .... . .-. / ... .... .. .--. / -.-. .-.. .- .. -- ... / - .... .. ... / -... --- ..- -. - -.-- .-.-.- For a few minutes the rogue stood before the device, staring at it intently as he tried to decide his next course of action. Behind him, his captive groaned from the pain his wounds inflicted. Van tapped the grip of his revolver for another moment before holstering the weapon and collecting the things on the surface he had been using as his operations table for this mission, the documents included. He sent one more message before departing the office, to make his passage out of the factory and towards his extraction point. - .... . / .- .-.. -... .- - .-. --- ... ... / - .- -.- . ... / .. - ... / ..-. .-.. .. --. .... - .-.-.- “About time you left, I thought you were going to hog all the fun.” A baritone voice spoke to the left of Van as he stepped out of the factory. The rancid stench of Bloodthistle was quick to follow. “Looks like you’ve had plenty of ‘fun’ already.” He nodded at the shorter elf, covered and caked in dried blood. He didn’t want to ask what that was about. “Family’s gone, I want a set.” The Baritone voice said causally, the blood cracking at the corners of his mouth as he grinned before he dropped the paper-wrapped herbs he was smoking onto the floor. He gave it a solid stomp before he started to head into the factory, only to be stopped for the moment by the man leaving. “Easy now. We own this property, Ky--” “Kyrous died with his sister. You’ll remember that, if you know what’s good for you.” He shoved his way past the rogue and into the darkness of the factory proper, leaving his compatriot alone outside. “...I tried.” The rogue finally found words to express himself as he looked up towards the polluted sky, pulling his eye-patch that had been lost in his dark hair back down onto his human eye. He pulled out his pack of Sultry Maiden cigarettes, lit one and headed once more towards his extraction point. He had a long flight ahead of him, might as well get started.
  2. Sins of a Patriot: Act 1: Rise of the Shattered Son

    At last the first dawn of the turning tides had arrived. The streets of Dalaran were once again filled with those brave men and women who wanted to take the fight to the enemy, no longer content taking a defensive stance against a foe that threatened the entirety of the world. The stakes, as it seemed to always be, raised from what they were in the past of course. What was once fear of enslavement in death about four years ago, was now a struggle against total annihilation. But some things never changed. This wasn’t any more obvious than beneath the feet of these heroes; under the streets of the city of wonders and magic was the ever present seedy underbelly of the underworld that seated itself in its labyrinthine sewers. One could argue, that regardless the city or circumstance, there were always opportunities to ply shady trades if one wished if one could capitalize on such. The Sewers during the campaign against the Legion proved that point, really. With the right amount of charisma and coin, the seemingly racially ambiguous man had convinced the guard to look the other way and effectively rent an area beyond a grating that delved even further into the depths of the tunnel network. This left the man of dubious affiliation and his contact out of sight and out of mind—perfect for their business. The hour agreed upon for his contact to meet for the transaction had not yet occurred, giving him but a brief few moments of privacy. That of which he would find much to his distaste in a keeled over position as his body forcibly tried to remove any hint of his breakfast. He was fortunate that the cloth designed to cover his facial features had been pulled down to his chin in time as he murmured obscenities to himself for the futility of trying to sate his appetite so soon after the movement of this damnable city. “Fucking Wizards…” In his ear came the vibration that someone, presumably his client, had crossed the threshold of the parameter. He would have company soon. His hands quickly grasped his hipflask, his fingers working to twist off the cap to hear the heavenly hiss of its contents. He would take a swig of the mixture though he knew it was likely in vain before pulling back up the cloth. This ensured, including the goggles, the mask would censor his face from his client’s discerning eyes as he awaited them to round the corner. “Nice place.” It took less than a minute for his client to round the corner, a goblin as he had been warned about. With him he carried a metal case cuffed to his right side. It seemed they had brought the merchandise as promised. Good. “What? Couldn’t afford a Parlor Suite?” “Too obvious. Too many eyes.” The agent shook his head. “I assume that is the merchandise?” “Maybe. You have the gold?” The Goblin grinned. The Agent’s fingers were deft in the movement, quickly procuring a golden ingot from a pocket on his person. He held it up so that the light shimmered upon the bar, the faint look of a stern-faced sun could be discerned from the motion. “We have a whole pallet of these for you, in our vault with a device that will allow you to carry it out of there with ease. All you need do is to present the key to the banker, and she’ll handle the rest. Now… you have the shards?” The goblin lifted the metal case. “Show me.” “Alright, Alright. No trust in this industry anymore, I swear.” The goblin flashed a grin as he rolled the dials on either side of the case and set a key into the center before opening it to show the agent its contents. The tunnel they were in would suddenly get significantly colder. A good sign. The Agent would slowly approach the case, tapping the side of his goggle as he hummed, trying to observe the shards in spite of the growing fog from the temperature differences. “Seems we have a deal.” “Not so fast.” The goblin slammed the case closed. He flashed another grin, “The Ebon Blade said they would pay double what you offered… Can you match that?” “We have done some shopping around for buyers, have we?” The Agent’s lips twisted in a grin, one that would be invisible to the goblin. He recognized the face of this bastard all right. Gently the Agent placed the bar in the Goblin’s hand. “Then we’ll give you two pallets. My employer is far too interested in this artifact to let it slip from his fingers. I’m sure he’ll understand.” The Goblin gripped at the bar, his grin growing larger as he played with the weight of it. It seemed solid enough, a good personal cut on the deal. The amount of coins that a skilled minter could make out of a bar… it proved quite worthwhile. “Then my employer will be pleased as well. I think we have ourselves a deal.” A clean transaction, if a bit costly. The Agent handed over the key to the vault promising two pallets stacked his height of gold ingots; the Goblin handed over the metal case containing shards of a legendary blade. Both were to part ways now, the Agent allowed the Goblin first departure. Behind the goggles he watched as the goblin was nearing the corner, his hand reaching for his revolver. “…There seems a problem.” The Goblin stopped, his mind racing where this transaction could have gone wrong. Had he proven too greedy? His eyes tried to look at the man behind him, but couldn’t get a good look from this position. Reluctantly he turned about face on his heel—only to see a revolver pointed at him. “Whoa, whoa, there buddy… let’s not do anything we’d regret now! Eh?” His hand reached for the streets above him to show he meant no harm. The pistol within the Agent’s left hand was firmly aimed at the Goblin’s skull, at this range it was a guaranteed kill. He was scared. Good. His right hand reached for the goggles, plying them from his face, revealing the mismatched eyes. “No! You’re supposed to be dead!” The Agent said nothing, his gloved finger gently applying pressure upon the trigger. “Ah shit.” The gunfire cracked the tense air, its sound rumbling down either side of the tunnel as the green bastard’s brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. With a short stride the Agent searched the corpse to recover both the key and the ingot. His cut for the transaction after all, he wasn’t sure if he was going to take it until now. He slid the bar into one of the many pockets of his gear before fishing out a handful of gold coins, throwing them in a rolling fashion to the direction the Goblin was headed. Either they would make their destined target, those who allowed this meeting to happen—or whoever finally came to dispose of the smell would find them, and decide that this was not worth looking into. Either way, it didn’t matter. The money would do the talking and he would go about his business onto his next mission. He returned his revolver to his holster, before making an about face to delve further into the pipeline. Satisfied with the outcome, one hand pulled at the mask once more to reveal a smirk as he took out a single cigarette from its pack. After lighting it, he took out a curious device, pressing into it in an odd rhythm. - .-. .- -. ... .- -.-. - .. --- -. / -.-. --- -- .--. .-.. . - . .-.-.- / - .- .-. --. . - / -.- .. .-.. .-.. . -.. .-.-.- / .... . .- -.. . -.. / - --- / .-. . -. -.. . --.. ...- --- ..- ... .-.-.-
  3. The Consequences of Action

    Raphael Vanderzee was on the crow’s nest enjoying the setting sun, he hummed the tune he so enjoyed as a sailor as he drank his rum. How he enjoyed the salted breeze of the sea… Then something moved from the corner of his eye. Two somethings. People. Slowly and quietly, Van stepped into the shadows gripping his rapiers. Bloodsail Bastards. “Visca! Visca!” The shorter one called out in a violent challange. Though Van wasn't Draco, but he'd be happy to oblige these two... The other remained silent, looking for something, a plan… “Die!!!” Van shouted as he revealed himself, using full force with the blunt handle of his weapon. The taller one ducked in time, saving him the assault to the back of his head. At the same time, the scrying device launched itself from its host in the violent movement. “Visca! I know you’re—“ “Shut up!” Van screamed lunging for the other one, who parried the first blade of Van’s before getting stabbed in the ribs with the other through the chain mail. Velorne gasped, before ordering Aetheril with, “Heal me, you idiot!” Attracting the gaze of the enraged Captain, who sent a strong and swift throwing dagger at him. Though it barely scratched the Knight, it got the point across. “No one is going to save you,” he said in a sadistic tone, “Yer not goin ta leave this place, not alive.” “Try it.” Before another sharp gasp as Van struck him in his shoulder, “Arrg!!” “Glad ta.” He smirked as he jabbed another blade into the underside of the right knee. He snarled at Velorne who gave Aetheril a horrified look. “You… lied to me!” Again Van glanced over to see the elf still well, only clutching his arm. This time, Van charged the man, swinging his blade at his virtually unwounded enemy, cutting him at the knees to keep him from running. As he was about strike him down, Velorne felt the need for vengeance… knocking the Van down with his shoulder. Van had to think fast, drawing two more daggers to stab into the man’s exposed collar line. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then the Knight finally fell on top of Van, dead. Aetheril, was playing dead, squinting to appear knocked out as Van pushed his enemy off him. One problem solved… but a new arisen. Van would kick the young knight in the head to make sure he was knocked out as he dragged him into the depths of the ship… slowly, deliberately. --------------------------------------------------- The time would be impossible to tell when Aetheril felt cold water splashed upon his face, “Awake, are we?” The sadistic voice asked, taunting. Aetheril squinted as he tried to make out his captor. “I’ve got a present fer ya…” He brought a red hot dagger from a metal case of coals close enough to his victim’s neck for him to feel the searing heat without the harm. “Not before Draco approves this, which he won’t.” A voice interrupted. “Yeh better hope Glow-face comes soon, before I get impatient.” And behind the elf, which was tied to a pole, was left alone… locked in a door, without any hope but the mercy of a known terrorist.
  4. The Consequences of Action

    ((Ok, So I've meant to post something here for some time... But I've fallen so far behind that I need to contininue on. This is a space saved for it, anyways... any reader (if there really are any) should know this much: Sah and Van had a celebration when they learned that Sah concived. Draco dissapeared at said party Draco's been hiding in Silvermoon in disguise trying to take care of some things. ))