Dessim

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About Dessim

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  • Birthday 09/17/1990
  1. Dessim

    Left Behind

    One moment the bat was flapping for all it was worth to escape the billowing clouds of blight, the next, they were both falling. The distance to the earth seemed great, yet as her bat plummeted in a dizzying, chaotic spiral she lost all ability to judge . As the blazing countryside grew blurry, she found that these last few moments gave her an inordinate amount of time to think. Her thoughts drifted to the cause of it all. Dessim loved her Banshee Queen. She loved the brooding but resolute leader who had stepped forward to free them, the woman who had stood for them when everyone else had recoiled in terror. She represented the determination and cunning of those who had suffered immeasurably. Despite everything she had done, it had always been for the good of her people. To keep them from dying out, to make them strong enough to resist those who saw them as nothing but abominations and prey. Every sin Sylvanas was burdened with had been had been something she carried for the sake of her people Or so she had thought. Moments away from death she began to realize the delusion she had embraced. All of those years of hard work had been ruined in one awful month. Her land, her appearance to her own people, and everything they had worked towards had gone up in flames. Everything she loved about Sylvanas had been attributed to her without a real reason. Sylvanas's partnership with the Horde had always been an alliance of convenience, the friendships were without warmth, and even her own people were just arrows in her quiver. Yet they had to find the good in their Dark Lady, without her, they had nothing. Even moldy food was a feast to the starving masses. It seemed an apt comparison. Dessim's usual fervor was oddly absent. In the face of death, she was calm. When the agents of Stormwind had attacked her people in the Undercity, they were simply doing their jobs. When the druids sprang forth to tear them limb from limb, it was in a justifiable rage. Even as her own people fell victim to them, combatant and soldier alike, she was unable to even muster an appropriate sense of outrage. There were many things that felt out of place, as if her emotions and the driving force behind her had been replaced with a numbing fatigue. The plague bat she had escaped the flooded city with hit the ground first, its tattered wings flopped comically as blood sprayed out in a fountain and so many shards of bone ruptured up from its hide. -------- " Guess you're good for something after all." She commented when she awoke. Her mount was dead, crushed between the ground and the armored rider who had hammered into it when their sudden descent became a sudden stop. The bat had not been the only one to suffer damage from the fall. Dessim bit back a scream of pain as she pried her limbs out of the battered meat of the bat's remains. All through her left side she could feel tearing shards of glass beneath her muscles, broken bones. Her ribs burned, her left arm hung uselessly and spiked with pain from every swing ,and her leg threatened to buckle with every step that put weight upon it. The impact had killed the bat outright but she spotted the cause of their sudden descent when she looked at the creature's wings. The webbing had been pierced and torn a half-dozen times on either wing. " Of all the potshots fired..." She muttered, limping away as fast as she could manage. She had escaped the city, if barely. She did not even feel a tingle of blight exposure where they had crashed. The wall of the toxic gas writhed and slithered across the ground yet never seemed to move beyond the unseen line in the dirt. Beyond the cloud of death, all she could see was ruin. The earth itself had been pounded into uneven lumps with a flat road winding through them. Despite the pleading from her injured leg, she stuck to the uneven, smoke shrouded hills where the fires still burned.She could not even guess how long she had been unconscious but assumed it had been hours if not an entire day. It had been dark out when she fell and it was still dark when she awoke. The blight had forced people out at a rapid pace. She knew the sounds of a war zone even after the battle was over. The quiet night should have been interrupted by the wailing and croaking of the injured that were waiting for rescue and the screams of soldiers that had been unable to keep up with the main group and were caught by pursuers. But it was quiet save for the crackling wood and smouldering brush around her. People treated the area like what it was, a graveyard. The final respects had been paid and now Azeroth moved on. " Was this what you planned? Were we to lose Undercity regardless?" She asked the ashes as she limped along. Lady Windrunner was not there to hear her, but it gave her something to focus on aside from the pain of her worn form. The bomb teams had been working at every corner and the blight had been dumped haphazardly into the river even before the Horde had been forced into a retreat. The idea seemed impossible. Yet Sylvanas had a penchant for extreme measures lately. " No.... Not lately." She muttered. " You've been taking things too far since the start." The words brought back memories of as simpler time. A time when she had not bothered to think, only listen and do. The mountaineers and scarlets were kept in cages like lab rats, refugees who had not made it back to Gilneas were poked and prodded by the apothecaries, and even their own were treated for illnesses that were rarely cured. The line of thought was draining. She leaned against a charred trunk as she continued to speak to the only person listening. " You were always just waiting." She murmured to the nonexistent banshee. " Waiting for the right moment to strike. No longer a beggar but a commander once more. These are your true colors, aren't they?" The ones Dessim had convinced herself did not exist. " We tried. You know?" She said to the black air as she dragged her battered form through the still warm earth. " We tried in our own, horrible way to do what was right. We couldn't just stop. To leave them dead would mean we'd just disappear, just get weaker and weaker until the humans attacked. But we tried to make it right, right? We tried to give them a choice." The one-sided conversation ended abruptly as a dark figure emerged from the smoke in front of her. A pair of flickering blue flames, no larger than a candle's, appeared in the smoke before her before the rest of the creature emerged. The skeleton wielded a corroded and notched blade and a shield marred by deep gashes through the iron and had been seared black by the fire. If not for the splotches of blue near the bottom, she would not be able to identify the wielder. For a moment, the two were silent as they locked dead blue eyes. " Every person we raised was spoken to and given the option of what to do with their new life. You were not." She explained to the skeleton as it strode towards her, its intent as clear as day. " Do you wish to serve?" She asked quietly as it raised the rusted blade. " Do you wish to continue this new life?" She asked, drawing her own blade to intercept the graceless strike with a ring of steel and a flare of pain throughout all the broken bones in her body. The skeleton refused to answer, only seeking to draw back and strike again. " Better dead than mindless." She decided as she side-stepped the clumsy strike and cleaved the undead with a downward swing. The skeleton stumbled as its collarbone and ribs were shattered, throwing it off balance. She finished it with a mercy stroke, driving her blade through the back of its hollow skull and snuffing out the spark of life that remained. " Choice." She decided as she limped forward through the smoke, not even waiting for the skeleton to hit the ground before moving on. " Choice is everything. Choice was taken from you. The lack of it made you into what you are now. You've become the same thing... The same monster." Every word brought new life into the damaged corpse, the awkward limping turning into a determined stagger. " You've always been like this. You just never had the choice to act on it until now." She proclaimed as she broke through the smoke. Several flickering eyes turned towards the noise. The abandoned Alliance camp had become home to the raised remains of all who had fallen. Scores of corpses wandered around the ruined tents and destroyed fortification as far as the eye could see. Without the Queen to guide them, they had begun to wander. Like her, they were left behind. " Is this what you want?" She called to them, fighting back bitter disappointment when they approached with their blades raised. " Do you wish to serve? Do you wish to live? What do you want to do?" She asked again and again as she met each one in turn. Steel screamed as blade met blade and bones splintered under the force of her strikes. One by one, they fell dormant once more. Every body added to the count was another twist of the blade in her gut as she was forced to realize the truth of the matter. Sylvanas had barely changed. Only her peoples' view of her had. Even the insincere choice she had given to the newly raised was a barely accepted concession for raising the enemy. It was perhaps the one redeeming quality she had. But she had forfeited even that in the presence of greater power. Her Forsaken no longer asked, they simply took. A hundred times she asked the same line of questions, only to be met with mindless aggression from the abandoned dead. She met each of them in turn and soothed their rage in the only way she could. They had been forsaken even by the Forsaken. Every true death she delivered was another stone dropped upon her back until the burden became too much. Her body mended itself with every death, but her heart had become a stone in her guts. On the grey sands of the coast, as far from the Undercity was she could manage, she fell to her knees. The winding line of broken bones and fallen weaponry served as a tally for her futile quest. It was the reality of her people now. To live their unfortunate existence beneath someone who had lost their last shred of decency. They would fight, kill, die, and bring others under Sylvanas's banner. A banner whose purpose Dessim no longer understood. Doubt churned in her mind, were they the monsters that everyone claimed they were? " No." She decided as she shakily rose to her feet. A hundred times she had been forced to return them to their graves. A hundred times they had shown that they were mindlessly hateful. But if even one existed who broke the mold that the world had created for them, hope existed. To Sylvanas they were arrows to be fired and forgotten. Used to pierce the enemies and break against their armor. So many had been damned to undeath that day, arrows fired in a volley and left in the dirt. Now all eyes turned upon Orgrimmar where the remains of Sylvanas's quiver had been hung. Even if it had all been a lie she told herself, it was a cold, beautiful lie. A lie that she wanted to make reality. The Forsaken had suffered for far too long to die out like this. She cast her eyes back towards the wake of destruction and the darkened shapes that staggered around the flames. If she had to slay a thousand just to give one the chance they deserved, then so be it. If Sylvanas was no longer the face that the undead could trust, someone else would have to be. " I'll be back." She quietly promised, waving a blade and splitting the space before her into a darkened gateway. There was not enough time in the day to do what needed to be done. Thankfully, she never slept.
  2. Dessim

    [H] Blind RP Night Returns

    If it's not too late, I would like to sign up Desim-Ravenholdt for the 8pm slot
  3. Dessim

    The Clickening

    Dessim Blackquill: Upon Selection: Cold steel? Downright frigid. Click: Blades at the ready You gonna give me orders? Stratholme’s finest. No job is too big My blades are getting hungry Need something? Excessive Clicking: If I knew that –you- were gonna command me I’d have stayed home! Time is money, jackass! Let’s go! I’ve got an armory to feed. Fine, want to hear something funny? What do you call a death knight who refuses to be poked? The sound of a blade cutting into meat followed by a wet thud. An Un-holey warrior Ordered to move: I’m on my way. Hitting the street March, march, march You got it. There’s a chill in the air Ordered to attack: Blade to blade! ATTAAAAAACK! Make me work for it! I’m gonna gorge till I PUKE! FREEZE! Or don’t. I don’t care Blood and Steel! Taunt: Dessim slams her gauntlets together, then pounds her chest twice, sending sparks flying with each blow “ You made me feel something! It was pity.” “ Try to leave a dent next time.” “ You can taste the salt from here.” Joke: A pool of ice forms under Dessim, she takes a step forward and slips “ Justice? Nah, just ice.” “ Master of arms, Master of Frost. GAH! …And bruised of the ass…” “ Strength, grace… AAGH! Nobody saw that! Death: Dessim’s axe shatters and she falls to her knees. She positions her sword against her chest and drives it through her heart before falling backwards. Rebirth: HA! I wasn't even using that anyway! Got a little too excited. I never learn Next time, make sure there’s nothing left Learn from your failure… And get back in the fight
  4. Dessim

    Quorum: A cure for the itch

    *Mild violence and badly written dialogue. Reader discretion is advised* She would normally be skeptical of her good fortune. The contacts she had made in Azshara were notably fewer, but the remainder had a clear idea of where the others were last seen or where they were going. Some had made the short trip to the Orgrimmar skyway’s first tower while the others had claimed to have business in Ratchet. The only link that sprang to mind when comparing those two locations was the third point that met at Stranglethorn. It may have been coincidence or desperation making her jump to wild conclusions but lacking any other leads Dessim found herself on the first zeppelin out of Orgrimmar. Leaving the airship was simple so long as nobody was watching. She could not afford a lengthy docking process in Northern Stranglethorn. She found herself waiting on the railing as they passed by Booty Bay about a mile out to sea. All she had to do was wait for the crewmates to start arguing again until the captain got involved and the spectacle drew everyone’s attention. While nobody was watching she slipped over the railing backwards. She forced herself to cross her legs and keep her body straight as she hit the water like a bullet. From such a height she wondered if it would have mattered if she had chose to hit the land instead. At such velocity the initial impact felt like she had hit concrete, the sudden shock robbed her of her senses and for several minutes her body refused to respond. Her heavy armor dragged her under and within moments of hitting the water, she had disappeared under the waves. --- People falling off of the walkways of Booty Bay had become so common that the bottom level had inserted a ramp that reached below the water level to allow people to get back up with ease. Dessim emerged from the water hacking and coughing to try and expel the water from the lungs. Her snowy white hair stuck to her face, her ears and her back in sodden strands that refused to let go without multiple attempts to push it away. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only soaked wretch in this port and her sodden state drew little attention eve as every step caused her boots to overflow and spill out onto the walkway. The hour was late but the port was still quite active as people shouted at passerby about their wares, laughed, roared, drank, and gambled. They were happy or angry, but still full of life, they were not who she was looking for. She stuck to the alleys and darkened spaces between the shacks as she searched for any sign of a junkie. She slowed to a stop as the consistent itch suddenly grew from irritating to horribly distracting and she heard voices around the corner. Most of the voices were rough and croaking as if dehydrated or exhausted, but the last was delightfully pleasant. It was deeper but distinctly feminine and just loud enough to be heard. Every time she spoke, everyone else fell silent. Her words were reassuring, kind, and completely at odds with what she spoke about. “ Calm yourselves my friends, these are trying times but we will get through them together. I am sure you are distraught to hear that the operation has been left in ruin and has left us bereft of this wondrous creation. But it is not all gone.” She smiled and waited for the demands and raspy shouting to quiet down. “ We are all connected here. I know you would all love to get your hands on more but what we need to do right now is control ourselves and share with our brethren. Please, follow me.” The request was not aimed at her, but she somehow found herself falling into step with the other ten people as they followed the woman out of the darkness and into the dimly lit boardwalk between the back-row of buildings. The woman had a pleasing figure, not shaped like an hourglass but curvy enough to draw attention. Her hair was black and fell down in silky strands to her shoulder blades. Her pale skin stood in stark, pleasing contrast to her hair and dark purple robes. She imagined the men would have followed her even without the promise of wreave. They were lead away from the port proper and down into the lower sections of the city where the warehouses had been built. When she let her mind wander, it was quite pleasant taking a stroll with an ocean view with friends. Toss in a bottle of whiskey and it would be a near perfect evening. The thought brought a short, almost girlish giggle to her lips before she could stop it. She stiffened and looked around, hoping that none of the others had heard it. Thankfully they were too enraptured by the woman or their own itching skin to pay her any mind, all except the woman who offered her a dazzling smile of pearly teeth between full, pouty lips. Her stomach sluggishly flipped and she averted her eyes. What was wrong with her? The stroll unfortunately ended at a warehouse towards the end of the docks. The lanterns hanging over the door were unlit, leaving them in the dark. She heard a click and the creak of a door. The lantern was brought to life to reveal the woman holding out an arm invitingly and gestured for the group to head inside. It would have been rude to refuse such an invitation and Dessim found herself following the line indoors. The woman stopped her and said something that she missed. Hand over something? Sure, what did she need? The spell broke as soon as the runeblade left her hand but the wonderful, fuzzy, giddy feeling remained. At the woman’s approving nod, Dessim stepped inside into a mostly empty warehouse. A few crates were piled on the sides but the majority of the floor was open space with a few tables and chairs set up. If she hadn’t been lucid, she would have missed the crates with air holes tucked away in the corner and the humans standing at each support beam, effectively surrounding the cluster of tables. “Please, have a seat.” The woman requested politely. The addicts scrambled to obey like dogs trying to earn a treat, her included. “ Now I know you’re all suffering but I’m afraid our mutual friend has not arrived yet. Do you all have your ten silver?” Everyone dug into their pockets and produced mounds of silver and copper or items to barter with. “ Good… Now, while we wait, who would care for a drink?” She clapped her hands twice and gestured for two of the humans to come forward. One produced a pair of bottles while the other set down glasses for the gathered company. Her veins itched again as a man with auburn hair and a small scar on his chin set her glass down. His eyes were slightly glazed and his handsome features were relaxed into a dreamy smile. The woman would make good on her promise, this man had obviously gotten a taste recently. A pop from a far table drew her attention. The blonde man with shaved brows had begun to pour a fizzing liquid. Was that chardonnay? That was rather classy for a meeting of lowlifes and cheap drugs. Once everyone had his or her glasses filled, the woman raised one of her own; one that had she seemed to conjure rather than pick up from the glasses offered. “ To the good times that await us. Cheers, friends.” She smiled warmly at the round of cheers from the crowd. That warm, giddy feeling filled Dessim’s stomach again and before she realized what she was doing, she had raised the glass to her lips. The liquid bubbled and fizzed, tickling her skin. With monumental effort, she resisted the urge to partake and set the drink down even as the others all sipped and drained their glasses. It only took a few moments for the drug to take effect. The larger races smiled and swayed in a pleasantly drunk fashion while those with weaker constitutions slumped over their tables or backwards into their chairs. A minute later even the hardier folks had followed suit. Dessim slumped in her chair and shut her eyes. “ Everyone is so cooperative.” The woman said approvingly, “ Take them.” The sound of chairs scraping the floor and bodies being shifted made her crack an eye open. The humans were taking the unconscious people to the corner where the crates were being kept. They seemed to have no problem with lifting them; even the heavily muscled orcs and stout dwarves were hefted up with barely a grunt of effort. The brunette with the foxtail approached her casually. As he reached forward to scoop an arm under her legs and back she made her move. Moving quickly she grabbed the forefinger on either hand and twisted back until she heard a snap and cut off his cry of pain with a headbutt to his nose. The man collapsed and pressed his hands to his bloodied face; the outburst drew the attention of the woman and her helpers. “ I have a few questions.” Dessim stated, “ Answer me honestly and I let you leave.” The woman gestured the other men to hold position as they advanced forward a step. She ran her fingers along the hilt of the axe that she had taken. “ That is not how you ask nicely. But we are listening.” “ Where are you taking the captives?” Dessim demanded. “ I’m afraid I cannot tell you. If you had cooperated we would have taken you ourselves but now… I feel that my trust has been violated.” The hurt in the woman’s tone made Dessim feel a flood of guilt, then confusion. She shook her head to clear away the alien feeling. The men shifted in place as if straining against the woman’s order like dogs at the end of their tether. “ You can make up for it.” The woman smiled sweetly. The forced previously giddy feeling made her stomach churn rather than flip-flop now as she fought the subtle assault. The woman produced a vial of the frothing substance that set her veins ablaze with desire. “ Let go of that anger… Just be happy! If not for us, then for yourself!” The flush of warmth urged her to take the kind woman’s offer. She had already taken a few steps forward before she finally managed to stop. The lovely woman’s mouth twisted into something ugly as the look of forgiveness twisted into an annoyed scowl at Dessim’s continued resistance. “ A pity you can’t see reason.” They all leapt into motion at once as their patience finally wore out. The woman lofted a hand gently into the air; the space in front of her palm shimmered and twisted as fel-green energy coalesced into a writhing ball of flame and shadows. The soft, pleasant face dissolved and narrowed into a predatory grin surrounded by the beautiful, sharp features of a succubus. The three men remaining sprinted towards the elf as the illusion dropped. Their fingers were twisted into long, bloody talons, undersized bat wings flapped uselessly at their back and the nubs of developing horns sprouted from their skulls. Their eyes had shifted to a uniform fel-green, the wreave consumption still evident as it clouded their eyes. Dessim’s hand clamped down on the space where her axe no longer rested as the situation turned hostile. She spat out a curse and dashed towards the nearest pillar. She jumped up and bounced off of the back of the brunette who had managed to push him up onto all fours. An muffled howl and explosion accompanied by the sound of boiling oil preceded a sudden rush of heat and force that propelled her further through the air and forced her into a roll to avoid landing on her face. She glanced back at the charred outline and puddle of goo that used to be the woman’s enforcer and scrambled the rest of the way behind the pillar. The friendly fire had bought her a few seconds at most. Her mind raced as she looked around; if she were caught out in the open the woman’s magic would end her but if she stayed here she would be flanked while her weapon was on the other side of the warehouse. The only other runeblade in her arsenal was barely usable and while she had her brother’s gun she doubted it would be enough. Her eyes landed on an object near the crates. That could work. --- “ What are you waiting for, SIEZE HER!” The succubus ordered in a bored tone reserved for explaining simple things to stupid folk. The malformed addicts ran past the remains of their ally and split into two teams to surround the pillar. The first man to round the corner stopped with a face halfway between furious and confused as he stared at the polished metal barrel of a drawn handgun. At that range, the heavy slug punched through his toughened hide and both sides of the skull without stopping. The remaining two ignored the fresh casualty as they leapt towards the death knight, one swung low to slice her hamstrings, the other raked his talons down to shred her face. One succeeded and drew a shout of pain from Dessim as the support on her left leg was removed. The other was halted as a curved bar of metal intercepted his strike and shifted his momentum to the side and making him stagger past her. Without being properly runed, the crowbar was less than efficient at absorbing the power she fed into it. But it was just enough to make it useful as she swung the flat, pointed end into the back of his head while she brought the revolver up to fire again at the man behind her. One man staggered forward with raised hand, his last thoughts intent on removing the tool now lodged in the back of his head, the other fell backward as the bullet burrowed into his cheekbone and lodged itself deep. Both men fell still a few moments later. “ The offer still stands.” Dessim called as she glanced around the corner at the succubus. The demon stood well away from her. At that range she would reduce the death knight to ash long before she could be pulled. “ You are in no position to make demands.” The succubus replied calmly with an air of smugness that Dessim still found adorable. “ Come out and I will finish this quickly. I promise.” The offer was morbidly tempting. The bitch still had her axe. At such close proximity to the creature, any attempt to summon it would probably go awry. Dessim ‘s eyes flickered around the warehouse as the demon began to gather energy into another destructive bolt. One second… The demon was too far away to reach before she fired. Two seconds… The gun was less than effective at such a range. She was probably armored as well. Three seconds… There was plenty of furniture here. Dessim left her hiding place and cast a hand out towards the demon as the energy was released and the hissing bolt soared towards her. The dark tendril latched onto a table that stood between them. The heavy wood was too much to yank through the air, but there was enough force to pull it up onto its side to intercept the bolt. Splinters shot in every direction as the spell detonated, filling the air with a stench that stood halfway between wood smoke and spoiled milk. The succubus shouted something unintelligible as her view of the undead was obscured. The succubus’s narrowed eyes spread wide with predatory excitement as something burst out of the smoke and came hurtling towards her. She still held the death knight’s axe and with a shriek of victory she swung upward to bisect the one who had so foolishly charged her. The surge of victory turned to confusion as the blade tore through wood and split the thrown chair in two. Still caught in the upswing, the succubus was left open as Dessim came hopping through the smoke with her worn claymore in hand. The edge was blunted, chipped and rusted, but there was still enough of a point on the end to make it useful. Dessim braced herself and launched forward with all the strength she could force through the uninjured leg. The axe fell from the succubus’s hand as the long blade ran through her darkened heart and emerged from her back like another wing. Bright fel-green eyes dimmed as the demon collapsed under the death knight’s weight. Dessim pulled the blade out of the corpse and returned her axe to its rightful place on her hip with a murmured apology. It was not a dead end, but this was far from the answer to her question. Who was rounding up the addicts? The legion? A cult? The idea of wreave addicts becoming sacrifices was disturbing, but not as disturbing as the implication of what too much of the drug would do to a person. The brutes were halfway between demons and human, the process was slow, the ones she had slain were not finished with their transformation. She would take the creatures. Someone would be able to do something with the corpses. Perhaps it would give them an idea of what wreave really did. The addicts slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the fate that would have befallen them while their would-be captors blood pooled on the floor. She looked at them with a measure of pity. She could not protect them, and she doubted that this was the only pleasant, mind-altering creature that was rounding up their kind. The answer was simple, the action was simple, but the consequence weighed heavily on her mind. --- Twenty minutes later the authorities would come rushing towards the warehouse to battle the sudden fire that sprang to life inside the warehouse. It was thankfully contained to the one warehouse. Investigation eventually determined that a keg of Wildhammer stout had been lit and started the blaze. Twelve had perished in the flame, leaving nothing but bits of charred meat on blackened bones. Ten were easily identified but two were unique in their appearance, including damage that had been inflicted before the fire had started. Murder and arson was nothing new to the port city but it was not taken lightly. Extra bruiser patrols were set to pass through that district over the next several days. Rumors of the burned, beaten bodies began to spread through the companies and taverns of the port. The presence of extra guards did nothing to deter the spread of suspicion. Dessim returned to Coldstar’s garrison that night with two fresh corpses, a sated blade, and a fresh set of problems. She could not handle this situation by herself, not if she wanted to get Selris back. It was time to look into the other groups and hope that she wasn’t the only one stuck in this mess.
  5. Dessim

    Quorum: A cure for the itch

    Her brother kept his lab in the ruins of Lordaeron, a choice that Dessim had voiced her concern with multiple times. It was too far away from his house and for every minute he wasn’t there he risked the possibility of sabotage or theft by a ladder-climbing member of the Royal Apothecary society. As per usual, he had ignored her advice. She thumped thrice upon the reinforced and battle-scarred door to his re-purposed apartment. She had sent him the Wreave sample a week ago with a request for him to find out what he could. She doubted he would have a definite answer but he should have been able to perform a few tests by then. She grew impatient as seconds passed by and struck the door twice more “SEL! Come on! It’s me!” She shouted at the door. Her outburst was followed by a long silence that lasted well over a minute. More than likely he was at home with his family, something she couldn’t fault him for, but the itch suggested that the drug wasn’t something they could take a casual approach to. The vials in her pocket clinked merrily as she shifted in place, the noise and the promise of the substance within caused her to scowl and forget the peaceful approach. She grabbed the door handle “ You know this door can’t stop me. I’m giving you until ten!” She threatened as she twisted the handle, causing the door to screech quietly as it drifted open.. Dessim froze in place and immediately reached for the short-sword at her side before slipping inside. The lights were on, a moth-eaten chair sat in the corner next to a small end table covered by an open book set face down. Selris was paranoid when it came to his work. If he was there, the door would be locked. If he was not there, the door would be locked and probably trapped with whatever horrible chemical he had on hand. She ventured further inside to look around. Selris’s lab was filled with worktables and alchemy equipment on the left, storage shelves of herbs and other parts necessary to his work straight in front of the doorway, and bookcases filled with research notes and heavy tomes off to the right. A floor-drain had been installed in the center of it all for easy cleaning, which was by far his least favorite part of the process. It looked undisturbed, as if he had simply cleaned up after a day’s work and left. She began to wonder if she was just on edge from the lack of Wreave. She had only taken a small amount, the wrong way, and had abstained from taking more after her second meeting with Thon. There were too many unknowns when it came to the drug but not snorting it when it was within arm’s reach was taking a great deal of effort. She shook her head and stepped up to his equipment. She wasn’t sure what sort of tests he would have been running, and the wiped-down work area offered no insight. There were no stray pages, no writing implements, or any sign of that sweet chemical she had given him. She grimaced and reached under his desk to check the drawers. The top drawer was filled with disposable gloves, stir-sticks, cotton balls and a few bottles of rubbing alcohol. Below that she was greeted with the sight of the handle of a revolver and her paranoia became justified. The barrel was clean, the handle was only slightly smudged by someone’s fingerprint, but an inspection of the carousel revealed one shiny new bullet among the five others that had been left inside for a lengthy period. Dessim set her blade to the ground and shut her eyes. Death and agony were necessities for every knight like her, they fed on it, they relished every kill as the dwindling life essence was sucked into them through their runeblade. She could still feel the faint essence of blood mere feet from where she stood. A painful wound that had dripped steadily through whatever attempt they made to staunch it. The victim had left a trail all the way to the drain before they had managed to stem the flow. Her veins itched as she picked up on the remains of the kidnapper. She could almost feel the nervous twitch that had plagued it as the blade in her hand picked up on the traces remaining of him. They had poison flowing through them even as they bled. The persistent itch spiked suddenly as she picked up on what could might still contain the precious substance. To be detectable even through such treatment hinted at a severe addict. A cold lump sat in her stomach as she rose to her feet and shoved the firearm into her bag. She quietly made her way outside, leaving the door slightly open before pushing downward on the handle so that the door would lock properly. The door had been damaged so many times it no longer sat right on its frame, something that the kidnappers had not grasped. The hour was late and the zeppelin was still hours making its stop in Tirisfal. She would have time to settle her nerves and clear her head, something that she desperately needed as the lump in her stomach grew heavier. She had made a poor choice to get involved here, one more to add to the list; and once again, someone else was paying the price for her stupidity.
  6. Dessim

    Quorum: A cure for the itch

    The vial was empty. An eighth was taken as a reward for her continued therapy and sticking to a strict regiment, another eighth sent to an apothecary to try and figure out what it was, a quarter was squirreled away for safe-keeping and half was used to tempt frustrated workers in Azshara. Bitter wretches that spat at the undead, they would not be missed The first few days of use effected the goblins in a predictable fashion. They were ready to buy again shortly after. The alchemist however had remained silent. She had waved the goblins off, promising a new batch as soon as it was delivered to her. She found herself in the drag once more, casually strolling throught the darkest parts, waiting for a familiar voice Thon: "Oh, hello there friend. You're back a little later than I expeted." Dessim: " Thon. Hello again." He holds out a clinking red vial. It seems to glow in the dark, and on seeing it, you feel an uncomfortable itch deep in your veins. Dessim: " Wreave seems immensely popular. A few people i've talked about it with seem to prefer it to drinking." Her face remains unreadably friendly, a light smile and a perked brow as if sharing a joke. Thon: “Well, that is the hope, you know. Spreading joy and all that! So, you got your ten siilver ready?" She pulls out ten silver coins and holds them out for the orc “ I'm able to buy more if you've got the stock. The number of potential customers is increasing." He smiles. "Well then please do send them my way. I don't mind giving you a referer's discount, but can't let you be selling my own product, yeah?" Dessim: " Should I give them a name or wait for you to contact them?" Thon: "Send them by Orgrimmar, if you could be so kind." Dessim: " I can send them to the general area but finding a shadowy figure in the Drag is like trying to spot a drop of blood on an Orgrimmar tabard." Thon: "And yeah, name's are fine, as long as the guard doesn't know." Dessim: " Of course." She smiles as she eyes the vial. " The last that i'll distribute just so they know it wasn't a one time thing. After that, they're all yours." Thon smiles and hands over three more vials.. "For being a good customer." Dessim: " You're too kind." Thon: "Oh, I know. But hey, it's a living." Dessim feels an odd sense of temptation as she holds the vials " Not a living many orcs would choose... How did you wind up selling pick-me ups like this?" Thon: "Before you go, though, mind showing me how you're taking it? Not to...push you." he smiles. Dessim: " I just sip a little, like cold medicine." Thon: "Ah, it's a boring story. Some friends of mine got into the trade and I figured...Ah, you have to snort it," he grins. "Like this," he says, and takes a hit. Dessim: "...Snorting liquid." She raises a brow " I'll be sure to tell our friends that they were misinformed then." Thon: "It vaporizes real easy, hence the special vials." He taps the side. Dessim turns a vial over in her hands to look where he indicated Thon: "Never noticed that when you agitate it? Dessim: "I'm not the most observant person" She admits, giving the vial a light shake. It seems to mist and froth. " Huh. Looks like it's carbonated… I still say you could get away with raising the price." Thon: "Maybe someday. For now, selling it is enough. Gotta stimulate market demand and all. Dessim: “Right... As it stands there's little supply, little demand. But when it needs to be rationed you stand to make a great deal of money." Thon: "Well, hopefully you can be a part of that too," Dessim: " How do you mean? Thon: "Well, you're doing such a good job evangelizing for me, might be easy enough to just stop charging you for this stuff. Dessim: " Just entrust me with a few vials and see that they're distributed? I give you the payment you kick a little back my way for my time?" Thon: "Sure. Something like that. But for now, let's make sure you enjoy this product enough to really sell it." Dessim: " We'll see if i'm deserving." Thon chuckles. Dessim: " I take this as a reward for hard work and dedication... What's the point of stuffing your nose for doing nothing? Creates a bad habit." Thon: "So, how do you like it? I'm a fan myself, truth be told." Dessim: " It's a... Less violent way of warming up." Thon: "Good, good, maybe inhaling's going to do you a bit more, yeah?" Dessim: " It's more potent when taking it the right way?" Thon: "Lasts longer." Dessim looks intrigued " How much longer?" Thon: "Oh, probably 2-3 times a long. Something in the body doesn't break it down as fast. Best part about using as undead means it's gonna last way longer anwyay." Dessim: " Our bodies are more inclined towards things like this it seems." Thon chuckles “Well, undead were some of the first people the drug was designed for." Dessim feels the itching need again and bites her lower lip as she eyes the vials " So does that mean Undercity is the next stop when you've established a foothold in Orgrimmar?" Thon: "Well, I don't know. I know that there's some...Ah, favorable governers in Undercity that wouldn't mind this kind of thing. Obviously gotta show it's strong enough to have an effect, far as I know." " Most would be as skeptical as I was." She agrees as she tries to ignore the itch Thon: "Well, hard evidence trumps hard heads, you know?" She nods and looks at the vials again before stowing them in her belt-pouch " I'll be in touch, Thon. I have a few friends who are eager for more.' Thon: "Wonderful!" Dessim gives him a polite nod and walks away. Her eyes harden as she slips around the corner. The bastard had lied to her. "...Non-addictive my ass." *She snarles under her breath as she steps out of Orgrimmar's rear gate towards Azshara. What other things had Thon lied about?
  7. ((Edited from a Battle-tag chat)) Timelines had merged, Warchiefs had fallen, Old gods had been rediscovered, and an entirely new race and style of combat had sprung up. Dessim found it to be too much to take in all at once. The world had shifted so far since her burial and catching up was a monstrous task that left her with ten questions for every answer. She strode through the Drag with a pounding headache and a longing to be with friends that had passed in her time away. She was all alone in a new world Stranger: "Hello there, friend. You seem lost..." Dessim pauses and slowly looks towards the new voice. She must have been slipping if someone caught her unaware so easily" Who's there?" Stranger: "Just a friend who wants to help," says a dark-dressed orc from the shadows. "What's troubling you?" he asks. Dessim: " Two timelines merging, an undiscovered continent, and political upheaval that rivals Arthas's rise. I've been gone for far too long and now i've no idea what's going on. The world has gone crazy." Stranger "Oh, some things stay the same though... For instance, people who can help you find an escape, albeit one which is temporary." Dessim: " Yeah, and Gravy still overcharges for !@#$ merchandise." Stranger: "Would you prefer a bit more of an exotic indulgence? Dessim raises a brow at that "If you're talking about pleasures of the flesh or a five minute high... I think you're barking up the wrong tree." She taps a finger to her cheek. If the elf's stone grey skin is not a dead give-away, her cold blue eyes would make it obvious that she was a death knight, an undead. He chuckles. "Oh, no, nothing so simple. This was actually made by the Forsaken, for people of...your state of being." Dessim: " 'This' being?" He proffers a vial of reddish fluid "Just take a sniff. And let me know if it helps." Dessim takes the vial and uncorks it. She twitches her nose as if taking a delicate sniff of the concoction. The feeling is intoxicating, like biting into a spicy treat, and being enveloped in the warm glow of alcohol. The orc looks on. "Well, what do you think?" He looks eager to find out. Dessim's eyes flash " Drugs are little more than a fun way of upsetting a chemical balance and letting your body take you for a ride... With no blood to surge through things like this shouldn't be possible. What sort of magic is this?" Stranger: "Magic? Oh, no, just chemistry. Here. I hope this helps you feel a little better," says the orc with a smile, and hands the entire vial. "Just give it a sniff when you need to." Dessim: "...And what's the cost afterwards? Stranger: "Oh, it'll hit you a bit like a hangover. Nothing too severe, mind. This is a non-habit forming substance, obviously." Dessim: " Feels great, minor inconvenience afterwards, non-addictive. Well I would have to be an idiot to not take advantage of this." She says flatly Stranger: "Well, finish up the vial, and if you wouldl ike, you can come find me for more." he smiles, bashfully. Dessim: " Contrary to popular belief, i'm not an idiot." Stranger: "Hm? Of course you aren;t. Would you like to know more?" Dessim: " So why do you think I would buy that hot, steaming load of-" She silences herself before she raises her voice too high. " Drugs are drugs... If the chemicals themselves don't create a dependency, the feeling does. You offer the first hit for free and after they're –more- than interested... You attach a price tag. Let's just cut to the chase, shall we? What does this sort of thing cost?" Stranger: "Fine, fair enough. The cost is simply ten silver a vial." Dessim blinks " That's cheaper than a drinking habit." Stranger: "Well, it's a hard market to break into," he says, rubbing his arm bashfully. Dessim: " Not in Silvermoon... Though the orcs prefer the rush of battle to anything else. You're trying to gain a foothold in Orgrimmar?" Stranger: "Well, it's a growing business. With the war calming down, people need other distractions." Dessim: "...Tell me. If the grunts found me with this would they even do anything? Or is it that new." Stranger: "The grunts? Oh, no. It's quite new. This is the first batch to be put into Kalimdor, truth be told. The only caution is you may have to wait for the next batch to arrive." Dessim: "Naturally. You're just testing the waters and trying to see if you can snag a few customers." Stranger: "Yes. Word of mouth does wonders for business. Far more than advertising, as you can imagine." Dessim: " So. I enjoy this vial. Maybe save a little for an undead friend who is feeling down... Then when I run out, I try to find you again and see if I can purchase more. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name Thon: "My name is Thon Battlewise." Dessim: " Alright Thon. I'll humor you and take this for a test run." Thon: "Please, if you would. And let me know if there's anything I can do improve the experience." Dessim: " Step into the light. I'm not sure if you're trying to get me to buy something or waiting to mug me." He does so. He's a pretty normal looking orc in black leathers. Dessim: " There we go... You want to appear a bit more welcoming, a lot less shady. Maybe get yourself some nice robes so you look like an alchemist." Thon: "I don't pretend to be that which I am not. I am a humble merchant, after all," he smiles knowingly. Dessim: " What's it called?" Thon: "This, my good friend, is called Wreave." Dessim: " Wreave huh? That's a rather harsh sounding name for such a gentle drug." Thon: "Marketing is everything, friend." Dessim: " Of course. Though ten silver a vial... You're not going to make a lot unless you sell a boatload of it." Thon: "Oh, well, it is pretty cheap to manufacture by virtue of the process." Dessim: " Oh?" Thon: "Indeed. It's quite novel, according to my alchemists!" Dessim: " So even ten silver is a large mark-up... Interesting. What if I find a friend who may be interested in it?" Thon: "Send them this way. Of course, we're trying to stay under the radar, so while the guard won't cause you problems, you don't want them causing us problems either, yes?" Dessim: " Naturally." "Well then..." says the orc, as he spies a particularly itchy looking goblin approach. “I have a...new...customer." Dessim: " ...I'll leave you to it."