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About Gorymoru

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  • Birthday 11/10/1992

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  1. Hey all, just going to drop my two cents in here. It seems as though we've come full circle again in this expansion, because it seems that every expansion I've been in, there's always proposals to 'bring the community together' and 'revitalize RP on Twisting Nether'. Let me note that I do not find these do be inherently bad ideas, however, I have to say that my past experience has proven that Twisting Nether is stubbornly slow to react as a server, and very rarely is anything ever really changed. The best you can hope to do is improve your own RP experience and hope that through your example, others will follow. If you want a dragon RP'd properly, figure out how to do it yourself. On that note, there are a lot more dragon RPers than you would think, and while I at times have had reservations about them, every now and again I find one that really intrigues me. I hope that one day WoW becomes a game I can play again, so I can join in on all the RP shenanigans like in the good old days. (Cartel days, mind you. Cataclysm was god awful. Sorry alth <3 You tried)
  2. I'm floating in the open sea, this raging Sea of Life. My hair is drifting about my face, my hands reach out before me As though I once strove for something more, something long ago. I'm drowning in the open sea, though I give and take no breath. Familiar faces pass me by, as though they're unaware Of the fate of a friend once close or far, they do not have a care. So alone I wallow in this raging sea, lifeless within death. Outside the thriving current of Life, I am nothing more Than seaweed attached to driftwood, covered in spongy pores. My hands reach out before me, as though I lost something long ago I remember now they reached once for, hope and nothing more. Another face passes me by, and as it vanishes it still yet lingers; Not before dead eyes but in a dead mind, unwanted and yet still lingers. It passes through these frozen digits, through my own dead fingers Lost to me and bereft of hope, and through it all still lingers. I died once in the open sea, this raging Sea of Life My hands stretched out before me so, as to catch the sorrowful sight; To grasp and crush it out of existence, and end this short lament I finally see outside the current, that the Sea of Life is the true torment.
  3. It was dark, and unusually cold for a mid-spring night. I crept…no, stalked, through the halls that I had known as a child, memories springing unbidden to my mind, memory of a life that was no longer my own. With rotting flesh and bare bones my soul-case now, I stalked these halls of my youth, these halls of my torment. The creature’s bedroom was still where I remembered it, and even from outside his room I could hear his snoring. Just like a bear, or a swine. Yes…a swine. I swing the door open without a sound. It seems the creature still keeps his lair well-kept. I wonder if he makes her do it for- no. I will not think of her as associated with him. She had no choice…no…choice. There he is, in his bed. A four-poster. Humph. It seems he’s doing well for himself. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I make to grab for my sword, but I realize he doesn’t deserve to die by the blade. He feared magic so much…it seems much more fitting for him to die by fire. Yes…fire…cleansing fire, to purge this corruption, this infection… It always feels like free-falling, delving into the ley energies. I could always see them, but it was only after that night that I felt them…that I floated among them, was them… I will be justice…no, I will be fury…I will be vengeance… …I am vengeance…I am rage…I AM POWER! ***************************************************************** Mother?? What is she doing here? She shouldn’t- “Orahéo? What have you done? I say nothing, it’s obvious what I’ve done. I’ve freed her! I atoned for running away all those years ago, leaving her to fend for herself against the beast. But wait…why is she crying? Tears of joy? They have to be. “Oh my child, what have you become? You’ve killed your father…you…killed him…” Mother no…I don’t understand. My hands…what are they doing? I don’t recognize that spell, what is this trickery?! “And now you’ve turned on me…you’re a monster, an evil creature of either Arthas or his witch…I curse the day I bore you…Do your worst, for you only send me to my love!” Love? Love?! LOVE?! YOU KNOW NOTHING OF LOVE! “Then be with him, Mother. May you both burn for all eternity, for that is how long it will take to cleanse your taint.” Oh to be cleansed by fire…but no, first, this world must be free of corruption… ***************************************************************** Zorael held the picture in trembling hands, and if moisture still remained within him he would be streaked in tears. Instead, he released the picture which remained suspended in mid-air. A small flicker of flame caught at the bottom corner and slowly began to creep up the rest of the picture. “Goodbye Mother. I’m sorry I waited so long to finally release you. But your grand-daughter will make us both proud.” After offering the pile of ashes that had formed on the ground a weak smile, Zorael checked that his spell blade was properly fastened and turned to face the portal at the other side of the room. Just before he walked through, he turned back to the pile of ashes and sighed. “I just pray that you’ll forgive me, and my daughter will love me still…”
  4. What little patience Zorael had left was quickly dwindling as he waited anxiously for Morwin’s return. His intel had been sickeningly scant, and with each passing moment he wondered if he had sent his daughter on a suicide mission. Not only that, but he lost contact with her immediately before he felt a familiar presence through their link that he thought was contained indefinitely. Eleyane. Such a strange creature, such an enigma, and yet so simple-minded at times. No doubt, if she surfaced, either his daughter was dead, or many innocents were. If the latter was the case, he shuddered to think of what his ‘allies’ might think. They would be unable to ignore him anymore, and might try to put a stop to his machinations altogether. This was unacceptable, of course, and he had planned for this just in case, but if it came to that he would burn many bridges. The sudden flood of the alien presence of Eleyane filled his mind, interrupting his thoughts. Demon, where is my daughter? Is she safe? Now now, Father dearest, your sweet child is safe and sound. However, she -is- unavailable at the moment. The naughty death knight did something unpleasant to us, and we had to…recuperate. He sensed the pain through the link, as well as the relishing tone she adopted when she alluded to what they did to recuperate. It took no more than her brief pause and Zorael’s jaw clenched in a flare of anger. My daughter is not a tool to feed your appetite. But she is a tool to feed your thirst for revenge? I refuse to try to reason with a demon. Return my daughter to me and begone, lest I punish you in ways you will -not- enjoy. You have no power over me here, Warlock. You’ll have to come find us. His mind was left filled with a piercing cackle as the demon severed the connection. His patience had run out, and his conscience been stung. As much as he hated to think it, the demon was right, in a way. His ultimate goal was not revenge, but if his vengeance was satisfied through his machinations, all the better. In this sense, his daughter was indeed a means to a less-than-honorable end. With a heavy sigh, he began the ritual needed to locate his daughter. Drawing a circle rimmed in many different sigils and symbols he drew upon the power of the Nether, speaking the Fel language, sparks flying from his mouth as he did. From his facial expression, it was apparent these were unpleasant, and as he channeled the demonic energy his dead skin seemed to decompose before the eyes. Nonetheless, he finished the incantation and the apparent decomposition faded from his features, except his eyes; they appeared more sunken and dead than before. In the middle of the circle remained a peculiar yet terrifying creature; a felhound, Phuushon by name, tracker and mage-hunter by nature. It was a quadruped creature, vaguely resembling a mix between a dog, a beaver, and a komodo dragon. Short, stumpy legs supported a stout frame and a thick tail. Rough hair covered its scaly body through a few articulation points, and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth was an apparent weapon of choice. It had no eyes to speak of, but it did have two long, thin tentacles reaching from behind its head. Despite the appearance of the teeth, these were its primary weapon; for from here, it channeled its corrupting influence, rendering mages confused and unable to call upon their arcane natures. This worked for warlocks as well, and even druids and priests. In fact, anyone who called upon a greater power, such as the Nether, the ley-lines that housed the arcane, or the ’Earth-mother’ was vulnerable to this corrupting influence. However, mage-hunter was not Phuushon’s mission this time. Tiredly, Zorael retrieved a bottle with some strange, shimmering, fluid-like substance in it. Uncorking the bottle, he held it to the beast’s face. It sniffed the bottle and dipped a tentacle into the contents. “Find her, my friend. Find my daughter and bring her to me. She will not be herself, and she will flee. I give you permission to subdue her, but only subdue. Do not harm her in any way.” Phuushon huffed his affirmation, and Zorael dismissed him, recorking the bottle of Morwin’s essence once again. As the felhound returned to the nether, Zorael walked over to one of the many shelves around the walls and picked up a large, decrepit tome. Opening the tome revealed a cache within the pages which held a small, faded picture. Zorael lifted it up to better look at it, and as he did it caught the dim light from his eye. It was barely possible to make out a high-elven woman, garbed in a fine dress and apparently a lady. Zorael knew the truth of this woman’s vocation, however, and with a trailing finger he traced her dark locks, a motion that he had repeated often ever since that day, so many years back.
  5. Discovery and Failure, Research and Readiness When the disorientation faded, Antheline fell to her knees, gasping for breath she did not need. What was that creature, and what had she done to her? Why did she recoil and flee like that, and most of all why could Antheline feel any pain at all? Nonetheless, Antheline stilled her mind, with some difficulty. Answers would come with time, for now she must report to her master. Gathering her last vestiges of strength, she reached out into the Dark Wind. An endless flow of whispers and orders, a never-ending sea of communication that one could easily become lost in. Exerting herself even more, she focused on her master and made a very weak connection. “Master, the creature escaped. A thousand apologies, but, I was overcome.” She gritted her teeth, anger seeping in as the shock wore off, anger at being bested by such a tiny thing. “The child? How did she best you? How did she even harm you?! I left her immobilized and ripe for destruction, and I refuse to believe you were so incompetent as to fail to exterminate a helpless pest. Did the warlock intervene?” “No, at least, I do not think. It is hard to explain what happened, but I think there was something else inside of her. A demon of some breed, it said it was of the Rak’jraka. It disintegrated your bindings without any exertion of itself, and then turned on me. I…I was helpless.” This final remark was made in shame, and Antheline bit her lip as even more anger rose from the depths of her frozen soul. Unbidden tears came to her eyes, tears that should’ve frozen a long time ago with her heart, tears of emotion. “I see…Well, you survived. While this failure is unacceptable, I do not believe there is anything more you could’ve done. You are forgiven on the grounds that you had no way of knowing what you were up against. Do not make this mistake again. As for the creature, I have heard of the ‘Rak’jraka’. They are an ancient breed of demon, hailing from the dark refuges of the Twisting Nether. The first ones were hunted by the Burning Legion, before the Legion absorbed them into their ranks. They are expert spies and assassins. Related to Succubi, I believe, they have the ability to overpower their victim’s will and are surprisingly strong. Unlike Succubi, however, they feed off of Life energy instead of sexual euphoria.” “Yes, she tried to absorb my own Life energy, except when she tasted my blood she recoiled, exclaiming how much it burned her, and ‘seared her insides’.” “That would happen, yes. This one must not have had much experience with Death Knights. Your blood is dead, what life she would’ve absorbed is gone, and all that remains is the taint of the necromancy that animates you. This energy, which is the opposite of Life, would have burned her. In fact, I’m surprised it didn’t kill her…” Her master trailed off, and Antheline bit her tongue so she didn’t continue her queries. Usually, her master was so cryptic, she was grateful for even this much information. However, one question was pressing enough that she had to ask. “Master, even though she can’t feed off of me, can she still kill me? Can I still die by mundane means?” “If your body becomes so disfigured and mutilated that it cannot contain the necromantic energies that bind your soul to this plane, yes, you will die. However, you have amazing regenerative properties that reach their full potential as you kill. If you are strong enough, I give you permission to raid a village. Choose one without much defense, and take only what you need. We do not wish to incite too much fear, in case it draws attention to us.” A wicked smile crossed her lips, and she gave her affirmation. Extracting her mind from the Dark Wind, she felt a wave of exhaustion come over her. Perhaps I’ll rest a bit before I go to slaughter… and with that thought, she was gone.
  6. “Child, your zealotry is admirable, but no, I think that his intent is to host a full-on assault. If that is the case, then surely he is insane to some extent. McClain, you are to hold down here while more capable hands investigate the coordinates on this report. We will be in touch.” A muttered affirmation was heard from McClain, but Morwin did not wait to hear anything else. With a forceful kick she splintered the door around the lock and it swung wide open. In the same motion she tossed a small round ball, of goblin make, that exploded into a thick cloud of smoke. Using the smoke screen, she latched onto the roof of the doorway and swung herself straight up, dropping a goblin flash bomb as she did so. As she exited the smoke she almost missed her handhold on the ceiling beam that she had prayed was there. Fortunately the room was constructed and supported by mundane means, and the beam was there. Finding purchase she swung herself up onto the beam and quickly assessed the room. There was the sniveling undead, McClain, on the ground in a ball from the flash; there was the strange woman, garbed in dark, saronite armor and eyes streaming from the bomb; finally, there was the Master, a huge figure robed in an icy cloak and as Morwin focused on him she knew immediately what he was. Her father had unwittingly sent her to kill a lich, and even as this thought crossed her mind, the lich summoned four Blackguards that materialized out of thin air. Cursing under her breath, she realized she might be in trouble. Reaching behind her, she unfastened four kunai and took aim. Tossing each one quickly in succession, she sliced through the hamstrings of each Blackguard, rendering them slightly less dangerous and immobile. As the four Blackguards toppled and crashed into each other the three left standing below her suddenly looked skyward for the source of the blades, and the lich began shooting off spells in every direction, scorching wood and rock alike. Dust fell from the ceiling as he shook the room, and Morwin leapt off the beam she had alighted upon and landed on the ground a moment later, short blade in hand along with two more kunai. With a flick of her wrist she hit the death knight woman in two articulation points in her armor, knocking her back and pinning her to the wooden beam along the wall. Without waiting for a response she leapt at the lich, short blade ready to embed itself in his heart. Suddenly, she found herself frozen in mid-air, unable to move, hovering above the ground. A strange noise filled the room, and once again she had the odd sense that it was coming from within her. Laughter, the lich was laughing at her. “What a strange creature, so tiny and yet so destructive. Antheline, unpin yourself already and dispose of this thing. Come McClain, you useless cockroach.” The lich spoke a word and the Blackguards disappeared. Crossing to Antheline he tried to wrench the kunai out of her, but suddenly fell back in pain. A blinding light exploded from the kunai and he gazed at his hands. Dead, frozen bones blistered away, leaving stumps in their stead. Antheline screamed out in pain as the holy energy seared her tainted flesh, to a lesser extent than the lich received. In her writhing she ripped her body off of the kunai and fell on the ground. The lich cursed under his breath, and as he gazed at his stumps he spit on the ground. “This warlock is craftier than I expected. No matter, it is only a setback. Enjoy yourself, child. Find out what you can from her, if anything, and then dispose of her.” With an angry command, the lich turned to McClain, who then whimpered and grabbed hold of his robe, and they both vanished. The death knight, wounded but now seething with rage turned on Morwin, who was still frozen. Fear flooded her every pore, and she tried to scream out to her father, but something was blocking their connection. Antheline unattached her sword from her back, a massive thing as big as she was. It was bathed in blood and necromantic energies, leaking the taint of Yogg-Saron. “I’m going to enjoy this, you swine. But first, let’s see what you’re hiding under the hood.” With the tip of her blade she pushed back Morwin’s hood, revealing her stark white features and elven ears. A brief flash of surprise crossed over Antheline’s face, perhaps at the fact that their would-be killer was a girl, but it vanished as she began laughing. “This? This is the wraith who has caused so much trouble? A mere child? No, it cannot be!” A brief cackle escaped her lips before her cold eyes zeroed in on Morwin once more. “Well, no matter. I’m going to have such fun with you!” Antheline withdrew a small poker, red hot though it had been exposed to no heat. Gently she placed it against Morwin’s outer thigh, scorching the leather and flesh beneath. Morwin tried to scream but she could not, frozen as she was. Her vision flickered for a moment, and even through the pain she marveled at that. This wasn’t half as painful as what her old master had put her through, why was she blacking out? Antheline pressed the poker against the leather, barely breaking skin and cauterizing the wound. The smell of burning flesh began creeping into Morwin’s nostrils and her eyes began to develop a strange line of red within the sclera. The pain accelerated quickly, the blades obviously ensorcelled to do just that, and soon Morwin’s vision was flickering again. Her silver eyes twitched and teared up in silent torment. “What do you know, where is the warlock?” Morwin of course, could not answer, and nor was she paying attention. She was not really in control of herself anymore, and had Antheline looked up at her eyes instead of the damage she was causing Morwin, she might’ve noticed that her eyes were a deep red, and her pupils had expanded to full. Inside her own head, Morwin was becoming more and more panicked. I thought Father put a stop to this, to her? I can’t lose control now, I have to fight her… The spell holding Morwin began to weaken as this change began to settle in fully, and it was only after the poker melted in Antheline’s hand that she looked up at Morwin. A losing battle, little girl. This lich magic has left your father’s wards weakened, and I have bided my time, gaining my strength. This body will be ours again! Of course by ‘ours’ I mean mine. “Your eyes…what are you doing?” Antheline looked around uncertainly, and suddenly grabbed her sword. “I smell fel, did your warlock send reinforcements?” With the spell continuing to fracture, Morwin flexed her body against the spell bonds, and all of a sudden her features mutated. What had been the face of a pained, beautiful elf morphed into the face of a twisted, evil creature. A cloud of fel energy filled the room, demonic force pushing at the bonds of the spell. Soon the bonds were frayed completely and the creature alighted gently upon the floor. “Hello, Death Knight. It’s been a long time since I’ve encountered anything like you.” With eyes filled with demonic hatred and rage, the creature that was Morwin walked slowly and seductively towards Antheline, who tried to back up but found herself pressed against a wall. The whites of her eyes were crimson, her pupils fully dilated, and her irises non-existent; her face was as if someone had taken her once beautiful features and rotted them like an apple. Sallow skin pulled at her facial features, and elongated canines shone brightly in the dim light. The creature withdrew Morwin’s long knife and delicately licked its edge as she closed in on Antheline. “Now, my sweet, sweet prey; we are going to have some fun, with you.” She pressed up against the death knight’s armor, the necromantic taint fizzling and receding in the presence of the fel energy. In the blink of an eye, the creatures features contorted with rage, and a scream embodying her features erupted from her mouth. She drew back her short blade and impaled Antheline with it, crushing and slicing through bone and tendon within her shoulder. A shriek of pain ran through the room as Antheline writhed like an insect pinned to a board. “My, how the tables have turned, no? Tell me, little girl, what is your name?” The creature gently stroked Antheline’s cheek, all traces of the outburst vanished. In defiance, Antheline would spit on the creature, who simply blinked as the fluid evaporated from the fel taint. “That wasn’t very nice, love. You must learn manners, which means you must be punished.” With that, she gripped the hilt of the knife and twisted it in place, turning it for a full rotation before removing it and re-impaling the girl through another articulation point in her other shoulder. Antheline screamed again, so intense that her voice gave out, her scream fizzling into a guttural sound. “Let’s try this again. Hello dear, it’s so nice to meet you. What is your name?” The look of defiance entered Antheline’s eyes again, but something about the way the creatures mouth was slightly parted in its smile and the hunger within its eyes told her to comply. “Antheline.” “That’s all? Surely they give you abominations a surname?” The creature winked, still stroking her cheek, face dangerously close to Antheline‘s. “Antheline…Blightbloom.” With uncontrolled tears sliding down her cheeks like heralds of pain to the rest of her body, the creature tilted her head slightly to the side as she processed this new information. “Blightbloom, you say? That’s interesting to say the least…” she trailed off as Antheline studied her. Obviously a demon, she wracked her brain in hopes of remembering what demon races inhabited a host yet did not feed off of them. Growing bold, she coughed slightly and looked at the creatures eyes, inching away as she grew slightly more afraid of that mouth. “And what is your name creature? If you do not have a name, what are you?” “Well, I don’t think it could hurt to tell you. I am called Eleyane, a daughter of the Rak’jraka.” With a slight wink Eleyane would twist the blade a quarter-turn yet again, chuckling at Antheline’s reaction. “You really are a delight, did you know that? No more questions though my dear. You see, I’ve been locked away by nasty magic for too long, and unfortunately for you, I’m hungry. I don’t suppose you know any Demonic, do you?” Antheline had nearly passed out from the pain of the last turn, something about this fel energy made her susceptible to pain, something that the necromantic magic that had restored her was supposed to have blocked. In this dazed state, she looked up at Eleyane and shook her head drunkenly. “Well, that’s a shame dear. You see, the proper name for my race is ‘Ashj’ir Rak’jraka’ which the closest translation that your kind has to that is ‘Life Absorber’. Oh silly me! I don’t know why I’m explaining all of this to you. You’re simply going to die anyways!” She laughed at her own absurdity, before turning to Antheline once more. Brutally ripping the blade out of her shoulder she would lick the gore off its length. As the blood touched her lips however, she suddenly convulsed in extreme pain. “It burns! Why does it burn? Oh by the bloody gods it sears my insides!” Seething in pain and confusion, Eleyane fell back to the door as Antheline shakily stood up. With trembling hands Eleyane unfastened another pair of the flash bomb/smokescreen combo and set them off, vanishing in the resulting distraction. Antheline rushed to the door with eyes once again streaming, ears ringing painfully; after a quick survey of the hallway however, it was revealed that even in a damaged state, the creature was extremely fast. Wincing with every step, Antheline returned to the back wall of the room and removed the brick that housed her hearthstone. Speaking softly to it, it began to glow and soon she was no more; only a small puddle of black fluid remained to mark her leave.
  7. ************************************************************************ The ‘secret’ doorway was hidden in the side of a huge keg that was resting against the cellar wall of the inn. Morwin easily spotted it and wedged it open with a blade. Quietly she edged through the small opening, finding a bit of rope to pull it shut behind her. A narrow staircase filled the small expanse inside the keg, and Morwin quietly made her way down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell was a narrow opening and a sharp left turn down a hallway; senses on high alert for any sentience, she kept to the shadows and traversed the narrow corridor quickly. Underground the air seemed stale and lifeless, and her breathing seemed so loud in the quiet space. Nonetheless, she reached her destination at the end of the corridor. Apparently, someone had dug a cavity underneath the inn; unfortunately the door was shut and Morwin had the feeling that it would be unwise to try to unlock it. Instead, she inched closer to the door so that she might hear what was going on behind the timber. As she crept right next to the door, she suddenly heard voices. Counting quickly, she picked up three voices right away: One rather raspy and harsh voice, sounding much like her own father in sound but nothing like him in tone, another voice that was much softer and seemed to echo within the small space as though in an ampitheatre, and the final voice sent shivers of unchecked fear down Morwin’s spine. It did not rasp, it did not grate; it did not slide nor did it flow. It felt as though it came from within her, like a poison being bled out through a harsh wound. Deep and resounding, it shook her soul and her bones and she winced every time she heard it speak. “Master, I am so glad you could make it all this way. Is there anything I can get you?” The rasping, dead voice spoke in an almost servile whine. “Cease your sniveling, McClain. It ill becomes one of your station.” There was the Voice that carried fear along its sound waves, the Master. “How he ever rose to such a station escapes me, my Master, and how he kept it is even more intriguing. Here he stands, having failed the Cult yet again, one mistake among countless others, and yet he thinks he can promise us safety in the heart of the Witch’s lands.” The female voice spoke in barely controlled anger, and if Morwin could put voice to person, she would see a tight grip upon a loosened sword. “Still yourself, child. He still has his uses, don’t you McClain?” “Yes Master, of course. We have reports of the whereabouts of the Warlock who is causing us so much trouble. It was received by messenger hawk from the usual anonymous sour-” “We do not tolerate anonymous sources, McClain. Why have you not found out who this source is? Why does it seem that every time we follow a lead from this source, it leads us to lose more men, more time, and more resources while giving us nothing in return?” “But Master, the last few messages have led us to his hideouts, missing him by only an hour or so. We are closing in, and I strongly believ-” “Your beliefs no longer matter to us, peasant! I think you are weak and scared, and you are holding on to this source not because you believe in results, but because you believe it is your only lifeline.” “Antheline, you will learn control, or shall I be forced to have you wait outside?” “No, my Master, I am control. I am respect.” Morwin could even tell how false this Antheline’s compliance was. She could almost taste the bitter anger this girl gave off. “Good. You are a prized weapon, Antheline, but you are not irreplaceable. Not yet, at least. Now McClain, let us see these reports. I warn you though, the girl is right. This is your final chance, because the Council believes you are in fact simply trying to extend your miserable Unlife. Lead us wrong again, no matter how close on the trail we happen to be, and we will release you from your immortal coil.” “Of course, Master, I understand. We have deduced that he is in Northrend, in the mountains of Icecrown.” A brief pause split the conversation, and Morwin could almost feel the heat of the anger now emanating from the Master. “Right under our noses, and we did not know…curious, to say the least. Do we have any idea of his plans?” “So far what we can deduce is that his plan is to hunt us, dissolve the Cult. He cannot be sane if he is alone, and as he has shown to be a formidable opponent, we believe he has others working for him.” “And who is to say that your ‘informant’ is not working for him?” “I believe-” “Choose your words wisely, McClain. They may decide the fate of your next few minutes.” A loud swallow was heard, followed by a short pause. “None can say for sure, my Master. But why would the warlock give us his hiding places?” “Perhaps he does not intend to stay hidden forever? Perhaps he seeks to hand himself over, realizing his quest is futile? Realizing that the Cult of the Damned is forever, and will one day conquer all?” The woman again spoke, and Morwin could not help but smile at her foolishness. Regardless of her amusement, she loosened her short blade in its sheath and prepared herself to assault the room.
  8. When the Moon Was Washed Red ((This one is going to be in sections, as it's rather long. The next chapter will be marked by a title, until then these following updates will be of the same chapter. Sorry!)) A dreary night indeed, but that’s how McClain liked it. With every step he made as he paced in his upstairs room in the little inn, there was a loud and painful clicking sound. Decrepit joints and bones rubbed together, open to the elements and only held together by dark magic best left forgotten. Undead he was, and a traitor to the Forsaken, for he was part of the original group that broke away from Arthas with Sylvanas. However, those were days gone by, and the Cult of the Damned was where he belonged. The Forsaken were weak, and had allowed themselves to be controlled by Sylvanas just as the Scourge was controlled by Arthas. At least in the Cult he was free to do as he wished. He ceased his pacing when he heard a light jingle downstairs that announced that someone had entered the small inn. If he could sweat still, he would’ve been dripping. A High Priest was coming, along with a small battalion of Blackguards that were to be summoned at a moment‘s notice. McClain didn’t know his name but knew of his deeds, and that was enough to make his bones rattle with fear. Side-along the High Priest was to be Omigatu’s protégé, Antheline. A lovely Death Knight of the Lich King, perfectly brain-washed with memory erased, she was prime for training. Omigatu would see to it that she was properly trained, for all Death Knights were creations of destruction, but this one would be refined into something more. McClain couldn’t help but be wary of her as well. Three knocks at the door would signal the arrival of this dread party, and it was those three knocks he was pacing for. He knew this quarter had gone badly, what with the documents being stolen, and two of their spies being silently murdered with no trace of their attacker. Not even their most skilled necromancers could observe enough in the memories of their last moments to decipher who it was. Their only solace was no one outside the Cult knew how to decipher their code, which he had told the High Priest over the Dark Wind, a way of communicating over long distance. Displeased, the Priest had been, but it was manageable. Thus, the Priest was on his way here, but with much more protection than was originally intended. -tap…tap…tap- McCain gave an unnecessary swallow, opened the door of his room, and began the walk into the cellar where the entrance to the meeting room lay hidden. ************************************************************************ A tiny, dusty, worn-out traveler walked into the inn, ringing the bell above the door. With a hooded face they walked up to the counter where the innkeeper sat cleaning mugs and placed 15 silver on the table. In a small voice like one speaking to a frightened animal, it asked for ale. With wary disdain, the innkeeper filled a mug up with the warm drink, frothing it perfectly from years of practice. Passing it along to the traveler, he swiped the coin off the counter and into a coin purse hidden somewhere under his shirt. He caught what appeared to be the shape of elven ears under the cloak, but he couldn’t be sure and he learned years ago that it was best not to be nosey. As he turned away he poured himself a pint and leaned back against the bar, eyeing the stranger out of the corner of his eye. They had seated themselves next to the fire, cloaked head turned to gaze into the dancing flames. As he watched his eyes grew wide, for the ale was tipped up to the opening of the cloak and in one go was drained. A loud burp was heard and the stranger’s hands reached up to unfasten the cloak. In a fluid motion the traveler stripped the cloak and stood up, turning to the innkeeper. In shock, he knocked back against the wall and fire sprang to his fingertips. Before him stood a short blood elf, or so he thought. With stark white hair cut short with bangs framing her face, luminescent silver eyes, and a pale complexion that resembled that of milk it‘s no wonder he was shocked. After he recovered a bit he realized she hadn’t pulled her weapon and the fire fizzled and died; he then took the time to examine her better. She was garbed in the armor of a Royal Guard of the Banshee, a personal blade of Sylvanas Windrunner herself. She offered a quick smile, and strode up to the counter, producing a scroll with the Royal seal on it. “Mark Bartlett, deceased 13 years, alive for 45, owner and proprietor of the Brill Inn?” Her voice was firm and authoritative, but quiet all the same. “Aye, that’d be me…what can I do for you, Miss…?” “Menalai Carpathia, of the Royal Guard of the Banshee. I’m here to conduct a standard search of your cellar, for Scourge remnants, runaways, and rats. Mostly rats though.” She smiled a bit wider, winking. “Er…of course. I had heard they would be doing those from the last town meeting, but I didn’t think it would happen…so…soon. Usually they’re slow to respond in the Big House.” He looked on with uncertainty, but nonetheless he opened the door behind the counter that led to the cellar. She walked to the doorway, pausing to pat him on the shoulder, leaving her hand there for just a moment. Her eyes flashed red for the briefest of glances and when she spoke it was sweet and gentle. “You’ve worked hard for a long time Mark. Perhaps you could take the rest of the night off?” She gave another one of her smiles, more red bleeding into her silver eyes as time went on, but Mark didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem all there actually, and he simply nodded. “Thank you, Menalai. You have a good night, and I hope you catch them rats.” He drifted off through another door and ‘Menalai’ smiled her first genuine smile of the night. Stepping through the cellar door, she turned and shut it quietly. Had Mark been more aware of everything, he might’ve realized that she made absolutely no noise when she moved, which should’ve been odd as she was fully garbed in plate armor. The glamour faded as she shut the door, and she reached for a small stone kept in the pocket of her leather pants. “I’m in. The glamour wore off just when you said it would, and the innkeeper has gone safely to bed. There should be no more problems here on out. I will contact you when it is done.” A brief pause and thoughtful look later, “One hour.” ************************************************************************ A quiet, dark, and clean room held a sole figure bent over a desk; scribbling furiously, an odd popping sound could be heard every time a pen stroke was made. The only light in the room came from his eyes, which shone with an evil shade of yellow. In the dim, yellow light from his eyes, one might could make out the skeletal nature of his fingers, bare bone washed sallow in the low light. Stringy hair dangled from his face, brushing against the desk on which he wrote but the color could not be distinguished. The rest of his features were lost to the darkness, which did not seem to bother him in his writings. Strewn across the desk were various scrolls held open with small stones, flat papers with impressive seals upon them, and various other documents of some import. A soft sigh escaped his lips, rather unnecessary, being dead and all. Standing up, he walked over to an albino hawk perched next to a small hole in the wall, just large enough for it to fly through. “Another message for you to deliver, old friend. Fly on swift wings and sharp eye, to return safely to me.” After stating this command, which actually sounded more like a blessing or some spell, the corpse attached a small scroll to the hawk’s leg. The scroll could be seen bearing a very ornate seal, jet-black in color and encircled by a dragon. “Shadow and silence, Percy.” With that, he lifted the bird up off his perch and lightly tossed him into the air. Circling around the room once, Perry gave a single screech and zoomed through the hole in the wall. Another sigh, and the corpse barked a harsh word that singed the air and seemed to bleed in fel energies. Instantly, a huge and menacing Felguard appeared in front of him on bended knee. With a deep voice that rumbled like granite on granite, the Felguard spoke slowly, as is their way. “What do you require, my master?” “Ready your brethren. The Cult of the Damned will surely want to retaliate. Tell them that the battle we have been preparing for will soon approach. It will be bloody, swift, and sudden. Above all, it will be a massacre.” With a grim nod the corpse sealed the order, and the Felguard smiled wickedly. “We live to serve you alone.” With a loud crack the demon disappeared and the corpse glowered at the place he had just occupied. “Lies are wasted on knowledgeable ears.”
  9. The Oath-breaker in Question As this meeting was taking place, the spectre had made quite the journey. In only a few short days, it had gone from the Undercity to Northrend. There, it had rendezvoused with a rather strange creature, which now stood before it. A towering corpse, it appeared to be, as bones and other bodily appendages could be seen rotted and decayed; yet it still remained as stoic as it was frail-looking. Without skipping a beat, the heavily robed figure embraced the spectre, and for a moment, something human could be seen in it’s eyes. It died quickly, however, with the breaking of the embrace and returned to its dead, sickly yellow state. “Dearest daughter, you were successful?” He asked, even though he did not seem to be expecting anything but affirmation. “Of course, Father. Here is the document the foolish human carried with him.” The spectre reached within her robes, pulling out the scroll and handing it to her father. “Excellent, my dear, I trust there was no opposition?” “None of note.” The girl would remove her hood, revealing herself to be a rather pretty elven female, perhaps close to adulthood. Her bright eyes glowed silver, and yet at times they seemed tainted red. There was only a flicker, and then it was gone, but it was there nonetheless. Her hair was indeed white-blonde as was her skin; a pale, creamy substance which cloaked her lithe figure without a wrinkle or scar to be currently seen. As she removed her robe, her small stature and lean tone was made even more obvious. She wore a smile on her face from her previous comment, denoting some great misfortune had befallen whatever opposition she met. “You left no sign of your presence? Other than the bodies of course. Your aunt cannot know you are involved, or how close we are on her trail. She must remain ignorant, it is of the utmost importance.” “Of course, Father, I know this. I assure you there was no evidence to point towards me, and one of our spies reports that she does not know I am involved or you are closing in.” With her response he nodded his approval, and then proceeded to open the stolen scroll. As he scanned it carefully, his eyes lit up with surprise, and then exultation. “Oh Morwin, you beautiful child! These are their stratagems and battle preparations, as well as the names of some of their infiltrators within the Horde and Alliance!” Zorael would continue to pour over the document, absorbing everything he could; whilst he did so, Morwin quietly began cleaning and caring for her equipment, starting with her many blades. Among the stiletto she had used on the human, she carried a short sword, a long dagger, two garrotes, throwing knives, and a belt of kunai. As she oiled and sharpened each of them, assuring that each one could split a hair she smiled to herself in a self-satisfied manner. She knew her father was proud of her, and she knew that this information would bring them ever closer to their final goal as well as new targets for her. “Well…I don’t believe I’m going to learn anymore from this…a purely amazing document you’ve brought me though. It turns out, a pair of their higher ups are meeting in Brill; sometime during this moon cycle.” He looked to Morwin as he spoke, almost as if waiting. “Would you like me to be there, Father? Perhaps show them the Way?” Responding without looking up from her work she smiled an impish grin, her eyes shining a harsh shade of silver. “Yes. You will be there. Show them the Way, and perhaps they will repent in their final moments.”
  10. Obvious Hidden Enemies The sounds of the Undercity echoed throughout the sewers, carrying with it a scent of death and decay that was almost suffocating. A new sound permeated the white noise as somewhere underneath a secret passageway was opened. Four figures entered the passageway, one rather tall one needing to duck considerably to pass unscathed. Shortly they entered their destination at the end of a rather steep pathway leading deep underground, which was a small round room that was very carefully carved in the foundations of the Undercity itself. After arranging themselves around the room, hands tucked away within the folds of their robes (no doubt holding weapons with a white-knuckled grip), the shortest one spoke. “I’m sure we are all busy, so I’ll make this quick. Another of our ranks is dead. We don’t know who yet, but we have our guesses. For now, this is immaterial. The problem lies in the fact that he had a very important document on his person. I will not pass blame, but at the same time, it cannot go without saying that he should have had more protection…” The speaker paused for breath, and at the same time, their hood seemed to turn to the tallest of them slightly. In response, the tallest seemed to bristle, and retorted harshly. “He would not have needed protection if he was competent, he should never had had possession of the documents!” A whispered utterance from another of the members left the tallest one lacking his voice. “Thank you, McClain. Now, as I was saying. These documents have a list of some rather influential members of our organization that have hidden away among the ranks of the Horde -and- Alliance. Their discovery appeared to be inevitable, until we found this earlier this morning.” Short tossed a note upon the table. Written upon it in delicate but clear penmanship were the words, “50,000 gold pieces, or the truth will out.” The other figure, with glowing blue eyes underneath its cloak spoke first, his voice a deep booming sound; quite unlike Short’s voice, which was very fluid and almost musical. “So, gentlemen, it appears we have a problem.” This Number Four looked around the room as the tallest one glowered silently, and Short began speaking once again. “This is rather obvious, I would think…the fact remains that while we have this sum of money, our ‘directors’ have deemed that we will not negotiate. They have instead tasked us with the duty of ousting these upstarts, and crushing them under our heel.” The spell silencing the tallest began to wear off, and he spoke, somewhat labored as the effects of the spell slowly waned. “A -noble- notion…but do you not think that it would be easier to pay, instead of wasting time and resources to hunt down someone or someone-s- that we can’t even identify yet?” “I realize the problems this brings to front, but our directors’ word is unquestionable. We will succeed. The Cult of the Damned spans far and wide, our ears and eyes practically infinite. Brethren, this threat will be crushed, followed shortly by the Horde and Alliance. Azeroth will fall.” Short finished speaking, the tone obviously indicating an end to the meeting. Up until now, the fourth member had remained silent, yet now as the other two filed out, Number Four approached Short. “You are bold, Omigatu. Perhaps too bold. You do not fear your brother?” Short looked up at Number 4, the barest outline of a smile could be seen on her lips under the shadow of her cowl. “As are you, old friend, to use my name. My dearest brother poses no threat. He tinkers about with his freak of a daughter and children’s necromancy. His spirit was broken long ago after we took Menalai into our ranks.” Number 4 nodded subtly. “Regardless…we shall be watching him. We suspect he may already know; we’ve not seen his demon hound lately…and we believe he may have it sniffing around.” “Do what you must…but do not make a move without first consulting me. Even caught unawares, Zorael is not someone to trifle with. Broken or no, he is still a warlock, made all the more volatile by his shattered state. That, and a failed attack will set him farther on the path than anything he can discover on his own.” Short turned away from number four, and walked towards the door. Four watched her leave, a quiet scoff leaving his lips. From the angry muttering, it became obvious he was rather furious. He pulled out a chunk of enchanted rock. Speaking the enchantment, the rock began to glow brightly, and soon enough it enveloped him. In a bright flash he was gone, nothing to mark his leave.
  11. You. You know my name. Why is that so..... We shall have words. (I believe you're looking for Zorwinalai, btw =P)
  12. It's been a while, so for those of you who remember me, I missed you! For those who didn't, go fuck yourselves <3 And for those who are new, Hi. I'm old. (To TNG) That being said, if someone would be so kind as to provide me with the ventrilo password I'd love you for a nominal fee. Thank you.
  13. Hah. I lied. This is actually a question about how you view Cataclysm's PvP at 85. As I've been lazy and dealing with teh RLZ, I haven't been able to sample 85 yet. However, Killing Spree combat spec at 82 is just as fun as it was at 62 =P.
  14. Goblin priest Worgen warrior(huge maybe...) And I'm transferring one of my 80s to spirestone...a friend of mine plays there and is looking for an arena partner come 85. So I'm not sure if I want to move Zor, Morwin, or Menalai...Willl prolly end up being Morwin. Zorael belongs here.
  15. Maybe for you gifted people with teh awesome interbuttz it's fine...but a 700 mb patch would take me the better part of a week to get downloaded on my slow ass house internet. It'd take about 2 days on my internet card from verizon...but unfortunately, it be lost currently. My question is what's in this patch that's so large?