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About Razakel

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  1. Razakel


    What's crack a lackin', geece-juicer?
  2. Drip. Drip. Drip. The pitter-patter of descending liquid reverberated throughout the granite room, its repetitive drone mimicking the tick-tock of a clock. Drip. Drip. Thap. A new sound jars the successive rhythmic beat, creating a lapse that destroys the precious uniformity of the chamber. Drip. Thap. Gu-urgle. Ashen digits coil around a slender section of flesh, robbing a young woman of her sustaining breath. Glimmering eyes slide open, biting through the darkness that enshrouds the two. Thap. Gu-urgle. Cough, ..hack, …weeze. A soft clapping reveals that the murderer is not alone, though another’s presence does not deter him from shaking the woman’s corpse angrily to ensure that the deed is finished. Satisfied with the result, a Forsaken covered in blood crouches down, peeling open the carcass’s rib-cage in time for the next slimy drop of fluid to dip into its innards. “Not as planned. Receptive as a dagger’s edge - and apparently as wounding.” “Silence! I will not have you chastise me in such a manner! I do not remember YOU providing the insight and study that I did when creating and cultivating the virus!” “Correct, my choice is not governed by your flowered personality or boyish looks. Viruses, poisons, and plagues; these are your specialties. I push and shove, imbuing with ambition and strength of will. As you see now...” Nonsensical jabber rises above the sickly splat of the thick, green ooze as the boney figure fumbles around the otherwise empty room. Spurting outbursts of laughter, followed immediately by a slow whine and soft hiss are just a few of the responses to be plucked from the fray. Yet, everything returns to silence as hastily as it appeared, the Forsaken turning slowly to face the body lying within the heart of the room. “No, …no. This is one of the emissaries from Ogrimmar; an Orcish Alchemist interested in the studies of the Royal Apothecary Society! What have I done?” “Stop your prattling; we are the Forsaken, governed by no one!” Afraid, the undead creature whips about to see if anyone had noticed his presence within the side-chamber of the Apothecarium. Then, in complete contrast to his previous fear, the Forsaken releases a confident cackle. “See! Did you doubt me, Calivan?! Now, stop your sniveling, we have much work to be done. They want results, lowered risk, a pawn of the Scourge. Well, we shall prove to them that our plague has NO negative aspects and should be put into use immediately. Let us show them the true power of malice!” “W-What have I become?” Apothecary Razakel Calivan huffed out a weary whimper as he crawled over to the northernmost wall of the hollow and reached up, smearing a bloody hand across the stone. Left in the wake of his palm was a translucent surface that reflected a vision of his visage, though it was not what was to be expected. “W-Who am I?” ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` High Alchemist Thomas Calivan skittered about the cluttered room in search of a clean piece of cloth. An exasperated grunt pushed past his gritted teeth as he settled for the dirty shirt of a large Gnoll, which had only moments ago been one of three assassins sent to silence his spree of forthright writing. Each of the potential killers had been slain, by Thomas’ own hands, ...wait, truthfully it had been all due to the precise reflexes of his right hand in particular. As the warm, crimson blood was cleaned from his skin, the coagulated scarring of his right arm – it had continued spreading over the past fortnight – became apparent. Thomas gave his arm a helpless gaze, as if pleading to understand its reason for this continued existence. “Go, now! We have little time left to dawdle, Calivan!” Thomas reacted immediately when The Voice spoke to him, though it was not conjured from the ceased breaths of the fallen bruisers of Thermaplugg. Though High Alchemist Calivan did not know the origins of The Voice it had guided him safely through the tribulations since his separation from the A.A.S. and Thermaplugg’s tasks. And right now, that’s all the reassurance Thomas needed. He stood, scuttling about the room in search for items that The Voice commanded him to gather, piling one after the other in a corner of the small cabin. Amidst the chaos, a piece of parchment came beneath Thomas’ leather boot, though he paid it no mind. It was entitled, “Study on Primary Testing, Section 1: Test Subjects,” and read as follows: I do not condone what my associates and I have done in order to achieve our eventual goals, yet it is not until now that I truly believe that what we did was evil. Our initial tests of the virus were applied to a variety of animals throughout Stranglethorn Vale. But, Mekgineer Thermaplugg believed that in order to truly discover the effects of the virus it had to be tested on humanoid subjects. I was abhorred to hear that he desired us to secretly contaminate and study a sample group chosen from Gnomish Workers in Gnomeregan. But, my ambition and desire for recognition outweighed my morality. Not everyone was as devoid of principle as I, but Thermaplugg ensured their accordance through one manner or another. We were whisked away to Gnomeregan, where Primary Testing began. The paper grows hazy here, the recent activity having splotched the black ink, but further down it continues: From the hundred chosen to act as the Sample Group, 75 percent appears to have entered into a docile-state. They grow increasingly lethargic, even natural functions of survival becoming increasing difficult for them to accomplish. This percentage seems to require a nudge or a push to stimulate them into activity. We’ve tried a few methods and electro-shock has been the most effective. One jolt and they rigidly adhere to the prodder’s orders. But, the other percentile of the Sample Group – a daunting 25 percent – has had a much more aggressive response to the virus inserted into their food supply. After a period of 3-5 Seasons those that do not react submissively grow overtly temperamental. Angry outbursts, violent reactions, and self-mutilation and masochism are just a few of the results. We have already sustained many injuries, including one death, due to the handling of these Gnomish Subjects. I have requested that the project team separate from the Sample Group entirely and work on fixing this mistake in the virus’ coding. I will present our case to Mekgineer Thermaplugg tomorrow ‘eve in hopes that he will understand. A twist of Thomas’ wrist and the tinder-twig exploded in flame; sizzling and crackling it was tossed into the collection of oil cans congregated in the corner of the room. Fire erupted across the expanse of Thomas’ study as he made a swift retreat for the door. But, before he was able to escape an object tangled his footing and made an attempt to topple him. Thomas stretched out his arms, searching for anything that might break his fall and in doing so was able to catch the edges of his bureau. He glared to the object, a radiant orb that was important enough to him that he spent a moment of his waning time to pluck it up and grasp it tightly in his right hand. As his decisive gaze shifted towards the door, yet another object was so brazen as to divert his attention. The mirror atop his bureau, splattered with blood, glared back at Thomas. But, it was not so much the mirror that attracted his attention, but the image displayed amongst the crimson gore. A grotesque figure, carved of bone and sinew, sneered at Thomas. “Ah, it is finally good to see you, Thomas Calivan. I am Nether-Lord Razakel, …you.” ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` “NO!” shouted Calivan as he stumbled backwards, a hand cast in defense of his face as if the orc’s blood smeared on the wall before him would reach out and strike in a spell of revenge. Apothecary Calivan fell to the ground beside his victim, whose stomach was already overflowing with the green, liquid ooze of his creation: Ebolo. The plummet had released something from the unrelenting grasp of his purple vestments and Calivan’s glowing eyes widened in uneasiness as it bounced to the ground: a radiant orb; a seeing stone, perfect and lidless, stared back at him.
  3. ( Just reposting here because I hadn't yet. It will fit in well with my second post, typed tonight, which illustrates part 2. ) A soft glow emanates in a small cabin’s interior, providing a stage for the wispy, dancing shadows of night. Yet, the man buried within seems to concentrate only on the parchment lying before him as his hands scribble frantically to create script. A sturdy hand, ragged and decimated from what could have been a severe burn, reaches to press a clump of hazel hair from the man’s eyes so that he may cast a suspicious look about the room. “Nothing…good,” mutters Thomas – the name found at the top of the pile of papers strewn about before him – as he tugs his gaze back to the documentation that has him so thoroughly concentrated. “This can’t go on much longer; the courts NEED to know the extent of this project!” A thud resonated causing Thomas to nearly jump from his chair in fright! But, when the doorway yielded no midnight attacker Thomas glanced back to his desk, where his right hand lay; the true source of the noise had been his own hand. Slowly he returned to the grasp of his seat, sighing heavily as he stretched his right hand several times. Thomas plucked the ink-pen from the desktop, discarding the paper that had run due to his hasty release of the instrument, and began scribbling again thinking to himself, “It’s getting worse; much worse.” A Doctrine of Aggressive Alchemy and its Applications -written by Thomas Calivan I have served beneath the flag of the AAS (Azeroth Alchemy Society) for over ten years now and it wasn’t until the proposal of our gnomish compatriots that I truly desired to pour all of my energy and intelligence into my work. Granted, we did a great many things for people during the times that preceded the war; created potions and salves to help nurse folk back to health, crafted edible substances that would sustain families for far longer than bread or cheese could. We reinforced both the fortitude and strength of troops rushing to defend their homeland, allowed couriers to travel faster with swift concoctions. But, when Mekgineer Thermaplugg and his entourage came to us with a decision to study the more aggressive, combat-worthy applications of Alchemy I grew excited like a young boy and immediately offered my services. The next few pages are thrown angrily from the desk, Thomas settling woefully atop his work in a storm of tears. “I-I am s-so sorry, Lorette. A-And my poor ‘lil b-boy, Veronus! F-Find it in your hearts t-to forgive me!” UIET! Work that must be finished; meetings that must be had, a long journey ahead of you so your strength must be saved. The tears ceased immediately, Thomas jolted about awkwardly as he had done moments ago when the “thud” of his fist had jarred him. Where had that voice come from? What did it mean when it had said ‘journey’? It was quite possible that Thermaplugg’s cronies had come to claim on their funding or perhaps the AAS had found out about his violation of ethics, either way he would have to work faster now. His scarred hand reached down to one of the desk’s drawers and after opening it produced a crimson orb, that he set atop the table. “Calivan. Calivan. CALIVAN!” Razakel Calivan awoke, as he had from his “slumber” before his birthing as a Forsaken, a scorched, ragged hand set awkwardly upon a crimson seeing stone. A quick glance was cast to his right where Apothecary Ogotrath stood, his blinking eyes evidence of his confusion regarding Razakel Calivan’s behavior. The audience of Forsaken gathered before him gazed onward, perplexed as well, but they calmed quickly beneath Razakel Calivan’s raised hand. “I see that you have arrived, Apothecaries. I am …Apothecary Razakel Calivan and wish to discuss an idea that has our Dark Queen very interested.” The words escaped easily from Razakel Calivan’s mouth, but his mind wandered elsewhere in the land of self-consciousness. What had that vision detailed, who was that man in the cabin’s depths, and why was it all so familiar? Calivan vowed that he would find out.
  4. OOC: Hm, interesting. My one question is how much time would have to be devoted to the current storyline position? It might work in well with what I'm currently running to appease Razakel's dwindling sanity. Contact me at alec_hicks@yahoo.com or in-game under the name "Razakel".
  5. OOC: I do want to thank everyone that made last night such a great introduction to my storyline. I hope that it helped spark an interest in something I plan on running from last night until whenever. Glad I got to meet some of the characters that I've heard so much about since my rolling of the 'lock here. Also, I don't do much in the way of roleplaying across the boards. Just can't seem to find the time, utilizing what little time I have already for in-game stuff and storyline brainstorming, to type out lots of stuff. So, if you're interested in acting upon stuff that was revealed last night, feel free to do so! I'm all about the individuality taking my story places I could never have imagined! Thanks again and hope to see all of you around! Sincerely, Raz-a-Fraz
  6. I've RPed with you momentarily on the RP Channel, so I'm glad to see you're interested in attending. <smile> If she has a history with the R.A.S. and they okay her chattel to attend - and in doing so admitting that the thrall is of trustworthy note and won't release any classified information - then it will be ok'd. As long as that criteria is met, there wouldn't be a problem. Of course, should it NOT be met, that doesn't mean I won't mind the conjoined to come along without my permission, makes for interesting RP. Frankly, I'm all about the freedom of others which I believe diverts stories with a pre-plotted set path and leads you in all sorts of directions. Feel free to do as you wish and I hope my rambling has answered your question! Raz
  7. ( This is my first attempt to run a larger-scale RP event, but I feel its necessary to get my storyline rolling. Frankly, considering I'm rather new to the entire Twisting Nether Community, I haven't made enough of a contact base to know where I should direct my post, so I figure this to be a good place to start. ) The inner bowels of Undercity was bustling with activity. For whatever reason, the Dark Lady had her worker bees buzzing about to accomplish their day-to-day tasks with more haste. Apothecary Razakel Calivan was considering the possible motivation for this very matter when one of her flesh-rotted servants bumped into him, nearly flinging him into the bubbling ooze of their sewers. "How dare you, mind-slave!" chortled Razakel as the ghostly human gathered up its scattered possessions and flitted away. "That pathetic murmur of a being seems unworthy of even enslaved mind-servitude. And look, ...it knocked some of the dirt and grime from my robe," whimpered Razakel as he tugged the torn, lower section of his crimson vestments into his view. "Do. Not. Dwell. On. Such. Matters, Master. See. Here." replied Chattelle in a mechanical voice, his finger pointed at a notice attached to the sewer wall. A wide grin, shadowered by malice crept across Razakel's maw. He read it aloud: A Grand Opportunity! Serve the Dark Queen and her Intentions! Strive to raise the Forsaken unto its derserved seat amongst Azeroth! A new breakthrough has been discovered due to the insightful and unfaltering study of the Apothecaries of the R.A.S. (Royal Apothecary Society) and they desire Forsaken to attend a private meeting that will reveal this proto-type plague's purpose! Due to the nature of this affliction, only Forsaken that have shown a loyalty to the R.A.S. since their unbirth will be allowed to attend. Come and be an active part in the shaping of a new land, a new age of the Forsaken! [scribbled lightly at the bottom of the parchment is a small notification that says: This is not a completely accepted disease yet; this meeting will help to determine whether or not the R.A.S. will approach the Dark Lady with intentions to use it. This event is sponsored by Apothecary Razakel Calivan and his section of the R.A.S., "Internecine".] "Perfect, just as I asked them to transcribe it," mused the Warlock as he turned back to his mind-slave, Chattelle, continuing, "And considering that I ensured that it was written it Gutterspeak, we should not expect too many third-parties to be in attendance. Three days and my plans will be unveiled for all and I have little doubt of their acceptance!" Razakel cackled, lifting a boney fist into the air as though he were grasping for something just within his reach. ( Of course, Raz is trying to ensure that traitors and non-Forsaken don't attend, but that doesn't mean that word doesn't travel. Also, a possible Alliance attack to fuddle things up? It could just be wishful thinking for the attendance I'll be getting. /grin Anyways, it will be held at 7pm, Server-time on Sunday Evening in the Apothecarium. If you need to contact me do so in-game under "Razakel" or through my email, alec_hicks@yahoo.com. Hope to see many of you there! )