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About Zya

  • Rank
    Senior Member
  • Birthday 11/28/1983
  1. <Three nights ago, the Salty Sailor Tavern, Booty Bay> Agent Mizzer wore his most convincing rags. An eyepatch completed his outfit, giving him the appearance of a legitimate privateer. He had rolled in the dirt and sand to complete his ensemble, dirtying his blue shirt and grey trousers. A gold tooth capped over his real one. He had spent the entire evening ordering drinks and slipping a component into his booze to reduce the alcohol content within. This gave the Dwarven agent the appearance of getting drunk without the actual impairing side effects that drunkenness caused… a fact the Dwarf was still sore that he agreed to. The SI:7 agent was doing a favor for a Gnome that had saved his ass. By playing this part… he already was starting to regret it. ‘Shoulda just let me die,’ he mused. He had begun telling outlandish stories about his “ventures” along the coasts of Kalimdor onboard the Dirty Steward… “After THAT run, we pulled into Tanaris for repairs n’ to offload the weapons we had looted from the convoy,” he said to a small group that had begun to gather around the Dwarf. “That Serpent had bored a hole straight through her hull, n’ we were lucky ta have managed the reefs with the way she was listin’,” he said in a gruff voice and took another swig of non-alcoholic ale. “Our bones were soaked through n’ our clothes were caked n’ blood n’ sand. We weren’t lookin’ for no snobby rooms, just a place ta rest n’ collect our wits so we headed ta Gadgetzan. We weren’t ready fer another fight….” “Wha’ happened?” a Goblin asked. Mizzer wiped the froth from his beard. “Damn twat o’ a Gnome we’d picked up as a sto’way came with baggage. I tol’ tha cap’in lady’s be bad luck… bu’ the cap’in had a soft spot for tha wee girl. Her father done thought we’d gone n’ kidnapped her! Sent tha bruisers on us. It was a slaughterhouse. I managed to get away by tha skin o’ mah teeth but mah compadres weren’t so lucky…” A washer woman who was squirmin’ on some man’s lap piped in. “I heard about that! Me cousin’s husband’s brothah was a merchant in Tanaris and he saw the whole thing, I remember. Tanaris’ still got what’s left of the Dirty Steward, I hear.” Mizzer took a long draft of his drink and set the tankard down and started to chuckle. “That they do, missy…. That they do,” he said with a sigh. This next part here was the objective. He would have to be the perfect actor or no one would buy it. “The irony of it…. That gnome had stumbled on a map onboard tha- noble’s vessel that was gonna be our next run. Some paranoid noble ‘r sumthin’ buried their goods somewhere… but we got jumped before we could do sumthin’ about it. Damn shame. Only the cap’in n’ the Gnome knew ‘bout the map… n’ the cap’in’s down in Javy Dones lockbox.” Mizzer finished his drink and slapped the tankard down. He added a burp for good measure and wiped his mouth with his beard. He casually looked up, trying to give the crowd a glazed expression. He saw hunger in some of their eyes. They sniffed opportunity. “What happened to the map?” One man masked between cigar puffs. Mizzer shrugged. “The little skank had it, last time I reckon. Don’ do no good. She’s gone and locked up in the stockades... good riddance. More than like, she’s dead. Gnomes don’ last too long in them dank cells. I been there… public ludeness, HA!” He added as Goblin brought more ales. “There are rats that’ll eat her, like as not.” He chuckled and he saw a few disappointed looks… but there were still some hunger in some of the more desperate individuals. The man that had the whore on his lap snapped his fingers as he was trying to recall something… “I remember that! The papers called that the… oh damn what was it…. The Guttin’ at Gadgetzan!” the man smiled as his addled brain had successfully recalled the article. “Her name was…. Damn…" The whore on his lap playfully slapped him. “Hun, I didn’t know ya knew how to read!” A raucous laugh brought the man’s brief triumph to a sudden halt. His cheeks burned. “Mos’ sailors need to read, Lizabeth. Manifests can’ read ‘emselves…. Damn what was her name,” he said ignoring the jeers and laughs at his expense. Agent Mizzer watched the sailor think, secretly rooting for the man. His face lit up as he remembered the name, opened his mouth and closed it shut suddenly. He stood, pushing the whore off his lap. “Bugger you all. I gotta take a piss,” he said and Mizzer suppressed a smile. Unfortunately, the man likely intended to let his crew in on the info, but more than likely, the poor bastard was going to wash up dead on some beach nearby. He was far too obvious that he had figured out the riddle and Mizzer did not doubt that some people in the crowd would put two and two together. Mizzer’s job was done, yet he remained, drinkin’ diluted beers and acting like an old drunken pirate. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * <Stormwind Stockades, current day.> Alissi woke to her door squealing. Her heart thudded in her chest and she pulled out a woven straw dagger that she had watered and dried so many times it was almost like hard leather. It would do nothing to plate or even leather, but Alissi had always been good at finding the weak points in armor; between the joints and in the armpits. They would not cart her off like they had her nameless friend. The guard walked in and dropped the box on the floor. It clattered and echoed off the stone walls. “Gift for you,” the human said and turned, covering his nose from the atrocious smells that wafted from her cell, oblivious to the small sharpened device in her hand. The door wailed as it shut, and the locks clicked. Alissi remained still for a minute, allowing her time to gain control over her breathing. She had been so sure that her time was up. The adrenaline made her feel lightheaded. Eventually she crawled over to the small box. In it were a few things; a few articles of clothing and some other amenities, with a note. Hope began to infiltrate her heart as she found the main attraction, hidden within the bread loaf. A blacksmith key. For the first time in three years, Alissi smiled.
  2. <New Tinkertown... about a week ago.> Corporal Soldersync was a fat Gnome. His pudgy features made his current activity of running even more comical than usual. He had a bushy blonde beard and a receding hair line that he had combed over to appear more professional. His eyes were puffy when they were not covered up by his bio-optic shades and his mouth hung open as he attempted to suck in more of the frigid air. He huffed as he ran atop the hard packed snow in Dun Morogh to Kelsey Steelspark. The female director of the Gnomeregan Covert Ops was as beautiful as Soldersync was fat. She was always cool and collected and the Corporal stammered even more when he finally approached her. Being out of breath and unable to collect his thoughts, he made incoherent sounds for a good five point four three seconds before Kelsey turned, smiled, and held a hand up. “Catch your breath, Corporal,” she said pleasantly. All he could afford was a brief nod. After what felt like ages to Soldersync, he finally felt up to the task. “Miss Steelspark… the… journalist Lilia Toggletorque… was found murdered… in her Dalaran apartment... Sh-” Kelsey cut him off with a hand. The director seemed to chew on her lip for a moment before she spoke. “Who killed her? Who else outside of you and me know of this?” Soldersync stammered. “Uh, we-we’re still processing…. the evidence ma’am. We think she was… researching other stories….that might have led… to her demise. As for the second… query, just th-e… handler, m-m-miss. The two of us thought…. It best to alert you… before we informed her employer…” Kelsey nodded as her mind whirred. Her journalistic agent had been working on finding a new scapegoat to focus the public’s eye away from New Tinkertown while simultaneously working at uniting the Gnomes behind the High Tinker. While the town’s guards were formidable, a group as large as the Grim for example, could occupy and destroy all their hard work before they had finished reconstruction and reclamation of Gnomeregan. Some of her agents had achieved… mediocre success. Kelsey had long since realized Creedy Crankshank was too instable since her last meeting with him. Sure, he had used the Praetorian Guard and his engineering genius to focus the Grim and the Alliance forces on Tol Barad, Stormwind and Bilgewater Harbor for a time, but Kelsey did not foresee that battle for resources lasting too much longer. His actions had bought her some time. She had turned her efforts to Lilia Toggletorque, a news reporter for the Violet Eye. The medic turned journalist was no agent, but the Violet Eye was the most popular neutral news syndicate in Azaroth and Kelsey had seen potential there. She had approached Lilia with the proposition to rally the gnomes together; a density poll had been conducted by her agents that suggested the Gnomes that travelled the world were scattered and unfamiliar with one another. She could write articles to imbue within them a sense of patriotism. Lilia’s dossier told Kelsey that her father was once an Ambassador for Gnomeregan and Steelspark had hoped that spirit of unity had been passed to Lilia. The young Gnome had jumped at the chance. When Kelsey’s brain touched on the journalist’s family history, there had been something else there too… Kelsey turned and strode over to her secure file cabinet. The Corporal watched as he finished catching his breath as the G.C.O. director pulled out Lilia’s file and opened it. Her mother had died during the fall of Gnomeregan. It was a tragedy, but a common tragedy all Gnomes had shared. Kelsey already knew about Lilia’s father, but her records indicated she had an older sister. There was no information on her, save for a missing persons report filed in Stranglethorn by their father… and a note that all other information is classified by SI:7. “Damn humans,” Kelsey muttered to herself. “What is it miss?” the Corporal asked. “I need Lilia, but since it is impossible to employ a dead gnome, I was going to try to replace her with someone who looked like her enough to pose as her; a sibling, perhaps. However, it seems SI:7 has already recruited her sister, Alissi.” The corporal thought for a moment. The name triggered a foggy memory for the fat gnome. He scratched his beard and stammered. “M-m-miss… You talkin’ about the Alissi? Alissi Quicksting?” Kelsey looked up from the dossier and arched an eyebrow. “Quicksting?” It was coming back to the Corporal now. “Yea, um… yes ma’am. She was the gnome that ran off a few years back with the pirates, killed her father and was sentenced to prison… for life,” his voice was enthusiastic that he had recalled the old news article from so long ago. He had been using his pudgy fingers to tally off the sequence of events for the director. Kelsey considered that for a moment. If this Alissi killed her father and was rotting in a cell, the G.C.O. could use her possible guilt over her father and her looks…. She turned to Soldersync. “ Keep up on the investigation. I want to know what Lilia was investigating before her untimely death and who did it. I also want you to inform Lilia’s previous handler not to report anything. Get rid of the body. The brave Lilia deserves a proper burial with her mother and father… but I want the name on her stone to be… …Alissi.” Soldersync looked confused. “But miss… Alissi’s locked up. If you’re thinking of replacing the poor girl’s sister with her criminal deviant of a sibling, we’re going to have to break her out! We run the risk of ruining our relationship with the humans… not to mention the-“ Kesley shook her head. “We aren’t going to rescue her, corporal. We have contacts within some of the seedier privateering organizations. Use them. Leak some rumors about a treasure. Once they hear a potentially valuable crew member is locked up with information regarding the Lost Gnomish Ambassador’s wealth… well, they will do the work for us.” Now the corporal looked lost. “Uh…the Lost Gnomish Ambassador’s wealth?” he said curiously. “I’ve never heard of it….” Kelsey smiled. “Yes well… not many have. We just need to bury or hide some trinkets and gold somewhere so they don’t skin our future recruit after they free her and we designate it with such a name, and we have utilized another organization to achieve what we want, whilst avoiding the messier political red tape of trying to extradite a known murderer and kinslayer. Once free, she assumes her sister’s name… and we have our journalist and the future voice of the Gnomes.” Kelsey chewed on her lip. It was daring, risky, and rash. If this Alissi didn’t want to have anything to do with Kelsey, her recently deceased sister, and her father’s cause, the director would have a bigger mess on her hands to clean up. “Well… don’t just stand there. Get to it!” “Right away ma’am!” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * <Stormwind Stockades, current day.> Alissi remained cold and tired. Sleep never came easy to her. Nightmares often haunted her dreams. Usually if she were given ale, she wouldn’t eat so she would pass out in a drunken and dreamless stupor to avoid them. Tonight however, the guards had given her no spirits. She was back in Tanaris, running for her life. The heat blazed on the sand as bruisers chased after her, tossing nets at her and firing blunderbusses. No mater how hard she worked, the sand seemed to slow her progress to a crawl as she struggled to make her way back to the coast. To the salty water she enjoyed so much. If she could just… A hand grabbed her. She cried in panic as she knew her father was trying to hold her back. She turned to tell her father she had to go, but as she turned, his neck split open, spraying blood and sand over her face. She screamed as the grip loosened. She tried to wipe the sand and blood from her hands, only to blind herself more. Panicked, she turned back to where she thought she was, until a Goblin cackled manically and said, 'Varm pleasure smiles, Miiisss Alissiiiiiiiiiiii. Ze Corsairs are on our vay...' Alissi screamed and sat up in her straw pile in the corner of her cell. Sweat dripped from her shaven head and rand down her nose and cheek. Her breaths were ragged, and wet straw hugged her skin in a scratchy embrace. The corsairs? That had made no sense. She brought the straw around her to shield her from her cold, dank cell, and hugged her legs. Sleep would not come this night.
  3. A Nameless Friend Drip… drip… drip… The water was more than an annoyance. It symbolized the passage of time in a prison cell that was only lit by a narrow slit eight feet off the ground. The stones surrounding the cell were a slick stone etched with moss and deep gouges from previous inmates interred within its cold embrace. Some were simply tally marks indicated the days or weeks they had remained. Some were names, or cryptic phrases from minds half lost. The moisture in the stockades soaked into the straw that covered the floor, filling the cell with an odor of rotting vegetation. A small chamber pot occupied one corner, while an empty food tray sat in front of the only known entrance and exit to the cell. Drip… drip… Alissi huddled in the opposite corner of her small abode, apart from the chamber pot and the food tray. Her little legs were cramped, but it was a pain she had become accustomed to. Her clothes were rags and they smelled of moldy hay, sweat, and stained blood. She had shrunk to the size of a small child, with all of her gnomish pudgy features burned away from the lack of nutrition. Her hair was buzzed to keep the fleas from breeding on her head and even her breasts, which had once been like small oranges, had shriveled up so that she could pass as a tween boy. While Alissi had always considered herself pretty by Gnomish standards, she now looked like a product of her environment. Alissi had pulled the straw up around her to insulate her from the chill of another autumn. The coming and going of the heat and chill were the only indicators Alissi had to count how long she had been locked away from the world. After a moment of reflection, the small gnome realized this would be her fourth winter. Drip… drip… drip… drip… drip… With a shiver, she gathered more straw around her. A muffled wail drifted from the depths of the stockades, a reminder of how fortunate she was that the guards had largely forgotten her. Still the food came, meager meals of porridge and bread or soup and bread. If she was lucky, she would receive some bits of wilted carrot or a mushy apple. Cheap ale came only at dinners, and once again, Alissi had been lucky. The water that trickled into her small abode came from gutter runoff from above and so Alissi often had somewhat fresh water to drink. Drip… A door close by her cell wailed in protest as the guards opened it. Alissi heard muffled voices and shuffled footsteps, followed by dragging shackles. They were approaching her door. Alissi slowly propped herself up, straw hay clinging to her clammy skin and sticking to her rags. Her small squat legs screamed in agony as thousands of needles seemed to bury into her skin. She shuffled to her door, kicked her food platter aside, and bent down to peer through the space between the heavy oak door and the chilly stone floor. A pair of plated greaves strode confidently passed, followed by another. Then she crinkled her nose as the smelly odor of her cellmates foot shuffled passed, dragging the irons they were clasped in noisily on the floor. The toenails were gangrenous or missing, with cracked soles caked in straw, dirt, and mud. The human was incoherently muttering to himself. Alissi had been able to talk to him through the walls of her cell back when he had still owned his mind. A year ago however, their dialogue had become more cryptic and confusing, until Alissi had realized his mind was lost. The poor man had been here for thirteen years. He had been a Stonemason that had followed the Defias and openly had spoken out about the nobles. In turn, the nobility had used his cell to force his silence. He had insisted he had never committed a crime during their conversations and Alissi had been inclined to agree with him. He had been harmless, educated, and mild tempered. He had never fought the guards and her lengthy discussions with the human had made her realize how hot tempered she had been. Usually it was Alissi’s people that had always thought the Humans were like children, yet the human prisoner had humbled her into reconsidering her own temperament. Drip…drip…drip… Now the man was being carted off to die and he was once again displaying his qualities. Of course his mental degradation might have played a part, but Alissi had spoken with the man for three years and had a feeling that having control over his mental faculties would not have changed how he approached his own end. Alissi watched as the feet of her friend shuffled past. As they passed, Alissi closed her eyes and cried. The greaves of another pair of guards followed behind, and Alissi silently sobbed as they melted into the hallway, and became only an echo as they went deeper within the bowels of the stockades. Upon reflection, Alissi hadn’t even known the man’s name. He had insisted long ago that names were useless here. Now her nameless companion had been carted off to die. Her wits would soon abandon her as well and the cycle would be complete. Alissi rolled over onto her back and pressed both of her small hands onto her face. She rubbed down to her chin, wiping the tears from her gaunt cheeks causing the salty water to clean her face of a bit of dirt and grime. Drip… drip… Alissi sobbed as she struggled to control her emotions. Unlike the man, Alissi had deserved to be in here. She deserved the fate bestowed on her cellmate and she knew it. The problem was, Alissi refused to meet it because deep down inside, Alissi feared death. She was a coward; a gutless gnome and while her nameless friend had accepted his fate, Alissi could do no such thing. She would escape. She would find a way. She had to. Alissi clung to that single notion like a dangled rope above molten magma. She just had no idea of how to accomplish the task. The stone beneath her feet and about her cell were strong and solid. The slit of a window, which was too high for a Gnome to reach anyway, could only admit water and a rat now and again. The ceiling was large wood beam supports and more stone. After a year of chipping away at one section of the wall, Alissi had given up on that. The stones gave, but it would take her an estimated thirty point four years to tunnel to the adjoining cell, where the walls were thinner. Her calculations had been based on the sound decibels between her conversation with the nameless human and herself. It was, of course, useless to tunnel to an adjoining cell and the little that Alissi knew about architecture had stayed her attempt at digging out. Alissi’s chin quivered again as the hopelessness of her situation crashed into her. She would not escape without a miracle.
  4. Zya

    Alissi Quicksting

    Added: - More backstory. She is currently serving a life sentence in the stockades for her affiliation to the Hidden Palm. Her return will involve getting her out.
  5. Zya

    Zya

    ((Major update))
  6. Zya was making her rounds when she noticed an orphan boy pass by a paladin who was aiding the sick in Cathedral Square. She watched as the child lightly bumped into the healer and apologize before moving on. The little boy ran off, giggling. Zya looked quickly around to be sure no one was watching, and froze a puddle that the boy stepped in, encasing his foot in ice. The boy yelped, and dropped the parchment he had swiped from the Paladin. Zya caught up and picked up the parchment, glaring at the boy. “Little thieves are left to rot in a special place in the afterlife,” she said coldly, mostly to spook the child. The boy, who now appeared to be genuinely frightened for his life, nodded through chattered teeth. Zya broke the ice with kick of her boot, and boy ran off before she could tell him to apologize to the paladin. She turned, and was about to hand the document back to the gentlemen, but he was gone. Likely went into the church for some supplies, she thought. She was about to go inside and seek him out, but an orphan girl stopped her. “Ma’am, that there parchment’s been causin’ quite a stir. Billy Fingers didn’t mean nothin’ by swipin’ it, really. People just payin’ to read it… tis all… honest.” Zya arched a brow at the little one. “That so? And I thought it was a personal matter.” She eyed the document and read it. Her eyes flared as she finished the documentation. She chuckled and she crushed the parchment within her grip, freezing the parchment as she did so and shattering it into small shards. She knew she would spend a lifetime repaying her misdeeds and she always found it amusing when dissidents who knew not their place spoke out against those that aid them. “Idiots. No wonder why the Scarlett Crusade still exists; paladins remain as ignorant as ever.” She turned and walked away to resume her patrol. Evil or not, the Deathknights were an integral part of the Alliance's sucess... and it would take much more than aggitated words on a bit of paper to usurp that.
  7. I lack the talent to do this for myself, so I was hoping someone would be nice eough to do it for me! I would love to see this image here: Have the same type of eyes as this image: I would owe you BIG TIME!!!!!
  8. Zya Lightseer I just did mine. It seems that someone was nice enough to start it for me... I just polished it
  9. There are a fair ammount of of RP- Raid guilds here... but I wish you the very best of luck.
  10. Tell her to pay me a visit. I live in SF. :-)
  11. ...and people responded. THis is why WoW will never be a community. Too many childish remarks.
  12. Heh, thanks!I hate the word stalk. I prefer "investigative". Can you link me to her blog? If that is the case, this guy is a moron.
  13. Human Pally... on Greymane. A freakin' PvE server. Nice! Three or four characters talk in trade that only have names on that server. Very easy. Now to find his name..... More details to come. How difficult can it be to find a human pally in Greymane that has that mount?
  14. So, I am starting a guild for he SW:TOR game (as I am a HUGE Star Wars fan), but I am computer illiterate. These are some of the ideas I was thinking of. PLease be warned these are crude and basic: I only know how to use paint. I was hoping for a logo that resembled the "Star Wars: The Old Republic Logo". I would love to see "The Jedi Covenant" in the Classic Star Wars font, with the quote looking more like the fancy font of "the Old Republic". The Color can be either a Royal blue, or the Gold that you see in the SW:TOR logo. A buddy of mine did something similar above, but unfortunatley he does not have the time to dedicate to this task. If you can do this, I will give recognition on my site. The background itself I would love to have a collage of the inside of the Jedi Council room: http://www.swtor.com/media/screens/jedi-meeting-room) mixed with fighting on the right: http://www.swtor.com/media/screens/dark-and-light-clash and a leaping jedi on the left of the image: http://www.swtor.com/media/screens/jedi-strikes-down-nexu What do you think? I can't pay you for this favor now, but I will be more than willing to pay you for your time spent if it looks sweet. Also if you think my ideas could be tweaked to look better, please let me know. I was hoping that the logo would be comprised of images from the game. This logo must fit on the top of this page: http://jedicovenant.muux.org Please let me know if you have any questions. Thank you! Zya
  15. Ok, I can tell you where Feth came from (or where I heard it from). I heard it about 4-5 years ago in a Star Wars RP (Since Star Wars is into creating their own cusswords). Obsucre reference I know, but people in Star Wrs RPs have been using it for years.