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About Ikkorous

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  • Birthday 12/14/1987

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  1. I plan to run a play by post game of Shadowrun 5e and wanted to see who might be interested. The format will be me writing a post about once a week using the combined submissions of the runners actions along with hiw it affects the workd to make one cohesive story post. If this interests you, let me know. Current runners: Baxxter(?)
  2. The third page is illegible at various points along the page due to having been wet with drops of some sort of liquid, ruining the ink, then drying and no attempt has been made to fix the damage. They sent me t- [Illegible.] -n't bad. The winds were calm and I was so far above everyone that I didn't thi-[Illegible] [Illegible]-et by one, who led me to the chieft-[Illegible]-e explore the throne(?) room. S-[Illegible]-ater, so I went over to it. The entire next line is lost to illegibility due to much greater frequency of damage. He will never fully die, and he will haunt me forever. Oh gods, oh gods.
  3. This journal is a small, tan, leather-bound affair, maybe a few coppers from a book store. The first page reads, in shaky handwriting: "Please do not read this. Thank you." As that isn't particularly interesting, though, the second page starts the actual writing of the journal. I thought the nightmares would be over when they killed him on Icecrown, but they weren't. I still woke up screaming myself hoarse, because maybe the rumors weren't true. I thought the nightmares would be over after I worked for the bronzes long enough that they let me go back to be a part of the final battle. It took all of my will to simply be in his presence, but I was there, I watched him die. I watched them crown a new Lich King. It wasn't him anymore...but it was. I could still feel him, feel his presence in the back of my mind. The other Knights told me I was traumatized and paranoid, and for a time, I believed them. It didn't last. The Legion started invading, and I was doing my best to ignore the whole thing because there's nothing that one person like me can do if people like Varian Wrynn, Vol'Jin, and Tirion Fordring wind up dead. Those people aren't just people, they're legends, and me? I'm nobody. Then the new Lich King started talking straight into my head, telling me I needed to go out and fight the Legion. Then he sent Highlord Fordring. I asked Fordring if he thought I was paranoid still. His silence on the subject was enough for me. The Knights are forging and stealing artifacts to face the Legion, and I have to help, and whatever gods are out there are laughing at me again. I hope this one kills me. It's so hard to live, maybe this time death will stick... Knowing my luck, it won't.
  4. When Inzema got the message that the guild meeting's location had been changed from the Hall of the Brave to the Grim Garrison, he thought that maybe someone had actually seen him in his attack on Karthok and had had the balls to tattle but not do anything about it, so when he arrived at the meeting, he watched those gathering very closely from the shadows behind Awatu for a while before taking a seat on one of the weapon racks. He let the shadows slip away from his body, appearing atop the rack with his little present for Khorvis in his lap. Nobody immediately noticed, and Q eventually did, but didn't say anything or come to greet him. He figured she might know already, or at least have an inkling. The meeting started with no sign of Khorvis, which reinforced Inzema's suspicion that he had been had. In typical Grim fashion, was long-winded enough to be boring as fuck, but not so long-winded that one could actually get away for calling people out on it, and Inzema, for once in his strange semblance of life, began to feel his nerves become jittery. One of the warlocks was promoted to Harbinger, and Inzema had to resist the urge to spit at the troll. When it felt like Awatu was about to call the meeting to an end, Inzema tossed the bag containing his gift to Khorvis at the big tauren's feet and rolled from his perch. It wasn't the end of the meeting, but was leading into the Inquisition's report, so the timing wasn't actually ruined. Awatu stopped in mid sentence as Inzema walked in front of him. "I got businesss, bosss," Inzema said, loud enough for it to carry to everyone, but quiet enough that they would have to strain to listen. He searched Awatu's face for signs that this had been expected, but saw nothing, like usual. Awatu was harder to read than Q's books on magical physics and bullshit. "Very well," Awatu said, his tone betraying as little as his face. Inzema felt every eye on him, imagined that Khorvis was waiting just out of sight to jump him as soon as Inzema called him out, then banished the thought because that was stupid. Khorvis was about as subtle as a horny kodo and twice as loud. "Fucken' Khorvisss ain't here ta deal with it, but thisss involvesss his fel-sssuckin' asss," Inzema said, louder, now that he had been granted the floor. He knelt down to the sack, pulled the drawstring, and withdrew the cloned head of Karthok from the bag by the hair. He stood and held it high, for all to see, to a chorus of whispers and gasps. "Now, I know all of you know who I am. I know you all know what I can do, or should by now," Inzema said, his voice growing stronger. He saw movement from the new Harbinger, halted quickly, and an exclamation. Inzema ignored it. It wasn't a threat, yet. He dropped the head on the floor and put one boot on it, standing upon it like a trophy. "Way I hear it, way it was written in the logsss," Inzema paused for emphasis. "Lash called a fucken' hit on Shaelie after kickin' her outta the Grim because of sssome dirty piessse of shit warlock thing." He didn't look directly at the new Harbinger or any of the other warlocks present, but he could feel their looks upon him. "Now, Karthok jussst had the bad luck 'a bein' the tool, but I figger a messsage gotta be sssent. I thought the Grim was about usss versssus them. I thought we ssstick up for each other, but apparently as sssoon as sssomeone'sss got a human ssssoul..." He bared his teeth to parody disgust as he said it. He heard continued mutterings, but continued. "We don't jussst kick 'em out, we fucken' try to kill 'em. As if EVERY FUCKEN' FORSAKEN HERE AIN'T GOT A GODDAMN HUMAN SOUL!" His last words came out more strongly than he intended. He glanced about as he calmed himself. It wouldn't do to lose his cool entirely. "On the word of a fucken' demonic dick sssuckin' warlock, ta boot!" More even, more in control, still with the undercurrent of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. That new Harbinger started running his mouth again, and Inzema felt his free hand find the hilt of its knife without him telling it to. He had to resist the urge to throw the knife at the warlock, to shut that worthless lying sack of fel-addled shit up and let him finish. "The fuck use we got for warlocks?" Inzema shot a glare at the new Harbinger. "If memory serves, Lashy boy went to one for an eye, and he got his dumb ass possessed and tried ta kill everyone! But the first people he goes to is the fucken' 'locks every time." The heavy footsteps behind him sent chills up his back. They were loud, like Khorvis was announcing his presence intentionally. Game's up. Inzema turned to face Khorvis as he walked in from the snow, smiled wide, and booted the head at the orc. "Ssspeak of the fucken' devil, and he showsss, ssstill wipin' demon cum from hisss lipsss." Khorvis started talking before he saw the head coming at him, and with more reflex than conscious thought, caught the head. "Presssent for ya, Lash." "Hrmph. So this one did fall to Brightwing?" Khorvis asked, either ignoring Inzema's barb or not having heard it. "No. Worthlesss little shit fell to me. Wasn't even a fight," Inzema retorted. "Ah, there it is," Awatu said from behind Inzema as Khorvis crushed the cloned head. Some of the nearby were spattered with the gore from the crushed head, and the less bloodthirsty flinched. Inzema pointed one finger at Khorvis. "That'sss a messsage for ya, meansss you don't fucken' touch Shaelie. She'sss mine, and I protect what'sss mine, unlike you, you fel-addled Gul'dan wannabe. Why don't you drop all fucken' pretensssesss and go join the Legion, you love the warlocksss ssso fucken' much." "You do seem to think highly of your rank and worth, Reaper Inzema," Khorvis said at nearly the same moment that Awatu said "So, Shaelie is 'yours'. Interesting." Inzema began to feel his blood boiling again, realizing that Khorvis was looking down on Inzema for nothing more than his standing in the Grim. A wound Inzema hadn't realized was there opened, and from it, Inzema lot his cool again as Khorvis continued talking and berating him about his rank of all things. That pompous... Inzema roared his words, his teeth bared in utter hatred. "I been Grim longer than most here, and I don't give a shit about no stinkin' rank! Your rank don't make you god of everything! Rank ain't shit!" Khorvis moved while the blood in Inzema's veins pounded in his ears. The bastard tried to shoulder check Inzema as he passed to take up a position beside Awatu, but Inzema gave him the room to pass by as he slowed his breathing, pressed a button on his belt, and administered a sedative. He needed to calm down, and that would wear out quickly enough that if he did need to fight, he would be back to normal soon enough to do so. Unless they jumped him right now. "Forgive my interruption, Commander. I do be told your rank do not be worth kodo shit," Khorvis said to Awatu with all the smugness that the bastard could manage. Awatu replied cooly, as he often did. "So I have heard. I suppose if rank holds no bearing, then perhaps neither does the Mandate." Inzema had an internal "Oh for fuck's sake" moment as he formed his words a little more carefully. "I been here long enough to see more commanders and high inquisitors pass through the ranks than I can count. I respect those that deserve it." He leveled a finger at Awatu. "That fucker there deserves it, by my estimation. You lost it when you started sucking the dicks of every 'lock you could find for just one more taste of that sweet sweet fel." Khorvis reached over his shoulder, and Inzema heard a metallic clink as Khorvis prepared to draw his weapons. Inzema drew his daggers, his body moving his a fraction slower than it should have as he dropped back into a defensive stance. "You do be growing insubordinate, Reaper. The Supplicants do be mine to manage and keep, not yours," Khorvis growled. "Ain't no inquisitor I ever seen in charge of anyone but, but there you went, kickin' Shaelie out, after all she done for the Grim, and callin' a fucking hit on her to boot," Inzema snapped back. "If a Grim fled after being called out, what would you assume?" Awatu asked, his voice drawing Inzema's gaze to the tauren, despite the danger of Khorvis. Awatu continued, calmly. "She could have maintained her dignity. But she chose to flee, and cower behind mercenaries." The memory of Nika's banishment from the Grim flashed through his head. He knew what she had been thinking. "I'd say they was smart to get away when their so-called brothers an' sisters be so quick to call for their stinkin' heads," Inzema answered, more quietly than he intended, but it seemed that his words still reached everyone. "And yet she did not contest it. She did not fight," Awatu countered. "We've hurt her bef..." Inzema began, but movement from Khorvis distracted him enough that his thought train died. Inzema watched with inward horror as Khorvis started sniffing his hand, and the gore that covered it. He released his weapon and picked a piece of gore from his gauntlet and dropped it into that feed bag he kept muzzled to his face practically constantly. Inzema had the brief mental image of a fanged maw that reverted to the semblance of an orcish face when the feed bag was removed. Inzema watched Khorvis with horror as Awatu continued to speak, his words falling on deaf ears. That wasn't good. Inzema wasn't sure how- and now Khorvis was spitting out the gore from the cloned head. "This do be no orc flesh!" Khorvis announced, stopping Awatu's voice. "Phaw, what game is this, you mad rotter?" Inzema clamped down his teeth as Khorvis beckoned Nanori over, who inspected the gore left on Khorvis' gauntlet and declared it to be orc flesh, but not truly. "Okay, so it wasn't my best work," Inzema admitted amidst murmurs, a bit of laughter, and a lot of confused looks. "Then a bloody ruse! Damn the fel, Inzema, open your eyes," Khorvis hollered. "Shaelie Brightwing will not be killed." Inzema spun his daggers back into their sheaths, then crossed his arms like a sullen child, which he was feeling like right now, though most of his ire was directed at his dice for making him look like an idiot. He could have had the real thing, but no, they'd called for the survival of the stupid orc. "Bad enough you called a hit on her in the first place, felguard fucker. You know what she went through to be part of us?" "Toss your insults at a weaker wall, rotter. I watched Brightwing earn her place as Executioner. We would be fools to destroy such a tool. But a human bearing the tabard of the Warden Mohan? Bloody madness." Inzema's snarled response was cut off my Leyu'jin's roaring laughter and approach. The troll produced a package from his pack, and from there he brought forth a Grim tabard. Inzema's heart stopped. "Mohan's tabahd, Lashah." Khorvis took the tabard with great care and set it on the war table. "Where did you come by this, Wordbearer?" As an answer to Khorvis' question, Leyu'jin produced something else from his pack. A letter. He offered it To Awatu, who opened it and began to read. Silence hung in the garrison as Awatu read and Khorvis tired to read like some child at the side of his father. The image would have been comical in any other situation. Finally, Awatu spoke. "It is a letter from Shaelie. She speaks of desiring no conflict between The Grim and herself. She simply wants to live and let live." Khorvis snorted darkly. "A tool do be only useful if it cuts." Leyu'jin said something that Inzema didn't listen to as he quipped back at Khorvis in Khorvis' own voice. "A tool do be only useful if it don't cut you." Awatu gracefully ignored the side chatter. "She may still be directed, in the service of the Mandate. However, I am... most displeased at her dishonesty. I find that to be the greater offense." Lupinum spoke up against Borrowed Time being a haven for Ex-Grim, and people murmured agreement, and a discussion began. Inzema chuckled. "Oh, you wanted her to be honest?" he asked ruefully. Awatu confirmed that this was accurate, which irritated Inzema further. Everyone was playing dumb about her, but Shaelie had said they knew. How the fuck would they expect her to be honest after last time? Inzema affected Shaelie's voice. "Hi, you guys probably don't recognize me, but I'm Nika Davies in a new body and I'd reeeeally like to be Grim again." He reverted to his own voice and spoke again into the silence that he failed to realize was due to shock. "Boy, I bet THAT woulda gone well. Bet we woulda totally let her keep her teeth that time." The stunned silence was broken by a cry of "WAT?!" from Leyu'jin. Awatu murmured something as recognition of a name from before his time in the Grim was remembered. Inzema realized that Shaelie had been a bit misleading with her letter, and they were all calling her Shaelie still because they didn't know. "Shit, you lot didn't know," he said, stating what was now painfully obvious. "HOLD ALL DA STOPS, SHAELIE WUZ NIKA? DAS' IMPOSSIBLE!" Leyu'jin continued, still not grasping it. Awatu covered his face with his massive palm. "Where is the Supplicant?" he demanded as Leyu'jin tried to come to terms with that revelation, as if the human soul was acceptable, but not whose it had been. Inzema ignored Khorvis' threat, shrugged in a gesture of careless surrender, and was about to speak when Leyu'jin's plated fist crushed his jaw and sent him to the floor. "JOO FUCKER! Why dinna joo *tell* me?!" Leyu'jin yelled as Inzema stood back up. Inzema waited as his jaw healed, pulled a broken tooth from his mouth, swallowed the remaining bone, and shrugged again. "Wasn't my place to tell." He turned back to Awatu. "Karthok's fine. Got him sedated in the lab. Patched him up and everything." "Just... just bring the Supplicant back," Awatu muttered, seeming to be done with this drama. Lilly said something about her supplicant not being dead in a tone that meant she was probably disappointed. Inzema snorted in agreement with Lilly. "Dice called for him to live," he said, and by way of explanation, pulled his dice from his pocket, looked at Khorvis, and dropped them to the ground. One came up immediately with the single skull, a sign for death, but the other spun, bounced, and eventually came up four. Inzema raised his hands in exasperation, snatched the dice from the ground and shook them at Lilliana. "Sssee? Don't even wanna agree whether Khorvisss should die." Leyu'jin snarled at Inzema as Khorvis responded. "Well thank the bloody fel-sipping ancestors that two pearls of bone do not know my doom!" Inzema watched Leyu'jin walk away, tucked his dice back into their pocket, muttered a halfhearted retort to Khorvis. "The two pearls of bones know more than you think." Awatu said something about deception being bad for the Mandate, and Inzema snorted. "Less than Warlocks and their fuckery." Khorvis and Awatu began talking, and Awatu made mention of Inzema and what he had done. Inzema threw his hands up in defeat and walked off to stand by Q, who simply shot him a glare and punched him in the side. Inzema didn't pay much attention to the rest of the guild meeting, fuming inwardly at how badly this had gone and in a way that had been so unpredictable. He quipped quietly at anything Khorvis said for the rest of the meeting, was called out by Awatu, and was punched by Qarosimae each time. Awatu eventually called an end to the meeting. As Inzema was preparing to leave, Khorvis approached. "Inzema, release the Supplicant. You have had your fun, and I need his flesh for our work." Inzema held back the snarl that he was feeling, but still came back with an insulting retort. "Go find a sssuccubusss to sssuck a dick from, Khorvisss. I'm releasssin' him because Awatu sssaid ssso." Inzema ignored the peanut gallery as Khorvis snorted and responded. "Hrmph. Tell yourself whatever tale you require to straighten your spine. I will have what I want." When Khorvis turned away, Inzema called the shadows around him, gripped the hilts of his daggers, and then released them. He got to live, for now. For now.
  5. Inzema looked up at the skies over Tanaan as he waited on the rock just outside the north end of Vol'mar, in sight of the gates but outside of bow range. Fat thunderheads were forming up there, threatening rain. He had paid a goblin messenger at Vol'mar a gold piece to seek out Karthok and deliver a letter that he thought would lure the assassin here. The trap was set, the bait sent, and now all there was left to do was wait. He didn't have long to wait. The orc arrived less than an hour after the messenger had been sent, dressed for a fight in his black leathers and black facemask. Karthok sniffed the air as he approached Inzema, seeming to search for something. "Good of you to come, newjack," Inzema said once Karthok had closed the distance. Karthok answered with a nod and nothing else, so Inzema continued. "Don't envy your tasssk at all, but I figger you've a better chanssse of makin' it out alive with another knife in your belt, ssso to ssspeak." "I see," Karthok responded, still seeming wary of Inzema. Guarded. It didn't matter. Inzema inclined his head back, toward the jungle, where the sound of felboar could be heard, even from here. "Sssaw her go thisss way not too long ago, if you wanna take your shot." Karthok tilted his head, seeming to look Inzema over again, maybe trying to get a read on Inzema's body language to test the truth of his statement. "You're certain?" Inzema nodded, keeping his emotions far away from the surface. It wouldn't do to let the assassin sense Inzema's bloodlust. "Yup. Nobody's flown out, neither." The orc rolled his shoulders, limbering himself, and craned his neck to see past Inzema. "Will you be joining me? Or shall I be doing this alone?" That was it. Now to set the hook. Inzema smiled, letting the orc get a good look at Inzema's blood-stained and sharpened teeth. His stomach churned at the thought of flesh and what his teeth could do to flesh and bone. "Ssscared I'm jussst tryin' ta get you killed?" Inzema taunted with a little laugh. "Nah, I ain't gonna leave ya high an' dry." Just then the first peal of thunder rolled across the jungle, and the stormclouds began to drop rain on the rogues. Inzema smiled up at the clouds, which would mask the fact that Shaelie hadn't been here better. He'd taken a bit of clothing that smelled like her and used it to spread her scent across the clearing, but this would help. "Lucky. Harder to sssmell or hear usss coming." Inzema nodded again towards the jungle. "C'mon, time'sss wassstin'." He started walking, not waiting to see if the orc was following, sparing a glance back only once he had neared the massive trees. The orc was right behind him, as he had wanted. Inzema signaled to be quiet. "Ssstick to the shadowsss from here." Inzema wrapped the shadows around himself and walked on, skirting past boars the size of demolishers, and leading Karthok deeper into the jungle, closer to the trap. Inzema fought to keep eagerness out of his gait as he walked, sensing the presence of the other rogue without actually being able to track him. As he approached the clearing with the traps, he let the shadows slip away from him, reappearing and holding out a hand to signal Karthok to stop. Inzema made a show of bending down to inspect a cobalt wire that was strung across the clearing, low enough in the grass that it was nearly impossible to see. "Careful where you ssstep," Inzema warned. He heard the orc sniffing the air again and wondered briefly how acute the orc's sense of smell was. "Odd for the human, to prepare out here, away from her new companions," Karthok muttered. Inzema shrugged as he continued to make a show of tracing the wire that he already knew what it did and where it went. "Maybe she sssaw me and guesssed we were coming. Who knowsss." He motioned for Karthok to come closer, to see what he was looking at. He looked up, to see several of the more obvious wires hanging among the vines. Karthok stepped closer, and Inzema snuck a glance. Perfect. Karthok looked down at the wire Inzema had pointed out. Inzema smirked and flicked the wire. There was a snapping noise as off in the distance a counterweight was released. The wires that lay in a pool around Karthok's feet wound around the orc's boots and hauled him up into the air. To his credit, the orc managed to keep his cool as the trap was sprung, his expression one of cool calculation as opposed to gawking awe at his new perspective on the world. He even managed to draw his daggers while getting hauled off his feet. Good on him. Inzema stood to be face to face with the inverted orc and smiled coldly. "A friend of Shaelie, I imagine," Karthok said. "Pity that loyalty to your Grim is of lower priority. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Way I sssee it, you got a choissse, there, Karthok, brother of Shokkra that won't do anythin' againssst her." Inzema spun a knife from its sheath and tossed it back and forth between his hands casually, walking around the lazily spinning orc to remain in front of him. "Sssee, I'm feelin' pretty generousss right now, but I ssstill got a point to make, sssee?" Karthok kept his eyes on the rogue, not an ounce of worry in his features. Inzema considered that Karthok might not appreciate the danger he was in, but then considered how foolish it was to show fear to a predator once you realized you were prey, and let that thought slide. "Do tell," Karthok replied. "When you sssaid you wouldn't do shit againssst your sssissster, I'm sssure sssomeone sssaid that that would be your Trial of Sssacrifissse, which meansss your time in the Grim is already numbered." Inzema watched the orc to gague his expression, but got nothing, so continued. "Ssso the way I sssee it is you got the option of me killin' you now, all ssstrung up like you is, an' sssavin' you the trouble of gettin' chasssed out later." Inzema paused for effect again. "OR! You could let me take a sssample of your ssskin. I clone your head. Let people think I DID kill you, because people gotta know not to fuck with me or mine, and Shaelie'sss fuckin' mine." Inzema swung his knife near Karthok, as a demonstration. "You get to go on livin' an' don't hafta deal with the bullshit of quittin' when they tell ya ta kill or hurt or break tiesss with your sssister, sssee?" Karthok brought one of his hanging arms up to scratch the side of his head. "I apologize, but much I do believe in keeping my oaths. They instill that sort of thing in the Kor'kron. So I'll be killing or making my sister mad in any case. As to the cloning, how would that work, exactly?" Inzema raised an eyebrow. The thought that maybe Karthok had put his sister as a loyalty problem in his letter as a means of directing the Grim to a Trial of Sacrifice crossed his mind, but that wasn't really relevant. Cold, but not relevant. "I'm an alchemissst. I did it onssse for myssself already. It was pretty funny," Inzema explained, trying to sound like the reasonable one here. "I jussst give you a little cut on the cheek, keep the blood and flesssh, and then grow it into a head. Pretty damned clever, I know. 'Sssidesss, Kor'kron don't often give ya a damned either way misssion. I call that breakin' faith. You tell me you ain't gonna ssstop huntin' my girl, I don't let you leave here." Inzema let the true meaning of that remain unspoken, knowing the orc would get it. Karthok seemed to consider this for a moment. "Hrm, well. As much as that plan sounds fantastic and contours to both of our desires, I can't see that working out well for you, Reaper. Killing a supplicant during his trial of combat for a traitor who lied to the entire Grim for months." Inzema growled internally, not amused that this orc was refusing to be reasonable. So much like his sister. On the outside, he snorted and laughed wholeheartedly. "Oh, holy shit. The fuck do I care about that? I ain't Grim 'cause I'm a toe-the-line Mandate-er. I jussst like that they let me kill people good. Been okay before the Grim, and if thisss getsss me kicked out..." He shrugged, as if this result was both expected and beneath his notice. Hell, if he didn't do the rest of the plan, he would probably just get a slap on the wrist. Not like supplicants were truly Grim in the Grim's eyes anyways. But maybe Karthok didn't know that... Karthok frowned, his brow slightly furrowed. "Ah, well then. One more question." He transferred both daggers to one hand to unwrap his mask with the other. Karthok grinned wickedly at Inzema as he showed off his own sharpened metal teeth and scarred face. "Will alchemy replicate the burns and teeth, Reaper?" Inzema stepped forward quickly, reaching out with the hand that was not holding his knife and forced Karthok's head this way and that, taking it all in, recording it with his goggles. "Yup! I can engineer the teeth, no biggy, and I now have a recording of your whole face from all anglesss." Inzema released the orc's head, nodded, exuding confidence. "Hell, even you might think it was yoursss." Karthok wrapped his mask back around his face and took his daggers in both hands again. "Well, death or cloning. You know what Orcs say, don't you?" The tone of his voice was one that Inzema did not like. See, he told himself, this is why you don't try to be reasonable with people. The orc flicked a dagger between his feet, severing the wire holding him aloft and dropped to the ground in the mud as the rain began to pour even harder. "Victory or Death, as they say. I choose to hunt." Karthok stood, ignoring the mud. "If it makes you feel any better, perhaps the Grim will decide to send me after you instead." Inzema let a chuckle out, then let it settle into a smile that was more like a rabid animal threatening its prey than any sort of human expression. He flicked a wrist, manifesting a second knife in his open hand. "Don't let your ancessstorsss tell ya I din't give ya a chanssse." Inzema settled into a fighting stance as Karthok did the same. "I'll be sure to have the human see your body, before she dies," the orc countered. Time seemed to stand still. Inzema was the first to move, charging forward at the orc with his knives at the ready. Halfway through the charge, he instead slipped through the shadows to appear behind Karthok and drove his daggers in the orc's back. Karrthok grunted wordlessly, lurching forward to pull himself free of Inzema's blades, then attacked with his own, flinging five blades from hidden slots in his armor. Inzema ducked under the knives, one parting his mokawk as it passed over his head. Inzema paused to lick the end of his right hand blade, tasting Karthok's blood mingling with the poison. Delicious. "Not bad," Inzema said, complementing the orc on the taste of his blood, not so much the fighting ability. Let him interpret that however he liked. Inzema darted forward again, his knives flashing both high at the eyes and low at the thigh. Karthok slid sideways, Inzema's dagger screeching against steel instead of flesh at the leg and slashing through where Karthok's eyes had been seconds before. Karthok barreled forward at Inzema, blades cutting stabbing sideways towards Inzema's head from both sides, but Inzema spun to one side, letting Karthok stumble past. Karthok tripped another tripwire, which sent darts flying from one of the trees at the orc. Karthok raised an arm, blocking the incoming darts with his armor, some clattering against the steel that augmented the leather, others brushign past, but it distracted him enough that Inzema was able to stab the orc in the back again, flowing blood beginning to stain the black and white tabard he wore. Karthok renewed his attack, dropping low to sweep Inzema's leg while simultaneously trying to stab at Inzema's head. The kick caught Inzema off guard, sweeping his legs from underneath him, but used the new momentum to avoid the attack with the knife and any serious harm. Once he hit the ground, Inzema sprung up and forward, wrestling Karthok onto his back. Once atop, he drove a dagger into Karthok's left arm at the bicep. Karthok did not scream, only spun his daggers in his hands to drive them at Inzema's shoulders. Inzema twisted to foul the blow from the weakened right arm with his pauldron and batted the stronger arm aside with his left hand. Inzema drove his left hand down to try and further cripple Karthok by cutting his right arm, but the orc released the dagger trapped in Inzema's pauldron to catch his attack with a grip that felt like metal. The orc snarled, spittle flying into Inzema's face and mixing with the rain that was washing down his head. Karthok bucked, creating some distance between his body and Inzema's, and managed to get his legs underneath enough to kick Inzema off of him with surprising force. Inzema fell backwards, into the mud himself, and laughed internally. That felt like a rib cracked. Inzema scrambled back to his feet and beat Karthok there, so instead of trying to wrestle with someone that much stronger than he was again, he flung out his own throwing knives from his bracers at the orc. Karthok rolled, attempting to dodge the blades, but failed to do so entirely and was hit with several, leaving more fresh wounds on his body. Karthok ripped Inzema's forgotten dagger from his right shoulder, tearing flesh as the serrated blade came free. He threw the one in his left hand and drew another as he charged, aiming both blades to use his strength and lift Inzema off the ground. Inzema dodged the thrown blade, spun, and took Karthok's dagger from his shoulder, now mirroring the orc. He stepped forward and to the side, driving the orc enough off course and off balance to foul the charge entirely, slashed Karthok's dagger across the orc's leg, and danced away, creating space between the two of them and placing one of Inzema's other traps in between the two. Karthok cried out in pain as his leg was slashed open and he drops his blade, falling into the mud. He reached for a slot in his armor only to find it empty. "No..." he muttered as his breath came in ragged gasps, bleeding from numerous small wounds. Karthok turned to face Inzema, watching him through half-lidded eyes. He raised a hand towards the rogue, uttered "No" again, and collapsed. Inzema snorted, too smart to fall for the orc playing dead, so instead he brushed the muddy bootprints off his tabard and waited. When waiting several seconds did not elicit any movement from the orc, Inzema shrugged apathetically and walked towards the orc, knives at the ready in case he suddenly sprung up to attack again. When the orc didn't move even when Inzema's boots were beside him, Inzema crouched down to hold a knife over the unconscious orc's throat. "You shoulda taken the offer..." Inzema muttered, setting down the knife in his right hand to draw forth his bone dice from their special pocket. He allowed the knife to remain hovering over the orc's throat as he casually dropped the dice on the orc's chest. The dice bounced, then settled. Inzema stared at them in disbelief. "Really?" he muttered, and for one sacrilegious second considering rerolling the dice. Two sixes. Don't kill him. "Fuck me..." Inzema said, snatched up the dice, and tucked them away. He spun the knife away from Karthok's throat and into its sheath, only to realize it wasn't his knife and didn't fit the sheath right. He'd almost killed Karthok with his own knife. That'd've been rude, anyways... Inzema set the knife on Karthok's chest, then stared down at the orc. He could technically leave him here, but if he were discovered before the meeting, that would foul everything, and the dice said he wasn't allowed to kill him. Inzema sighed and placed a disc on Karthok's chest. "Firssst plan'sss ssstill an option, I'll jussst keep you locked up until after the meeting, then let you out." Inzema pressed the sole button on the disc, and with a pop of air rushing to fill the gap, Karthok disappeared. Inzema stood, looked around for any signs of witnesses, and when he was satisfied that there were none, teleported himself back to his lab as well.
  6. It was the middle of a cloudy and rainy night when Inzema stole into the Grim guildhall, skirting past fires and guards like a ghost. His attunement to the wards allowed him to not raise any alarms. His speed was not so to be reckless, but he was moving as quickly as he dared while still remaining unheard and unseen. He needed information, and he wasn't going to ask for it. He needed the element of surprise in all of this if he were going to do this right. Inzema rounded the corner that would lead him to the office of the Inquisition and nearly bumped into a pair of guards. He darted back around the corner before he was seen and waited. "I still can't believe Executioner Brightwing was human," one mumbled to the other. The second grunted a response, clearly trying to get the first to drop the subject. The first continued on, oblivious. "I mean, she din't fight like no human." The second grunted again. "Don't seem-" "Shaddap," the second growled, and Inzema watched as the shadow of the second orc squared up on the first. "Lasher hear you talk like dat, mebby you get lash. It's done. Mebby dat Karthok kill her, mebby she kill dat Karthok. Mandate says all humans die. You shaddap, kay? Keep dat head down." The first grunted a response, and the second seemed to relax. Inzema smiled, having got most of the information he wanted with just that little conversation. Inzema felt the shadows around him, finding one that connected his with one that was further down the hall, away from the orc guards. He pulled a rock from his pocket, took aim, and flung it. The rock crashed against a torch at the far end of the hall, knocking it from its sconce and onto the floor. The guards reacted as Inzema predicted, moving around the corner as Inzema faded into the shadows. As they investigated the noise, Inzema finished the walk to the office of the Inquisition and pressed a runestone to the door. The rune lit up, the door opened without a sound, and Inzema walked in. He looked around the office of the Inquisiton, nodded to himself, and started for the files. He eventualy found the one he was looking for. Karthok. Deathrage. Brother of Shokkra. Quite the list of supposed skills. First trial assigned, Kill Shaelie Brightwing. Inzema returned the file to whence he had taken it, having recorded all that he saw, and slunk back out of the guildhall, leaving nary a trace that he had been there in the first place. First the Assassin, then the Lash.
  7. "Dear Inzema, In case you heard anything- I'm safe. They found out who and what I was. Khorvis cast me out. It wasn't like last time. They didn't hurt me, and I was allowed to leave. I'm staying with Borrowed Time, but I'm on lockdown right now because I'm being hunted, but I'm safe. -Shaelie" Inzema crumpled the letter, then set it down on his table, smoothed out the wrinkles as best he could, and let it sit. He would be damned if he took this shit lying down, which meant someone had to pay.
  8. I think, against the requests of those more level headed at the time than I, I banned Ayther from the RP channel on grounds not entirely unrelated, but not directly connected, probably a day after this. Whether it sticks or not when I don't have control, I don't know, but as much as I'm usually tolerant of people being whatever they want, but his actions have struck me as unrepentantly trollish and bad for the community. He has taken down that journal of his, which is a start, but I'm still not particularly keen on playing with the secret power behind the Kirin Tor that Jaina, Rhonin, and Medihv answer to, and if that's elitist, fine. Also, the title of this thread is misleading, because I didn't see anything in it about xenophobia, which made me think someone was having issue with the Grim and their IC racist nonsense, at which point I was gonna say that the whole game is based off of a race war that has been going on and off for an entire generation.
  9. Inzema returned to his lab late at night to the smell of something burning and blood. The blood was nothing new or unexpected. He'd caught himself a new toy for the moment and had kept the thing in a cage in a puddle of her own blood while he was gone. What he hadn't expected, but probably should have, given how long he had been out, was the smell of burning. He sniffed the air as he walked into the lab, his mind still on the conversation from earlier. "I like you the way that you are," she had said, urging him to abandon the project that would have stripped him of his alchemically induced immortality to make things safe for him. Upon further reflection, he did realize that there had never really been any incident that had really endangered her during their screwing before, so why should now be any different. He tended to keep himself well fed and though she liked it rough, it wasn't enough for him to lose his mind or anything. Inzema stopped at the burner that had held the potion that he had been working on. Number twenty-five. His mind told him that he should see the vial still resting in the stand, probably full of charred potion. Instead, the stand was empty. Inzema checked for signs of shattered vial or something explaining the absence of the potion, and stumbled over a leg on the ground. He came around the corner of the alchemy table to find the corpse of the worgen woman he had caught earlier in the day, her body contorted so that her head was nearly touching her hips, her back clearly broken. Her arms and legs also showed unnatural contortion, as if her muscles had suddenly gained immeasurable strength and decided that they wanted to bend all her joints backwards. The vial lay nearby, having rolled from her grasp probably about the same time her hands decided to turn backwards. Inzema walked to the front of the woman, saw her eyes tracking him as he moved, and cackled gleefully. "Oh, you're still alive! Wonderful!" The common tongue came as easily as orcish. He crouched before her, putting his shark's grin right by her muzzle. "I wouldn't have touched that, if I had been you, but kudos for actually managing to escape your cage." He whipped a knife from its sheath and across her nose, then frowned as the light left her eyes. "Well that was a letdown," he muttered, then was wracked by a coughing fit, his body still not fully recovered from his experiments. "And now I'm going to have to eat leftovers, too. Fucking lame."
  10. It started the morning after they slept together. Okay, it started before that. It hadn't been the first time that Inzema had realized exactly who she was, but it was close to then. Nights and early mornings sitting sleepless in his laboratory, trying to get her out of his mind. Trying to think of a way to control his hunger to keep her safe. Or maybe it was that she simply brought out the guilt of being a monster that he never felt outside her presence. It started with dissecting the recipe to an elixir that hadn't worked exactly as intended and had only been recreated once. For her, before...no matter. Were he someone else, his half-sister, for example, he would have referred to a library of notes, recipes, and errata. He had never been the scholarly type, however, content to experiment until he got the effect he was looking for and simply remembering the recipe. The base had been the ashes of the scales of a bronze dragon mixed with the blood of a druid. Neither were exceptionally hard to acquire. Several of the original ingredients had to be substituted, not being available in worlds that weren't dead the last time he had checked, when he was making it for her. He'd found substitutes here, though he had not really had the time to observe to ensure that the substitutes had actually worked before... Yeah, he wasn't going to think about that either. Stupid interfering...whoever that had been. So! Back to coming up with a reversal, or maybe... No, it had to be a full reversal. Anything that would alter the change less than completely was bound to fail. What would it be like to be human again? Boy, that'd be weird. He'd have to be more careful about everything. He'd have to be less willing to take a stab, just in general. Eating plants would be a thing again, and no more eating bones to...This would be really...really weird. Stop thinking about it and do it. The first attempt at an antidote had...side effects. Okay. Inzema vomited all his guts onto the floor, literally. Liquefied insides everywhere. He waited as his body ate away at his non-vital everything to restore the vital digestive system that had been turned into black mush and pushed out of his body through agonizing spasms. Fun. Attempts two through twenty-four didn't have positive results either. Inzema decided to step out for a drink and a bite to eat while he left try number twenty-five simmer. Maybe cooking the potion for a while would do something...
  11. Ikkorous


    That's pretty awesome.
  12. Qarosimae's rather neat and tidy handwriting is added to the list. "Inzema" The elf retreats with a smirk on her stern features. Later, Inzema himself would stumble across the advertisement and go to add his own name, but notice it in a handwriting not his own, and chuckle. The game was on.
  13. A name is added to the list in the scrawl that is Inzema's handwriting. Qarosimae the Phoenix
  14. <p>Yes, yes I would. That's awesome.</p>

  15. <img src="https://i.gyazo.com/d530c7b8646c670c0f554e0027713bb2.png" alt="d530c7b8646c670c0f554e0027713bb2.png" />