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About Villinger

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  1. Hustling in excitement, a little crooked corpse of a man in sky blue robes with disheveled hair, pushes his way to the front of the stage. He looks out amongst those gathered with bright, glowing eyes and a smugly condescending jaw. His presence is small, but he puffs himself up to a greater height, holding a notebook crushed to his side and shoulders straight with superiority. "Esteemed members of the Horde and... well our future slaves in the Alliance. I am honoured to be in front of you tonight after having been nominated by the Board of Directors to attempt to receive this award which is so duly important to me and my work. Afterall, it is I who single-handedly, without so MUCH as any assistance, began my work with the wasteful of the Horde." He pauses to take a sip of water, but really to compose himself and preen. "You see... it is I who devised the creation of this... the Collar." Free hand reaches inside his robe and shows an innocuous grey metal collar. "My design was simple. Create a way to control the useless, wasteful members of the Horde to ensure that they stopped their begging, their listlessness, that they served a purpose in society once more." He smiles proudly. "With a controller that myself and my assistant Holdeng," he pauses a moment then adds, "just an assistant mind you. I was the mastermind and creator of everything and Holdeng would be the first to tell you that. Ahem. With a controller that I designed and was funded to fruition by the honourable members of the Board of Directors, who selected me, MYSELF as their ambassador in this endevour... I could use pain to control every aspect of my patient's responses." He paces a little, growing excited and holding out the collar. "For example, Niethan was one of my first patients. A psychotic mass of instability, he spent his long hours 'pal-ing'" To this he laughs for no apparent reason, "around in the Rest Inn Peace tavern. Useless. A waste of Horde resources. With MY improvements, by having my assistant Holdeng collar him, he became of use to the Horde once more. Why... I have mountains of research simply about this 'Watcher' creature that comes out of Niethan when he is the most volatile. And through this I attempted to create 'Watchers' in all my patients." He sighs happily. "Oh the good old days of my research in my Asylum set into the backwoods of Deadwind Pass. Before it became a hot spot with that Karazhan nonsense. Where a Doctor could use any method possible to extract usefulness from the useless. Brains from the retarded. Purpose from the purposeless. Oh those were the days." "Of course, few agree with progress. That is always the way of these things. There were some out to encourage the stagnation of the Horde and set themselves out to kill!" He gasps in shock and clutches his notebook to his chest. "Me!" Imagine! A mind that is beyond anything they could ever understand! Beyond all their creation! It was I who was selected by the Board of Directors, by far the most powerful members of the Horde, to clean up what they had created with their sloth and degeneration. ME!" "And so my illustrious colleagues, I deserve this award for I have put in long hours to ensure the Horde will be victorious."
  2. In mere moments, Villinger died. His body began to burn with the holy fire, first robes igniting, then flesh until his body dropped limp to the ground. Lifeless. Villinger was no more. ((YAY!!!))
  3. "Thank you oh thank you." And Villinger did something he had never done in the course of his life, he submitted to the power of another. His journal, not the first one which was never fixed by Archmage Skyze, was going to be safe in the hands of Holdeng. In it, he'd written his goals, his plans for the a future of Horde-Controlled Azeroth. His legacy that would continue on long after he was dead. So in essence, Villinger thought, he would be immortal.
  4. Villinger had been near death many times before since starting his work for the Horde. Okhu had tried. Zasien had tried. Some little Forsaken had tried. The allies of Niethan had tried. The only one to succeed would be what used to be a little slip of a psychoticly powerful Forsaken and was now even more overpowered as a Sin'Dorei. He paused to look up at Gindra. Written in her eyes was his final end. It really was the end. There would be no more Villinger. He moved his stump to pull the notebook out. Without being able to grip it, it landed on the floor before him. "Please... give it to Holdeng... please." All the fury out of him, he settled himself in for the inevitable. Maybe he would live on, be remembered as a martyr to his cause. Someone who had worked diligently for the betterment of the Horde. Someone who had put himself before others. A real, genuine, honest-to-goodness hero. Cut down in his prime by soft-hearted fool incapable of seeing long-term improvement for the better of the whole. Liberalist imbeciles who would suffer immensely without his help. So be it. His work would carry on. When Holdeng read the journal, he would know what to do.
  5. "This is not my end! I will come again! Holdeng will continue my work!" He shook with fury. "You kill me and he will keep it going!" Villinger's crazy, fuzzy hair crackled with his fear. Gindra had him where she wanted him and somehow people had believed her to be someone reputable and to be a Blood Elf, like them. There was no way out. But hopefully Holdeng would continue on.
  6. The name of the tavern makes up for the terrible NPC.
  7. "Please I'm innocent! I'm researching for the betterment of the Horde!" Villinger lifted the stubs that were once his hands, up to the Blood Knights. Their red and black armour reflected his disheveled self in it. All he could see was imminent failure. If Gindra had become one of them, they would trust her word over his. One of the Knights, a Lieutenant by the his mark, said, "The punishment befits the crime. What has he done Gindra, that makes it so he deserves to even live this long?"
  8. Both hands gone, Villinger passed out more from the shock than the pain. He crumpled into a heap in the middle of the street, copperless, handless, and completely powerless. Gindra had won, she had his hands, possibly the only part of his body he'd paid extra special attention to. The nails were trimmed and smooth, a little long to allow for page turning and tapping against tables. He had a few rings, shiny things of very little value. But what was valuable was not the rings, not the manicure, but the flesh on his fingertips. The flesh was key to unlocking everything that he had spent time terrorising Azeroth with.
  9. The new hunter sting that regenerates mana.
  10. ((Oh yes... TEAM ROCKET! *laughs* Too funny this.))
  11. His scream, loud in the alleyway soon turned into blubbering, "They're... they're..." His brilliant mind, the one that had come up with the design of the collars and the one that had created such fine experiments, came up with no excuse. He just started wailing. "Please! I beg of you! I can pay you. Whatever you want. If you just allow me this..." He wriggled his arms, trying to pull his one remaining hand out of her grasp.
  12. Villinger cringed in pain, barely able to think and understand what Diomades was saying to Gindra. Instead, his mind whirred with thoughts of how to get out of the situation. Holdeng, who knew where Holdeng was? He'd been a lazy layabout for the previous few months, forcing Villinger to do most of the collaring himself or hiring underlings to do it for him. "Ow ow ow!" He shrieked as she cut into the flesh of his palm. Sharp pain brought him to the now. Diomades' words filtered through, "Under his control." Inside he wailed, for his bag was missing and in it was the only thing that could have pulled him out of it. Nobody knew that, though. Empty threats had worked before, they would work again. "That's right! I'll call the patients to protect me! I know they're nearby. I can sense it! They'll protect me!" He shrieked the last, it echoed in the alleyway.
  13. He didn't need much convincing. Gindra had shown her sadistic abilities so long ago in Brill when he'd been cornered and attacked by her and her squad of goons. She didn't need the squad, she was a squad in herself. "Only by the hands of Holdeng and myself can they be freed." He lifted his hands in front of her, palms upward. "Only our hands."
  14. All he could do was blubber. He knew that voice and it had haunted him for ages. He'd run from her, been enthralled by her and even got up the nerve to ask her where she got her power. Gindra was the most powerful being he'd ever come across and he'd been threatened by many, hit by most. He knew fear only because she was here. This new body of hers made her even more inexplicably powerful and fear-inspiring. "Y-yes." He stammered, trying to think of something that would delay the inevitable. "Please. Anything." His robes, his beautiful robes were smouldering from the holy fire and Villinger, body frozen in fear, could do nothing to stop it.
  15. Villinger turned only to find Gindra right in front of him. She had certainly changed. How Okhu had been able to take her body from that of a Forsaken and turn her into a Sin'Dorei, he had no clue. These were abilities above the scope of what he believed was capable. There was no mistaking her hunger in her eyes. He squeaked and a pointless shield glowed around him. He covered his face in fright. "Please don't hurt me! I'm only trying to help!"