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About Deke

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  1. I stood solemnly in the Valley of Honor, examining a new set of mithril spurs I had just forged. I stared down at his hands for a moment - calloused, leathery, scarred - contemplating the events of the past few days. These hands, that once were eager to snatch the soul from any living, breathing creature, now only worked to produce the weapons, armor and materials to arm other soldiers. I sighed heavily, about to begin work on another project when a messenger raced up behind me. I wheeled to greet the scrawny young orc as the messenger skidded to a halt before me, sweaty and out of breath. "Sergeant Khrom! Sergeant Khrom" he huffed. "I have an urgent message for you! From the Warchief himself!" I scowled, "What does the Warchief want with me?" "I don't know, Sergeant. I was directed to deliver this message to you immediately" The messenger held out a scroll, tied neatly with a black silk band and sealed with a wax Insignia of the Horde. Taking the scroll in my hands, I offered a couple silver pieces to the messenger. "Be on your way, young one. And thank you." The messenger smiled and nodded, dashing off back towards the center of the city. As I opened the sealed document, a deep sense of foreboding filled my body, mind and soul. I sat down heavily next to the anvil I was previously using to read it. ...Senior Sergeant Korgul "Headbuster" Khrom: Greetings to you from Thrall, High Warchief of the Horde. In recent times I have heard much of your accomplishments in the war against the Alliance. Your service to the Horde, your brothers and sisters, and even to me has not gone unnoticed. I understand you are taking some time to refine your skills as an artisan - a blacksmith, yes? I salute you for this and hope you are progressing well. However, my reason for contacting you is far from peaceful. As you may have heard, in celebration of Winter Veil, a peace delegation was sent to Stormwind for a grand ball with one of the Alliance guild who also wishes peace - The Tears of Elune. The delegation was slaughtered - cut down in their tracks, unarmed and unarmored. This action cannot and will not go unpunished. I command that you assemble your marines and stand before me in my chambers tomorrow morning at sunrise. There I shall detail your role in retribution. For the glory of the Horde! ... "A peace delegation... figures. The diplomats always think they can talk away all the hate and hostility. Very short-sighted." I thought. i rubbed my hand over my face, tugging at the long, braided beard hanging beneath my chin. "At least they're trying though. Can't fault 'em for that." I hauled myself to my feet and began packing my crafting supplies. The trades were going to have to wait for another day. I strode into Thrall's chambers just before dawn the next morning. Thrall was there with his usual entourage, scowling and growling as only the mighty Warchief can. I marched up to the throne and dropped to one knee, bowing my head to Thrall in respect. I was actually surprised with how quickly he greeted me. "Stand, warrior. What brings you to my chambers this day?" The Warchief's booming voice echoed in the hall. I stood immediately and snapped-to. "Senior Sergeant Korgul Khrom, commander of the Elemental Marines, reporting as ordered, Warchief!" I barked in response. "Ahhh yes. Sergeant Khrom." Thrall narrowed his eyes at me. "Where are your marines, Sergeant?" "The marines have disbanded, Warchief. Scattered off to distant lands, some raising families, others still seeking fortune and glory." "You disbanded them?" Thrall's voice was developing an edge that started making me a little uneasy. "No, Warchief. The Marines were disbanded after raid on Southshore over a year ago, Warchief. Of the thirty that led the assault, only 6 of us survived. The rest fell in battling, holding ground while the other Horde units fell back to the Mill. There just weren't enough of us left." "Indeed..." Thrall paced back and forth as he spoke. "Well... I have need for their services once again. I need their particular... talents." "Yes, Warchief. What would you have us do?" "Retribution, Sergeant. The Alliance has no interest in peace. They continue to threaten our lands, our brothers and sisters, and spill the blood of innocent people. And this... this.. Winter Tears fiasco.. was the final straw." "What happened, Warchief?" "A Horde delegation was invited to a peaceful, holiday event to be held in the Human capital city of Stormwind. This guild... The Tears of Elune... sponsored this event. Alas, it appears that it was nothing more than a disguise for continued Alliance treachery. Shortly after the party had begun, several cloaked assassins entered the ballroom and began killing the delegation. It was a slaughter. The delegation was unarmed and unarmored, as was requested by the hosting parties." "The delegation was unarmed? That was foolish of them, Warchief." "I know. I warned them, but in the interests of peace, they wanted to be accommodating. And now, in the interests of war, we shall be accommodating as well." I shook my head solemnly. "They should have known better. Diplomats. Bah. The best diplomat I know of is overwhelming military might." "What would you have us do, Warchief?" "Assemble your marines, Sergeant. I have other emissaries gathering troops as we speak. You and your marines will be attached to one of the other units. The targets will be detailed at a later time for security reasons." I saluted Thrall, High Warchief of the Horde. "Yes, Warchief!" I turned on my heels and marched out of Thrall's chambers, wondering where in the hell I was going to find 40 warriors worthy of being marines. OOC: I'll clean this up later and there will be more as well. We're putting together a sizeable raid (not sure what the target will be), and now we've got a good RP reason to do so. The Marines are going to go on the raid IC, so any RPers that are interested in getting dirty with the Elemental Marines , get ahold of me (Headbuster) in game.
  2. Coughing and choking, consciousness was returned to me, albeit in a rather violent and unpleasant manner. Flat on my back, I stare up at a stone ceiling above my head. Torches set in the wall cast an eerie glow over the cracked and chipped surfaces of the walls and floor. Mummified bodies have been crammed into carved-out niches in the walls. My eyes burned, sticky and blurry from the salt that has crusted in them. I could smell the scent of the ocean wafting from my body, mixed with the pungent odor of decaying flesh. I rolled onto my side, still hacking salt water from my lungs, and finally pushed myself up to a kneeling position. A crackling voice called down from atop the stairs. "You, down there. As soon as you're finished gacking, get your ass up here!" My flesh was putrified, my skin taut and leathery. My clothes were nothing more than rags, rotting off my decaying corpse. But I lived. My heart did not beat, no blood coursed through my veins. But I lived. My lungs did not draw breath after breath. But I lived. Alright. What...the hell...? "Dammit, did you hear me?! GET YOUR ROTTEN ASS UP HERE NOW, YOU WORTHLESS GIT!" Dazed, I stood from my kneeling place on the floor and shuffle towards the stairs. My muscles and tendons had stiffened, my joints calcified. My mind sent commands to my limbs that were sluggish in responding. I clambered my way up the stairs to come face to face with another corpse. But this one was holding a lantern and a scroll. "'Bout goddamned time. Name?" "Uhhh...what?" I croaked. My voice was dry and cracked. I hardly recognized it, myself. "What's yer damnable name?" "Uhhh..." Name... ok... name... What the hell is my name? "Dee...something...Deke... Deacon?" "Deke something. Fine. Just tell 'em yer name's 'Deke'." He scribbled on his scroll. "Head down the hill and find the church. They'll tell ya what to do from there." "What? What the hell is going on here?" "Well, lemme see if I can put this simply for you. Yer dead. Well, you were until a few minutes ago. Now get outta my sight." "Dead? So how am I-" "You're one of the undead now. The Foresaken." He thumped me on the side of the head with his scroll and pointed down the hill. "LEAVE. They'll answer yer worthless questions down there." And off I went, down the hill. Thoughts swam through my mind, none of them making any sense whatsoever. Dead. Undead. Foresaken. Well... this oughtta be fun.
  3. As far back as I can remember, I have lived on the dirty fringe of society, subsisting off the soft putrid underbelly that many choose to believe does not exist. Born into a world that would just as soon roast my flesh over an open flame as offer me a helping hand, my survival was based solely on my ability to adapt in a society rife with greed, lust and utter ambivalence to needs of others. I have few memories of my early childhood. Not like I care that much as there's little to be said when you're the bastard child of a cheap whore and some son of a bitch Bloodsail pirate. I had the great fortune of being raised by the aforementioned pirate, after his trusty belaying pin found its way into my mother's skull with enough force to split her head open like a melon. I didn't witness this, of course, but that particular story was recanted many a time over bottles of grog aboard ship. I never asked why he did this - I honestly didn't care. I never knew her, I had no bond with her. Family as no meaning for me - the crew was the only family I knew. Besides, any despair on my part for her death certainly wasn't going to breathe life back into her decaying body. By the age of 24, I had become quite adept in many aspects of our criminal enterprise. Perhaps my favorite endeavor was the assassination of high ranking officers on Alliance ships. The look in their eyes as the color drains from their face when I emerge from the shadows, glinting steel in hand... ahhh... priceless. Better yet was watching the show when the body was finally discovered. It reminded me of what happens when you kick over an ant hill. Thousands of angry little creatures scurrying about, alarm bells ringing and torches blazing... Such a wonderous sight. But I digress. To offer some insight on my present circumstances, allow me to state that life has a strange sense of humor. After a small raid on a couple merchant ships anchored off the coast of Southshore, we return to our ship for a victory celebration. We had gorged ourselves on fresh foodstuffs we had plundered and reveled in our glory as captured female servants were passed around along with the bottles of grog. Naturally, my father was more than anxious to partake of the spoils, and eventually, he was afforded the opportunity. Now, I'm still a bit fuzzy on how this all came about - I blame the grog - but it more or less began with a question to my father. He had just finished abusing one of the girls and he made a remark about the next in line. I replied with a question... "What, she survived the belaying pin?" My father's response was quick and witty. May I just say now that a fist is worth a thousand words? So there I lay on the deck, bleeding profusely from my broken nose and smashed lip, staring up at the clear night sky. My vision was soon obscured by my father's angry visage, sneering down at me as I slowly came to my senses. He bent down and put his hands on his knees, bringing his ugly mug perhaps 18 inches from my own. "Aye, she did. And nay, ye won't, boy, if'n ye open yer filthy yap t'me agin!" he snarled. Now, ordinarily I'd have reacted much more quickly, but considering the amount of alchol I had consumed and my present seating arrangements, I think I did pretty well. My dagger flashed from its scabbard in my normal, practiced fashion, but instead of a single, clean slice through the cartoid and jugular on the side of the neck, I found that I had buried it point first right through his mouth. About 2 inches of blade protruded from the back of his neck, right at the base of his skull. His eyes went wide in an expression of both pain and utter shock. He collapsed forward across my chest, pinning me to the deck in a widening pool of his blood. It was only a minute or two before one of the other sailors took notice of the situation and pulled his bloody corpse off of me. Unfortunately, the way our little band of marauders operated, his actions were justified, mine were not. And can you guess the grand prize for murdering a crewmate? Yes, that right! Keelhauling! I can now tell you from experience that keelhauling can be likened to being slow-roasted on a spit while being strangled. Unfortunately, I survived round. Which gave reason have round two. Once again, I unfortunately survived. Somewhere during round three, I lost consciousness when I slammed into the hull of the ship