The Heist

The stories and lives of the Grim. ((Roleplaying Stories and In Character Interactions))
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Awatu
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The Heist

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The fundamentals of magic were based upon the manipulation of the fabric of reality as one could understand. While not a scholar of the arcane, Awatu knew enough to read spells and understand their power. Arcane magic in particular held a peculiar place within his mind as it was much more favored and tolerated within the collective societies of Azeroth. Not as unruly and taboo as fel while not as finicky or fluid as the spirits, it is a precise science that allows for untold power when at its full potential. This made it possibly the most dangerous form of magic, as its applications were essentially limitless. One need only look towards the high elven society and their adoration of the arcane or the crater that was once the city of Theramore. Now, with recent excursions into the Nighthold and spending a few late nights within the libraries of Dalaran, Awatu had come to the realization that an arms race had taken place right under their noses. Should a full-scale conflict break out between the Alliance the Horde, the secrets of Dalaran will be at the disposal of the Alliance.

The libraries of Silvermoon likely held a plethora of spells and incantations, though it was unlikely that Dalaran in sharing its most heavily-guarded spells "in the name of mutual peace". Lady Jaina Proudmoore's outburst and hatred of the Horde is evidence that bureaucracy would slow any process to halt any potential catastrophe. The Kirin Tor, in their passive ways, seem inclined to dole out the arcane in their own ways rather than ensure cooperation between factions. This, of course, conflicts with the Mandate. And, of course, when something conflicts with the Mandate, steps must be taken to end the conflict and bring peace.

Through careful studies, and taking advantage of the idiotic assumption that Shu'halo are unable to understand arcane magics, Awatu had learned that a number of vaults within Dalaran house spell tomes that contain some of the most deadly and advanced understandings of the arcane. Magics that can stop or rewind time on grand scales, tear holes in dimensions, or otherwise warp reality in untold ways. Though The Grim had succeeded in combating Elisande and the time-alterations of the Nightwell, it was telling just how much effort it took to combat such a foe. So, The Grim must be prepared for the inevitability of arcane warfare and the upper hand that the Alliance currently possesses. A small group of careful and ingenious individuals will need to break into the vaults of Dalaran and claim these spells while undetected. Awatu knew just who to leave this task to.

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Meanwhile, within Orgrimmar's Brawl'gar Arena, two murlocs fought with spears to the sound of a not-quite-a-crowd crowd of Orcs, Trolls, and Goblins. On the edge of this group, one Orc, clad in old dirty robes and with a walking cane, held tightly onto his betting tickets as he held with the others.

"STAB THE BITCH! STAB 'IM IN THE GUT!"

"Such a graceful performance."

Bor'ghul looked to his side, seeing a Pandaren woman wearing dark leathers and holding a small bag of popped corn and a little red flag that had the words "Go MRRG!" on it. She held out the bag of popped corn towards the Orc. "Message from The Commander" she said, indicating a folded letter barely sticking out of the corn. The old Orc took the letter, scanning the crowd and the arena. No one appeared to be paying much attention to the unusual exchange. He turned to speak to the Pandaren, but she was gone. Bor'ghul snapped his head around once more, looking for any sign of her, but only saw drunk spectators and the occasional guard. Shrugging, he unfolded the letter and read its contents. His face dipped into a sneer, then a grin as the letter was quickly enveloped in a green fire, leaving no trace of its existence. A loud roar erupted from the spectators as one of the murlocs appeared to have overcome its opponent. Bor'ghul looked at his tickets, then let them fall to the dirty floor as thoughts swirled in his mind of something he had always wanted to do.

A heist.
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Awatu
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Re: The Heist

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Three weeks had passed, and Bor'ghul had completed his preliminary investigations. Sitting around Dalaran and watching the movements of the guards and members of the Kirin Tor, he had a fairly detailed layout of their habits and rotations. Encrypted as theoretical spells in a tome, the data was easy enough to hide from any prying eyes in the magical city. Due to the bustling nature of the city, Bor'ghul was able to blend in and hide in plain sight, not drawing attention to himself as he watched and studied. Unfortunately, the final Pillar of Creation had been added to the collection within the gallery, and would complicate matters of security. Undoubtedly, the Kirin Tor would keep a much closer eye on these artifacts and pose additional hurdles in any attempts at removing protected works from the vaults.

After transcribing the notes into Orcish, the next step in the plan was put into motion: choosing some accomplices. The Commander's words had already spurred some interest, and so the Warlock took note of these points of contact. The rest would be suspected interest or usefulness towards the goal.

High Inquisitor Kiannis Ash'therod - Possibly useful - Could operate as lookout, distraction, or resource-gatherer.
Qabian Grimfire - Highly useful - Connections to the Kirin Tor and Dalaran. Would serve as information-gatherer, schmoozer, or or face infiltrator.
Syreena Shadowblade - Highly useful - Stealth specialist. Superb for sneaking, acquisitions, and misdirections.
Marrgot - Possibly Useful - Perhaps as a scryer or lookout.
Gavril Nikolaev - Highly Useful - Counter-arcane specialist. Potential use for disabling arcane defenses or other workarounds.
Acherontia - Possibly useful - Personal information acquisitions. Possible contact for other interested parties.
Others to be determined.


With his list made, he compiled his notes and initiated the beginnings of Phase 2: Getting the Schmucks to Work Together.
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Awatu
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Re: The Heist

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((Hey folks. Sorry for the hold-up on this. I've hit a major writer's block concerning this story. But not to fear, as I have a couple of braintrusts to help figure this out and come up with a plan!

I want to get this thing off the ground, and hopefully it happens sooner rather than later. I'm still working on it despite the lack of updates.

Cheers,
Awatu.))
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Awatu
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Re: The Heist

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Within a recessed crevice concealed deep inside the Cleft of Shadow in Orgrimmar, a Warlock plotted.

"Where the felcrap are my shoes!" he shouted/wheezed in a raspy voice. The old Orc was on all fours, scraping underneath what amounted to a cot in a hectic search for none other than his footwear. The place was in shambles, though it did not look entirely better before. Papers littered nearly every surface, along with various equipment ranging from tweezers and quills to forgotten magical items and discarded soulstones. Yes, it looked much like the den of a Warlock cabal if they had no organization and hoarded what most considered junk.

A despondent Voidwalker watched in general apathy as its "master" searched for the aforementioned footwear. Its eyes wandered over the room, a part of its mind desperately wishing the old Orc would finally die and release the demon from its servitude. However, knowing the ornery old codger, Death itself was probably staying away on purpose. The Voidwalker's eyes looked over a table with a large collection of papers and scrolls, some with ribbons and names attached. Oddly out of place in the beautiful chaos that was Bor'ghul's nest, the Voidwalker felt compelled to them. It picked up one, a ribbon with the label "The Doorman" upon it, and after a brief inspection noticed that the rummaging sound had stopped.

"You touchin' what don't belong to ya, huh?" growled a voice behind the demon. The Voidwalker would swear that the Orc had a supernatural ability to be amazingly stealthy as his anger rose to maximum curmudgeon levels. The demon whipped around to see its "master" giving a look that could curdle kodo milk. However, before the Warlock could unleash his rage, the demon nodded and spoke quickly.

"Master! Are these meant to go out for delivery?" The question caught Bor'ghul off-guard. He blinked, then once more, and focused on the scroll in the Voidwalker's hands.

"Huh. Yeah, they were. Must've spent too long lookin' for my shoes. Found 'em, too!" he stated proudly, lifting up one foot to display the rather ordinary and unremarkable boots.

"Bravo and well done, sire. Shall I send these off for you?" The Orc's rage dissipated for the moment, the demon leapt at the chance to be spared the rod. Bor'ghul tugged at his scraggly beard and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, off with ya. You know who they go to." he said, turning back and collecting some scattered inkwells from their resting place on the ground.

With an inaudible sigh of relief, the Voidwalker collected two more scrolls, both bearing labels that read "The Thief" and "The Watcher" respectively. More rested upon the shelf, but it would return and deliver those soon enough. For now, the demon was to deliver the first scroll to whoever "The Doorman" was meant to be. Scrying the meaning from the magical ink, the Voidwalker knew its quarry and headed to the residence of one Qabian Amberlight.
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