A Shattering of Shields

The stories and lives of the Grim. ((Roleplaying Stories and In Character Interactions))
Nithlid
Posts: 111

Re: A Shattering of Shields

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The Grims halls were cold and quiet where Nithlid sat. He had been exploring his new home out of boredom, chasing shadows and following whispers, as he often does in his idle time.
While pondering the origin of the cave-like structure in which he sat, the silent shout of the void suddenly filled his mind. Nithlid jumped to his feet.

The usually hushed whispers were excited and seemed to be coming from a specific source.
"Something interesting has wandered into our home!" He thought.
With a brisk pace he set out following the nonsensicle utterings. As he was nearing his goal, everything suddenly went quiet. With a frown he approached the doorway leading to the final room. He poked his spiky, masked head around the door and witnessed the remains of his interest lying gory on a table. He realised shortly after there were other voices in the room. Shaking his head and looking around the room he noticed the small gathering of Grim speaking amongst eachother, not seeming to have noticed him.

"Excuse me, may I be of some service?" He asked in a polite, excited tone.
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Khorvis
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Posts: 1745
Location: Lincroft, NJ

Re: A Shattering of Shields

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Continuing his grumbles as the Twice-Made commandeered the laboratory, Khorvis turned to confront the voice of Nithlid. The orc and forsaken had spent some time together, riding down Alliance throughout the wilds of Zandalar, and so that this burst of shadow from G'huun's tentacle had lured out the priest afforded little surprise.

"Aka'mogosh, Nithlid. I did wonder when you would turn up." Khorvis looked the newcomer from head to toe, taking in the robes and mask. "In a footrace between you and the Twice-Made with shadow-sweets at the finish, I would place even odds." He pointed at Greebo's experimentation with Gavril. "It do be that you are outpaced. But may be the three of you do be clever enough to see what drives these Old things."

Letting the priest pass in a swish of shadows, Khorvis watched the cabal labor upon the shackled tentacle with an eerie sense of déjà vu. Odd thoughts bubbled in his slow but methodical mind, which in turn were echoed in a faint tongue for which he had no name. Did the felmancers stand over him like this some years ago during the "surgery"? Was this how they had spoke of him, a mangled slab of flesh to be prodded, dissected, tinkered ... was Nithlid mixing a slurry of G'huun and blight in a vial?

Khorvis shook his head to dispell the dark thoughts, again turning away from the gorefeast. This time he halted with a grunt, nearly plowing into Awatu.

How the tauren managed to enter the doorway so silently, he could not guess. The Commander had stood in his usual stoic silence this entire time, arms crossed, observing the antics of his subordinates with an infuriatingly expressionless stare. Breaking the stance, Stonespire greeted the orc with a perfunctory nod of the horns. "Bloodstar."

Recounting the void-event took little time, couched in the most professional and concise terms that Khorvis could assemble. "That bloody shadow eel do still have some bite left in it, Commander!" He gesticulated emphatically with his pock-marked gauntlet. "The felmancers do have it locked down, and I doubt it be much of a threat. But I would still take a care when near it."

"Still has bite left in it, you say?" Awatu frowned, catching sight of the damage to Khorvis's armor. The similarity to his own irreparable ensemble immediately struck the Sunwalker. "What of your Hand, Lasher? Is that where it bit?"

Khorvis held up his prosthetic with his organic arm, twisting to catch the candlelight of the laboratory. The scarring was consistent with Awatu's. A segment of plating had even broken loose, revealing the Apexis Core embedded within, powering the goblin robotics with the condensed Light of Draenor's sun. It shimmered for a moment, then shrank in radiance, as if attempting to hide itself from a predator.

"Odd thing, aye? That the beastie would awaken only when I did approach it?" The orc mused aloud, dropping the Hand of Ashran to his side. "May be our spellweavers can finger wiggle themselves a clue to this riddle?"
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Gavril
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Posts: 106

Re: A Shattering of Shields

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Gavriil welcomed the arrival of Greebo and Nithlid politely, adjusting his workspace more out of a show of proper etiquette than true compatriotism. Still, he knew that he was an amateur where the Old Gods and the Void were concerned – though he maintained composure at the organ’s reanimation in Khorviss’ presence, he had little to no clue why or how the appendage came to life, and perhaps less of a clue how his own artifact managed to subdue it.
 
Observing the other warlock and the shadow priest at work, and listening in on their less-than-coherent musings, he began to piece it together. Interjecting with a statement here, a hypothesis there, gauging reaction and taking note … something that he perhaps suspected, but as to which he was yet unsure, became much clearer.

The warlock flicks his wrist. The book hovering to his side snaps shut, and the quill flashes out of existence.

“If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. I do believe I may have a solution to our conundrum. It will, however, require some … real world research before I am certain.” Gavriil nods politely to the other two Forsaken, gathering up a smaller gland he had removed from the specimen and set aside on the operating table, along with a small vial of viscous fluid obtained from the cadaver, wrapping them in small leather pouches.

He turns and moves to exit the chamber, quickly saluting the Commander and nodding his farewell to Khorviss as he passes.

Gavriil makes his way down the torchlit stone corridors. He stops midway, glances further down the corridor, then back over his shoulder. Composing himself for a moment, he begins tracing his hands in intricate gestures through the air, a ripple of energy coalescing and then tearing apart in front of him. A small imp with too-big horns and too-small wings pops out of the gateway, which snaps shut behind him.

“Whaddaya need, boss?” drawls the imp with barely-concealed boredom, clearly somewhat irritated at having been torn through to Azeroth from whatever it had been doing.

The warlock kneels down and passes over the two leather pouches and a folded and sealed missive to the demon. “If you would be so kind as to courier these to Laeynna, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Rightaway, boss,” the imp responds, turning and hopping down the hallway to wherever Laeynna may be.

“And now, onto other business...” Nikolaev continues down the corridor, pulling the Argunite cube from his pocket.

_____________________________________________________________


HOURS PRIOR, immediately following the Grim's departure from Uldir after G'huun's fall, as the shivarra Demva transports the specimens to the laboratory in the Alterac headquarters…
 
Gavriil sits slumped in the overstuffed leather chair at his desk, right arm draped lazily over the right armrest, left elbow braced against the left armrest, propping up his head. Face lit by the softly glowing violet crystals lighting his chambers, he stares directly at the cube positioned at the back-center of his desk. It hovers gently on a pedestal, encased in a large glass dome.
 
Minutes pass. Gavriil reaches forward, removing the glass dome protecting the cube, and gingerly pulls the artifact from its pedestal. He regards it for a moment, turning it over in his skeletal hands. Each side of the cube has a large soulstone embedded into the intricately forged Argunite surface -- a latticework that intersects at a myriad of points where smaller soulshards sit. The Forsaken turns one side of the cube up -- an empty socket.

Setting the item down on the desk, Gavriil reaches into his pockets and produces a soulgem. He holds it up – this one is not violet. It is pitch black, and reflects no light. A hundred thousand milky-red maggots squirm within, pressing against its facets.

The warlock fits the gem up to the socket, and sets it in place.
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Laeynna
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Posts: 63

Re: A Shattering of Shields

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She had not had a home in years. As such, she had been reluctant to begin making her own lair within the barracks of the Grim. Instead of comfortable (or uncomfortable, as the case had a way of being), sleeping arrangement, Laeynna's sect of solitude had been filled with plants. Vines weaving to and fro through unstable obstacles she'd pinioned here and there. The twisting of stems and thorns, hidden by the beauty of blossoms and blooming petals. It was both a night terror and a paradise in one, brought to life by the enigmatic fel light sources she had constructed and left dangling about, issuing an ambiance to the area that seemed... uniquely her own.

I can't imagine what it is that he wants me to look at now...

In her last crossing with her guardian and retainer, he had requested her presence at his gallery. Laeynna knew naught of art—at least, not the form that Oralech had a hand in creating and each time she even dared to gander at his masterful pieces, she questioned her ability to keep her innards... Well. In. Did he have a talent, or was the man merely an insane fool? Although, in retrospect, Laeynna was beginning to think they were all mad at the end of the day.

The sentiment solidified when she was found by Gavril's seemingly loyal imp. For moments when he addressed her with his lackadaisical demeanour, she simply remained rooted where she stood. Hesitation reigned when she accepted Gavril's parcels and after peering at the missive that accompanied, she raised her eyebrows. He was serious, was he?

How nice of him to provide me the materials. I wonder what he thinks I'll find, though. I know poisons. Not the crazed whisperings of the Old Gods.

The weight of reality set upon her heart as she considered what it was that she held. It was only a fragment of the real thing, but where Laeynna had toyed with fel and void alike, somehow the concept of being close to such a being caused her... some potential distress. In a world of 'what-if's, the mind games she already played with herself were likely to increase a good twenty fold with Gavril's little project in hand.

She would have to keep it together. And naturally, return it to him as quickly as she had received it.

"...Give Master Gavril my gratitude," the words rolled slowly over silver tongue as she brought her intense stare onto the imp. Although I can hardly gather what he expects. Surely he already had a go at this.

As his imp turned to depart, his arduous completed in locating the enigmatic botanist, Laeynna turned her attention onto Gavril's message once more. A visit to Oralech's gallery would have to wait, it seemed. Hurried footsteps carried her to the floral sanctuary where she hid among her greenery traps, at a table covered in specimens, a tome of observations, ink pot and quill, and vials.

Uncovering the piece of history and present Gavril had bestowed unto her, she simply stared at it for some moments, no immediate words coming to mind. Once more she questioned her sanity, if she had any left, and if she'd had any at all.

What are we getting ourselves into? I foresee a plethora of complexities to arise from our curiosity.
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