Stormshrooms: A Trial of Combat

[Khorvis]

Returning from the Grim assault on Boralus, Khorvis unceremoniously dumped the contents of his loot sack onto the cleared Desk of Resolve. He had quickly slipped away from the raucous band of miscreants, their laughter and wicked cheer still echoing from the Great Hall. Safely hidden in his quarters, he leaned against the ancient desk and squinted at his trophies.

The right eye, the clan-given biological one of birth, was becoming an issue. Even in the bright torchlight, Khorvis was having some difficulty focusing on the objects in front of him. Whether it was destructive rage that ate at him from within or just plain, simple old age, he was losing that half of his sight - and it filled him with a cold panic. Few were the foes which he would not square against, but no orc could conquer the grinding march of years.

On the other cheek, the eldritch oculus so "lovingly" crafted by the Grim felmancers and improved upon by Bloodscream was functioning with the perfect precision of arcane clockworks. If he closed his right eye, Khorvis could focus the other with such excruciating clarity that he could see the dust collecting in the dead pores of a leather-bound tome that counted among the loot.

Khorvis tersely grunted and flipped the book open to distract himself from the recurring existential dread. Contained within was a peculiar manuscript from the Kul Tiran Tidesages, detailing what could only be described as part medicine, part religious ritual, and wholly insane.

It had been widely speculated in some academic circles that the earliest ancestors of the orc race upon Draenor were fungal in nature, spreading spore colonies or something similar. Khorvis had always scoffed such rumors and largely spat upon anyone who might make such a jest that his ancestors were mushrooms. Still, he kept reading if only to keep his mind occupied.

Here Bloodstar truly did let out a laugh. Anyone foolish enough to attempt this recipe would need to move quickly, as N'Zoth's carapace lay rotting in that festering city of Nya'lotha. Maybe some of those cysts still seethed, but not for long. As for the fungarian crowns, the orc had his own encounters with those devilish myconids and would rather let sleeping spores lie. He flipped to the last page.

His fleshy eye widened as he finished the passage. "Now that do be something," Khorvis breathed. "A healing medicine for the eye." The additions concerning worship of the Old Gods did not worry him as he dismissed it as cultist babble, but the poultice was of great interest. The ingredients would need to be cross-referenced against the many tomes on poisons and toxins that the Archivist kept under key, but their potency was in no doubt.

Khorvis was not one to waste time when an idea took hold in his skull. Risks be damned, and especially if those risks could be offloaded onto a fresh Supplicant. Shoving his 'trick or treat' trophies off of the Desk of Resolve, save the Tome of Stormshrooms, he began to pen a letter to Supplicant Ristikus Brandt...

((OOC:

This is the Trial of Combat for Ristikus. I thought it would be a nice gauge of your ability to complete an achievement, swing by some Burning Crusade content where you can exercise some creativity, and finally get in some raid-time. It also allows you to be both a combatant and pursue some healing.

The Tome in question is an actual TRP3 item I made in-game. The icon above is a link to wago.io with an import string that anyone can use to add to their database. Alternatively, I can just hand it to you in game. Users must have the TRP3 Extended module installed.

The OOC requirements are listed in the Recipe section. I expect you to write a report at the end (screenshots always help convey a story) and creativity earns high marks. I can't write for other characters, so I did use Khorvis as the jumping off point, but this is Ristikus's story, so please do make it so.

))

[Ristikus]

PART ONE: Fungarian Crowns

"Dere's no way you''ll be makin' it round' all dem' alone, mon."

The Raptari Officer eyed the ridgeline only a few hundred meters away from his barricaded perimeter, indicating with an off-handed flick of the wrist to the several hundred Blood Trolls crawling the hilltop, seemingly unaware of - or perhaps just unconcerned with their presence.

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Ristikus leaned over his warhorse not needing much of a talk-on; as the far intervisibility line seemed to move on it's own with the life of not only the blood trolls, but other beasts that he couldn't come to name. Ristikus had only just arrived in Zandalar a few days ago, and had not taken much of an interest in the history or biology inclusive to the subcontinent before. He spit over the side of his horse, relieving himself of the mouthful of liquid that had begun to collect from the mana-infused chew tucked into his bottom lip.

"Considah' ya'self in luck though - we've got some of our biggah' assets pushin' up tha' road now. Once dey' arrive, we'll be makin' anotha' push for da' bridge dere."

Ristikus turned his attention to the large Zandalari architecture to his north-west. It spanned well over six stories high, and fed into what was locally known as the "blood gate" - the only access point to Naz'mir indicated by the contour lines on his map, or at least the only one that wouldn't require taking a plunge into the Rivermarsh below.

"All this for some fucking fungal caps."

Ristikus smirks to himself, tightening up on the reigns of his warhorse as he begins to hear the thundering of some footsteps approaching along the southern road. The last few days hadn't been exceptionally difficult, with only one near-death experience to speak of that included falling into a Zandalari ravine in search of the first two fungal genera on his list. To his luck, the first creature to stumble upon his unconscious almost-corpse - though terrifying to wake up to - seemed to be an herbivore.

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Regardless, after the quick slaughter of a small community of fungal creatures, he had two of the three fungal crowns needed to complete the first part of his Trial of Combat.

The Raptari officer suddenly grinned, straightening his back as he looked south. As Ristikus met his gaze and then turned south as well, he witnessed a third and once again foreign monstrosity approach the perimeter - with reigns, saddle, troll and all. The Trolls began to shout, banging on their shields - murmurs growing into screams and cries of excitement. Suddenly any Zandalari in the reserve to the rear of the perimeter began gathering their weapons, strapping on what must have been their sustainment to their backs, and joining in the cheers of their comrades. The Raptari who Ristikus had been speaking to, nudges his Raptor towards the creature to usher it into the perimeter.

"That is your 'bigger asset'?"

The troll glances over a shoulder looking at Ristikus, his grin growing into a wicked concoction of excitement and bloodlust.

"Diah' Horn! WAR-BRINGAH'!"

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All the Zandalari infantry began banging on their shields in Unison, forming into their columns. Shouts of internal leadership could be heard, with the occasional screech of "WAR-BRINGAHHHH'!!" coming from somewhere within the ranks. Another Raptari warrior approached a line of bowmen, lifting his sword - then quickly cutting downward into the air - screaming "LOOSE!" With his cry, a series of volleys began to lift from the perimeter, crashing into the tide of blood trolls now forming into some amalgamation of an attack formation.

The Raptari officer returned Ristikus' side, leaning over to him.

"I know where ya' can find dem' last fungal crowns. Dey' are right across dis' here bridge. If you give us a hand mopping up da' resistance 'ere I'll be 'appy to send my scouts with you to show you da' way, mon."

Ristikus nodded, dismounting his warhorse and patting it on the side. "Wait here you bag of bones - don't run off now." As he spoke, he wondered whether the skeletal reanimation of his once living horse could hear him - if there was still sentience within the creature that he had known so well for so long. Regardless, he knew his loyal companion would go nowhere. Whether without fear, or without a soul - it would wait right where Ristikus told it to. He removed his buckler strapped to his saddlebags, and approached the front column of infantry. Ristikus, being just under six feet tall, knew there was no way he'd see over the Troll infantry to his front - and knew he'd need quite the head start once the order was given to break the blood troll lines. He grinned, glancing up to his troll counterparts - who looked down at him curiously.

It felt good to be back in the line.

[Ristikus]

A neatly wrapped package, with a letter bearing the wax stamp of Silvermoon City attached.

FROM: BRANDT, RISTIKUS - SUPPLICANT
TO: BLOODSTAR, KHORVIS - IRREDEEMABLE
VIA: THE GRIM MANDATE
SUBJECT: TRIAL OF COMBAT - FUNGAL CROWNS

Khorvis,

I have managed to collect the fungal crowns throughout the Zandalari subcontinent, and have returned to Orgrimmar to gather supplies for my next expedition to Zangarmarsh. Within this package you will find the first of the required ingredients for my Trial of Combat. The Zandalari were of great help to me in my acquisition of said ingredients, and I intend to later forward articles recommending certain Zandalari officers be awarded for valor in combat action against the enemy on 30 OCTOBER.

Very Respectfully,

(SIGNED)
BRANDT, RISTIKUS
THE GRIM MANDATE
SUPPLICANT

[Ristikus]

PART TWO: Lightweight Spores

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Ristikus placed the tip of his sword onto the Telredor Guard's sternum lying unconscious beneath him. He quickly glanced up, searching and assessing his surroundings. He paused to listen for any anomalies within the gradual fade of noise emanating from the clash of arms and steel around him. As he searched and found nothing but Draenei dead and his Zandalari companions, he pressed all his body weight into his blade's hilt - driving it's edge into the Draenei's chest with a 'CRUNCH' until he felt the floor beneath it. He withdrew his sword from the creature - wiping it's blood away on a knee, and returned it to his scabbard. He then shouted:

"WHERE ARE YOU HIDING, ANCHORITE?"

The Zandalari mercenaries he had hired days earlier looked up, a few sorting through the corpses of Draenei beneath them - while others scavenged within the confines of the few buildings surrounding Telredor's town square. A shout from inside the the inn suddenly barked an answer.

"GET OUT 'DERE YA FUCKIN' WORMS!"

Following a crash of what sounded like several pots, pans, and perhaps a cabinet - a robed Draenei was thrown outside the inn. He was overweight, and panting as if he had just finished a long distance run. Ristikus rapidly approached, sneering. He placed a boot on the Draenei's chest just as he managed to stumble to his knees - kicking him rearwards onto his back. He leaned into his foot, driving his bodyweight into the fat Draenei. Concurrently, he removed a small knife from his boot, and began to prod the belly of the Draenei with it. Each word he spoke was punctuated with the tip of his knife slightly poking the creature's stomach:

"This. Is. Your. Fucking. Fault."

The Anchorite began squirming underneath Ristikus. Choked sobs began escaping his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked around him - witnessing the Zandalari mercenaries remove the ears, fingers, and even teeth from the dead littering the town square. Ristikus growled, removing the blade from the Draenei's abdomen - only to start lightly slapping him in the cheek with the face of the dagger.

"Hey. Hey - look at me. You wouldn't even parley with me. You know what I came here for? DO YOU?!"

Ristikus stood, releasing the Draenei from under his boot as he turned his back to him - approaching the fountain within the town square. He knelt, removing several pieces of the fungal growth surrounding the fountain's base. He muttered - just audible enough for the Anchorite to hear:

"Fungal spores. All of your friends are dead for fungal spores."

As he worked, several of the Zandalari mercenaries surrounded the Anchorite - binding his wrists with rope and pushed him up the steps towards the Hippogryph nest and the flight master. Ristikus followed closely behind. As they ascended, the Anchorite saw the flight master - a female Draenei, with her hands similarly bound behind her back, and linen stuffed into her mouth to serve as a gag. As the Anchorite and flight master made eye contact, she began struggling between her two Zandalari captors - muffled cries barely escaping from behind the linen. A look of terror curled over the features of the Anchorite as the Zandalari nudged him closer to the edge of the platform where the Hippogrpyhs nested. The Anchorite looked over a shoulder towards Ristikus, beginning to beg:

"Please - PLEASE! You have everything you need here, why kill us? What could you possibly gain?"

Ristikus considered the question a moment, before nodding towards the two mercenaries on either side of the flight master.

"Peace through annihilation, Anchorite."

The two Zandalari grabbed the flight master around her arms, effortlessly tossing her over the edge of the platform. The gag barely muffled the descent of her scream, until a soft thud abruptly replaced it with silence several hundred feet below. Ristikus then grabbed the Anchorite, and quickly heaved at his arm - throwing him over the side as well. The Anchorite did not scream however, he just muttered prayers as he went over the edge - a thump similar to the flight master's likely indicating his prayers went unanswered.

For fear of the inevitable reinforcements, the party hurriedly finished their pillage of the town. Ristikus paused to admire the architecture within the town square - specifically the central fountain. A beautiful Draenei woman sitting atop a mushroom, pouring a never-ending urn of water into the pool below. He muttered to himself, shaking his head as he retrieved a small pouch of mana infused chew from a cartridge attached to his belt. He stuffed it into his bottom lip, and gave a signal to the Mercenaries around him. Their departure from Telredor - unlike their entry - went uncontested.

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[Khorvis]

Globulous. Dripping. Frothed and bated.

The drool spilling from the lips of the High Inquisitor was pooling upon his desk as he stared covetously at the fungal crowns in their unwrapped package. A sharp gurgle from his stomach snapped the orc out of his gastronomic reverie and he shook his head, returning to the letter from Ristikus.

"Gathering supplies ... Zandalari help ..." he murmured as his mouth traced the words. "Awards for valor. Phaw. May be when they do submit to the Mandate will there be some recognition. Or when their princess does come to heel." Khorvis set the missive aside and paid the fungus one last wistful look before stowing the crowns in one of the desk's many compartments.

The blood knight was moving quickly through his trial, riding hard against a clock of his own making. Bloodstar had not set out a timeline, nor could he predict how long the vision in his eye would continue to function, but the rapidity of Brandt's onslaught did heat the Inquisitor's blood in a way so few carnal pleasures could any longer. Little did the orc know that as he reread the words in the report, and smoked his ration of Khadgar's whiskers in his old bone pipe, that the Supplicant Ristikus was flaying the anchorites of Telrador.

He would have glowed brighter than the Vindicaar.

[Ristikus]

PART THREE: The Altar of Akunda.

An abrupt halt of the caravan brought Ristikus back from somewhere between sleep and consciousness. His gaze - in dire need of a few hours of rest - narrowed forward, and his hands moved to retake control of the reigns belonging to the warhorse beneath him. He rubbed the sleep away from his eyes in an attempt to see, but it was too dark. A moonless night presided over Dazar'alor, and even the starlight was smothered by a thick cloud coverage extending out to the blackened horizon. He squeezed his legs, ushering his warhorse into a canter and then proceeded up the column of his Zandalari companions. As he approached the lead rider, the silhouette of a large pyramid-like structure barely came into view.

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"We 'ere, mon."

Ristikus nodded, looking to the troll. He could barely make out the creature next to him - however he felt it's gaze match his own. He extended an arm, and felt a large hand grasp his. Each of their grips tightened briefly, before releasing, allowing Ristikus to reach into his saddlebag to withdraw a tied-off linen sack. It's hidden contents were betrayed by the sound of it's internals clinking together - coin. As he extended it in offering, there was a hesitation from the Troll, but he accepted it, stuffing it into a saddlebag of his own upon his raptor.

"That'll be all, friend."

Ristikus flicked his wrist in a sendoff - realizing it's futility in the darkness, and dismounted. Silently, and without the need of a cue, the leader of the Zandalari nudged his mount and turned in the direction from which they came - the rest of the column following in trace.

In the darkness, Ristikus proceeded forward on foot. Using the pyramid as his only guiding feature, he stepped carefully along the trail leading to the first of a series of staircases that fed into the structure. He reached a hand into his satchel, fingering it's remaining contents carefully: three large jars. He gripped each briefly in an assessment of their weight in order to confirm the presence of their contents: fungarian crowns, lightweight spores, and his most recent addition - fungal cysts. As he gripped the latter of the three jars, he winced - his head filling with sharp and pointed whispers seeming both incomprehensible and familiar. The fungal cysts, retrieved on an expedition delving into the ruins of Ny'alotha, were cut from the remains of N'zoth's carapace - a dead mountain of flesh formerly occupied by the corruptor himself. He quickly shut the satchel, shaking his head in an attempt to rid it of the voices, and proceeded up the first staircase. Something indeed had remained in that carapace, but Ristikus couldn't say what for sure.

As he advanced through the sequence of staircases, what had initially seemed like a distant humming intrinsic to the wilds of Zandalar, grew into a clear and constant vibration of sound increasing in volume and intensity with each step. This noise, unlike the whispers from before, were not prior inhabitants of the destroyed city of Ny'alotha. The sound crackled and whipped as if it were an invisible chain of lightning passing closer and closer to Ristikus' ears as he ascended. It seemed to come from within the structure ahead. Undeterred, Ristikus reached the final step - and the entrance into his destination: the Altar of Akunda.

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Ristikus glanced about the entrance cautiously, the doorway illuminated by two dull torches. His Zandalari companions had seemed encouraged that this was their final destination, and indicated that of their several objectives over the previous month - this one was the least hazardous to their health. Still, Ristikus was not certain - this was a trial of combat. And although thus far he had faced much of it, it was difficult to believe it was over.

As he entered, the instant he broke the threshold of the doorway the sound of the electricity in the air halted. In it's place, a voice - full, calm, serene.

"All are welcome here."

Ristikus hesitated, but whether by a natural intuition or one impressed upon him, he felt encouraged to proceed into the chamber that awaited him. He descended a final staircase, and there it was: the altar. The final stop in his trial.

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"You have caused much suffering along the path that brought you here, Sin'dorei."

Ristikus knelt, removing the three jars from his satchel and placing them before the altar. He removed their respective caps, and began mixing the contents into a singular jar.

"But your memories of these instances - moments of tremendous suffering, cause you none?"

The elf paused, thinking to reply - but found no purpose in it, as the voice was already occupying his mind. Anything he thought to say would have already been received and assessed by what seemed to be the loa that the chamber belonged to. Upon mixing the three jars, he stood and approached the altar, his eyes flickering in accordance with the silent tendrils of electricity that emanated from the shrine.

"No.. no, it would seem not. The break in your spirit occurred much further behind where you began this trial. Your household torn apart - not by death, as you might lead others to believe.. but by artifice."

Ristikus sneered, the final remark of the loa punctuating his placement of the jar upon the altar. The electricity,
coursing through the tips of the elf's gauntlet and into the contents of the jar teemed with life, charging the contents with a deep blue glow, and radiating a smell that resembled the beginnings of a rainstorm.

"The torment these memories harbor is immense. Through me, you can be released of them, and start anew."

With a final soft crackling, the electricity fades from the jar - it's contents sufficiently charged with the element of the loa. Ristikus grabbed it quickly, returning it to his satchel. Promptly, he turned and ascended back up the staircase from which he came.

"But this is not what you seek, Sin'dorei."

Ristikus hesitates, before reaching into a pouch on his belt and removing a pinch of blood thistle. He stuffs it into his lower lip, tonguing it into place, and spitting on the floor of the entrance. Finally, the elf muttered:

"No."

As he proceeded back down the series of staircases that fed into the structure, he did not hear the crackle of electricity that once filled the air. Once he reached the bottom - a final whisper from the loa filled his mind.

"Clarity comes after the storm."

[Khorvis]

Khorvis sat at a table, taking in the view of the harbor from A Taste of Zandalar. The bar was not his favorite, subject as it was to mosquitoes and the stomping of brutasaurs, but the panorama was spectacular. His mug of Zan'chuli spirits was nearly to his lips when a lightning storm erupted off the coast. The torrent of electrified pillars was a dazzling display at this distance, belying the deadly ferocity at sea.

A wind picked up, blowing into the open deck of the restaurant the smell of salt and ozone. It was then that Khorvis knew, his inkling of connection to the elements confirming his suspicions. The Stormshrooms did be ready.