A Fellow Slave

The stories and lives of the Grim. ((Roleplaying Stories and In Character Interactions))
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Khorvis
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Location: Lincroft, NJ

A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Khorvis »

Torchlight played over the Solium band held gingerly by Khorvis's meaty fingers. The ring was disconcertingly brighter than it should be in the dim room, perhaps alluding to its hidden power. Peering through its center, the orc tossed the trinket over a low table into the outstretched hands of Daxxum.

"You are an asset to the Mandate, little elder. The archmage will not freely hand out such weapons to the Alliance with his trust in you." Khorvis blew hot air through his snout and little droplets of snot splattered onto the map pinned out on the table between the two Grim. It was a detailed schematic of a great ironworks and foundry, the very one that sat on the northern shores of Gorgrond and housed the forges of the Blackrock Clan. Small markings and annotations were scrawled in several locations, but their meaning was unclear to any but the warrior.

A look passed between the Lasher and his supplicant. It was no secret that Khorvis was taken prisoner during the Second War. If the orc wished to push those memories into a gronnsack and forever forget the years of languish, the recent emancipation of Daxxum by the Fist of Ten Storms did kindle a certain miserable camaraderie in a fellow slave. Maybe it was the rage that follows freedom.

"This was merely your first trial, goblin. The Grim did learn long ago that an axe without a clever arm will cut off its owner's toes. We will teach you to instead ... uh ... make Alliance toe-stew! Yes!"

After fumbling with his unrehearsed speech, Khorvis shoved a scrap of parchment into Daxxum's chest-mail. "Go! Speak with these Grim and hear their words. Listen to the tales of the Mandate and report!"

Dreadweaver Bloodstar returned to studying his maps.

The interview instructions read as follows:

Irredeemable Leyu'jin Zeysoga, the Wordbearer: Pay heed to this troll's word. His axe is the one to watch.

Harbinger Cyrus ik Cobratiis III, the Artificer: Known by many as Malebrignon. Our records of his past are sparse. Use caution.

Reaper Mizue Valentine: She brings a history. Find out why she did take up the Mandate, and why you are now bound to it as well.

Bloodstar
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Lilliana
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Posts: 766

Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Lilliana »

(( Hehe

The Grim did learn long ago that an axe without a clever arm will cut off its owner's toes. We will teach you to instead ... uh ... make Alliance toe-stew! Yes!"
))
Sunderpalm
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Posts: 134

Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Sunderpalm »

Daxxum walks half-attentive through the dark hallways of guild hall. The morning light hasn't quite crept it's ways into the small opening in the walls. His eyes are stuck on a whirring contraption in his left hand, tapping at the lit screen with a pen-like device in his right. He nearly bumps into the wall at a turn in the hallway and rubs shoulders with it at a late turn. He arrives at his destination, a door barely on it's hinges with a crude carving of a twisted line. It was Khorvis' poor attempt at drawing his Lash.

Looking up at the door, he stares at the poorly drawn tool of slavery. He begins to tremble uncontrollably. It reminds him of the days he spent underneath Orgrimmar slaving away in the engineering labs making weapons for Garrosh. Visions flood his mind of innocents being harmed in the name of a "True Horde," weapons that he's made being used to enforce this rule. Other fellow goblins being exploited for every ounce labor until there was nothing left but a lifeless body covered in lashes. In horror of the visions he stumbles back falling back against the wall. His first instinct is to run away. He turns to bolt down the hallway before his mind fills with a dull roar. It was familiar to him. Closing his eyes he focuses on the noise, and voices began to speak to him.

"Don't be afraid, this is where we need you." The voice is quiet, very lady-like.

"Forget your past, we'll protect you." This one was very low pitched, very deep and wise.

"It's in da contract. We gon' help ya," this one had a strange accent.

"Yeah! We'll handle this!" The last one laughed.

He felt himself get lifted back to his feet. When he opened his eyes, everything seemed brighter, clearer. He adjusted his self-made utility belt and looked over his shoulders, making sure no one saw him fall.

"I know... you're right... no reason... I've got this!" A cold draft runs through he hallway and washes over him, as if in response to his self-assurance. Daxxum smiles.

He grabs the handle pushes the door, it makes a loud noise at it rubs against the frame and falls into the bottom hinge correctly. Daxxum jumps, he always forgets about the racket the door makes. Edging the door open he pokes his small head in, the whiskers of his ratty brown sideburns hanging up on the jagged wood of the frame. Daxxum pulls away in pain, "Agh!." In response is a rattling noise so loud and raucous, that it reminded him of his chopper with he was working on the exhaust system. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward into the room.

"Boss?" he said meekly.

He stepped further in. He couldn't see over the table in the center of the room but he did see the massive mountain of hides and leathers behind it. It was rising and falling steadily and slowly in rhythm to a low-pitched, muffled snore. Daxxum recognizes a limb hanging out of the pile, a foot covered by bright red embersilk footy pajamas with little green murlocs on it. He holds in a laugh and tip-toes up to the table. He taps some more on his little device, and it spits out a small rolled up paper. He swiftly grabbed the paper mid-air, saves the contraption on his belt, unrolls it and signs it "XX" with a small piece of wood into the charcoal removed from his utility belt. He folds the paper and singes the tips black in a manner that it will stand out from the other mess of scrolls and papers scattered over the table.

Daxxum stepped back and looked over the room making sure everything was right, nodded to himself and turned to leave. He grabbed the latch and pulled the door, realizing he can't close it without making a noticable amount of noise. He leaves it as closed as possible without making noise. He walks out of the guild hall fiddling with another random device coming from his belt.

The paper reads:

Boss,

I spoke with the Artificer.I learned much about his views of the Mandate though he didn't give me much time to question his history. There's obviously reasons for the lack of info on him.

He compared the Mandate to a faith, the Light in particular, that the humies refer to so much. That it takes many forms and there are many ways to serve it, whether it be killin' or contributin' in some way to the peace we seek.

The Artificer served the Mandate his entire life, though he only became aware of it when he learned of the Grim. He was working with another group that coordinated their efforts against Ragnaros in his first coming. When his group was decimated by Ragnaros' lackeys, the Grim took in a few of the survivors who had skills to their liking. He spoke of "The Thief" whom I learned is Abric, at some length and his resourcefulness in gathering information.

I will continue my talks with "The Wordbearer" and I'll try to tear the bookworm from her studies long enough to talk with me.

-XX

P.S. Who's "The Whore"?


Not long after Daxxum walks out of the guild hall, a low roaring wells in the hallways and a violent gust of wind rushes through the hallway throwing Khorvis' door open. It slams against the wall in a loud crash, the impact tearing what was left of it off the hinges. The door spins and falls propped against the wall. The roaring however did not stop, and a crackling noise followed along with a sizzling. Smoke began emanating from the carved mark on the door. A small flame sparked from the door and the hall went silent, but not before a faint bit of trailing laughter.
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Drinn
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Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Drinn »

(( <eating popcorn> ))
Malebrignon
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Location: Hellinois

Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Malebrignon »

((Delicious play-on words. "...his group was DECIMATEd by Ragnaros' lackeys." Mwahahaha!))
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Khorvis
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Location: Lincroft, NJ

Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Khorvis »

The secret investigation initiated by Dreadweaver Bloodstar had hit a brick wall.

Literally - while snooping around the Grim Halls with a heartseeker scope, the oaf collided with one of the blind arcades that led to various underused sanctum. Snarling at the wall and mopping his dusty face with both hands, Khorvis dropped the ocular device, which then obligingly shattered upon the stone wrought floor tiles. Myriad crystal shards thrust their valiant lances futilely against the warrior's armored treads. If the light was not so scarce in these decrepit passageways, one might swear to their ancestors that the rocky bones of the guild's fortress were turning against him.

"Daughter of the Nether! Pull your sodding skull together, Bloodstar! Whoever that cretin was that did booby trap your den, he must have left some clue! What am I to think - that it was some spirit?"

At that new thought, Khorvis ducked and glared furtively down each branch of the T-intersection. Arcane candelabrum shed a dismal pallor upon the ceiling ribs and the enormity of this old wing's emptiness began to yawn with a gaping vertigo upon the blademaster's mind. Brushing the ruined scope's remains into an unceremonious mass-grave against the marble baseboard, he emphatically walked back towards sections of the ancient structure more populated since the great war in Northrend.

With torches now alternating with arcane repositories and the wholesome light growing from their iron sconces, Khorvis's mind calmed and settled about the investigation. It was clear that there was some attempt upon his life. The desk which the Dreadweaver so prized was in ruin - a true antique plundered as booty from Stormwind during the First War, it had belonged to the master of coin, one Master Burnside, whose skull Khorvis had kept in one of the many finely set drawers. At no small cost did the keeping of it run the orc either, having transported the massive oak piece to goblin traders outside the Black Morass for several decades of keeping, not to mention the duel for its contested ownership with that hulking brute, Grog'hick. But that of course was another story.

The only leads that the orc had were the method - a spell, most certainly - and the nefarious defacement of his door sigil, which was now charred in a very precise circle. Strange occurrences had also began to manifest during his brief returns to the Guild Hall, mostly innocuous but some malicious. The red-hot handle of his Frostfire closet, or the stinging wind that studiously blew back against his attempts at nighttime relief, regardless of which direction he turned. This was beyond Khorvis's simple understanding of 'bloody finger-wigglers' and coming to that impasse, he chose to seek counsel.

"Now. Where does the spirit of Elder Ashenfury dwell?"
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Neevah
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Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Neevah »

(*snacks on pepperoni and cheese* This is so freaking awesome)
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Khorvis
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Re: A Fellow Slave

Unread post by Khorvis »

Khorvis leaned back in the chair of the High Inquisitor's office. He chuckled as he lit his pipe and sucked gaily at the crackling Khadgar's Whisker that eased the pain in his empty eyesocket. The tinctures that the felmancer Akorharil had provided were of some use, but this new pipeweed, freshly harvested from the Arathi Highlands and dried in the storehouses of Bilgewater Harbor, eased his mood more quickly and enjoyably. The orc patted a stack of unbound notes, wrapped in twine. He planned to hand them to the little Elder Daxxum this very evening in a final attempt to force the goblin through the last trial of his Inquisition in a mildly cruel joke.

The manuscripts are held together between two slabs of burnished leather. Upon the cover skin is branded the sigil of the Lash - a nine-tongued weapon curled into a spiral, each tip wickedly curved, and linked by a runed handle. This new image was clearly wrought by a more cultivated artist than Khorvis, being far more ornate and developed than the crude sigil that some malcontent had defaced several months prior.

The parchments sandwiched within are an odd assortment of stolen pages from books likely vandalized in the Grim Archives. Some are texts upon the Mogu slave-drivers from the Age of a Hundred Kings. Others are sketches of hand-cranks and composite pulley systems, many of which are absurd impossibilities to the eye of a trained engineer. Ream after ream goes on to explore the systems of domination employed by the Gorian Empire, these being mixed with prayer-sheets of the Dark Shaman and their elemental binding rituals.

On every stolen page sit annotations in the same blocky orcish. The incarnadine ink is a dead give-away to the author - Khorvis. The original plans for the Lash preface most of the mad research and freshly penned is the crowning achievement of the orc's quest - schematics for enhancing the already potent abilities of the weapon and attuning it to the invaded lands of Draenor. They read as follows:

Truesteel Chains: The slavemaster Gug'rokk commands a shackled workforce of thousands beneath Frostfire in the Bloodmaul Slag Mines. He possesses a chest of the finest chains forged in all of Draenor - and yet the flames of his minions can destroy their unprotected links. The ogre must die alone.

Blood of Despair: The links must be tempered in blood that has seen the utter futility of its efforts. The Soulbinder Nyami who lurks in Auchindoun would be an ironic target. The wench must see all of her allies broken before she is bled dry. Her ichor will serve the Mandate within the Lash.

Self-winding Reciprocal Crankshaft: Field tests have shown that the Lash can be unweildly in combat. A faster mechanism is needed to return and wind the flails. The Railmaster Rocketspark is no stranger to both engineering and domination, with his brute Borka. The proper technology may be hidden in his coveted chests which ride on the Grimrail.

Darkening Pommel: The shadowy mists of the Sha have not sailed to Draenor well. To bring useful confusion against our foes, we must harness the light of this new sun. The Adherents of Rukhmar in Skyreach are adept in this tactic, and from them we must steal these secrets. The micro-core of an Empowered Construct will serve this purpose in the pommel of the Lash.

Lightning Runes: The sound of a whipcrack holds great power over the weak-minded. Enhanced by a thunderclap and a lightning strike, the Lash may break Supplicants of even sturdier stuff. Orebender Gor'ashan traps and binds the spirits of electricity in his chambers within Blackrock Spire. His runes will be copied, and the captured lightning spirits must be secured before they flee.

The schematics continue to detail how to exchange the parts with the current pieces, mostly with useless geomantic rituals of the Mogu long since debunked by modern sages. Each section is firmly punctuated by Grim epithets and doodles in the margins of oversized orc breasts.
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