To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

The stories and lives of the Grim. ((Roleplaying Stories and In Character Interactions))
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Khorvis
Dreadweaver
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To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Khorvis » Thu Jan 29, 2015 5:29 pm

Khorvis lay sealed in his den upon his reeking mound of furs and hides. The priests had thrown his mangled body into the orc's quarters after failing to convince him to enter the surgeon's ward. Even broken and charred as he was, the Dreadweaver nearly ripped the concerned menders' limbs from their sockets when they attempted to heal the stormhammer's catastrophic damage. It was all that they could do to barricade the raving orc inside of his own rooms (the old wooden door still unrepaired since the earlier attempt upon his life) and consult with the apothecary for further guidance.

Staring up at the vaulted ceiling through his remaining eye, Bloodstar attempted to count the ancient stones between each rib, if only to distract himself from the way his platemail kept lancing beneath charred skin. His left arm hung uselessly off the side of the bedding and his faceguard was split down the left flank in a jagged arch. The steady drip of blood on stone throbbed in time with what was probably a growing fever, for the flight from Hammerfall was an icy journey of endurance for even a healthy warrior.

No, the distraction of counting was not from the burns. Khorvis righted himself into a sitting position with the trembling use of his other arm. He left behind on the hides several layers of wet flesh with the sickly warm film of ripped blisters. It was the shame of utter failure that held his heart in a death-grip and twisted with the malefic glee of Anaie in a slaughterhouse. After all, it was at Khorvis's urging that Ms. Syreena sanctioned the assault upon Aerie Peak. Not only was he unable to raze the village, he could not even execute that stupid elf wench Liene. And beyond all that, the traitor Saphiara stalled the war party long enough for the return of those blasted ... fel-kissing .. Goat-Bearded. KEG-FISTING DWARVES!

Khorvis slammed his right fist down upon his thigh and screamed out in deranged bloodthirst. The piercing howl whistled down the corridors of the Grim Halls with enough force to shatter several ancient stained-glass alcoves and reach even the deepest of sanctum. It carried not the pain of a wounded animal or tortured prisoner - this was the soul-rending wail of a warrior in moral abandon.

The menders would not have him hide this dishonor. There would be no conciliatory pats upon the shoulder, no valiant boasts about the future fate of their foes. Khorvis refused to let his Grim comrades rally to a broken standard. He would be an example.

Unclasping the seal of his faceguard, the orc tossed the ruined armor to the scrap pile of gnawed bones and gripped an aged heirloom from his boot. A knife forged of blackrock ore, not of this new Draenor, but of his abandoned homeworld. It was the very last memento that he possessed from that innocent time, before the forcing. If there was any honor left in his bloodline, may be the spirits did keep it there.

Khorvis began cutting at the ruined flesh of his face. First went the eye socket with its destroyed stump of nerve. Then the cheek, with its exposed sinus. Then the brow, unlikely to ever again make that scowl at unruly Supplicants. Then ...

...

That was how they found him, laid out as if upon a butcher's block. The screams were too sweet to ignore. Robed and hooded, they closed round his unconscious body and raised it aloft.

[[ This story is closed except for specific invitations. ]]
Last edited by Khorvis on Thu Jan 29, 2015 6:41 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Neevah
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Neevah » Thu Jan 29, 2015 6:39 pm

((*nearly hoarked her lunch*))

Sunderpalm
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Sunderpalm » Thu Jan 29, 2015 6:54 pm

((Very interesting. Look forward to seeing more.))

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Filora
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Filora » Thu Jan 29, 2015 7:35 pm

[[ Just when you thought Khorvis couldn't get any uglier... ]]
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18:41:20 [Lilliana-TwistingNether]: I don't know how to play the game, just rp.
21:31:21 [Ulrezaj-TwistingNether]: What are we without the bw?

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Greebo
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Greebo » Thu Jan 29, 2015 7:43 pm

[[ Just for that, Filora, I think we need to stitch a belf mask on the ummm, excised half. ]]
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.

Lupinum
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Lupinum » Thu Jan 29, 2015 8:36 pm

((We can rebuild him.))

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Pincus
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Pincus » Thu Jan 29, 2015 8:51 pm

A shrill scream filled his inner sanctum intertwined with the sound of a nib breaking.

The Archivist looked down at his now shattered pen, startled that such a sound would unnerve him so. The feeling quickly changed from surprise to anger.

"What was that ungodly sound, and who will pay for interrupting me in my work!" the Archivist muttered to himself. "Pizloz, find out who is responsible and bring them here to answer for this!" as he waved his pen in the petulant imp's face. "Threaten them with immolation if you have to!"

Pizloz muttered under his breath and scurried out the door. Pincus looked at the ruined parchment on his desk, and reflected momentarily on his past - scholar, teacher, missionary for the cause. The shelves in his study stacked with the spoils of his adventures, all but memories of a different time. Now, Pincus does what he does best at his age. Keep an eye - on everything. Something he learned from his early days in The Grim. Never squander an opportunity.

"Ohthisisnotgooddonthurtme" mumbled Pizloz as he came running back into the room.

"Why do I keep you around! Speak slowly, and tell me why you didn't bring the person responsible. Did they poke at you with a pointy stick?"

"Hey! You think it's easy to drag an orc corpse? Why don't you get that brute of yours to bring him!"

"Orc corpse?" Pincus thought, "Interesting. Take me to it."

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Akorharil
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Akorharil » Thu Jan 29, 2015 9:00 pm

((Faster. stronger than before.))

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Greebo
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Greebo » Thu Jan 29, 2015 9:21 pm

(( Does this mean we can expect to share 6 mill in gold? Cuz I gotta say, I could make use of the savage blood that kind of money would bring ))

In his workshop a delicate tracery of void-purple lines ran between several gems, each held at a precise angle by a mechanical arm attached to a softly humming mechanism. As the screaming and thumping grew louder one of the lines began to pump and pulse in rhythm with the wounded orc's howling. Dipping a talon into the flickering energy, Greebo tasted the collected essence.

"Oh dear. We don't want this tool to break, do we?" he muttered to himself, scurrying out the door. A worried look flickered across his face and an inky tendril of darkness flickered across his eyes as he converged with the others on the waiting patient.
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.

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Ulrezaj
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Ulrezaj » Fri Jan 30, 2015 1:45 am

Ulrezaj's eyes narrowed at Greebo as the Undead meshed together magic and machinery while muttering vaguely subhuman statements. "Greebo," Ulrezaj bellowed with mild confusion, "Mebbe we take de Kargath route and instill some blades in place o' flesh. He would really appreciate it."

Arax-Ithak the Wrathguard shivered uneasily. "Perhaps... you should blend some of your sacred 'mojo' to help your friend."

"Ha, no." Ulrezaj stated flatly. "Mojo be fo' de living, drained from sacrifices, but we kin extract some o' his for sentiment. We need someone adept. Someone wit' skill such as my own ta do de soulbinding. Ah kin mebbe put him in a most pleasant crystal state."

Arax-Ithak peered at the subjugater, "And then?"

"Well," Ulrezaj pondered, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, "Den we take his information. Ah kin give some o' de Orcish blood haze to you. He owed us anyhow. When Greebo done meshing body parts togetheh, ah'll put him back good as he kin be."

"Bind him while the time is right," the Wrathguard suggested.

The Troll's eyes grew wide with anticipation. Rubbing his hands together with excitement and sheer joy, Ulrezaj reassured Arax-Ithak, "Yes. Brilliant, ah would ask how dis idea came to pass if ah did not already know. Let us go immediately."

Ulrezaj glanced once more to Greebo's designs as the Undead toiled with his goods. "If your ears still be optimal, ah need ye to know ah'll volunteer to take some ... uh ... stuff. But don't worry, dis be like what Zandalari did to de Thundeh King, and not more. Trust me on dis."

Ulrezaj took a deep, cautious breath.
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Pincus
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Pincus » Fri Jan 30, 2015 3:46 am

"OhmantheseguyswheredidtheycomefromIdidntwarnthemtrustmeonthis!"

A tall Forsaken wearing his iconic red felt hat enters the room and notices the others.

"I trust you, this time," Pincus said to his imp. Pincus looked at the troll and Greebo, then to the mangled orc on the floor. What seemed to draw the Forsaken's attention, however, was the knife.

"Pizloz, you must to observe. This is not a corpse, but it soon will be. Note the signs of breath, this...orc...still has life in him. Unconscious, yes, but alive by the slimmest of margins. Note the cuts to his face, not that of an enraged attack, but deliberate. Do you not see the blade besides him? Would you kindly bring me the blade, Pizloz?"

Pizloz leaped and squirmed around the troll and Greebo to grab the knife. The imp picked it up with great care, smelling the orc's blood on it before handing it over to his master. Pincus looks over the blade carefully, and squints while examining it closely. Pincus's soft, hissy voice fills the room.

"See, a fine blade, and most of our compatriots would think nothing more of it. Syreena would happily slit a human's throat with this without a second thought. This blade is much more...it is an icon of his weakness." The bony fingers of Pincus run over the blade. "A relic from his past. Note the blade...it is not of this world, it appears to be from his ancestral homeland. He holds onto this...bauble...as some reminder of 'better times'."

"Were they better times? His enslavement...was the best thing that happened to him and his ilk. He, like most of his kind, are too ignorant to accept this simple fact. He did not become the vicious warrior he is today until he became a slave. After his...freedom...there was no force, no drive for him to be a destroyer of worlds. This orc became weak. One may rebut with the fact of our Mandate, the fight against The Alliance, should be drive enough. The Mandate is simply a goal - Peace through Annihilation. How how does one 'Annihilate'? Through strength. Does...bludgeoning the heads of a thousand gnomes give one the same strength as...dominating ones inner conflict? You can train any child to kill, but few are masters over themselves."

Pincus holds up one of his bony fingers. "Patience."

"Discipline," says Pincus as he raises a second.

"Every Forsaken knows those two words...but those here know they mean much more. It is...the core of our power. We mastered these traits out of necessity, lest we are consumed by what we seek to control. This orc would do well to...feel our internal turmoil."

"Pizloz, go back to my study. In my alchemy bench, in one of the lower drawers, look for an ebony box and bring it here. The last item Maledictus entrusted to me...The Necromancer's work on the King...may be helpful to mend his wounds...physical...and mental."

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Akorharil
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Akorharil » Fri Jan 30, 2015 4:00 am

Akorharil ignored the rambling of his companions as best he could. He had been awoken from his evenings rest by the Imp, Pizloz, and the characteristically foul-tempered Orc was in an even blacker mood than normal. He wiped sleep from his eyes for what seemed to be the hundredth time with a calloused hand before stopping to study his too-long nights' handiwork: an intricate, circular pattern chalked into the stone floor of their makeshift operating theater. Yes, he thought to himself...they were ready to proceed.

The Orc cleared his throat loudly and turned to his guildmates huddled with their instruments around the now-comatose body of Khorvis Bloodstar.

"Gentlemen," he announced curtly, "We are ready to begin."

The Warlock took Khorvis' blackrock knife is his hand and quickly, firmly dragged it across his left palm, cutting deep. He allowed the blood to pool in his hand for several long seconds before reaching into the completed summoning circle, allowing his blood to fall freely among the complex runes of binding.

"Raziel the Carver, I call to thee. Accept this sacrifice of blood and be bound to our will."

He passed the dagger to his Zandali companion, who followed his example. As his blood mingled with the Orc's, he repeated the incantation.

"Raziel da Carva', I call to thee. Accept dis sacrifice o' blood an' be bound to our will."

The runes of summoning slowly pulsed and throbbed with a sickening light as they drew power from the shed blood, feeding upon it, the fluid of life.

"Raziel the Carver," Greebo intoned, his foul undead ichor slowly oozing from his self-inflicted wound, "Accept this sacrifice of blood and be bound to our will."

The runes had taken on a steading cadence now, the slow beating of an unholy heart about to give life to a new arrival to the Material Plane. It would not be long now...

"Raziel The Carver," It was now the Archivist, Pincus who spoke, "Accept this sacrifice of blood and be bound to our will!"

The dim candlelight of the chamber sputtered weakly before snuffing completely; light itself had abandoned them. Only the foul glow of the pulsing runes remained. The four held their breath and waited in silence. Each knew what was at stake with an attempted binding of this power; an errant twitch, a momentary lapse of concentration, any of a thousand slight deviations would doom them all. One did not fail an incantation of this magnitude without dire consequence.

A clawed hand broke the stillness of the pool. Then another, a third, a fourth. They dug their syringe-like talons into the edges of the circle as Raziel the Carver forced her way from Avernus. A womans head -- long, black hair soaked with blood obscuring any face that might exist. She skittered within the circle, limbs weaving this way and that like some sickening, unholy crab as she lapped the remaining blood from the stone floor with a long, serpentine tongue.

Then she spoke. A voice like a thousand scalpels digging into flesh, a voice that made all who heard it wince in physical pain...

"I am Raziel. I am the Carver. I have answered."


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((Why yes, I *did* just finish playing The Evil Within...))
Last edited by Akorharil on Fri Jan 30, 2015 4:15 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Greebo
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Greebo » Fri Jan 30, 2015 4:06 am

(( by the godswhohaveabandonedus will there be anything left of our poor simple orc when we're done with him? ))
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.

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Awatu
The Commander
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Awatu » Fri Jan 30, 2015 11:49 am

The screaming had ceased, but his annoyance had grown. Passing by a scampering imp, Bor'ghul entered the chamber to see what the fuss was all about.

"The felcrap're you doing here?" he asked, looking at the other gathered Warlocks.

"The felcrap is he doing here?" he asked, gesturing to the prone, nearly-dead lump of Khorvis.

"The felcrap're you lookin' at, felcrap?" he asked, gaining a quizzical look from the returning imp.

Eyeing the runes, the scars, those gathered once more, and Khorvis' unconscious form, he groaned and let out a wracking cough.

"Felcrap."

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Khorvis
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Khorvis » Fri Jan 30, 2015 11:53 am

The warmth of Draenor's sun beat down on Khorvis's dusky skin. Passing its zenith, the great golden orb watched over the fishing village of Zeth'kur and heated the Devouring Sea in a pleasant summer. Youthful indolence wrapped the orcs in a cocoon of carefree play while they floated upon their backs in the lazy surf. As a far flung holding of the Blackrock Clan, the dockyards saw a moderate amount of trade, especially in the sturgeon that migrated to the nearby isles every winter to spawn, and yet the land was not particularly valuable. What poverty the local clansfolk felt in possessions, they made up for in a wealth of tranquility.

Khorvis kept his eyes shut against the bright sunlight and relaxed in the rhythmic rocking of the waves. He had no fear of where they would carry him - all of the tides led away from the Skeletal Coast and the Shadowed Seas had not seen the great Abyssal Gulpers since long before his great-great-father had joined the ancestors. Time slipped away and over a distant red Spire.

----

"Exercise more care with the patient, Reaper." The Twice-Made cursed softly at Akorharil, who commanded the psychic leash upon Raziel the Carver.

A withering trail of crusting blood followed the ensemble of felmancers as they quickly stole down forgotten passages of the Grim Halls with their find. The cadre encircled the hellish dae'mon who carried Khorvis aloft upon her many thin appendages, and it was at times unclear where the blood of the orc ceased flowing and the sanguine ichor of the Carver began. Passing an aged bust of a long-forgotten Ice Troll sorceror-chief, the coterie stopped their march and waited for the Bor'ghul to activate the felstone hidden behind a false brick in the blind arcade.

"Bloody nether-addled fools, summoning this beast in plain sight. What the felcrap is wrong with you?" the orc grumbled as he spoke the power word with a hand upon the felstone. The wall turned a sickly greenish hue and began to melt at the mortar. A moment later and a hidden stairwell was revealed in a wreath of fel slop. Moving, carefully this time, the warlocks descended into the inner sanctum of dark purpose. Their grisly work could begin.
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