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

Unread post by Khorvis » Tue Feb 03, 2015 11:08 pm

Bleeding out upon the marble floor, Khorvis was fast approaching unconsciousness. Waves of black nausea were closing in at the edges of his mono-vision and the chill of the slab was one step removed from the grave. Still, the forsaken words pierced through the veil of death and jabbed like needles into his sluggish mind.

"Patience."

The orc waited until the robed figure of Lord Dorian turned away from his breathless body.

"Discipline."

Khorvis gathered every shred of life remaining in his old bones, lunged with the speed of ten Nagrand prowlers, and aimed a final blow at the base of Lord Dorian's skull.

The world exploded in a hellish labyrinth of flame, light, and pain.

----

The fist took Malhavik fully underneath the jaw. A spray of blood and dark ichor as Khorvis's knuckles split open and splashed the warlock's face and neck with his fluids. Malhavik was thrown fully across the sanctum chamber and slammed into a table supporting an array of beakers and reagents. The force would have been enough to shatter the forsaken's consciousness, were it not for the stink of burning that the ichor left upon his skin coupled with the horrific realization that the plague strain of Maledictus had been spread to his own body.

Khorvis flew heavenward from the operating table and strained dangerously against the delicate apparatus attached by the Twice-Made. Nano-threads spread taut over his ruined face and the boom arms of the BS (tm) frame tottered precariously in the sterile white light that strobed with malice. The stress upon the orc's retinal nerve proceeded to induce waking visions for the ex-comatose patient.

"Brother?!" Khorvis whined hoarsely. "Did I fail you again? Was my -" he choked on tubing meant to regulate his digestive fluids- "mace too slow once more?!"

The chandelier swaying at the apex of the chamber scintillated in the patient's remaining pupil. Malhavik's unstable affliction and the Maldictus strain tore through his veins in a deadly arms race. The conscious world collapsed once more and a tidal wave of memory brought Khorvis back to that pivotal charge down a burning steppe. Azeroth's sun hung behind ebon clouds that wreathed a black spire.
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Ulrezaj
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Ulrezaj » Wed Feb 04, 2015 1:06 am

Ulrezaj reeled back from his corner, nearly losing his grip on a Zandali Soul Eater's tablet entitled "The Bondage Between the Reanimated and the Reanimator." Chills went down his spine in utmost shock at the warrior's expression.

Brother?

He immediately realized that Khorvis was an Orc warrior, and not a Farraki Shadow Hunter. The culture, sentiments, and entire background has been different up to this point, and at long last, a thought came to his head with the most delightful implications. It makes sense. Khorvis dreamt of the Orcish ancestral home. He imagined the place of his ancestors. His statements about death always entailed the ancestors, rather than a troll's dream of reward.

Ahaha! How could I have been so foolish before?


The Soulbinder caringly placed the tablet in a slanted position along the corner of the wall and approached the group and the body.

Where to, Khorvis? Tell me more about this ... brother. Yes. This time... you live and relive. You may not fail wit' us.
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Malhavik
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Malhavik » Wed Feb 04, 2015 5:33 am

Malhavik lay crumpled and buried under a pile of splintered wood, and broken glass. He blinked his dim yellow eyes in confusion. For at the moment he couldn't move, hear or see anything. However, he could smell something familiar. After a moment the smell grew stonger, and he began to regain his sense of touch. His face was... Itchy? He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Suddenly he remembered what the smell was reminding him of. "By god my face is on fire." he thought to himself. He lurched up out of the rubble sending waves of pain shooting through his upper body. He frantically patted his face and neck seeking to put out the flames, but only hearing wet slaps. He glanced at the mixture of blood, ichor, and unrecognizable chemicals coating his hands with horror. He'd been infected with what ever madness Maledictus had bred.

The sounds of shouting brought Malhaviks attention to the chaos in the center of the room. Khorvis' flesh could be seen twisting and crawling over his frame. His affliction was going wild with the addition of the plague.

Malhavik weakly plucked the soul shards out of the air. "Well my dear friends, it seems I have no other choice. I'm so very sorry..."

Malhavik crushed the green gem in his left hand, letting loose a glowing green shadow of a troll. The specter screamed as it spiraled into the shattered maw of the warlock. Revitalized by his consumption of the soul, Malhavik approached the writhing body of Khorvis, carefully weaving between the other felmancers. With his right hand he held the remaining soulshard towards the warriors body and closed his eyes in concentration. Soon oily black tendrils oozed out of the Lashers pores, and slowly floated into the soulshard. The faint cry of a Tauren could be heard coming from the gem in Malhaviks hand, which then turned black and shattered.

"I believe my work is finished." Malhavik walked a few paces away, and collapsed in heap. He looked to Pincus, "Should I survive the end of this catastrophe, I would very much like know more about what I've been infected with!"

Malhavik sent a mental call to his demon slave still searching the upper halls. He would need a life source to drain. Green flame erupted from the warlock, immolating him from head to toe in felfire. "Perhaps this will slow the spread." he thought. Slowing the plague with flame, Malhavik was reminded of his interview with Khorvis. "How disgustingly ironic this is..."

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

Unread post by Khorvis » Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:06 pm

Blackrock Spire shook violently under the continued volleys of ballistae fire and demolition squad charges. Titanic sections of rock-face flew into the darkened sky and the amber lava floes rushed to greet an overwhelming coalition of humans, dwarves, high elves, and gnomes, all gathered under a sea of blue Alliance standards. The siege had lasted for days, and the remnants of the Blackrock Clan holed up in the mountain citadel were increasingly exhausted and agitated.

Under an ancient stone arch carved by dwarven builders in some distant eon, Khorvis Bloodstar hunched over his two-handed mace and studiously wrapped a fresh cord of leather around the handle. He gripped the ends between his tusks and pulled the lacing taut, finishing the task with a ceremonial knot in the seaman's method from Zeth'kur. To honor the spirits of the sea. That was the way of his village, was it not? When fate was in the hands of the elements, one did bind themselves to their will and sail. Only, this sea was of blue armor, and it was soon going to crest over his helm and swallow him whole.

The orc looked over his right shouldguard and gained sight of Wren. "Stupid boy," he thought to himself. "Getting his fool skull split by a lance, killed for no bloody ..." Khorvis caught himself. Wait - his brother was alive. How? Wren caught his older brother's eye and nodded with the smug naivete that only the young and foolhardy possess.

What was this musty old hall? Khorvis glanced around at an uncannily familiar regiment. Crimson headbands and blackened armor clad a troop of gnarly veterans who all watched Bloodstar with apprehensive eyes. They were his father's warband, that was right. Khorval had been executed after speaking out too loudly against Doomhammer's solution to the Blackhand problem, and leadership had fallen to the eldest son. Untested they called him. A "forced and unseasoned whelp". In the months since, those curses would die on silent tongues. Khorvis had led his small warband with a relentless drive to prove a worthy successor, with particularly stunning ambushes laid near Dun Algaz and the Thandol Valley. Little of it did seem to matter now, however, with the combined might of the Alliance upon the doorstep.

Yes, this was where he belonged, Khorvis rationalized. Strange visions of a stone sanctum and a deadly duel faded from his sight and he continued to scan the interior encampment. Sneering, he watched three beleagured fists of Stormreaver warlocks and their Ogre-magi co-conspirators languish in an arcanite cage. Their defeated faces showed not one ounce of hope, whoever the victor of this siege might be - in every case, their fates were grim, for their betrayal of the Warchief may have cost the Horde its ultimate victory in Lordaeron. Under lock and key, Doomhammer probably meant to make an example of this last remnant of Gul'Dan's clan, but had meanwhile assigned two fists of battle-hardened Burning Blade warriors to guard duty.

Khorvis murmured under his breath with a hint of awe. "Blademasters." He quickly clamped his jaw shut and scrambled to his feet, for a towering figure approached with a threatening retinue in tow. Doomhammer's face was a thunderhead.

...

Watching the Warchief depart, Khorvis tried not to be caught staring at the terrifying guards that flanked his commander. Those giant maces were the inspiration for Khorvis's own weapon of choice, and he did secretly pray to his ancestors that perhaps one day, Doomhammer would choose him to join that elite unit.

But not this day. His warband was tasked with another duty. Rear guard. There would soon be a charge down the steep mountainside to break the front lines of the siege and perhaps divide the Alliance ranks for some small chance of a rout. Bloodstar and his fighting force from Zeth'kur would be one of several regiments to follow at the rear and help shield the right flank. Wren was grinning from ear to over-sized ear. At least one of them was optimistic.
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Canaie
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Canaie » Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:59 pm

((I think it's way past time that Khorvis sees an actual doctor. He's got 3 personal ones right here in the Grim!))
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Greebo
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Greebo » Thu Feb 05, 2015 8:43 pm

(( think of this as homeopathic medicine. he doesn't like warlocks and traumatic wounds? let's expose him to some! ))
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Malhavik
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Malhavik » Thu Feb 05, 2015 11:34 pm

((Homeopathic medicine? At least our stuff works. Mostly...))

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

Unread post by Ulrezaj » Thu Feb 05, 2015 11:42 pm

The hot, dry smoke arose from the volcanic flow of the Blackrock fortress. Ulrezaj inhabited the body of a moss-covered Amani troll. The inhabitant, he realized, must have been totally unaware that a parasitic Farraki resided within his mind.

"Aaah, looki der, brothahs!" Ulrezaj's host pointed a moss-covered finger towards a place where a cluster of bulky shadows threw back a three-pronged rope over a hulking figure's shoulder and flung forward a whip to the backside of a tormented orc. The Amani, broader in frame and more slouched than the soul eater's custom, rose to his full height and spoke haughtily with utmost belligerence in his stride. Turning to a quick, commanding glance at his sheeplike comrades, the troll spoke, "De Horde ain't nothing. Dey ain't like us. Dey ain't got no unification. Dey be young, but dey do know de poweh o'pressing an agenda. I respect dis."

The Ashtusk Amani troll group turned the corner to observe another whipping. Ulrezaj felt like vomiting. The tormented orc, as he came into view, resembled Khorvis. Khorval heaved as his hands were tied to two barbed wire iron rods. "Simmer with Gul'dan, whelp," the commandeering orc bellowed, "This is what happens for your incompetence, for your betrayal." The tormentor's arm threw the three prong rope back, which Ulrezaj now realized was a mixture of rope, shrapnel, and ball bearings. The flogging process continued, but Ulrezaj's host gazed with glossed over eyes at the scenario, rubbing a jagged tusk and shaking his head at the orc with contempt.

"You see, brothas," the host said, "Zul'jin ain't so sure about what he be wanting. He says, 'de Horde ain't got no discipline,' but I see de Horde reserves de right installations to ensure loyalty, dignity, and pride."

Khorval glared at the troll group hatefully. Ulrezaj felt a throbbing in his mind, but found himself otherwise unable to speak, and then the scenery within Blackrock's Dark Iron walls transitioned to a mountainous, volcanic valley region.

...
In valley of the shadow of Blackrock, Ulrezaj felt renewed with vigor and vision unlike ever before.

He rode atop a soot-covered Blackrock Worg. Undisciplined and unused to riding such a volatile beast, he felt as if the creature by sheer force of will had the malevolent intention of throwing the creature off of his back. Orcs stomped and trampled the ground aside him in bloodlust and rage. Ulrezaj had not seen such vigor at any point over his observation of the orcish race as a member of the Horde. Each one had beady red eyes, some appeared utterly consumed by the moment at hand as guttural roars and chants were shouted from watchtower to watchtower, and horns blared to signify an offensive push. The black, greasy hair of the warriors flowed wildly like the mane of the very creature he rode atop.

"By Gul'dan's skull," yelled an orc, "Trample these humans so we can gut every cursebreathing warlock who ever walked these lands!" The watchman who yelled with utmost disgust also bore atop a spear an impaled body that sat all but a couple of feet beneath a primitive Horde banner that flowed weakly in the wind hot wind. The body, Ulrezaj noticed, belonged to Khorval. Ulrezaj almost felt sympathy, but he could not muster any lament when so much heat and rage broiled all around him.

...

The tension of war tugged at Ulrezaj's gut like never before. Now he appeared to be in an environment without Warlocks, Shaman, or any spiritualist the orcs may use to their aid, the proud trolls from before were gone, too.

A rider approached Ulrezaj's bulky new shape, the newcomer's face bore a depression as if from fist-to-fist combat. "They're gone," he said with a tinge of hopelessness. "It is good to see you, and that the Warsong Clan remain with the true Horde. We would not know what to do without you."

Ulrezaj snorted from atop a much cleaner Worg than before. "What," he grumbled with an uncomfortable new jaw, proceeding only by barking distaste, "Get to the point! I hate worthless flattery before blood spills. It is a detractor and nothing more. Tell me, now, what did you see?"

The orc's eyes narrowed mistrustingly, "Well, Sergeant, Blackrocks have deviated from us fully. Those whose loyalty Gul'dan questioned were abandoned to the slaughter, we chased them down, and it lost us to the humans. At Doomhammer's command..."

"Yes, yes, I know," stated the rider flatly as he tightened his grip on the battle-worg's reins. He continued, "We killed your father, Wren. Do not question your Warchief, or else we are all doomed to failure. You will suffer his fate, which I assume disgusts you even now."

The orc named Wren, Ulrezaj realized almost in shock, had to be Khorvis' brother. Wren's jaw clamped, gnashing his teeth, and then spoke after a moment's hesitation, "Remind me not, Rothak. We do not need more mistrust. The Warlocks, the Ogres, and the Dragonmaw are gone. Zul'jin and his elusive trolls vanished before the Blackrocks, but they were shady enough throughout this campaign."

"Can we trust you," asked Rothak.

Wren stood to full height and beat his chest with a closed fist halfheartedly. "Indeed, the finest hour is at hand. Our mettle will be tested."

Ulrezaj felt the Rothak's discomfort as he kicked his worg away from the ignorant youth.

...

The fog of war shifted over Ulrezaj's eyes. Humans and orcs did battle with the fullness of heat and distaste as before. Ulrezaj's former hosts were dead, and the gloating troll he previously inhabited was no where to be found.

In the forefront of the discord, Khorvis stared into the frontlines with an almost dazed look. The orc seemed uncharacteristically disconnected as if he, too, were lost or looking for something. Wren, as seen before, lunged in front of Khorvis and slashed away the longsword of a human footsoldier as if the man thought to take advantage of the same weariness Ulrezaj thought he saw in the orc. Wren hastily disarmed the human by kicking him in the gut and jarring an axe in between the soldier's neck and shoulder.

The Horde battling here was not the same Horde as the one flogging Khorval, the Horde here did not have the confidence of the usual orcs. Everything done seemed to be in desperation. He could see, from the standpoint of numbers, that the orcs within the Blackrock Mountains were locked in a faceoff in toe-to-toe combat against an amassed human army that ventured from a land far north. This Horde seemed pathetically inferior unlike the haughty orcs from before, but Orgrim's orders were still shouted from the tops of watchtowers and patrolling sergeants much alike Rothak as the Horde's potential finest hour came to pass.

The soul eater could not believe his eyes. An endless mixture of abstract blue, gold, and silver marched out from the horizon as a sore thumb from the soot-covered gray-red ground to sky montage natural to the Blackrock Mountains that the remaining orcish army seemed determined to stand in defiance against.

"Don't die, idiot," Khorvis barked at Wren as both pulled back to higher, safer ground within earshot of the troll.

Wren looked back at Khorvis with astonishment, "Of course not, this is not the first time our lives have been in danger."

Khorvis did not share the same enthusiasm. Ulrezaj, looking to reconcile the matter, approached the two brothers with no regard for his surroundings.

Wren looked to Ulrezaj in confusion, "You look rather starved for your kind, troll."

Ulrezaj immediately noticed he stood in his original form now.

Khorvis seemed outraged, "Felmancer, go die in a rut! You are ruining my life each step of the way!"

The brother looked to Ulrezaj, "You know this one, Khorvis?"

"Yes," Khorvis spoke in an upset tone, "He has been around this whole time, and you did not notice?"

Ulrezaj replied, "No, that's not true this time. I ... think I understand now. This is your battle to fight. Go fight and win for the glory of the Horde."

"Coward," Khorvis spat.

Wren appeared shocked, "You... warlock? What...? Aha! We can use you, fight with us," Khorvis' brother lifted up his axe readily, "All have gone away, except for you. We need you now more than ever."

Khorvis peered at Wren, "You're insane," he motioned towards Ulrezaj, "Fine, come with us. Ruin every aspect of life."

Wren's brow raised with uncertainty at Khorvis' statement, so Ulrezaj gave him nothing more than a quick, wordless nod for reassurance.

...
Last edited by Ulrezaj on Thu Feb 05, 2015 11:59 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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Ulrezaj
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Ulrezaj » Thu Feb 05, 2015 11:43 pm

The intensity of the battle raged as if it were real.

The sword-and-board bloodrage Khorvis and Wren pursued was far more intense than any fighting he observed emanating from the warriors as before. Khorvis kneed a soldier in his plate chest, crushing him against the dark soil, but cautiously and persistently looking towards Wren.

Ulrezaj realized that everything that happened now was in Khorvis' dream state, and that could possibly be entirely irrelevant in the case of what Khorvis thought of the debacle. Apparently, there was far more within the Horde that Ulrezaj had picked up on through the visions he acquired from, what he now assumed to be, Khorvis' ancestors as he delved into the spirit world of the orc's blood kinship in its most condemning moments. The soul binder had not simply trespassed into the mind of a Grim, but into the soul of the orcish ways in its most pivotal moments.

Given that Wren was not in Ulrezaj's historical account of the Grim's members, Ulrezaj feared this battle was Wren's last. This, truly, haunted Khorvis with utmost intensity. Ulrezaj would not let the brother die here in the unconscious state.

Fortunately, Ulrezaj had in mind exactly what he would need to win the conflict. At least, of course, for the historically warped conditions at hand to meet his unique situation. Wren lunged his full weight into a soldier with a full body shield, and sent three standing from behind toppling over. Ulrezaj breathed in the human desperation akin to the natural errant weakness he typically preferred to use against the arrogant prowess of man. The thirst for gaining the ability to proceed in combat fueled him as the warriors fought on. A cavalryman charged against the sidelines in hopes of breaking the remaining Horde defensive, but Khorvis wisely noticed and boldly leaped onto the mount himself. Ulrezaj feared about momentarily losing track of Khorvis, but the human rider pulled a small blade from his sheath to give him ample room to fight atop an increasingly frenzied human warmount. Khorvis laughed with a mixture of cheerfulness and disgust that the human would not fight in a way that was martial in nature at all. With man, it all had to be blade to blade, and no other way. Taking advantage of the situation, Khorvis grabbed the panicking knight's shoulders and flung him off the mount. The blade lackadaisically flew up from the rider's grasp as orcs whose turn for fighting had not yet come drove themselves in a disorganized way around the rider to pull him apart. Khorvis caught the blade as it flung violently from the man's grasp and drove it through the horse's neck.

Ulrezaj stared agape, completely appalled. Wren shouted, "Do something!"

The soul eater noticed he had been standing around in sheer observance much of the time while the rest fought with a simultaneously coordinated bloodlust. Ulrezaj winced, "You jus' worry about yehself, yeah?"

Wren sneered and turned back to fighting.

Ulrezaj smirked. Gathering the heat that was in the atmosphere, and blending it with a word of Dark Intent, Ulrezaj felt his own sense of power surging through his body as the soil grew dark, purple, and rose up a pulsing tidal wave of chaotic energies toppling into the human front. Wren's eyes widened with shock. "More, more," he cried out.

Ulrezaj knew he could not produce energy like that consistently, so he summed from the hot, dry sky a meteor that plowed some of the charging footsoldiers from the distance into the ground. Khorvis naturally returned to aid his brother, and the trio continued in the conflict. The rest of the vision grew into a blurry haze.

...

The troll found himself laying in the dirt of a valley much like that of the Blackrocks. A campfire was lit nearby, and so Ulrezaj glared at it distastefully. "There are dwarves up north we might want to kill in vengeance," the armed warrior suggested.

Ulrezaj spat blood into the lifeless ground. "Dat all yeh think about?"

"No," Khorvis started, "I was thinking about troll burial ceremonies. I kicked you a few times and you did not wake up, Ulrezaj. How weak. Albeit, Wren is still alive. When you fell unconscious, I had to drag you away since your abilities proved to earn us a favor in that conflict, but only in the sense that you seemed to pull every fiber to preserve Wren's life when I personally thought his face was about to be split in two. There is some honor in your actions."

"Where is Wren," Ulrezaj asked in a piqued tone of heightened excitement.

Khorvis grunted, "He was carried away with all the rest. That did not happen before. In fact, I should not be here, and neither especially should you."

Ulrezaj rose to his full height, noticing his full body was covered in black soot. "Yes, o' course ah should not be here. Did it eveh occur to you why you was here?"

"I try not to think about it. Continue, Felmancer."

Ulrezaj seemed impatient, "Ah lived ye history, yeh ancestehs have much ta say against de Horde in its so-called 'prime.' Disunity, disaster, and distaste all consumed yeh from what ah see. You, ... you should neveh be so trusting o' dese fools. Dey flogged yeh fatheh, de Dragonmaw flew out from undeh yeh, and de warlocks coulda turned de tied. Still, dat is not what ah see happening. De whole Horde came crashing down on top o' itself."

Khorvis' brow furrowed. "Yes, Felmancer, you are right. Had you not been there, Wren would have died. I have never felt so keenly aware of my surroundings. It is as if I know the future."

"Indeed," Ulrezaj nodded, "Yeh be needing de 'felmancer' atcha side from now on ah think. Had you fought wit' just ye warrior wit all by itself, yeh would have lost ye brother."

Khorvis' jaw shut tight, but after a few long moments he acknowledged a sense of truth in a common conclusion from Ulrezaj's words with a steady nod. Finally, Ulrezaj considered with relief, he is on board wit' having de shadowcastehs at his side. Ah hope he is going to be comfortable wit' what he sees in reality. Grabbing a hold of the Legacy of Arlokk, the serpent's staff, Ulrezaj departed from the warrior's company promptly. He eyed the orc studiously for a moment in hesitation, and hoped the dreamstate reality would assist him in easing his way back towards a slightly more welcoming outlook regarding any necessary alterations committed by the Grim's fellow attempts at bringing the orc back to his full, if not more, glory. The only thing left to do was to hope that all amendments, both physical and metaphysical, would be properly completed.
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Awatu
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Awatu » Fri Feb 06, 2015 1:00 am

Meanwhile, near Khorvis' right boot, Bor'ghul grumbled sourly as things appeared to have settled down. Khorvis was mostly still, with only the occasional twitch and spasm to confirm that he was still alive. Mostly. Greebo continued his work on the Orc's skull, Malhavik kept checking himself for signs of a "plague", and Ulrezaj stayed in his little trance.

The old Orc sneered and barked over his shoulder. "Dead things don't get sick, ya moron. Quit cryin' and be useful. Or don't! I ain't yer dad! Quit bein' annoyin'! So annoyin'-" he grumble-shouted, which earned him another coughing fit. As he coughed, he thought for a moment, peering down at Khorvis' boot. One of the straps had worked itself loose and the beginnings of an idea sprouted in his mind.

Making sure that "Big, Dumb, and Nearly Dead" wasn't about to start kicking and punching again, Bor'ghul slid the boot off. What was underneath would probably give an Ogre a good run for his... whatever he possesses. Most would probably begin dry heaving at the stench, but Bor'ghul was fairly accustomed to it himself. The old Orc had at least some decency and bathed in every good rain shower that he became caught in. Or complained about it. Probably both. He eyed Ulrezaj with some amount of conscious, wondering if the smell had reached the Troll and broken his concentration. "Hehehehehehe..." He would have chuckled, but it came out more as a series of sickly wheezing.

His eye on Khorvis' big toe, Bor'ghul pulled a small but sharp dagger from under his robes. Holding the dagger steady, he slowly shoved it underneath the thick, blackened, crusty toenail and began to pry it off. It was an agonizing few minutes of work... for Khorvis! Bor'ghul thought that the time had went by too quickly as he cut loose the last stretchy piece of skin that held the nail, a quiet cough-chuckle being his only sound during the important surgery. He inspected the nail closely, apparently finding great interest in the possibly-diseased thing. It was only then that he noticed Akorharil staring at him, a look of disgust, confusion, irritation, or perhaps all three, on his face. Akor's lip curled upwards as Bor'ghul tossed the nail into his mouth and chewed heartily, never breaking eye-contact from the other Orc.

"This is fer the shit he's done to himself, and to us. I hope he gets leprosy or gangrene or something and has a limp for a long while. Dumb bastard. At least, this'll irritate him for a few weeks. Now, help me get the boot back on. He's startin' to kick again."

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

Unread post by Filora » Fri Feb 06, 2015 1:23 am

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

Unread post by Akorharil » Fri Feb 06, 2015 5:04 am

((WTF, Awatu. I summoned a god-damn demon who bleeds constantly and ripped her own flesh from her back, and that was the most disgusting thing I've read in this thread.))

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

Unread post by Greebo » Fri Feb 06, 2015 5:47 am

Greebo peered through a device, watching things far smaller than most of those present in the room could imagine possible. Slender talons thrust into an intricately silken glove tugged and danced with streams of green energy disappearing into nowhere from the tips. The same green glow flickered from within the viewport as whatever lay beyond or within was manipulated delicately.
"Who would have imagined that quantum demonlogy would prove so mmmm useful, eh Tarnam?" he murmured sotto voce to the imp at his side.
"Nanoscale imp engineers! The thread seeds are allllmost allllmost yes! Perfect placement! Just need a touch of moisture to catalyze the sprouting."
He pushed the screen to one side and, reaching into the clamp, pulled out a shimmering soul-shard. Tarnam placed what could only be described as a contraption into his outstretched hand. Perhaps an industrial-grade monocle, perhaps half a pair of googles, indelicate but most definitely eldritch and, well, to be honest quite grim looking, the whatever-it-was oozed potential of one sort or another.

Holding the device up close to his face he slid the shard firmly into a waiting socket until he heard a satisfying click. He screwed the loupe back on to his left eye and peered closely at the device from all angles. He blinked, his yellow gaze turned black, his hand twitched, and the lense of the loupe tinked delicately against the soul shard. He stiffened and looked again, examining the contact point in minute detail but he could see nothing wrong. Turning, he stalked back to the subject and attached the device to an unused arm of the framework. Turning a little crank, he began to edge it jerkily into place.
"Yes, yes, inelegant, shut-up Tarnam, we didn't have time to automate this did we? Mr. Scream has been unwilling to share with us the results of his temporal adventures and so this must be done in ahhhh haste."
Turn and turn again went the little handle. Millimetre by millimetre the protruding soul-shard edged closer to the cauterized and trimmed ruin of a face and the gaping hole in the eye-socket. Contact with flesh came and with it resistance. It was not possible to say with clarity if the squeaking was from an unoiled gear in the mechanism or from the friction of the gem on carbonized orc as it was pressed firmly into place. In a short while it became clear that the device was as firmly rooted as the armature could make it he detached it and swung it to one side. Greebo leaned heavily on it and gave it a firm twist. There was the sound of metal grinding and gripping bone and a drop of amber cerebral fluid appeared at the tip of a draimage duct.
"And now we wait. It shouldn't take long. The threads will follow the optic nerve and then spread to find their pairs in the other hemisphere. Quite an ahhhhh exciting moment, eh Tarnam? Just think! Validation of ... so many sacrificed ... failures ..." he trailed off. For several minutes nothing happened.

"There master! A twitch!" the little creature screeched. The undamaged side of Khorvis' face began to stretch into a rictus grin and a strangely toneful noise rose and fell from his throat.

"Excellent. Voice box undamaged, tongue healed. He might need some new teeth but that can wait."

The grin faded into a scowl and quickly a kaleidoscope of emotions and twitches passed over the proud orc's face and once more all was still. Greebo stood there for a few more minutes. Nothing happened. A worried look appeared on his face.
"But the twinning ... why ..." he said to himself. More time passed. Five minutes, ten. With a look of disgust he reached out to yank the failed experiment out but as his hand touched it a thin grey mist began to ooze out and flow over the ruined half. The mist lapped up against the healthy flesh and rolled back, unwilling it seemed, or unable to cover it. In a few short seconds a roiling cloud had filled in the deep hollow that had once been the left side of Khorvis' face. The others looked up from what they were doing, attention drawn to something. The warlocks gathered around like moths to a flame. A robed hand reached out to touch it and was slapped by several others. The grey mist began to smooth itself. As each watched they saw in it an effigy of their own face and the others, each in turn. A deep and horribly pained groan shuddered from Khorvis and the shifting smoke stilled, his old face now clearly to be seen in the shimmering smoke with a baleful purple glare coming from behind the darkened lense of his replacement eye.

"Did you see?" Greebo asked excitedly? "Did you see how the soul mist mirrored each of us? Ha! I wonder what the supplicants will make of it when their own soul peers back at them, lies and weaknesses laid bare."

"A good evening's work, everyone, I'd say. A complete success! Our work is done." He nodded to each of them in turn and left, leaving his imp to tidy up, and the orc to it's own devices, cauterized nerves and reshapen flesh sending jagged surges of pain into the unconscious mind of the High Inquisitor, a pain so exquisite that even in a near coma a steady stream of tears dripped from his one remaining eye.
Grisbault, Twice-Made.
The p, s, l, and t are silent, the screams are not.

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

Unread post by Khorvis » Fri Feb 06, 2015 7:15 pm

Khorvis watched the Farraki troll shamble away, then he picked himself up and edged to the ridgeline. Taking in the broken battlefield of the steppes, he saw the weary yet victorious Alliance march the captive surviving clans north. Their backs bent and limbs shackled, the orcs trod miserably to whatever prison camps awaited them.

One particular group caught the attention of Khorvis: a line of six dusky green warriors bearing red headbands ... they were the remnants of the Zeth'kurians. And at the head of the chain was Wren, unbent and stepping defiantly. A scuffle broke out. One orc whipped his chains overhead and caught a human guard 'round the neck, sawing backwards and choking the life from the pinkskin. Another grabbed at a mounted knight's sabre. Wren screamed a berserkers cry and charged the leading captain.

A flash of steel in the red light of the steppes. Wren sank to his knees with a broadsword in his chest up to the hilt.

"No!" Khorvis roared from the mountainside. "Brother!" Three detachments of knights broke off from the main body and hunted towards the orcish howls of anguish. It did not matter. Khorvis clutched at his chest as if he were the one with two feet of steel spreading his ribs. "Not like this ..." he mourned. Scratching at the charred dirt, he wept and shook his head. "Something is wrong. The felmancer... He did say ..."

Vision hitched. Time skipped a few moments forward, the knights almost upon the orc, then backwards. Wren took the sword again, this time in his neck. Blood spurted from the sun sinking over the horizon. The black stones of the Spire rushed to meet Khorvis and all went blank.

----

"And now we wait."

The plague wormed through every artery, every vein.

----

Greatfather would be proud. Khorval had led his ancestors' name to immense honor by following Blackhand to this new world. Glorious war and conquest filled the orc's blood with such heat that he constantly brimmed with a sweaty fervor. This would be the greatest day under the sun for his legacy. Two strong sons to carry it on after he died in honorable combat. Forced they were, perhaps, but clever and worthy of the name Bloodstar.

Khorval had intended to confront Warchief Doomhammer alone. News of the high crimes of the Backstabber had spread throughout the camps, and now was the time to strike before the new Blackrock commander could consolidate his power. Perhaps a glimmer of fear had weakened his resolve, but Khorval conceded to his eldest son's ferverent wishes and brought he and his brother upon the mak'gora. They would stand in audience and learn the truth in honorable combat.

"Doomhammer does waste a precious weapon, father," Khorvis spat as they marched through the Blackrock camp. "Gul'Dan and the warlocks found for us our power! And they did bring us to this world full of plunder!" Wren hung onto every word while Khorval only nodded in silent agreement. There would be time for boasts if they survived.

Approaching the command tent, the trio stopped before five heavily armored guards, each wielding a sick looking greataxe and festooned with other one-handed cleavers and maces hanging from leather straps. Something was wrong. The orc closest to the flap motioned to enter. "The Warchief is waiting, Bloodstar," he spat with a grimace. Khorval grunted noncommitally and strode forward with his sons.

The interior of the tent was empty.

Spinning around rapidly, Khorval took the head of a morningstar across the collarbone which sent him hurtling across the room. He crashed into a canvas wall, but quickly got back on his feet an squared off with the honor guard. Khorvis and Wren were both grappling with opponents who had come up behind and attempted to strangle the younglings with garrotes. Somehow managing to slip away from his choker, Wren faced the enemy and raised two balled fists in the kind of stance reserved for bar room brawls.

The guards laughed at the pitiful display. One raised a crossbow, aimed at Khorval, and put a bolt between his eyes before the old father could even react. He dropped like a stone to the dirt floor and lay motionless. Another casually charged Wren and cleaved the Bloodstar youngest through the shoulder with a greataxe, sending through the air an arm and spraying the canvas with crimson orc blood. The screams were deafening as the boy writhed on the ground in a growing pool of his own fluids.

Khorvis's captor tightened his garrote and forced his victim to kneel next to the dying brother. "This is the legacy of Blackhand and your warlocks, whelp. The new Horde will flay your corpses and remember your name only in laughter," he taunted.

Vision was blackening at the edges. The entire tent was filling with blood like a giant bowl. All of the orcs began to float and the liquid was boiling.

----

"It shouldn't take long."

Liquid tentacles of a mad experiment long forgotten stretched their suckered ends towards infinitesimally small threads.
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Re: To Rebuild. To Bridge the Fel. [[Closed]]

Unread post by Khorvis » Fri Feb 06, 2015 7:15 pm

The dwarven regiment was only a few hundred yards out, just past the next hilly rise before the Thandol Span. The Zeth'kurians were hunkered down in a sheltered glade to the side of the main road. It would be the warriors duty to hold the Alliance troops on the bridge while the Stormreaver attache executed the plan.

Rank by rank they passed, stocky dwarves armored in ancient heirlooms bearing the sigils of multiple Wildhammer holdings. They shouldered both axe and mace and stared straight ahead across the massive stone bridge. The orcs were deep in Alliance held territory, harassing reinforcements as they were sent south to the main front, and the dwarven regiment had little to fear near Dun Algaz.

Khorvis and Wren burst from the hedges and charged their foes once the rearguard had passed onto the Span. Taken completely by surprise, three fell before a rallying cry could erupt from one burly bearded sergeant. Even he was cleaved in two before the furious onslaught. Planting themselves defensively on the ancient stonework, the Bloodstar brothers held back the dwarven reversal and gave the signal.

Five darkly robed warlocks took their positions and threw back their hoods. Sinister words of summoning echoed from the Thandol Valley and herculean fragments of burning meteors began to plummet from the rifts in the sky. The Alliance ranks broke in a mad dash to cross over to the other end of the bridge, but it was too late. The rain of fire smashed into the gangway, trusses, and foundations and the entire structure began its ponderous collapse.

Too quickly - they had miscalculated and the stone beneath the very feet of Wren crumbled before he could retreat. Khorvis leapt to catch his brother's arm, but a final searing ball of rock impacted the younger orc, who was instantly vaporized with a wordless howl. Watching his comrade die in such a pedestrian manner gave Khorvis little time to prepare for impact as the bottom of the Thandol Valley rushed up to meet his falling body.

----

"Quite an ahhhhh exciting moment, eh Tarnam?"

The cerebrum greeted the flood of plague cells with the exquisite nostalgia of a previous demonic infection.

----

Khorvis continued to ghost through visions of many more lives. So many possibilities and what-ifs that no one mind could possibly contain the memory. In each exercise, the result was the same. He gladly employed the services of felmancers to save what little piece of the world he could for his clan and his name. And in every vision, the corpse of his brother haunted his last few moments before death too claimed him.

----

"... so many sacrificed ... failures ..."

The wildy throbbing work of Maledictus embraced the soul-shard with the purity of actuated purpose.

----
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