The Hunt - A test of marksmanship

[Khorvis]

The blustery winds off the East side of the Great Sea buffeted the observation balloon like breath of Thorim on a tempestuous eve. Rocking back and forth, the iron bucket suspended by a volatile orb of elemental gasses kept Khorvis in a queasy stupor and an even fouler mood.

"Bloody! Goat-sucking! Wind! Calm your spirits, elder!" The orc barked at the conscripted shaman and the cowering adolescent tauren obeyed, greatly fearing that this extra-credit expedition over Stormwind City would end not only in failing his Spiritualist exams, but also his brief life upon Azeroth. Nevermind that the Elders on Spirit Rise were bullied by this massive orc into releasing their most inexperienced and untested shaman upon this foolish excursion, Meeko'lo summoned what little will remained between his horns and petitioned the spirits of the air to quell their riot some dozen leagues above the human capital.

As the iron bucket ceased its caterwauling, High Inquisitor Bloodstar glared over the side to take in the breadth of Stormwind.




"Look at those pinkskins. Mewling about like hogs in the muck! Bah! They are missing FEAR! We will put it back in them, Meeko'lo!" Khorvis shouted at the tauren over the dying wind, then looked at the cowering child. "Or just piss yourself, you damn cow." Turning back to the city spread out beneath, the warrior took mental stock of each tavern in the different districts. The Pig & Whistle, The Blue Recluse, The Golden Keg. And that temple where the humans drank their foulest fill - the Cathedral of Light.

Lost in thought, Khorvis failed to see the lucky aim of a stormhammer toss from a league below. The crackling weapon caught the inflated balloon in a glancing blow and tore a stitched section of kodo hide from the airship. Down the scouting balloon plummeted, in a freefall above Stormwind's canals!

Scowling at Meeko'lo, the orc hoisted himself up to edge of the bucket, holding onto a guiderope. "You give your life to the Mandate, young shaman. Save yourself, or die with honor!" And with that, Khorvis lept from the doomed vessel and activated his goblin glider, sailing off towards Blackrock Spire.

Some time later, in the safety of the Grim Halls, the High Inquisitor composed a letter to Kiannis with notes of his scouting trip.

Supplicant Kiannis,

Your first service to the Mandate will be to practice your tracking skills within the very walls of Stormwind City. There do be three taverns of note that do surround the Trade District: The Blue Recluse within the Mage Quarter. The Pig & Whistle within Old Town. And the Golden Keg in the Dwarven District. Your task is to lure, into each, one of the blue badged Alliance fools and silence their throats for all time.

When this do be complete, you will do the same with their most sacred site - The Cathedral of Light. Gut a human upon their own altar and return FEAR to the city which does think itself so safe from the Horde!

Succeed in this trial and be honored by your new comrades in the Grim. Fail me, and be broken and left for the ravens upon the spires of Undercity. You do have one month to bring me proof of your exploits.

Lok'tar ogar!

Khorvis Bloodstar
High Inquisitor of the Mandate

[Kiannis]

Kiannis unrolls the scroll placed on his bunk, scanning it quickly. He furrows his brow and tucks it away in his satchel; ".. This is 'gonna take some work.."

Some Time Passes...

Kiannis' motorcycle sputters as it treads through a jagged looking portal in reality in the murky underground of Orgrimmar. Arriving onto the barren red wasteland, he pulls a hood up to cover his face and sets his sights northwest. The road through the swamp and desolate ravine were clear, and the rolling hills of Darkshore were no issue for the rubberized wheels of his favorite machine. He idled along the riverbed, untill the high gate of Stormwind itself was in view.
"They'll probably want a record of this," He murmurs, raising a small camera.



He fords the river, leaving the motorcycle stashed in some reeds, grumbling only slightly at being soaked. He wrings his cloak out and presses himself again a tree to survey the main gate..



The main passage was surprisingly empty as he crept along, inching around a statue to avoid contact with the errant wandering guard.



Hood up and head down, the trek to the Mage Quarter was a quiet one. He knew this would be the eye of the storm, and steeled himself for what was to come.



The first kill was a gnome who had just exited the mage tower dominating the city quarter. She had strayed a little too close to the tavern. She ran, and while she didnt put up much of a fight, she was able to mend her wounds quite expertly. It was a good kill. Few civilians interfered- but the guards that did were no match for his aim and Abu's might.



The city hardly seemed to notice, and the skulk to Old Quarter was about as eventful as his first infiltration. As he arrived at the pig and whistle he found the tavern mostly emptied save for an old barmaid. She brandished a bottle at him as he lowered his hood, threatening to call the guard. Kiannis drew and fired before the poor woman knew what was going on. The shot must have alerted a nearby hero, for he was attacked as he peeked out the door to scout for quarry. The fight was short, and though she put up a decent fight, she fell in turn.



The city had to have heard all of the gunfire. People were in a panic, civilians running for shelter, guards consolodating and searching. Kiannis ran north a short way, and spotted an off-duty Draenei fleeing from the tavern to the vault next-door.
"No Innocents.." He mutters as his shots found their mark.



The guards were clearly onto him at this point. He sprinted west, hopping carts and pushing aside the awestruck inventors of the area. "Run n' gun.." Another mumble to himself as he cross the bridge, firing at the guards both behind and in front of him.
A bow wielding elf atop a Gryphon await him in the cathedral district. "This is all they have to offer?" He scoffs, firing. She fell with a wet thud, dead before impact.


Looking around, the guards were closing the gap swifty. He broke west again, avoiding the Port gates and instead shouldering his away to the charred crater that was once a district. Reaching a cliff, he surveys the jump only momentarily before darting his view back at the mob nearing him. Without another choice, he dives.

With the presence of danger high above and behind him, he picks his way south, to the yellow fields of Westfall. He curses as he tends to his wounds, nothing more than tobacco packed into a few gashes and wrapped tightly. The trek west to his stashed mount was a quick and easy one, and soon he was headed south for a much needed drink.



He scrawls hastily onto a piece of well kept parchment and slides it into a bulging envelope. He shoves the envelope into the mailbox and turns to rent a room

Inquisitor
--The first Trial has been completed. The hunt you have set about before me has been done- with this missive you shall find proof of death in the form of engineered image capturing, as well as shots documenting the task as a whole. The kills were clean, and though the last of the prey proved weaklings, and no human was gutted upon the altar of light, I feel as though the message has been sent clearly. No place is safe from The Grim should we set to the task. I await your response at the barracks, with hope that I've been satisfactory- eagerly awaiting the second trial.

[Khorvis]

The hearth, decorated with wrought iron skulls and the twisted cynicism of Forsaken craftsmen, was empty and flameless in this Midsummer heat. Despite the subterranean climate of the Inquisition's Halls, Bloostar's office was stifling, likely due to some ancient vents that wandered their way willy nilly up to the surface. Khorvis sat at his desk, inspecting the photographs supplied by Kiannis with perhaps more enthusiasm than the short letter. Each pinkskinned corpse was examined with a sort of breathless enthusiasm usually reserved for Anejodi matches and lovemaking.

Wiping a thick bead of sweat from his brow, the High Inquisitor set about responding to the Supplicant with a mushy parchment soaked in orc froth and tepid ale, which had warmed in neglect at a corner of the desk.

Supplicant Kiannis,

Your incursion of fear does warm the hearths of all who do serve the Mandate. You are to be commended for the valorous deaths brought on the pinkskins this past month. It does show in the wilting invoices of ale shipments to Stormwind in Midsummer! Expect a fully loaded crate of depleted Khorium ammunition to be delivered to your private Supplicant quarters this very eve!

The Trial of Resolve does loom ahead of you, and yet I do think your skills do be useful in more than one arena. The following will be Grim with whom you do speak to learn of the Mandate, what it does mean to each of them, and its glorious history:

Reaper Ul'rezaj - Farraki. Soul Eater. Arakophile. This felmancer does have many names, but behind each do be the face of a committed Grim. Much can be learned from his conviction, if you do have the mind to see past the ramblings. Spend some nights in the Archives learning of the Sethekk before seeking out this one.

Reaper Cobrak Deadeye - Fresh from the dungeons of Grim Batol, this old Grim will have many tales to spill of his time with the Mandate. As a fellow hunter of beasts, I do think the two of you trigger happy greenbacks will have few quarrels to come to blows over.

"Reaper" Akorharil - There do be some unflattering rumors surfacing about this ones dedication to the Mandate. Part of your second trial does demand that you sniff out the history of this orc. To do so, there do be an unorthodox fourth interview:

Supplicant Kerala Windchaser - A blood debt is her only claim to the Grim banner. I do think her time with us will convince the druidess of the truth in our Peace. She too is on the trail of mutiny within our guild. Between the two of you Supplicants, I do think some light can be shone on the blows against two High Inquisitors.

Do not fail me, Kiannis. My patience with dissent and in-fighting within Horde ranks grows very thin. The war with the Alliance dogs grows thicker with each ship that sets sail from Shadowmoon Valley. Heads do be poised to roll.

High Inquisitor Bloodstar

Khorvis slapped closed the envelope's seal and sent it to the quarters of his Supplicant.

[Kerala]

(("breathless enthusiasm usually reserved for Anejodi matches..." HA!))
(("Heads do be poised to roll." Hmmm, where is Lupinum??))

[Kiannis]

Kiannis sits down at a small desk in his new bunkroom, Padlocking the door behind him. He pulls a few glass bottles of various colors from his satchel, as well as a fragrant pouch, and tosses them lazily onto the small workspace. Eyeing about the area he notes the envelope on his bunk and reaches to pick it up.
Scanning the 'mushy' parchment with slight distaste, he nods and absorbs the information, rubbing his chin-scruff absentmindedly. He starts, thinking aloud; "Seems run 'a the mill.. but the end bit.."
---
Just as he sets the parchment down and reaches for one of the bottles his hearthstone chimes in with an orcish voice...
"No time like the present" He sighs, as he shoulders his rifle and saunters his way out of the room, padlocking the door on his way out. To Tanaan, and to begin his second trial.