Post by crestor on May 9, 2014 6:10:26 GMT
Connecting a few things together with this. This is how my alts know each other, and how they’re connected.
~
“Thames Thodt. I have something to ask of you, meet me in the Military Ward’s pub when you’re able.”
An earthen armored man spoke into a small stone, obsidian, clouded to the core except for a single twinkling light within. The heat of the forge within the center of the city warmed him as he leaned against the railing on the second floor of the pub. Below him tavern-goers were coming, and going. Topics of the night ranged from recent exploits from others to the seedier mentions of the darker events of whom those were partaking of the night.
A stein rested on the curved railing next to him, either it was half full, or half empty when he raised it to his lips and took a gulp. He didn’t see himself as a realist, or an optimist at this point. He had some issues that needed to be amended, and cleared. The golden-red swill rolled into his mouth as he quaffed the ale. Mid-gulp a familiar Worgen stepped towards the pub; with not enough time to finish off his drink his lips purse as he gulps the grog. His posture fixed as he became more orderly, shoulders straight and standing unslouched. His head nodded in a single direction, downwards. Focusing on the only person that mattered to him at the moment.
The generous Doctor. Thames Thodt.
Below, the Worgen raised his head. Catching a familar scent lofting above him. The smell of oil, heated metal, and an offset of dirt brought his attention. The graying haired creature peered inside, eyeing the selection of possible targets. Women who thought they looked far too nice, or those who were jealous of another’s looks. An added arm, or a skim of fat off the sides would tickle their fancy. His eyes focused on the Dwarves, a side step allowed a mortar team of Dwarves to step into the establishment. The stout, short race of Azeroth, ones whom he believed created every mountain and shaped the inner workings of each. The Doctor had a hunch that Dwarves lived underground, and under everything using secret infernal machines to shape the ridges of Azeroth into that of the prized female dwarf. A rare specimen, he thought.
A grunt from above brought the Worgen from his visual inspection of the inhabitants. Rather than stroll through the crowds within the pub to the second floor balcony. He crouched, leaping with his strong legs extending his hands to catch the arm above, which held the sign for the pub, nestling the tips of his claws over the edges just to pull himself up and glide through the shadows to his employer, The Overseer, with a polite bow the Worgen gave his own greeting. Standing near the edge, reaching towards his leather bound medical bag.
“Ah.. What do you need mending this time? Another ailment to your headaches? A bone fragment removed from your side? Or do you have something else in mind?” The feral voice of the aging Worgen escaped his canine lips, glancing towards the armored human. His eyes tracing over every piece of plate that worked to protect vital areas rather than full protection that’s preferred by others who seek to mow down their adversaries with a large weapon, smaller armaments, or a ‘sword and board’ as most other adventurers called it.
“No. I do not require you, and your tools to prod around my flesh. I’ve found someone else for that.” The human shook his head–the heavy helm that hid his facial features save for the bottom of his groomed, well kept, black goatee– twitched gently following the movement.
“What I need you to do, Thames, is to go on an expedition in my place. These people may not be welcoming to a newcomer. Especially you, a doctor who decides to sign up a week or so after a member of the expedition was ‘thrown’ off a cliff.”
“A cliff accident? You didn’t relapse and enjoyed another flash back to one of your previous servents? What was her name? Des–”
The armored man growled in the Worgen’s direction, interrupting his sentence.
“Do not speak her name as though she was just another servent. She is the greatest elf I -ever- befriended, and I moved on from that point. Though, if you may ask.. It was a relapse into another moment with a different elf. Another of my ‘collection’. As such, she was thrown from the cliff and I followed her down afterwards.” His lips grimaced, and churned as he relayed the information. “I shattered a leg in that fall, but Kaldorei are decent cushions.” He snickered, recalling the moment.
Moist air from the Wetlands, an adversary stood infront of him. Adversary isn’t the correct word. Someone enamored with him, a sick obsession of sorts. Someone who wished for him to hers for a long time, but did not grant him a choice in the matter.
The pale skin of the Kaldorei woman was flush against the light rain in the coming dusk. Her messily drawn white hair desperately flowed from his hands as his finger tips wrapped around a strain. Loosening his grip, only to reach with his right hand around her neck. Her bloodied mail armor was an added weight, but the warrior didn’t mind. It was as heavy as his sword, something he was in the process of forging. The following moments was an exchange of sorts, he felt refusal, and anger towards this elf.
With a tightening grasp he threw the elf over the edge of the cliff. Though, it wasn’t just the elf, he’d been pulled over with the strong-spirited woman. She was persistent that she wouldn’t go without a fight. The quick few seconds a short scuffle occured followed by the hard bone-splintering crash into the wet swamp below. He was victorious, though at a cost.
As he left his thoughts the warm air of Ironforge relaxed him, losing his stoic and orderly stance infront of one of his hirelings.
“Overseer? You there? You snickered, and went silent. Did you experience another ‘refresh’ as you call it?” The Worgen extended his hand towards the armored human, a hard leather hand batted it out of the way.
“Don’t touch. I don’t need your inspection for any wounds at the moment. Simply reliving the moment.” He paused, recomposing himself, “I need you to check up on an Ashen haired woman, a priestess, Vivian is her name. Check if she’s fine, and the general response from everyone.”
“When you leave. Make sure it’s just you and her. Tell her that a ‘dark Knight’ is in need of your assistance due to a horrible injury. A headache, or a migraine. Make her feel terrible, and leave.”
The Worgen furrowed his brow at this odd request. “Don’t want me to poison anyone? Just reconnaissance?”
“Correct. Don’t harm anyone.”
“And I meet you back here, correct?”
“Indeed. Drop some hints too on my actions. Gauge their response. I’d need to be ready if I am to be targeted as prey once more. The last meeting with the ‘enforcement’ for the expedition led to several hidden blades.”
The leather bound Worgen nodded his head once, positioning himself in a crouching position on the railing. Nodding his head once before jumping off the balcony, fading into what little shadows Ironforge provided as he glided into the city.
The armored man shook his head, gazing at his drink. Stirring it gently in his stein before gulping down the remainder of the grog. He turned on his heels into the pub, seeking a refill on his drink. Something that kept him calm in his thoughts, though it was no longer his favorite drink.
He had a feeling that the spiral of events he set in motion from a strike of nostalgia was closing into the ultimatum of events. The last tower to be constructed, he had to attend. Weither he was allowed, or not. His thumb idly brushed past the lip of his helm closest to his mouth. Grazing his leather encased digit along the face of the radio pressing a button once only to sigh into it before ending his short transmission.
A drink was needed.
~
“Thames Thodt. I have something to ask of you, meet me in the Military Ward’s pub when you’re able.”
An earthen armored man spoke into a small stone, obsidian, clouded to the core except for a single twinkling light within. The heat of the forge within the center of the city warmed him as he leaned against the railing on the second floor of the pub. Below him tavern-goers were coming, and going. Topics of the night ranged from recent exploits from others to the seedier mentions of the darker events of whom those were partaking of the night.
A stein rested on the curved railing next to him, either it was half full, or half empty when he raised it to his lips and took a gulp. He didn’t see himself as a realist, or an optimist at this point. He had some issues that needed to be amended, and cleared. The golden-red swill rolled into his mouth as he quaffed the ale. Mid-gulp a familiar Worgen stepped towards the pub; with not enough time to finish off his drink his lips purse as he gulps the grog. His posture fixed as he became more orderly, shoulders straight and standing unslouched. His head nodded in a single direction, downwards. Focusing on the only person that mattered to him at the moment.
The generous Doctor. Thames Thodt.
Below, the Worgen raised his head. Catching a familar scent lofting above him. The smell of oil, heated metal, and an offset of dirt brought his attention. The graying haired creature peered inside, eyeing the selection of possible targets. Women who thought they looked far too nice, or those who were jealous of another’s looks. An added arm, or a skim of fat off the sides would tickle their fancy. His eyes focused on the Dwarves, a side step allowed a mortar team of Dwarves to step into the establishment. The stout, short race of Azeroth, ones whom he believed created every mountain and shaped the inner workings of each. The Doctor had a hunch that Dwarves lived underground, and under everything using secret infernal machines to shape the ridges of Azeroth into that of the prized female dwarf. A rare specimen, he thought.
A grunt from above brought the Worgen from his visual inspection of the inhabitants. Rather than stroll through the crowds within the pub to the second floor balcony. He crouched, leaping with his strong legs extending his hands to catch the arm above, which held the sign for the pub, nestling the tips of his claws over the edges just to pull himself up and glide through the shadows to his employer, The Overseer, with a polite bow the Worgen gave his own greeting. Standing near the edge, reaching towards his leather bound medical bag.
“Ah.. What do you need mending this time? Another ailment to your headaches? A bone fragment removed from your side? Or do you have something else in mind?” The feral voice of the aging Worgen escaped his canine lips, glancing towards the armored human. His eyes tracing over every piece of plate that worked to protect vital areas rather than full protection that’s preferred by others who seek to mow down their adversaries with a large weapon, smaller armaments, or a ‘sword and board’ as most other adventurers called it.
“No. I do not require you, and your tools to prod around my flesh. I’ve found someone else for that.” The human shook his head–the heavy helm that hid his facial features save for the bottom of his groomed, well kept, black goatee– twitched gently following the movement.
“What I need you to do, Thames, is to go on an expedition in my place. These people may not be welcoming to a newcomer. Especially you, a doctor who decides to sign up a week or so after a member of the expedition was ‘thrown’ off a cliff.”
“A cliff accident? You didn’t relapse and enjoyed another flash back to one of your previous servents? What was her name? Des–”
The armored man growled in the Worgen’s direction, interrupting his sentence.
“Do not speak her name as though she was just another servent. She is the greatest elf I -ever- befriended, and I moved on from that point. Though, if you may ask.. It was a relapse into another moment with a different elf. Another of my ‘collection’. As such, she was thrown from the cliff and I followed her down afterwards.” His lips grimaced, and churned as he relayed the information. “I shattered a leg in that fall, but Kaldorei are decent cushions.” He snickered, recalling the moment.
Moist air from the Wetlands, an adversary stood infront of him. Adversary isn’t the correct word. Someone enamored with him, a sick obsession of sorts. Someone who wished for him to hers for a long time, but did not grant him a choice in the matter.
The pale skin of the Kaldorei woman was flush against the light rain in the coming dusk. Her messily drawn white hair desperately flowed from his hands as his finger tips wrapped around a strain. Loosening his grip, only to reach with his right hand around her neck. Her bloodied mail armor was an added weight, but the warrior didn’t mind. It was as heavy as his sword, something he was in the process of forging. The following moments was an exchange of sorts, he felt refusal, and anger towards this elf.
With a tightening grasp he threw the elf over the edge of the cliff. Though, it wasn’t just the elf, he’d been pulled over with the strong-spirited woman. She was persistent that she wouldn’t go without a fight. The quick few seconds a short scuffle occured followed by the hard bone-splintering crash into the wet swamp below. He was victorious, though at a cost.
As he left his thoughts the warm air of Ironforge relaxed him, losing his stoic and orderly stance infront of one of his hirelings.
“Overseer? You there? You snickered, and went silent. Did you experience another ‘refresh’ as you call it?” The Worgen extended his hand towards the armored human, a hard leather hand batted it out of the way.
“Don’t touch. I don’t need your inspection for any wounds at the moment. Simply reliving the moment.” He paused, recomposing himself, “I need you to check up on an Ashen haired woman, a priestess, Vivian is her name. Check if she’s fine, and the general response from everyone.”
“When you leave. Make sure it’s just you and her. Tell her that a ‘dark Knight’ is in need of your assistance due to a horrible injury. A headache, or a migraine. Make her feel terrible, and leave.”
The Worgen furrowed his brow at this odd request. “Don’t want me to poison anyone? Just reconnaissance?”
“Correct. Don’t harm anyone.”
“And I meet you back here, correct?”
“Indeed. Drop some hints too on my actions. Gauge their response. I’d need to be ready if I am to be targeted as prey once more. The last meeting with the ‘enforcement’ for the expedition led to several hidden blades.”
The leather bound Worgen nodded his head once, positioning himself in a crouching position on the railing. Nodding his head once before jumping off the balcony, fading into what little shadows Ironforge provided as he glided into the city.
The armored man shook his head, gazing at his drink. Stirring it gently in his stein before gulping down the remainder of the grog. He turned on his heels into the pub, seeking a refill on his drink. Something that kept him calm in his thoughts, though it was no longer his favorite drink.
He had a feeling that the spiral of events he set in motion from a strike of nostalgia was closing into the ultimatum of events. The last tower to be constructed, he had to attend. Weither he was allowed, or not. His thumb idly brushed past the lip of his helm closest to his mouth. Grazing his leather encased digit along the face of the radio pressing a button once only to sigh into it before ending his short transmission.
A drink was needed.