#nezzok

( Story point aimed to be before the current raid events, as this is during The Voidspire's assault and ending. ) Dinthoqaf stood upon one of the floating Silvermoon Terrace's, looking out over the vast city towards the Voidstorm. The look upon his features was one of heavy concentration and turmoil. What was going on up there? Only so many knew that were on this side of the storm. Many could guess, many had ideas, but how do you articulate the viewpoints of hundreds of people all at once? You could sit with a hundred scribes, each writing everything out all at once, and not come close to what The Defiler was currently screening out from the rest of his flock. The Nameless were up there along with some of his Anointed, fighting back the Storm and Devouring Host in some effort to try to escape, to pull back before the Voidstorm potentially snapped shut, or worse, erupted with an outpouring of such energy that the Devouring Host would live up to its name. The interference from The Void and Sunwell was playing havoc with The Sanguine. His connection was going lax and then snapping tight as it'd reconnect across the differences. People would disappear and then reconnect, some of them during something only veterans of horrific wars could recount in some fueled drinking session at the bar, recounting violent episodes of PTSD driven carnage. Monsters, Animals, Void-Amulgamations and Aberrations, Cultists, Ethereals. So many different creatures and enemies in this place coming from under the ground, from the 'Sky' (if one could call it that), and every other direction on foot. His Nameless were being slaughtered just trying to fight back the Voidstorm's mind-destroying influence and all these images rushed into The Defiler as some of them pleaded with their 'God' to save them, to make their death have meaning amongst the order to retreat. All he could do was cradle their consciousness in their last moments, sever their abilities to feel pain, to give them some moment of bliss as he led their last thoughts to their children, their spouses, to whatever memory made their minds slow and hearts calm. A horrific trick of illusion and mental tamperance, some would say, but what can a God do for a follower beyond making their final moments as peaceful as possible? They all knew that their children in the Academy would be tended for, and The Weaver ( @zalilirah ) was already on the path of making preparations to move those children elsewhere if it somehow became breached or under threat. The generations beyond would be protected as best they could, as was his promise made to each Nameless who swore their loyalty and faith.

The Prophet was already scouting secondary fallback positions in case Silvermoon was overrun and the elves were pushed out due to the Devouring Host or fallout if the Sunwell went supernova. The White Rose ( @vyvienne ), The Vile Shadow, Lewin, and so many others were on the other side of that portal into the Storm. People, Pieces, that could not nor would be replaceable, no matter who or what came after.

Nezzok was preparing Zul'Mashar in the event of a complete and total loss of the Region and Caer Darrow was being prepared too as a final fallback. He could not nor would not depend on the success of a group of elves who historically couldn't work together without in-fighting and he wouldn't be caught unprepared. How many people from Silvermoon would be displaced? How many would lose mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, or even children, because of everything currently going on? Even now, amongst the calamity, opportunity was being prov-.. Dinthoqaf hisses as his hands come to press against his temples. Another wave of connections reestablished as his Nameless were torn apart. Willpower came to push it back, to release the pressure to give him his train of thought. He needed his people out of there, but could not run the risk of The Sanguine being overloaded by walking into the Storm himself.

An exhausted sigh slips free. The weight of leadership had its gravitas, and this was one of the moments where the chains hung heavy. A chuckle comes free. Don't you remember when things like responsibility for others wasn't a concern?

"Yes, yes. I remember my days as The Seether. You ask this as if I'm as old as that scrote, Velen." A deep chuckle rumbles up from within but never leaves.

"Responsibility comes when we earn the position and have people looking to us for answers. Guidance. I am not Deathwing, Ragnaros, or any other of the hundreds of others who led their flocks and followers to their deaths without a care on what remains if they fail, let alone what remains on if they succeed. I need the Nameless and all of my Sanctum to remain as intact as possible if we manage to accomplish what I desire and to keep our grasp upon it. We cannot afford short sighted sprints; you should know this more than most after what? How long has it been now? Two hundred years? How many host bodies have we jumped between now too? Four? Five?"

Including your son's body that you took for yourself?

"Now you try to bring ethics into this?"

Quiet came back to his mind. A stalemate made or perhaps points by each side as the two refused to budge. Dinthoqaf was not alone anymore, or rather, he was never alone, but a voice that had once been lost now returned.

You realizes you can speak to me without opening your mouth, right, or have you forgotten?

"No, I didn't forget but it makes me feel less insane to converse verbally."

It certainly doesn't help in the appearance however...

It wasn't wrong there.

His pulse thumped in his ears as he stood over the dead nerubian. Panic washed over him as he tried to recall how it all happened. The trilling noises of Azj-Kahets denizens screamed in his ears over his pulse. His hands slapped against his ears in an attempt to drown it all out, as shaking footsteps carried him back away from the body till his back came into contact with the rocky wall face he had once been trying to hide against when it all started. They had left for the night, both mother and father to whatever obligation they had entered themselves into which left himself free to slip away and make one of his many solo trips down into the depths of Azj-Kahet. It should have been like any other time. Keeping to the shadowed outskirts of Dornogal till he arrived at the tunnel that would take him to even darker shadows that would be filled with strange plants, insects and even the occasional conversation with certain Nerubians that didnt understand that he himself was not supposed to really be out in such a place alone as he was. But their lack of understanding about the soft pink fleshed thing before them was used to his advantage to mill about the suspended platforms of their cities, listening in and learning the strange and fascinating language they spoke. This alone allowed him to garner some information on where the best places to find many of the specimens of insects he had cataloged while down here.

But this time he might have wandered a bit to far, been much to engrossed in his studies that he did not realize how close he had gotten to those Nerubians settlements that did not care for the outsiders being here, intruding on their domain. And his usual brand of luck that often made his seem invisible to many threats on his sneaking abouts apparently had run out. Spotted and through the broken words he did manage to understand he knew that he was in serious trouble. The sound of spindled legs catching up to him as he pushed himself through tight, dark crevices in hopes it would deter his pursuer only to come out the other side of the crevice to be face to face with his soon to be assailant. Multiple eyes shone in the dim light taking him in as sharpened mandibles twitched and clacked. Words being spoken to fast for him to interpet them in the frantic moment of being caught. He tried to push back into the crevice once more, trying to flee back to where he should have been in the first place, bored at home and surrounded by books. Why was it that these trips meant so much, these small hours of discovery picking at his brain learning and testing himself, why were they so important?! But all those thoughts were cut short as he felt clawed fingers snag him and paw at him as he was wretched from the crevice. He yelped as he was pulled free and hoisted off the ground, legs swinging and kicking as if it mattered. His hands tore at the arms holding him in some vain attempt at freedom, terrified with tears streaming down his face, glasses long since knocked off and cast to the ether of this place. And then there was a wet squelch and the Nerubian became still, its hands still holding tight to Thal'anil but now it made these movement as if afflicted with deep hiccups that shook its body in quick jarring motions. And then he saw the tendrils that began to snake up around the creature, tightening around its body, squeezing and pushing underneath its carapace plates to protrude out of other points in its body. Blood and other wet things falling in loud moist noises to the ground it began to loose its footing and topple down to the ground. Thal'anil falling out of its grasp. And that is where he was now. This dead being in front of him. He was so sure that the trouble he would find himself in would be immeasurable but how to rectify it, how to .....and then in his panic he had been so unaware of the other person that had come along until a large meaty hand set down upon his shoulder. "Da f'ok kid" Shadow tendril lashed out at the arm attached tothe hand that touched him, squeezing and boring though it till it severed from its owner. The weight of it hung from his body as the hand still gripped him despite being severed. "Holeeh shit boy-o! Man she weren't kiddin when she said she done got rid o all dat shadah an it musta went right inta ya." the voice broke out into a cackling laughter. Thal'anil turned now as if coming to the realization that the immediate danger was paused for the moment. "Nezzok?" the question came out in more of a squeak than he would have hoped. "Ju f'okin luckeh it be boy-o. Naht dat ya couldn' da well nough on ya own from da looks o it." The gigantic troll tower over the boy as he always did, now though he reached out and took the severed arm that still clung to the boys shoulder and crammed it back against the stump, letting the limb work to reattach itself. Once satisfied he crouched down next to the boy, his words changing over to Thalassian, albeit spoken like a tourist but understandable enough. "What are ya doing out here this far from tha city?" "I got side tracked I suppose and then.." "Ya cant afford to do that ya know? Not only cause ya mother would shit cats but ya arent trained to be out here like this. Impressive as that was to watch it was only one of them. " "I know but..how did I even do that? What was even all that? And what did you mean by her getting rid of shadow, are you talking about mom?"

Nezzok laughed "Ya probably did that cause like lotsa ya kind ya have some magical ability, especially given who ya parents are. Secondly it looked to be some sort of shadow magic and the last part is not my part to say cause I dont want to listen to ya mother screech in my ear for forty days and nights. " He put a meaty hand back on the kids shoulder this time not having to worry about it being severed in a state of panic. "Look, for what ever reasons ya mother and my brother wish to let ya an ya siblings live like normal people. And as much as I'd love to see ya raised into killing machines I will not piss ya pops off. Ya mom I could care less bout if shes mad or not but ya pops I do care." "We're gonna get ya home, where ya gonna stay besides school an if ya folks take ya out. "

After spending hours in her room at the inn with Varethuun watching over Nezzok, Varethuun assured everyone through the mind link that the troll had no magics or other surprises (that could be detected) on him that would make him a danger to the Sanctum. Considering how grumpy Nezzok was about being surrounded by the luxury of the Silvermoon Inn, she tended to concur. With that, Vyv decided to take a stroll around Silvermoon before returning for a few hours to the Damp.

While she said nothing to Varethuun about how she was feeling, she had the distinct impression it was already known. Returning to the Damp would put an end to the way she was being observed. Vyv wasn’t normally in receipt of another person’s close observation and it slightly bothered her. She found herself wondering if this is how others felt around her. It wouldn’t change her habits but it was an eye opening experience.

After seeing to some small business of chatting to the staff of the inn (one should never let any attempt to garner goodwill from those whom one wishes to keep secrets for you pass) Vyv made her way around the streets of Silvermoon, stopping for a while in the Court of the Sun to enjoy the fountain. She felt energized, full of the Light in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. She wasn’t aware that her aura was pure gold now, with only the barest minimum of Shadow hovering around the edges. Nor was she aware that this was most likely what Varethuun was observing.

Finally she made her way to the Damp. It had been weeks since Vyv had walked its halls and was pleasantly surprised to see the continued construction, particularly noticing that her bedroom was well underway. She allowed her feet to carry her to one of her favorite places in the compound, the study.

Vyv walked in, noticing all the small details. The Defiler’s desk, presently absent along with his exquisite tea set. She made a mental note to ask if it might be used in his absence. Tea sets were personal in her opinion, and not something one just picks up to use without permission. She noticed that much hadn’t changed since she was last here making her wonder if perhaps she was one of the only people that came to the study. Finally, she found herself in front of the books, starting to immediately peruse the section on Light based abilities.

This is something Vyv was intimately acquainted with. Her merge with Angelinne gave her many new talents, most notably an almost immediate ability to heal like one who had had the power for years. When the power moved from herself to her own child Emily in utero, she didn’t lose what she had gained. It’s as if she remained augmented even though it was obvious from Emily’s golden eyes that the Light was part of her from birth.

But what Vyv hadn’t noticed, outside of Angelinne constantly chattering in her ears, was the whisper (whispers?) which now seemed to resonate inside, without her bidding them to come or understanding where they were coming from. Incredibly similar to the whispers of the Shadow, but this was something as Shadow users intimately knew and expected. They were concerning and she partially expected Angelinne to speak to her at any moment. Part of her dreaded the idea that any entity might once again become part of her body and yet Vyv had to admit that many times she had felt lonely since losing Angelinne and miss her company and advice.

Vyv grabbed a book, settled onto the settee and began her reading. She knew the Light wasn’t fading and she was concerned what this may do to her Shadow abilities. Would they dim, leaving her weaker in the main talents she had come to rely on over the years or would they grow to meet the Light, tit for tat, as they always had in her. It was time to figure it out before speaking to Varethuun. She knew he would find her soon enough and Vyv wanted to have some more knowledge to share before that happened. She had always considered knowledge to be one of the best powers to obtain and this was no exception.

[ This is a direct continuation of the previous story, A Return to Sender. This possesses the same TW warnings, including gore and body horror! ]

A bloody, barbaric scream erupts from The Defiler's throat as Zalilirah helps to drag the limping elf into the room. Frozen Nameless locking eyes in horror from the depths of their hoods, watch as the man's throat bulges as something cuts off his scream. Zalilirah lost hold of him, causing Dinthoqaf to stumble and crash against a table placed in the center. A bowl and various tidbits went flying as his hands took hold of it to try to steady himself, as his jaw began to open wide, impossibly so, to the point flesh began to tear and splash down his front and across the lacquered surface he was holding onto for dear life.

( A short story for Ammaelin Bloodcrest, Enemy and Brother of Dinthoqaf. For some background, the SotF recently had an event over the weekend where Nezzok (played by @zalilirah) paraded around Ammaelin's once-believed dead and ghoul-turned wife and son. Needless to say, this was a devastating mental blow for Ammaelin as he believed he had put them to rest via the torching of their home. This story is an exchange between Ammaelin and Nezzok as afterward Ammaelin collected the Undead Troll, taking him for capture to get his revenge on the matter while also attempting to gain information on his brothers' movements.) [[ TW: Language, Violence, Sexual Degradation and allusions to descecrating a corpse. Please be aware, however, as the references are just that and nothing was actually written out or played due to the distastefulness of the topic itself. It is a mechanism to show how vile a character is and what depths one will go to mentally abuse another. I would highly encourage that if your senses are offended by this, DO NOT read it.]]

-- Nothing lewd happens to Ammaelins son for any of this either! Ammaelins son was unfortunately caught by the scourge, killed, and brought back as Ghoul. I do not and would never encourage writing of any quantity to incorporate a minor. --

Journal Entry - 5471; Ammaelin's Arrival

The Operation had started off well enough. Skormosh, Nepenth, Varethuun, Ryo, Nezzok, and Runeva. Squad didn't fit given their strengths and abilities. These people stood up and over the common rank and file, not just by a head's height either. Each of them was a mountain amongst molehills, capable of downing dozens of people on their own if not far more. So the decimation of my Brothers forces was meant to be a cake walk, putting it into simplistic terms. What we expected and what we got was anything but. A trap, the best I can put it. I had assumed we were the one setting the ambush, but looking back at the accounts, I can only assume Ammaelin knew we would move and put his forces out as bait. He sacrificed them and it paid off. The Sanctum showed up and began to summarily dispose of those who'd gathered and amongst the fighting, a priest managed to send off a signal and in his usual gallant fashion, came riding in on his proto-drake, and slammed into my people like some sort of holy meteor, immediately putting their actions to rest.

I watched them through the Sanguine, curious to see if they could handle his machismo only to discover that every effort, aside from the few lucky strikes that managed to get past his defenses, did absolutely nothing. Magical in nature, surely. I need to find out -why- his fortitude has grown so strong over the years. When he interfered on behest of that god damned goblin and his half-breed wife, he didn't boast this sort of strength... Something has changed. I grow distracted though with my thoughts, as this entry is meant to be one to categorize events over hypothesization. When it became apparent those within the Sanctum weren't going to be able to handle them, I decided to insert myself into the ordeal, only to be summarily removed from play before I could even properly assimilate from my transference. Ammaelin's hammer, a relic similar to my Scythe I feel, was crafted with Holy Blessings during its creation and imbued with magical crystals containing the Light. A fearsome tool made to take people like me and mine off the board and it did its job well. As the goblins like to put it, he 'knocked me into next week'. Before I could hit another surface a portal opened behind him, taking me off to some remote part of the Arathi Highlands.

A trap within a trap and we'd all walked right into it. Another failure on my part, starting to mount and it grows so very tiring, especially when the Sanctum looks to me for answers. Still, this was unexpected as my Father waited for me on the other side and it became all the clearer. He had orchestrated all of this. Ammaelin's rise to and of power, the ambush of my people, and inevitably the bait I took that put me to stand before him. The old man was near as I remembered him. Well, save for the parlor of his grey, undead skin, and the crimson color of his eyes. He was no longer living, that much I could divine, and before words could be set, he was upon me. He moved with a speed I could scarcely reconcile. I'd never seen Undead move in such a fashion, especially magical ones. It was as if he'd taken on teachings of Pandaren Monks and Demon Hunters to mix with his own magical acquirements over the years. If this did not worry me, I would be eager with curiosity, ravenous with it like Varethuun, if I did not know what it could spell for me. It took everything I had to keep him back and worse still, as I felt Nezzok's connection across the Sanguine fade as he was captured, I faltered, distracted. Krownos made his move, set upon me in a grapple, declaring how easy it'd be for him to take Ammaelin once I had been consumed. I could see it in his eyes. We were all but tools to fuel his fire, a hunger I could relate to well, but... fate has a way of taking things into control when one least expects it. By all accounts, I should not be here to write this, I should have been absorbed but Krownos' arm burst into fel flame and moved of its own accord. It turned on him, grabbed at his face and neck, throttling him to the point it burned his undead flesh. His body revolted and it's in this instant I could feel Sanelastus within him. His spirit, soul, whatever remained, was fighting to keep him from obtaining me, condemning me to the same fate he had suffered.

Sanelastus saved me, but to what end, I do not know for the conflict was enough that Krownos howled with an unkempt rage and retreated, feuding with himself. Sanelastus bought me time...

I will not, cannot, let it go to waste. Ammaelin's boost in power must be discovered and finding out what happened with my Father and why may prove critical to my and my Sanctum's very survival. Nezzok has been captured, held prisoner at my brother's estate, kept under lock, key, and holy power to contain his undead form. Ryo gathers a scouting party to discern more information and soon Zalilirah and I will put to task a two-pronged effort to at least try to handicap my Brother, to bring him to a more manageable level. I feel that if we can navigate properly and remove him from the board before my father decides to simply absorb him instead of using him like a pawn, we may find a way to actually take Krownos down as well.

(Image of Zul'mashar in current Retail WoW) The Eastern Plaguelands were always a place of death anymore. Sure, the Crusaders were doing their best to mop up and rejuvenate the land, but despite these efforts, new ziggurats and new pockets of Scourge kept coming with it all and each offensive only made worse creations come about. This, however, wasn’t about either of them as Dinthoqaf came to wander through the foothills and mountains between the Dark Forest (now known as The Ghostlands) and the Eastweald (Area east of Lordaeron). Nestled back amongst it all in a hidden holler was a forgotten Mossflayer temple. The air around it smelled of stale death as no wind blew through the ever-dying trees. The ground and grass held an audible crunch of near-deathly dryness that protested Dinthoqaf’s more conventional method of approach. This was intentional if nothing else, as these lands were not his but another's and he knew he’d not only been felt on approach but somewhere here, always, was the presence of little buttoned eyes scurrying and watching in silence as hundreds of Voodoo Dolls wander and wobble their way place to place. They were his eyes and hands, much like The Nameless was Dinthoqaf’s. The Temple steps rose before him, allowing access into the boughs of its depths if one knew where to find it, knew where to look, or rather, how to find passage through its doorways. Within the air was staler, not quite rank but stagnant to the point one with any tastebuds could taste it simply by breathing it in through their nose. It was not a scent that merely disappeared because you wished it would.

(Image of The Sunken Temple in Retail WoW)

The inclined hall leading down into the earth was one lined with old troll architecture that dated back centuries, perhaps even millennia judging by the way that even down here, grooves had been left along the floor as naked soles passed across them. Stone once yelled now turned a brackish green from moss and age and dust began to accumulate in the corners so thick one couldn't tell if it was dust or dirt anymore. Despite this aging, it did not stop small wandering eyes from watching from forgotten little holes, vented wall gaps, and all manners of little alcoves that burlap or cottoned bodies could only fit within. It reminded him quite a bit of his years in meeting Nezzok, in meeting The Eventide Emperor too, a time that led to his wife and eventually a split that created the foundations of The Sanctum. In a sense, these halls were as near a walk down memory lane as he would be afforded.

(Image of The Sunken Temple in Retail WoW)

Down further and further, even here, the air began to grow humid and thick as the earth surrounding it insulated and well as protected. Bodies were kept preserved where possible, and some Dinthoqaf recognized, parts and specimens meant to be used for replacement parts for Nezzok should his undead vessel become overly damaged. A museum of sorts, but this is not where he needed to be nor was it a place he had a desire to gawk. Not because it made him uncomfortable or due to some issue with the process at all, but primarily because it held no actual interest for him as of current. No, what was needed was further within. Through twisting halls and corridors, rooms filled with working dolls, half-mummified bodies, and others being disposed of save for their hair being collected to be used later, Dinthoqaf walked. "Took ya long 'nough Bruddah. Wha'cha da, get stuck holdin' dah Weavah's shoppin' bags 'gain?" Nezzok now squat over the edge of a now dry 'pool' that once was used for some form of ritual baptism or something of the like. Maybe it had been blood, water, or something else entirely to commune with spirits or loa of some forgotten sort, but now, it housed two very specific things. Even in his given posture, the Troll was enormous and hulked over Dinthoqaf as he came to stand beside him. Nezzok's arms, the four of them, worked as the lower set knitted together hair from a pile nearby into what would later become fine cloths. Another arm perched on a knee at the elbow as the fourth worked on a Cigar that would come off as laughably large in the hands of The Defiler. Dinthoqaf would not answer this, knowing that The Collector and The Weaver would have tried to kill one another ages ago if it hadn't been for his position between the two of them. As much as they squabbled, they did not dare break that covenant and risk his ire. "And here I thought you were going to complain about me taking the scenic route here instead of doing something fancy to let myself in." He retorted, a little smirk coming about his face as he looked down into the pit. There against the wall, now that living flesh was here, were two Scourged Ghouls that belonged to the body of an elven woman and another an elven child. Their bodies were half-eaten with rot and the other half charred. Someone had tried to dispatch them and clearly failed.

(Image from Pride, Prejudice, & Zombies)

[[Applicable TW ahead blood and horror and stuffs]]

Thal'anil had been perched up in the upper part of the study, tucked away upon lavish cushions and large windows that made for excellent reading. School had begun again cutting a summer of sneaking out to catalog bugs and mapping star charts come to an end but leaving behind assignments and papers to be studied instead. Small particles of dust filtered through the airs, illuminated by the suns rich golden rays through the windows and the smell of oils, herbs and incenses perfumed the room only to be mingled with the smell of paper and leather bound books. The quiet tranquil day was cut short as the sounds of a loud commotion and yelling carried down the hallways like a storm caught indoors. Crashing and hollering continuing that made him toss the book down with no regard to bookmarking his page as he began frantic steps to the lower part of the room. As his hand reached for the door to throw it wide and rush out into the hall he stopped. No, quietly. Fear and panic makes you a target for larger things and beyond the door who knew what was out there. He steadied himself forcing his breath and heart to slow, just like he did when he went sneaking about Ahj'kahet, willing himself to think like the shadows that hid in nooks and crannies of the places he'd sneak off to.

And with that he cracked the door, then widened it before slipping into the hallway. Crashing and screaming continued growing louder as he the further he pressed on till the chasm of light that poured out from an open doorway seemed to amplify the commotion. The double doors seemed to have been thrown open in haste enough for them to bounce back slightly allowing him to peer between crack in the door and the frame. Blood. Black tarry blood was everywhere. His mother was on the floor with his father thrashing in her arms at his body seemed to be ripping apart. Her usual immaculate appearance now a sight of loose hair, blood covering so much of her face and body. He couldnt look away. Even as bones broke and his mother screamed for Nezzok...and hands, hands coming out of fathers body.

Even as Nezzok appeared in the room in his usual fashion and their words became white noise and mumbles they had not seen him nor could he turn away. It wasnt until the Nameless that were in the room poured out of it and the doors were slammed shut in a thunderous boom did he seem to remember to breathe. One of the Nameless jumped at noticing him there, of all things to be startled by in this moment it was the young man peeping in the hallway. "Young Master. T-this is not the place for you, you should not be here." they went to place a hand on Thal'anils shoulder which made him jump now. Thal'anil looked at woman in front of him, he was basically the same height but here he was being lead away like a small child. He had no words to put to the many things racing around his head. His mind trying to make sense of what he had seen, what would come of it, was his father dead? He would have to be, right? The Nameless woman lead back to the study from whence he came, guiding him into a chair. "We will sit here till it is time to ponder such questions to someone who can answer them. But do not put to much worry upon yourself Young Master....all will be as it should be. Have Faith." She drew down a cover from the back of the chair and wrapped it around him and pressed a finger against his forehead that once lifted caused the room to fade away like a dream. But hopefully this dream would not be one repeated for some time.