Vaultkeeper Zevvix

Nickname—The Hammer Age—Ancient ok Birthplace—K’aresh Race—Ethereal Affiliation—Consortium (ish) Class—Phaseblade Profession—Vaultkeeper, Arbiter of Asset Assurance Voice/vibe claim—John Mulaney

Personality

Polite in theory, Zevvix is what happens when a high-functioning bureaucrat survives a millennia of Arcane nonsense with zero supervision. He’s clever, efficient, and maybe just a little feral. Will absolutely correct your algorithms while eating a little snack he stole from your bag.

He’s not evil, he just has...strong opinions. Basically, those wraps hold a rolling internal monologue of sarcastic commentary, endearing self-deprecation, and an extremely flexible relationship with authority (unless he’s the authority, then the rules are completely made up).

Lore

Technically still part of the Consortium, but lowkey thinks its a K’areshi pyramid scheme that hoards Arcane debt like a deckbuilder. Says they only really love two things: contracts and ignoring the containment alarms. Stopped going to staff meetings but still uses the title because, well, who’s gonna stop him?

Chaotic, occasionally a little “drunk” (details and substance unknown), but unsettlingly competent. Like, scary good. Phaseblade-certified, specialized in memory security. Like, “I can lock up your worst memories with fringe security methods and charge you rent” kind of good.

Supposedly earned the nickname The Hammer after almost deleting an entire trade vessel at an interdimensional auction. Officially? Nope. Doesn't wield hammers.

This is kinda inspired by Zevvix's Very Special Vault Security™. Basically, writing a weird sidebar story from headcanon about pocket dimension storage.

So one of Zevvix's hobbies is cracking vintage Ethereal security, especially for devices you can fish out of some black market bargain bin. Older locks used primitive tech, but boring memories are still the best keys. AND the best stories.

Elu smiled, folding her arms.

“People…" the Ethereal cleared his throat, “people always say it's rude to interrupt someone while they're talking.

Especially on a first date.

Which, sure, that's a beautiful principle. But eventually it stops being an interruption and starts being…”

Fingers wiggled, searching. 

“What's the...OH!” with a snap he sent one toward her.

“Quality control.” 

“This guy had been talking about himself for, oh I don't know, long enough for the soup to become symbolic.

So I just stood up.

Like it was some really confusing personal revelation.

Hands on the table.

Made direct eye contact.

And I said, rather loudly, I'm just realizing, ‘No, thank you.’

‘I've seen this movie before.’”

Zevvix leaned heavily into the chair, all too soon reliving past confidence with volume:

“Then I walked out!

I left!”

“And here's the thing.” His gaze idled over the bandages on his left hand. “I was so proud of myself. For about, hm...two days.”

Two fingers shot up, lips miming the words.

“Because then it hit me.”

He sputtered.

“I have absolutely no idea what happened after I left.

Did he cry?

Did he argue with an empty chair?

Did the waiter come over like, ‘...Sir, should I, er...bring dessert to commemorate what just happened?’

…

I don't know!

I left!”

Elu shrugged.

The volume again:

“I walked out of my own favorite scene!”

“And a real shame. Because you just know the look on his face was—”

Zevvix attempted a chef's kiss.

Elu squinted.

“Oh. OH. Sweet, sweet N'Zoth.”

Brows (?) taunted as his voice dipped freakishly low.

“I bet…it was good.”

She waited for a bow, because of course he would bow, before offering a slow clap.

“Well met. I just have one question…”

Zevvix aimed a finger. “Shoot, lil lady.”

Zevvix doesn’t just 'store relics', no, that’s amateur hour stuff. His memory security system is extra, built on one core idea: No memory should exist in a single, coherent, retrievable state. Containment is serious business.

The design, inspired by Ethereal Memory Security, is a vault that manages access via memory, splitting it into smaller pieces. To access the vault's key the pieces must be arranged in the correct order. It is also worth noting that the order itself is regularly randomized by a proprietary system, the Cosmic Chaos Protocol.

Encryption is managed by the Emotion Layer, an algorithm that requires continuity when recalling a memory's contradictory emotional states to complete the sequence. If force is detected, the Decoy Memory Protocol activates. This protocol generates a maze of false memories causing a would-be thief's ability to verify them to degrade over time. The experience is often described as “so real”.

Zevvix is generally adamant about distributed storage for nearly everything. And failsafes are noted as needing “a little something extra” to access at the cost of convenience.

-

Greetings!

You do not know me, but I have discovered your identity through my research on the activities of fellow K'areshi here in Azeroth. It is my understanding that you specialize in the safekeeping of valuable relics - a service I am very much in need of. I should like to make your acquaintance and discuss a possible partnership.

I imagine you have many questions - how did my missive make its way into your vault, who exactly am I, so on and so forth. I am an artificer of great renown hailing from Tazavesh. In the interest of keeping our written communications confidential, I shall leave it at that. However, I have no doubt that my skillset shall be of great use to you, should you choose to pursue a business partnership. If that is indeed the case, simply record your response in the space below.

[Several lines allowing for a written response follow. One might be able to sense that it is enchanted to transmit anything written to the original sender.]

PS. This missive is set to incinerate itself 15 minutes from its opening. You have been warned.

( @xyela )

[The response is written neatly enough. The length of lavender parchment bears a crude sketch of a galleon in the margin for some reason.]

Good day!

First of all, thank you for the warning. I appreciate knowing when a piece of mail intends to explode. Very Tazavesh. However, in the future I would suggest leading with the warning. Or a countdown. The incineration was very inconveniently timed.

You are correct in your assessment, and I am very particular about relic security. Also, apologies for the delayed reply, I have terrible luck with missives. One time I opened one and well, let's just say I found myself committed to a rather lascivious event aboard a Steamwheedle trade vessel. Though the gift bags were nice.

That said, the fact that your message arrived here at all suggests either competence or luck. I find the former more profitable. If punctuality is an issue, I regret to inform you that it is my issue. Still, the Cartel has given me enough opinions about punctuality for one lifetime. I do my best where business is concerned.

May I suggest we meet at Curses & Curios in Boralus or The Ledger tavern in Undermine. Please bring an item of your choice for assessment. Nothing that monologues, please.

Signed,

Vaultkeeper Zevvix (The Hammer)

Zevvix had nearly drifted off at the desk when the first knock landed. One would think a shop full of cursed things offered nothing but endless excitement...but on a night like this? Well, even questionable objects understood tedium. Especially the really old ones.

Tedium, or was it prelude?

Definitely prelude.

Storms had a way of announcing something inconvenient—either well-dressed or with teeth. Sadly, never both. But with any luck, the inconvenience would be in the market for ritual or trade.

The second knock jolted him upright. A mysterious clatter followed. Quills, a few ledgers, marbles for some reason, and then the inevitable expletives. K’areshi ones, naturally, muffled, just before the door swung open.

He attempted what usually passed for a welcoming smile. Hard to say if it worked with an Ethereal’s facial…situation. Still, he stepped aside, the gesture normal enough to compensate. Whether the man was trouble or simply carrying it under his arm, he had likely expected someone else to greet him.

Zevvix waited.

The Ledger was abuzz with its usual denizens: an unsavory collection of Tazavesh’s minor criminals, morally-flexible merchants, and the occasional adventurer tempting the vibe of, mind your own.

Naturally, not a glance was spared, curious or otherwise, for an Ethereal slumped at the bar today. But in spite of his flickering, the question had stirred coherence. Or at least an attempt at it. 

The stool gave a rude squeak as he turned to face his company. With a gulp of nausea, a hand lifted.

“Okay, first of all—rude.”

Another gulp, slightly more concerning this time.

“Second, I’m…ah, alchemically stabilized,” a wave.

The tone winked for moment, “No worries. Get it all the time.”

“Third. And this is the important part—” he swayed closer, an orbit clearly overshot three sentences ago. “Security.”

An emphatic nod.

“You ever try to interrogate a guy who can’t remember the rules of whatever plane he got spat into?”

“No?”

He sent a finger toward his company. “Exactly.” 

“That’s called—” a hiccup, “protocol.” He pointed to himself for some reason.

Then, “Wait...wait.”

Without another word, he began rummaging through his robes, fishing out a sad book and pen. The pen was horribly chewed somehow. He flipped to a random page—what appeared to be a very detailed sketch of a vault floor plan.

But he was already making a sideways scribble in the margin. “Mhm, mhm…”

Finally, a few stabs as punctuation. A pause. He decided to underline it three times.

“There,” the Ethereal leaned back with a satisfied exhale, as if the conclusion were at all clear. “This conversation is now officially ‘business’.”

He tipped his head toward the elf, “A drink?”

The Vaultkeeper and The Archivist