[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature

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Echo of the Past
Traitor

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 10, 2010 13:44:31 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 10, 2010 13:44:31 GMT -5

The following links tell bits and pieces of Khaz's story in chronological order. Many are contained within this thread as what I like to call 'history expansions', but others still are links to stories from the story board or Role Plays. My intent is to keep this updated.

Below the list of links you will find the breakdown of her history and the beginning of the actual history expansions. Enjoy! ;D

Key for markings:
(S) - Story.
(H) - History Expansion.
(RP*) - RP thread, ongoing.
(RP) - RP thread, concluded.

All of the (H) links are links to this thread so in theory you could just read through. Also, all of the (H) links are in order in this thread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Table of Contents

Better Left Unknown (S)
My Mother's Name (H)
An Inventor's Beginning (H)
The Unwanted Mentor (H)
The Thousand Needles (H)
Tick is Born (H)
Crossing the Line (H)
New Skin (H)
Amainala (H)
Sweet Dreams (H)
...
...
...
A New Life's Start (S)
Restraint and Yielding to it (RP)
Hands Tied in a Gambling Match (S)
Infiltrating Stormwind (S)
An Audience With the King (S)
A Fate Sealed by Actions (RP)
Laid to Rest (S)
Dreams of Falling (RP*)
Search for Insanity (RP)
Under Water (S)
Quiet Morning in Silvermoon (RP*)
I Spy Something... Dark! (RP*)
The Odds Catch Up (RP*)
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Reposting Jen's history in a thread I can edit.

Thanks for helping me consolidate these, Kat!

Here goes, post by post:

October 22, 2010 1:37 pm Jenkantu Said:
Brief, Out of Character Time Line - No dates & missing names.

First let me say I am unfortunately the worst student of history you have ever met. Really. I can't remember dates of significance in the real world to save my life, much less in a fantasy setting.

Second, forgive me if I generalize Jen's history. Much of it has occurred in my mind as a play for which the curtains remain closed. After all, once I put the history down in cold, hard text there's no real room to modify it. What if another character comes along later who would have been a perfect match as 'coworker' for Jen once upon a time in history but I've already stated she worked completely alone for the only time frame viable to the other character's history? That would be no good.

Third, I leave out names on certain characters in case someone else comes along and thinks, 'Hmm, I could have a lot of fun being X in Jen's story'.

Most highlights of her history are alluded to in her character description (here) anyway, but I'm going to give it a slightly more-defined and hopefully chronological time frame here, with big highlights marked by a leading asterisk:

~~~~~~~~~~

--Jen was born in an internment camp, and truly was lucky her father originally laid claim to his offspring, though she would never see herself as such. The Orc, despite his best attempts, did find pride in his daughter on occasion. But Jen was a fireball, and she was prone to lashing out at the disapproval of others, regardless of who they were or what position they held. For this reason Jen's father 'tempered' her. To do so he was forced to break her spirits to at least some degree, resulting in Jen's acceptance of her place for a time. She was timid then, and held hatred in her heart for the abuse visited her body at her father's hands for years to come.

--As Jen grew she found herself benefiting from her human heritage in some ways. She was more dexterous than her full-blooded Orc counterparts, and that lent itself to her going unnoticed. She did this much because most of the time when she was noticed it was only to be ordered about or made fun of.

*-Sometime during her young adolescence Jen actually saw the softer side of her father. He'd been drinking more than usual and it was on this night he told Jen about her mother. The half-orc had never seen the woman, but from the sound of it she had belonged to Jen's father for many years prior to giving birth to Jen. Jen was surprised to hear that her mother had been left alive near an Alliance outpost in Ashenvale. She asked her father a single question, very quietly, praying not to break his drunken stupor and bring abuse on herself. That question was her mother's name, and on that night she learned it: Milanthe. Soon after they migrated to Orgrimmar.

--Jen began truly practicing and improving upon her skill at going unseen in the large city of Orgrimmar, for here there was always someone to torment her, someone to draw attention to her. She learned to step lightly, making less and less noise with her footfalls, to move swiftly so as to be required to remain stationary as little a time as possible, and to skirt the outside of any thoroughfare and thereby avoid brushing up with people. These things drew the attention of the Shattered Hand, and before long Jen received an odd message. It required her to travel to the Valley of Trials, and Jen took some time in coming up with a good excuse to go. Eventually she did though, and her father, drunk one evening, granted her his leave. Jen skirted off out of the city and made her way to seek out an Orc by the name of Rwag. He would be her mentor in the ways of thieves and of assassins, for someone had spotted her subtly winding her way in and around Orgrimmar, and evidently they had seen potential in her.

--Jen worked away from Orgrimmar for a while, sending correspondence to her father and having convinced him she'd been required to travel to Razor Hill for an insult paid to the wrong individual and the desire to make amends without drawing their attention on her father. She traveled from the Valley to Razor Hill, from there to the Barrens for a time. She left a mark on the Crossroads, but she had word from another thief who was in Razor Hill on a regular basis that her father had come around. He'd had no reason to suspect a lie, but eventually he traveled to Razor Hill, and when Jen wasn't there... Well she knew things could become increasingly interesting very quickly if she didn't curb her father fast enough. The would-be assassin made haste back to Orgrimmar upon learning of her father muddling around in Razor Hill. Her skills had advanced, though she was no expert yet. Still, the Shattered Hand extended membership to her if she could accomplish one more task.

*-Jen was sent to Ratchet to meet with a Goblin called 'Wrenix the Wretched'. He was an interesting enough encounter, but more interesting were the mechanical devices Jen caught sight of in the Goblin city. As she walked about it she eventually found a goblin willing to teach her about them, about the crafting of them... Jen agreed to pay the fee required in exchange for the knowledge, already keenly aware of the possibilities having her own supply of explosives at her fingers would give her, not to mention some of the other bizarre machines she was seeing.

--Jen did set out on the task required and after many failed attempts to open the locked chest hidden in one of the Bloodsail Buccaneer's ships, she heard the sweet click of success, only the chest was empty when she lifted the lid. She killed its guardian, with the aid of a cracker given her by the mechanical cohort of Wrenix, and there found what she sought. This she took back to Wrenix, who sent her on to Orgrimmar.

*-Jen enlisted in the Shattered Hand, and not a moment too soon. An old friend of her father's by the name of Sora'jan came around and found her talking to one of the mentors in the Drag. Sora'jan told them he was taking her, but the mentors stepped in, calling upon Sora'jan's own allegiance to the Shattered Hand to protect Jen. Oh the irony was sweet in Jen's mind, for that time at least. And Sora'jan escorted her back to her father's dwelling, where the troll informed her father that she had joined the Shattered Hand and so was off limits to him. Her father was furious, but Sora'jan quieted him by promising to be sure Jen was his pupil.

--Jen learned from Sora'jan as he had promised her father. Punishments were harsh beyond anything she'd yet known, and more than once she felt the taste of lashes. Sometimes these were made by simple switches, sometimes whips, and on particularly trying occasions by wire. Jen learned a new and deep hatred for someone outside her own bloodlines, someone outside her race. The short span of years she spent under Sora'jan's thumb seemed to drag into an eternity, but it pushed Jen to do better, be more efficient, grow stronger, and the half-orc did. Eventually she surpassed her mentor, or at least she thought so.

*-This was where her understanding of hatred transitioned to a new dimension. Jenkantu tried to kill Sora'jan. She'd planned it perfectly. They both traveled on business for the Shattered Hand and she waited until they'd reached a dusty, tall crevice in a place called The Thousand Needles. There was no one to hear them if the struggle grew loud, no outpost to respond, least not from where they were nestled. Perhaps centaur raiders, but Jen was skilled enough to avoid them. Sora'jan crouched by a steaming pool of water amid the pillars of the canyon and Jen took the opportunity. She moved quietly, feet barely making a noise on the canyon dirt. She drew close behind him, her hand struck out, blade tight in the palm. At the last possible moment Sora'jan's hand caught Jen's wrist. Her throat ran dry and the sense of apprehension spread through her. 'Nice try' he said, and then he taught her why you should never underestimate your opponent. Jen suffered the heat, the beatings, the dirt grinding into her open wounds, and much more in the canyon for her attempted betrayal. There, in that vast canyon, at that place where no one would hear them if the struggle grew loud, where no outpost would respond, Sora'jan became her first lover, though there was no love of any sort lost between them.

--Sora'jan didn't report Jen's betrayal. He felt he'd dealt with it sufficiently by the time he was in a position to do so, and by not doing so he held a trump card over Jen. He used it liberally, making Jen his companion not only as a thief and assassin, but as a lover. She hated him, but she had no confidence left in her abilities after his punishment, least not when she thought about putting a stop to his abuse. Instead of acting on such impulses, Jen studied the 'art' of engineering. She learned to love its destructive beauty, and soon became familiar with schematics available exclusively to the goblin crafters of the profession. Gnomes looked down on it, but Jen looked down on gnomes. The assassin discovered a particularly fun schematic in Gnomeregan on a venture there. She set about making her very own Mechanical Bombling soon after that venture. This pet has since been named 'Tick', and holds a very dear place in the assassin's heart.

--She felt no compassion for those she killed, nor indeed for those she could have. The weak got nothing in life, this lesson had been made amply clear. Perhaps the reason for her interest when a particularly aged and powerful warlock by the name of Doel approached her. The warlock needed someone dead, but it had to look like a task carried out by the Horde. Jen wanted a way out. Doel proposed she stage the assassination and he infuse her with demonic power, enough to modify her form and give her an edge. Jenkantu accepted readily.

--Jenkantu became Milanthe. The human with usually-oily black hair worn back in a ponytail, eyes an almost-violet red from the demonic methods used to change her, pale yellow-tinged skin, sensual curves, strong muscles. She chose her mother's name, and staged the assassination per Doel's requirement. Of course, now she had a new overseer. Doel didn't make Jen hate him, he merely exercised control. The two brushed toes more than once in anger, but more often than not Jenkantu was smart, Doel was willing to overlook her temper, and they got along in the end. Jen worked for Doel for a few years among the alliance.

*-During this time Jenkantu came upon the first soul she saw value in, or that soul came upon her. It was a night elf druidess who stumbled upon Jen while she was stranded and alone in a place known as Hellfire Peninsula. Jen was fighting with 'Shattered Hand' fel Orcs. A new breed of Orcs claiming heritage that tied to her previous organization. Jen delighted in ending their lives, but perhaps too much, for now she was outnumbered underneath their daunting and massive Hellfire Citadel. The fight became close, but well-placed explosives helped to even the odds. In the end Jenkantu should have lost, should have fallen to the last standing fel Orc. She was staggering, bleeding from her side and from her thigh. The blade in her hand was in a weak grasp. A bright pillar of light broke the shadows the citadel. Sudden, intense, the pillar tore through the fel Orc's skin, arcane energy crackling and dissipating as quickly as it came, then another, then a crackling ball of green energy. The fel Orc collapsed into his death, and behind the fallen body amassed with seven others of his kind Jenkantu now saw a night elf. Green energy swirled around her hands, and suddenly the pain from Jen's side and thigh were washed in a the cool, nurturing embrace of Nature's healing. This druid's name was Amainala.

*-Jen traveled with Amainala, who insisted no payment was necessary. She grew to be more at peace than she had been in her entire life. Over time their relationship turned from one of friendship to something oddly deeper. Jen loved Amainala, an emotion she'd not felt before. Amainala cared for Jen, though not romantically. Jen never confessed her love of the elf was romantic, instead simply acting as though it were a sisterly love, but all she could see of the elf was beauty. Beautiful form, beautiful mind, and startlingly beautiful spirit. Nurture and love, and yet raw, ruthless power from the bosom of nature.

*-The two traveled all of Outland together, and later even ventured to Northrend. Jen and Amainala had a brief falling out when Jenkantu admitted to Amainala that she was truly a half-orc, and that she was once an assassin for the Shattered Hand. It turned out Amainala too had suffered rape from the hands of the Shattered Hand, and her feelings against the organization were strong. She left Jenkantu, angry with her for hiding her heritage. Jen had never known loss, or at least not loss she had cared about. It stung her both in her pride (which by now she had fully recovered) and in her heart. She let Amainala go, for the druidess promised to return by a year's end with a decision about their future as adventuring companions. Amainala didn't return within the promised time frame and Jenkantu went to investigate. She found her friend's body in Zangarmarsh, partially decomposed. Grief was born in Jenkantu's heart from this experience. Grief, and unbridled madness. The half-orc scoured the grounds around the small hut she'd found Amainala in and eventually found traces of a human. She followed the trail and learned the man to be well-regarded in Stormwind, viewed as a hero and an upstanding contributor to society. Jen's evidence was all circumstantial and she knew no one would take heed of the words of a half-orc, for while muted her heritage was still visible to the trained eye. She knew such allegations would draw close scrutiny. Rather than appeal to others she took the matter into her own hands and meted out an agonizingly slow and painful death to the well-regarded human.

--Of course Jenkantu could no longer remain a part of the Alliance. 'Milanthe' was strongly implicated in the murder and a little too well-known for her other exploits. Rather than linger among their ranks waiting for death to find her, Jenkantu went to Doel. The warlock mocked Jen, refusing to withdraw the power he'd given, refusing to undo the changes. Jenkantu taught him a lesson about his mockery. She had grown in power in her own merit since his 'boons' had been given to her, and now she had the edge. She showed the Warlock the error of his assumptions and rather than die he withdrew the demonic boon that had been given the half-orc. She felt power tear from her body and her muscles dwindled slightly, her curves grew more suppressed, her fangs came to sharper points, her skin darkened. It was undone... And she was in the heart of Stormwind (albeit in a labyrinth below one of the inns there).

--Jen carefully made her way out of the city, using the canals to her advantage. Then she traveled through Azeroth. She roamed for a long while, undecided in her next course of actions. She hated the Horde, but she now had no place in the Alliance. Harboring in neutral cities would eventually mean death. Jen knew what must be done. She came to Orgrimmar, stealthily and in disguise, and made her way once more to the Cleft of Shadow. Here she bargained for her life, the murder of the hero in Stormwind being a point in her favor, and her intricate knowledge of the workings of the Alliance ultimately being the only thing to save her from death. But they made her brand herself, they wanted it someplace she would always remember. As in the old days they asked her to maim herself for admittance, a practice long stopped in the Shattered Hand. It was an appropriate punishment for one such as Jen though. She agreed, driving a stiletto through her own primary weapon hand, and so regained a place in the Horde if at the bottom of the totem pole again.

--Jen now looks for a different place, outside of the Shattered Hand's reach. She has been branded both a traitor and a hero, though the first typically outweighs the second, and finds herself an outcast even among outcasts.

~~~~~~~~~~

Did I say "Brief"? Imagine if it were truly all written out. Also do note I leave a lot out, but that should give a vaguely chronological indication of what Jen's been doing where and at what time. =)

Also please forgive any typos (there are bound to be many).

October 22, 2010 2:20 pm Shari'Adune Forestsong Said:
((I truly loved reading this! Even with the way you point formed things it it still played in my mind somewhat like a theatrical trailer, and it was very engaging! This character sounds so very rich. I look forward to seeing more about her! Thank you for posting.))

October 22, 2010 5:28 pm Sumi Said:
((WoW. Uh--WoW. lol Fantastic and interesting. This description/time-line kept my attention the whole time! I agree with Shari, it did feel like a movie trailer - and to one that I can't wait to see. I do have a bit of a question, though. What do the *s mean next to some of your bullet points. I half expected to see a side note toward the bottom for those. ^^ At any rate, wonderful post! Welcome to the site.))

October 22, 2010 6:22 pm Jenkantu Said:
((Aww, thank you both. I'm looking forward to getting a story going soonish. As to the *s, I put a note right before the beginning of the bulleted descriptive list:

"I'm going to give it a slightly more-defined and hopefully chronological time frame here, with big highlights marked by a leading asterisk."

More specifically, those were to mark things that stood out to Jenkantu herself. Defining moments of her life. Things that changed her. I hope that clarifies it more. =)

I'll write again soon (I hope!) and will either join in an existing plot or cook something up of my own.

Oh, and as a side note, sorry for the html italics tags up there. I work as a programmer for a living and right now I'm assigned to website revision so I have html on the brain.

Tata for now,
~Jen))

October 23, 2010 4:51 pm Sumi Said:
((Ah. :S I missed the line: "I'm going to give it a slightly more-defined and hopefully chronological time frame here, with big highlights marked by a leading asterisk." *sigh* I always miss something. Thanks for the clarification! Feel free to jump in wherever you like! If you start your own, that's wonderful! Thanks!!))

~~~~~~~~~~

((edit 11-30-10: Breaking the posts out and adding a table of contents. ;D))

Echo of the Past
Traitor

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 23, 2010 17:44:54 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 23, 2010 17:44:54 GMT -5

October 27, 2010 4:10 pm Jenkantu Said:
((This is the first of what will hopefully be several little expansions of the brief highlights of Jenkantu's history listed above. I'm aiming to do detailed expansions for all of the listings above with a lead asterisk and for a couple that aren't led by the asterisk.

First I will list the section I'm expanding upon for reference, and then the actual expanded text.))

~~~~~~~~~~

*-Sometime during her young adolescence Jen actually saw the softer side of her father. He'd been drinking more than usual and it was on this night he told Jen about her mother. The half-orc had never seen the woman, but from the sound of it she had belonged to Jen's father for many years prior to giving birth to Jen. Jen was surprised to hear that her mother had been left alive near an Alliance outpost in Ashenvale. She asked her father a single question, very quietly, praying not to break his drunken stupor and bring abuse on herself. That question was her mother's name, and on that night she learned it: Milanthe. Soon after they migrated to Orgrimmar.

~~~~~~~~~~

Light danced against the walls of the small dwelling Jenkantu had known as home for years, the byproduct of a blazing fire cheerfully devouring the wooden logs at its heart. The warmth was a blessing to her; it always had been. Jen was not the most resilient Orc in Durotar; she had her father to thank for that on many counts... Though it may have been said now that he had a part in culling the weakness from the assassin.

Despite the dry heat of Durotar's days the nights grew to be very chilly. It was why she stayed in the main room of their hovel, why she knelt silently against the wall behind the man at the heart of the chamber. Perhaps the tendrils of warmth that permeated so far into the room paled in comparison to those by the flame, but this was where she was best able to avoid the notice of her father. That night the stench of alcohol grew particularly repugnant, like she sat in the midst of a distillery. Jen couldn't help coughing in distaste. Alcohol was a thing she'd never felt any love for, and with good reason from the history she'd known.

"Wha? You in hear, little Jen," her father spoke with heavy slurs as he craned his head to see. Jen tried to slip away, but back then her reflexes weren't quite quick enough. "Come here, gurl. Sit here." He pointed at the floor by his chair. Jen wondered if he had it in his mind to beat her that night as she warily complied, rocking to her feet and crossing the relatively small chamber. She settled on the ground beside him, where his stench was even stronger. The sensation of choking rose in the half-orc's throat. Her weight balanced lightly on her heel; she had some hope this clever precaution would make her more ready to run should the need arise. Her father didn't seem to notice as he laughed and said, "Ha. You need to learn to keep your alcohol." The man leaned toward his daughter, breath seeming to roil unavoidably toward the girl's face with each heavily slurred 'r' sound. Drool pooled in the corner of his lips, but the child said nothing about it, having learned that lesson at an earlier age.

"You mother couldn't shtand the shmell either. The whore," he went on, probably entirely unaware that he dropped an 'r'. The words stung, though Jen had never met the woman. She nibbled on her upper lip, a trick she had discovered helped her not to say things she would be made to regret. "Shhe was sho little. Shmaller than you even." He laughed again, the stench of his drink spilling forth. Jen swayed to the side a little, trying to mitigate his breath. One large, strong hand snatched the front of her shirt and pulled her forward by it. Jen thought he was going to hit her then, and it probably had been his original intent as his hand raised, but something stopped him. Her father stared into her crisp blue eyes for a long time, his own dark brown and odd-looking from his drunken state. Finally he said, "Did you know you hash her eyesh?"

It brought an involuntary smile to Jenkantu's lips. They were the first words he'd spoken of Jen's Mother in front of the girl save to call her foul names and remind Jen of the fact that being half-human made her worthless. Apparently half-orcish heritage didn't make up for the human weaknesses Jen had inherited, but her father was working on 'fixing' that.

His hand came down hard against his daughter's cheek, drawing a little yelp from the girl before he released her shirt. Jen didn't catch herself quickly enough as she fell back against the floor. "Don't shmile about that!" He roared, a whistle slipping out with his slurs, "It'sh a weaknesh. She'sh a weaknesh for you." The latter words were softer spoken, though as guttural as any of his speech. Perhaps laced with concern. Jen didn't honestly care as she tentatively got back to her feet. Maybe resting on her heels had been a bad idea earlier; it sure didn't help her keep her balance.

As she debated leaving the room her father continued, "I remember when we captured her." His voice was a tiny bit clearer, "We raided a human village. Her hushband died to my axe with many others. I shaw her in a window, and something about her caught my attenshion. She had hair as yellow ash the wheat fields around her little village wallsh, eyesh as blue as the shkiesh. As blue as yoursh." He paused. Jenkantu couldn't believe he was saying so much, and so she stayed in the room. The girl had always wondered what her mother looked like. An image was drawn in Jenkantu's young mind as he continued, "She wash wearing a black dresh with a tie in the front. When she shaw me looking shhe ran from the glash. So I chashed her."

"I broke through the window on that floor and ran up the stairsh. I wash going to kill her too, but when I found her she wash huddled over something." A few moments only was Jenkantu left to wonder what that 'something' may have been. "She had a baby," the girl's father said. "I shtill don't know why I didn't kill her. I grabbed her hair and jerked her away, dragged her by it. It was shoft enough it slipped from my fingersh more than onshe," he chuckled, clearly enjoying that particular aspect of the memory, but Jen's stomach sunk. He left an infant there, in a town just raided by Orcs. Worse... if the infant somehow survived... Jenkantu had a half-sister likely raised by Alliance. She knew she probably shouldn't have cared and that she definitely shouldn't let him know she cared. She tried to hide it as he turned toward her again, and held her breath too to avoid the intake of more noxious, alcohol-ridden air. "It wash pretty then. It wassh changing when I left her in Ashenvale, not long after you were born. It wassh turning gray." This news surprised Jenkantu. 'He let mother go free... Why?' It made no sense. 'Maybe he means he left her dead? No. I can hear it in voice.. She was alive when he left her in Ashenvale...'

Perplexity drew a puzzled look on Jen's face as she looked at her father. There was something else too, something in his eyes that night that Jen had never seen before. She had felt it, she felt it do a degree then as he described to the girl the Mother she had never known, but she had no word for such a feeling for he'd certainly never uttered one. At the time Jen couldn't have labeled the look or the feeling. She couldn't have called it what it was: compassion. Even had she been able to, he would never have admitted such a feeling for anyone, least of all a human captive. In fact, he probably would have beaten Jen in anger. Maybe that look in his eyes was why though, why Jenkantu had the courage to take a breath and quietly ask, "Father, what was her name?"

Tingles of anticipation ran through Jen as she realized what she'd done. It was said aloud, there was no calling the question back. But to Jenkantu's surprise, her father didn't reach out to strike her. Rather he sat there, considering his child for a long time. Finally he said, "She wash called Milanthe by the other humansh, but she never strictly told me that wash her name."

Jen's blue eyes turned from him to the fire, and he too grew quiet. They sat for a time in silence. Jen was still, so very still. She appeared transfixed by the dance of the fire before them. But she wasn't, something much gentler had her as a captive audience, 'Mother... Milanthe. What a beautiful name. Yellow hair, like the sun. Eyes like mine. I have Mother's eyes.' This was one of the few nights Jenkantu fell asleep with a smile on her brown lips and a warmth about her that not even the chill air of Durotar could rob her of.

~~~~~~~~~~

((P.S. Erm. This started out in active-tense first person writing and got translated to past-tense third person... I think I translated it fairly smoothly, but there may be some inconsistencies in it. Sorry if you find any, and hope you enjoy the read.))

October 27, 2010 5:45 pm Sumi Said:
(( M O A R ! ! ! ! lol))

Echo of the Past
Traitor

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 29, 2010 13:41:48 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 29, 2010 13:41:48 GMT -5

October 29, 2010 9:50 am Jenkantu Said:
((Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it. ;D))

*-Jen was sent to Ratchet to meet with a Goblin called 'Wrenix the Wretched'. He was an interesting enough encounter, but more interesting were the mechanical devices Jen caught sight of in the Goblin city. As she walked about it she eventually found a goblin willing to teach her about them, about the crafting of them... Jen agreed to pay the fee required in exchange for the knowledge, already keenly aware of the possibilities having her own supply of explosives at her fingers would give her, not to mention some of the other bizarre machines she was seeing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Getting to Orgrimmar without drawing attention had been a difficult task, and when she had arrived in the Cleft of Shadows they had immediately sent her out again. 'Ratchet. Who names a city Ratchet?' She asked herself as she walked the length of the shallow river flowing on the border of Durotar and the Barrens. She'd seen most of the first area and much of the second now, and it was nice being away from home and out from under her father's thumb.

Freedom from the man had changed her. No more were her muscles taught from anticipation and fear; no more was she gripped with paranoid suspicion at the very breath of a male Orc in her proximity. Jenkantu had finally been allowed a taste of fresh air, and with it came the lesson that not all were as her father was. 'Still, there's no place among the Horde where I'm really accepted. Even to the Shattered Hand I'm just a tool, if a useful one, and that remains to be seen.' She paused in her walking, looking at the river and watching the reptilian occupants of it on the far bank. One leather-booted toe dug into the red dirt of Durotar. Even in leaving she'd found ridicule.

"Are those ridiculous rags supposed to pass for armor?" Rwag had asked when she'd arrived in the Valley of Trials, the cruel chuckle of his judgment had drawn the gaze of another who'd been summoned. It hadn't occurred to Jen that she wouldn't be the only one called out there. "I'd think your father could afford better for you."

Jenkantu had been tempted to smart off, but instead she'd said, "He believes in earning your keep." And Rwag had shut up. The other trainee presumably summoned there for the same reason Jen had been had turned red and obviously taken some offense.

As the water whisked by, catching on and spilling around the predators in its keeping, Jenkantu let her mind dwell on that memory, turning it time and time again in her mind. "It is nice, isn't it, being free of the old man?" She asked herself. Shaking her head, she cast a glance behind her. The high walls of Orgrimmar were barely in sight as she looked. She'd managed to piece together armor from the people and creatures she'd fought. Sure, some of it had clearly been abused for years by its previous keepers, but Jen knew that abuse didn't steal the value in a thing or creature; she was living testament to that much. "Time to get moving, unless I want to lose this." Jen was off with a sprint, a trail of dust all that told of her presence on that river bank, and when it settled no traces were left behind to follow.

Rather than cross the bridge about halfway down the length of the river, Jen ran passed it. She took to the water a little further on so the guards wouldn't see her. The shadows were becoming familiar by then, but she was not yet an expert at disappearing in them. The native occupants of the river took no notice of her, however, as she slipped between their ranks. The wet footprints that appeared on the dust of the Barrens' river bank were not as evident as what would have looked like blood from the red dirt on the other side. Jenkantu skirted this path. The occasional raptor was of mild concern, but she could hear the sound of lions up the hills to her west. 'Not going that way then... As though there's really an opportunity to do so.' And indeed, the hill was steep and unyielding as she surveyed it.

Her eyes rested on a zhevra bending to take a drink from the river's waters. 'Beautiful creatures. I wonder how hard it would be to train one... Something to think about later, though... I think the wolves probably make more loyal companions.' She kept her pace and came at last to the mouth of the river where it emptied into the sea. There, to her right, was Ratchet, the Goblin town nestled into the bay. A dock protruded into the waters from its banks, the boat she had heard connected to Booty Bay must have made port there. She could also see some very odd-looking buildings.

She cast her eyes to her left and knew the mountains there were those skirting the Centaur infestation she had combated during her wanderings. They'd made for a pretty penny at the time and given her a chance to discipline clumsy fingers in an art which required them to be graceful and agile: pickpocketing. A chuckle passed her pinkish-brown lips and she shook her head, running a hand over her smooth scalp before starting a leisurely walk to Ratchet. "I sure cut it close once or twice in that little valley," she mused aloud.

The sun was close to setting when she arrived, and many were wrapping up for the evening. She didn't see anyone fitting the description she'd been given for Wrenix at first, and so she decided to take a look inside the most bizarre building greeting her at Ratchet's northeastern outskirt. It had a circular door shaped more like a tube than an actual door and a leaning set of wooden stairs. The squeaky voices of Goblins reached Jenkantu's ears as she approached it, eying a strange protrusion that looked somewhat like a wavy horn with some caution. She paused as she drew close, unable to help giving it a closer look. 'What the hell is that thing?'

"Hey! What do you want?" Came the squeaky assault of a Goblin's voice.

Jenkantu straightened and looked inside again. Sure enough one of the little green men was standing just beyond the strange entryway watching her. "Um," she stammered after an awkward moment spent in trying to decide what she should and shouldn't say.

"Um? You're no Engineer. Get out, we're closed. Unless you want to learn." He waved her away, but waited to see if she would leave.

"Learn.. to be an Engineer. What can you teach me to make?" She asked looking skeptically at the horn-like protrusion again.

The Goblin's little arms rested on his hips. "Teach you. Anything, about engineering. I can teach you to make repairs to zeppelins and reapers. I can teach you to make scopes for guns and bows... And explosives." His voice took on what Jenkantu hoped was an enthusiastic squeak with the last.

She considered a moment, "Explosives. Well.. That could be useful."

His hands clapped down on the half-orc's arms "Why didn't you say you were here to learn? Come in, come in! Of course, you have the fee with you?"

'Goblins... Always about money.' Jenkantu paused, "What fee? You hadn't mentioned one." As the Goblin pulled her into the strange building an explosion shook the walls. Powdery smoke flowed from the top of the building to the bottom making Jen cough before it seeped out of the door and into the town. Her eyes turned on a Goblin up the stairs. "Who's that."

The Goblin followed her gaze. "It's Gazlowe. You don't recognize Gazlowe? He was Orgrimmar's chief engineer for years and now he runs this, one of the single most successful ports in Kalimdor." He paused a moment. "He doesn't have time for you. I do though, once you pay the fee. Some silver should do it."

Jenkantu raised her eyebrow. "I don't know if you think I'm a pushover or something, but that sounds a little high," she said, beginning a haggling in which she knew she couldn't give an inch. They settled on what seemed a fair price at the time, though Jen would later discover she'd overpaid and lay claim to a discount in her further training. Instruction began on the spot, and Jen's curiosity was enough to dismiss her drowsiness when night set in. The other Goblins in the shop either headed off to their respective homes or muddled about continuing their explosive experiments. Occasionally one would comment on what Jenkantu was learning, but for the most part they kept to their own.

Of course, to get the things she needed to advance her learning would cost either the auction house prices or her learning to mine. Rather than be at the mercy of a market which could be described as nothing short of volatile, Jen took up mining, though obviously she couldn't do it that very evening. She thanked the engineer for his time and left the building with a basic understanding of how to make the simplest components for explosives and of how to turn them into such, but at the time she had no idea that the skill she'd learned would become so intertwined with her fighting style and her way of life.

"You. You Jenkantu?" Another squeaky voice asked as her eyes were still adjusting to the darkness that had settled over the city. It wasn't like it was pitch black. Too many contraptions ran amok in the city, too many lights lingered in the night.

Looking at the source as it went from blurry and indistinct to a darkness-shrouded clarity Jen realized it was Wrenix. "Yeah." No sleep for me tonight, it seems. Probably a good thing though. Every minute counts with Father mucking about in my business.'

"Good. You're slow. They told me you would be here by noon, you lazy peon," he said in the same squawking accent the other Goblins seemed to carry.

Her blood boiled a little, "I see. Sorry for the inconvenience."

He paused, "Sorry? Aren't you trying to join them? They couldn't have told me by noon, you didn't know until then." Jen folded her arms across her chest as the Goblin continued, "I guess it's none of my business, but you better shape up if you're going to make it in this organization." 'Oh now this is perfect... A lecture from a Goblin...' She didn't snap at him though, instead she let him continue, "We have a problem, and you're going to solve it." 'At least he dropped the accusations...' she thought, listening as he explained the situation at hand.

Echo of the Past
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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 30, 2010 11:35:54 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2010 11:35:54 GMT -5

October 29, 2010 1:37 pm Jenkantu Said:
*-Jen enlisted in the Shattered Hand, and not a moment too soon. An old friend of her father's by the name of Sora'jan came around and found her talking to one of the mentors in the Drag. Sora'jan told them he was taking her, but the mentors stepped in, calling upon Sora'jan's own allegiance to the Shattered Hand to protect Jen. Oh the irony was sweet in Jen's mind, for that time at least. And Sora'jan escorted her back to her father's dwelling, where the troll informed her father that she had joined the Shattered Hand and so was off limits to him. Her father was furious, but Sora'jan quieted him by promising to be sure Jen was his pupil.

~~~~~~~~~~

Making it back to the Cleft of Shadow was an easy task compared to infiltrating the Southsea Freebooter's Tide Razor. Jenkantu had never been so glad she'd taken a stranger's advice. The E.C.A.C. Wrenix's machine counterpart had supplied was enough to take much of the bite out of the parrot guarding the treasure of the Tide Razor. Jen felt good about herself. She was finally going to be free of her father.

The soft thud of her boots in the small stone pathways leading to the underbelly of Orgrimmar were a welcome sound to her as she slipped between light sources and passerby alike, mostly unseen. The first of the Shattered Hand to hail Jen was also one of her least favorite. "Zando'zan see Jenkantu has carried out his will. Yuh done well. Now yuh speak to Ormok, yuh tell Ormok Zando'zan say yuh ready." Of course, Ormok could hear Zando'zan clearly from where they stood.

Jen just nodded. This Troll was, after all, the same who had prophesied the death of Thrall to her before sending her to speak with Wrenix. She'd done what they asked. She approached Ormok with her eyes cast down slightly, a sign of submission and respect. It was a subtle gesture, but she was dealing with people who readily recognized them, and people who were capable of making perfectly sure you knew your place if you gave them reason to.

Ormok smiled in a smug way as Jen's eyes took in the details of his boots. They were so much nicer than her own. 'Some day I'm going to have things that nice. I won't have to worry about seams coming out in the middle of a tumble.' "Welcome back, Jenkantu. I trust you met with success in Ratchet."

Jenkantu nodded, "I wouldn't be here if I hadn't, Sir. I wouldn't waste your time."

The smile broadened, though some of the smug look left it, "Good. Good answer, girl. Show me what Wrenix gave you," he said, watching Jenkantu's face.

Blue eyes flitted up to meet his and Jen suddenly felt bristly, 'Not more harassment.' She fished into her backpack and produced the Thistle Tea. "This was my share, along with some coin."

A strand of oily black hair fell in front of Ormok's shoulder as he nodded, "I don't think you need it all, do you?"

Jen swallowed. 'f*ck. Push, push, push. Someday... Someday I'm gonna push back.' The blood vessels in her neck bulged ever so slightly as she bit her upper lip to stop herself from speaking aloud. "No, I guess I don't. In fact, I don't need it at all, but if you do, help yourself." She didn't mean to say it, but there was no turning back once the words had edged out, 'Oops. Maybe that was a little too far.'

The atmosphere in the air around them seemed suddenly very tense, and with good cause. Ormok eyed Jenkantu hard, but her cool, blue eyes stared back unflinchingly. She knew how to take a beating, that was one thing she was an expert at. The chatter of other unsavory types seemed to quiet a little and remain suppressed until Ormok finally spoke again, "Ha. Bold one, aren't you? I think you'll do just fine. Welcome to the Shattered Hand." He clapped Jen's shoulder to the half-orc's surprise.

"Oh?" a familiar voice said from behind her, "This be news tome, mon." She felt the Troll's hand fall on her shoulder in a falsely congratulatory way. "Yuh father be lookin' to speak wid yuh, Jenkantu."

'Oh sh*t. I didn't know Sora'jan was a member of the Shattered Hand. Maybe he's not... Either way...' She swallowed, putting the Thistle Tea back into her backpack. "I'm sure he does want to speak to me. I'm not sure he'll agree with my choice of loyalties though," she said loudly enough for Ormok to notice.

The senior thief did take note, a single coarse eyebrow raised, "Well, you take her to see her father then, Sora'jan, and make sure she walks away with his blessing on her choice of profession. That old orc's washed up anyhow."

Sora'jan bristled at the words, though not visibly. Jenkantu had seen him enough to know though, her father went way back with the Troll. "'ave it your way, mon. I be da girl's babysitta if yuh ask it of me, but let me be trainin' her too. What yuh say?" A cold chill ran down Jen's spine. Nothing good could come of that.

"Fine, she needs her techniques refined anyway," they shared a salute and Jen felt Sora'jan's hand pull her to direct her from the Cleft.

She walked, her stomach feeling as though it were the ocean. "So Father missed me?" she asked, clearly not truly believing she'd been missed.

Sora'jan's eyes burned against Jenkantu's neck. At his full height the Troll dwarfed Jen. "Yes, little Jen. Yuh father be missin' yuh. But yuh betta believe yuh be payin for da runaway. Me tinx he be plannin' ta take it from yuh hide, but he can't now, can he? It be alright though, mon, yuh can rest assured me be takin' it from yuh hide for 'im."

'Just what I didn't want to hear.' The rage in her blood hadn't settled from the earlier insult and Jen found another one slipping past her brown lips, "You're both filth."

A pain shot through her entire body without any real warning. She'd felt his fingers move along her neck, then pinch something. She couldn't move to pull free, and a soft cry made it past her lips in the entry of the Cleft of Shadow. Sora'jan laughed cruelly, "Yuh be learnin, Jen. Yuh owe yuh father more den yuh will eva know, mon, but yuh be learnin' to respec da man before I be through wid yuh." He let her stand there a while, frozen in pain from the pinch of her nerve, and then relented, "But we go an' see what yuh father want yuh learnin', Girl. Maybe yuh be owin' him more den even I tinx."

Jen's body shuddered as he released his hold on it. She felt the point in her neck where so much pain had started, massaging it with her armored hand while she moved through the city toward her father's dwelling. It had been six months since she'd had to walk this path. Sweet, blissful months. 'I've got stop worrying. I'll have freedom again, real freedom, lasting freedom. I just have to be smart about it... Father can't hurt me and Sora'jan can't kill me. Unless I'm an idiot I'll make it through this too.'

Sora'jan opened the wooden door and pushed Jen in by her shoulder. She moved inside, eyes adjusting to a dimly lit den. Her mouth fell open as she saw him. There, in the center of the room, sat the man who'd taught her so much and so little. He looked more sick than she'd ever seen him, and he had shed considerable weight. Tired eyes edged in lines of worry lifted toward the door. A spark of life kindled in them when he saw her there, "Jen!" He got to his feet and crossed the room, "Sora'jan, thank you for finding her." Sora'jan nodded, clasping the Orc's hand as Jen regained her composure and shut her mouth.

"What were you thinking? You lied to me about a matter of honor, took off to do who knows what, and then vanished into the Barrens. How in the world did you find her, Sora'jan? Where was she?" Jenkantu swallowed at the last words. If her father didn't already know what she'd been up to she expected a drastic change in his surprising demeanor. 'He was missing me... He was... worried.' It was the last thing she'd expected, and she knew the Troll's answer had the potential of ruining it.

Sora'jan released Jenkantu's shoulder now and noted the door was not fully closed. "Let us step inside, mon."

"Of course, of course," Jen's father said, moving aside to let them enter. He punched Jen's shoulder as she passed, but also gripped it gently in what Jen had learned was the closest thing to a sign of affection he would ever give her.

The half-orc felt nausea take a stronger hold as Sora'jan pulled the door to a close and stepped more fully into the room. "She been runnin aroun' wid people like mi friends," he said simply.

She saw the rage come over her father's face. Anger that bubbled just below the surface. "What? Doing what?"

"Don' make mi be goin' into da details, mon. Mi be doubtin' yuh really want to know," Sora'jan tried to divert the question.

Her father's hand clapped down on her shoulder a little harder than she was comfortable with and the old instincts that told her to relax so the pain was dulled or to run for escape came in strong. Her blood raced with adrenaline and her fingers twitched. It was a tell that she was afraid. "Just tell me, Sora'jan. I deserve to know what my whelp has been doing."

The Troll put a hand on Jen's father's arm, "Now yuh be calm, mon. She done joined da Shattered Hand. She be theirs now."

'Wrong way to tell him,' Jen thought, and rightfully. Her father's grip tightened, threatening to grow painful very quickly. Jen used her adrenaline to her advantage, wriggling free of his grip and dodging the fingers soon grasping to reestablish it. "You did WHAT? You coward! Did I teach you nothing of Honor?!" He swung a hard punch Jen's way, but she ducked that too. She only succeeded because of the training she'd already received.

"That's right, blame me, you damn drunkard! Did you teach me honor? When was I supposed to learn that, between the beatings you gave me at the drop of a hat?" They shared their temper in common, but in the past Jenkantu had almost always curbed hers in her father's presence. She was different now though, freedom's sweet taste had made her bolder.

"Get over here so I can teach you another lesson then!" he roared, starting to push past Sora'jan.

Sora'jan took a more direct hold of her father as his muscles bulged in rage. A redness came into his eyes as he tried to force his way through the Troll. "Git, out, yuh stupid girl. Yuh makin' dis worse den it need be." He said, voice strained from his efforts to control the enraged warrior.

But Jen wasn't done. "Yes, 'teach' me father. Teach me to bleed, teach me to cry, teach me to beg." She knew she wouldn't have gotten that far without Sora'jan between them, but she forged on anyway, all shock from her father's genuine concerns vanished in the rage of her outburst. "Where is there honor in that, or in your drinking, or in what you did to my mother?" Her father calmed as suddenly as he'd angered from the last words. Jenkantu seized upon the vulnerability it seemed to draw from him, "That's right. You talk about honor, you damn drunk. I wish she'd raised me and I'd never met you," she didn't wait around to see what effect the words would have on him - if any, instead turning and exiting through the door. She slammed it closed behind her. The training had made her more perceptive though, so even in those fleeting rage-driven moments she thought she'd noticed the glint of water in her father's eyes despite the dim lighting in the room. She convinced herself she was wrong.

Outside the air was dusty. A patrol must have come through recently. Orcs stood staring at her, some who had lived there as long as she and her father, others who were just passing through on their way to someplace else. "What do you think you're staring at?" Jen snapped. They moved along, casting their eyes down. 'Now that's satisfying,' Jen couldn't help thinking as she watched them do so. This was what Wrenix had referred to. 'Makes sense you can't be timid and be a killer. I'm out of here. Sora'jan can find me later.' She wasn't about to wait around while he talked to her old man, instead she headed for the Valley of Honor to talk to the miners there about learning a thing or two.

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 30, 2010 18:10:29 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2010 18:10:29 GMT -5

((Okay, sorry for this, but I'm breaking out my original repost for the purpose of adding a table of contents at the head of it. The next couple of posts will be repeats of what was already here. >.<))

~~~~~~~~~~

November 23, 2010 5:44 pm Jenkantu Said:
((This is one tale of Jen's abuse in early life.))

~~~~~~~~~~

*-This was where her understanding of hatred transitioned to a new dimension. Jenkantu tried to kill Sora'jan. She'd planned it perfectly. They both traveled on business for the Shattered Hand and she waited until they'd reached a dusty, tall crevice in a place called The Thousand Needles. There was no one to hear them if the struggle grew loud, no outpost to respond, least not from where they were nestled. Perhaps centaur raiders, but Jen was skilled enough to avoid them. Sora'jan crouched by a steaming pool of water amid the pillars of the canyon and Jen took the opportunity. She moved quietly, feet barely making a noise on the canyon dirt. She drew close behind him, her hand struck out, blade tight in the palm. At the last possible moment Sora'jan's hand caught Jen's wrist. Her throat ran dry and the sense of apprehension spread through her. 'Nice try' he said, and then he taught her why you should never underestimate your opponent. Jen suffered the heat, the beatings, the dirt grinding into her open wounds, and much more in the canyon for her attempted betrayal. There, in that vast canyon, at that place where no one would hear them if the struggle grew loud, where no outpost would respond, Sora'jan became her first lover, though there was no love of any sort lost between them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jenkantu rode atop a black wolf not unlike the one her father had once ridden, only less war-hardened and less swift. Try as she might to hate the creature, it had done nothing to her save serve her well, and in the end she respected it. Gloved hands frequently occupied themselves in the fur of its neck, scratching and petting it to the creature's delight. It showed its appreciation of her affection with low grunts that reminded Jen a bit of a cat's purring. Alongside her road Sora'jan, on a much aged raptor mount. She'd seen it spring to life more than once on their journey, and suspected that when she put her plan in motion the creature should not be present.

The Barrens lay mostly behind them as they came to a stop before the Great Lift. A Tauren lift which would carry them into a place known as The Thousand Needles. 'Almost time to claim your freedom..' A thrill of anticipation coursed through Jen's veins, the only outward sign of it was the slightest of smiles lifting the corners of her pink-tinged lips. The Tauren standing at the mouth of the two walkways that extended over the long drop to the floor of the Thousand Needles waved them to the right and soon after the lift arrived. Jen's blue eyes peered over the edge of the small walkway at a drop-off that could very easily mean death for a foolish individual.

"Is a long way down, mon. Yuh tinkin of jumpin?" Sora'jan's voice conveyed his amusement and the derision ever-present in his words.

Jen would have ignored him, it was how she had been dealing with her father for years, but Sora'jan had made clear that doing so meant a beating and so she turned her face toward him briefly, the soft, young features of it unmoved by his 'humor', "No, not particularly, Sir." Her voice was dry too. She'd driven emotion from her regular expressions, a small victory. She wanted to stop feeling, but she'd not managed that yet.

"Good. Mi not bein finished wid yuh yet, Little Jen. Yuh ol' man an mi be goin far back. Back before yuh was even da glimmer in de ol' man's eye," his long, bright-colored hands twisted around each other as he looked at his pupil, clearly planning another 'lesson', "Mi not be done wid yuh for a long time, mon. Not til yuh learn da respec yuh ol' man deserve."

Jen's upper lip quivered in rage and her eyes narrowed slightly. These were the side effects of preventing herself from rolling her eyes or attacking him. Sora'jan's laughter cut through the air as the lift came to a stop and he climbed off, motioning for her to follow. "Where did you even meet him?"

It was a rhetorical question, but that didn't stop Sora'jan from striking Jen's cheek hard for the venom in her tone, "None of yuh business," he answered, lips curled in a smile around his tusks, "Yuh speak to me like dat again, little Jen, see what yuh git for yuh trouble."

Her hand had gone to her cheek, a reaction she'd not yet culled from her system. She lowered it now, knowing it was too late to hide the reflex. Tears collected in her eyes from the stinging in her right cheek and the kiss of the canyon's wind made them feel very cool to her. She looked away, knowing if she fixed him in her hateful gaze he would strike her for that as well. 'Soon enough, you f*cking coward... Soon enough.'

Jen could tell he'd been getting slower in the past few years. Meanwhile, she'd grown faster. The differences were subtle, but there to be read by anyone with the attention span to take notice. His motions lagged in combat and in discipline. The pain from his blows was not as severe. It still hurt, granted, but not like it once had. 'Soon...' she thought again, soothing her rage with the thought of his death. The fantasy played out in her mind as they walked along on their respective mounts. She had a plan, a plan to visit on him the sort of wounds he had visited on an unlucky cultist in a place called Black Fathom Deeps.

In the Deeps he'd kept one woman alive to be a demonstration. This woman he dragged to an altar in a room which had hosted the slaughter of many murlocs during Jen's travels there with her mentor. On the altar he bound her and tortured her, showing Jen the human anatomy. He gave examples of how it paralleled the anatomy of Orcs and of how it didn't. She had been naked against the cold stone, shivering, freezing, and seeing her so helpless did something for Jen. It lit a fire in her, a sense of glee, though even that was tainted with Sora'jan's hand. She hadn't caused the helplessness, and she'd not know the true joy of the matter until she did so on her own.

Eventually Sora'jan had given Jen a lesson about the body's natural reactions to 'stimulation'. He'd used poisons on the woman only to cure her of them, cut her deeply in sensitive points of the body only to heal the cuts, and burned her with fire. Jen had watched this play out with not indifference about the injuries visited on the woman, but enjoyment. 'For once...' she'd thought, 'I'm not the victim..' What Sora'jan had done there was an art. Jen had murdered others by that point, many in fact, but it took nowhere near the skill of the actions Sora'jan had shown her. Eventually, when he'd used the woman for most everything he could to demonstrate a body's natural defenses he smiled, "And dis is da fun part..." He'd said, drawing his blade carefully across the woman's trembling body. "Yuh do enough and de mind shut down..." the blade pressed into the woman's skin, but she was so far gone from the past few hours that Jen didn't think it would have much of an effect.

"Yuh see, little Jen," Sora'jan continued, cutting deeply into places that wouldn't kill the woman outright,"yuh put enough pressure on a man, or a woman, no matta deir race, and dey break. Dis here though," his Troll fingers tapped where her hip and thigh trembled beside a fresh and deep stab wound. The woman didn't even seem to know, "dis be da shock dat da body tryin to fend off da pain." There was a long period of silence where the woman shuddered and trembled, but eventually a smile took her lips and Jen's eyebrows knit together as she watched. The smile was so stupid, so out of place. 'Don't you even know, you're dying?' Jen had thought. Sora'jan continued, "It be a sign yuh maybe gone too far, mon, because if da body fail ta fight it off da mind can simply..." and his fingers ran from his victim's temple to her chin, "stop..." he said, timing the word perfectly to the sudden limpness of her bound form.

The howling of a breeze that wound between large pillars of rock drew Jen back to the present. 'We're close. So close..' Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Their path had brought them to a part of the dry canyon much more narrow, and Sora'jen dismounted, letting the Raptor go for the time being. Jen followed suit after making sure the wolf's horn was not in its saddle packs. She'd made that mistake once before; Sora'jan had made her run along behind him for the next four weeks rather than call her wolf. She'd not make the mistake again even when the Troll had been ended. Her eyes scanned the rocky outcroppings of the canyon before them as they drew closer to one of the potential areas she'd seen on a map of the Thousand Needles she'd taken a good look at. There would be no one to hear if the map was accurate.

Her blue eyes turned skyward, along the tall juts of stone that peppered the canyon. No creatures were at hand, no members of the mighty Horde. Bubbling reached her ears and drew her attention to the ground again. As they rounded a corner a pool of steaming water came to view. The water was very clean, if a bit too hot to drink from as it was. Jen hung back, eyes gleaming with murderous intent. She watched her mentor closely, delighted at how lax his vigilance had become. He wasn't even looking at her as he moved to the lip of the pool and knelt down to test the water. The assassin seized the opportunity.

Her hand pulled loose a dagger from its sheath and obscured its blade in the grasp of her palm as she crept forward using the training he'd given her to keep her steps light, her breathing controlled. Hardly a noise protested her passage from the canyon's floor, 'F*ck, so f*cking close it's killing me.' She was a little more than an arm's reach behind him and drawing closer. Finally the dagger struck out with no warning, no hint of her actions save the silent smirk upon her lips. Glee tingled through her core.

For fleeting moments only did jubilation persist, and then his hand caught her wrist, grip firm and hard. Cruel eyes turned to meet Jen's shocked eyes of blue, Troll lips split in a victorious smirk. "Nice try," Sora'jan said, his grip twisting her wrist and forcing her to drop the blade she'd so expertly palmed. "Did yuh tink I didn' know, Little Jen, why yuh goin' back to Orgrimmar dat day?" She drew her other blade, a panic coursing through her body, but his hand caught that wrist too and twisted. When it clinked to the ground against the first he kicked them into the steaming water. The day he referred to was the day she'd surveyed the map, 'No, how the f*ck did he know about that?' His cruel smirk grew wider, "Ah, ah, ah, Little Jenkantu. Mi teachin yuh a new lesson now. One dat me tink yuh been needin a loooong time." Forcibly he spun her, bending her arms to his needs so that her back was to him, then he pulled her arms behind her too.

The feeling of leather wrapped around her wrists and arms, but she couldn't place what it was from as she jerked against it, trying to wrench free. Regardless of what the leather had come from, it held her well as he pulled her back by the binding. She was off-balance when she saw him step on the length of leather and realized, 'Reins, the raptor's reins.' Breathing grew difficult as fear seized her body. She couldn't wriggle loose despite her best efforts. "And yuh tought yuh was goin' ta get da better o mi, Jen? Dis lesson goin be fun ta teach." A dagger loosed from his belt now and Jen shrunk away from it as best she could while regaining her footing. She knew what would soon follow...

~~~~~~~~~~

((Ending here for the purpose of preserving appropriate rating.))

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 30, 2010 18:11:02 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2010 18:11:02 GMT -5

November 29, 2010 1:41 pm Jenkantu Said:
--Sora'jan didn't report Jen's betrayal. He felt he'd dealt with it sufficiently by the time he was in a position to do so, and by not doing so he held a trump card over Jen. He used it liberally, making Jen his companion not only as a thief and assassin, but as a lover. She hated him, but she had no confidence left in her abilities after his punishment, least not when she thought about putting a stop to his abuse. Instead of acting on such impulses, Jen studied the 'art' of engineering. She learned to love its destructive beauty, and soon became familiar with schematics available exclusively to the goblin crafters of the profession. Gnomes looked down on it, but Jen looked down on gnomes. The assassin discovered a particularly fun schematic in Gnomeregan on a venture there. She set about making her very own Mechanical Bombling soon after that venture. This pet has since been named 'Tick', and holds a very dear place in the assassin's heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was not yet time to rest, and so Jen knew why they made camp. Sora'jan had been eying her much more than usual today, probably because their journeys had brought them again to The Thousand Needles and the memory of what he'd done the last time they'd come through was strong in her mind. Sora'jan made her build camp over the ground by the steaming pool that she would never forget. He made her sleep where she'd bled and cried the last time, and she did it without argument. Each movement of his hand made her cast her eyes down, each touch of his hand mad her press herself into him. She was a different person altogether when she entered the canyon this day, her spirit clutched firmly in Sora'jan's hand. But she had learned, in time, that it was not so bad. There were things worth living for. Pains worth breathing long enough to inflict on others. The pathetic, pitiable, disgusting weaklings within the world around her.

Fingers brushing against the crook of her elbow drew her baby blue eyes to his face, not to his eyes though. She would never meet them. "Yuh bein so good lately, Slut." He'd long ago stopped calling her by name when they traveled in private, and that itself had been another nail driven into the coffin her fire burned in. She inclined her head to him as his hand rose to pet her cheek. To that she pressed into his touch, her breathing heavier. This was always a point of curiosity. Would he beat her or make love to her or neither? She feared all three and preferred all three at the same time, so shattered he had made her. Occasionally the thought would cross her mind to run, to be free of him and thus end her abuse, but never dared she act on such wants. "Mi got sometink ta take care of. Yuh be a good girl for mi and finish de camp, mi be a long while."

Her eyes met his jaw again, but no higher and her voice responded, "Yes, Master." He pet her longer, fingers running through hair he had forced her to grow long for him, and she hated the feeling as much as she hated herself. He turned to go, his contact leaving her, and fear coursed through her, fear that it was another ploy, another game, that she'd said the wrong words. But this was normal, this she had come to live with. She swallowed it down like a thick lump of food caught at an odd angle in her throat and cleared her throat softly.

His footsteps paused and the sound of dirt crunched under his heel as he turned toward her. "Yuh wantin' sometink before mi goin?" He asked, his voice a riddle of calm curiosity and threat.

She inclined her head deeper to him, "I do, Master. I want.. I hoped you would leave the tools for me, Master." The words didn't burn like they would have once. That part of her was so far gone. Rather they reinforced the circumstances. Sora'jan chuckled and slung the pack with all of his possessions save the equipment he carried from his back. These days Jen possessed only what she wore. Granted her armor and weaponry was very expensive, but Sora'jan kept any treasures they found for himself and had taken her coin. He set a bag with the tools she needed to make explosives and mechanical devices on the ground, her reward for being good, and waited beside it. Jen approached and knelt beside the bag as he had taught her, looking down, "Thank you, Master."

His fingers ran through her hair again and she felt a single tear pool in her eye and fall from it along her cheek. Either he had already turned to leave and didn't see it or he decided not to punish her. Tears were, after all, a sign of weakness. She watched as he walked away, back hunched over in the way that any Troll back would be. Her gaze fell on his feet until they closed on his raptor, and then followed the raptor's feet. When finally she could see them no longer, Jen opened the bag. Inside were the parts she'd collected to make what was called a pet bombling.

A faint smile lit her lips as she looked over the odd collection. A large iron explosive, some coils of wire, mithril bars, and a heart of fire met her gaze, lifeless and unburdened. Jen lifted them from the bag and laid them out before her. She then turned back to it and retrieved a number of actual tools including an arclight spanner, a blacksmith's hammer, and her thieve's tools. Her fingers worked diligently at the schematic she had committed to memory. Tightening pieces here and there, peeling away bits of mithril, laying the heart of fire into the frame of the explosive without setting it off. She worked until the sun went down and then into the night, using the fire's dancing light to see the results of her efforts. When at last the work was completed she set the contraption near the edge of her campfire cautiously and set a spark to its fuse.

Immediately the bomb shifted on the legs she'd built it, goggled eyes bobbing as it did. It stood and seemed to look around before clambering over to the half-orc. Her face lit in a grin by the firelight as she watched it, the creature she had brought into the word. It had no emotions to weigh it down, no reservations, no morals, no feelings, no nerves. 'I envy you..' She thought, a sad light touching her blue eyes. She lifted it up though and observed it closely, the smile flickering onto her lips and off again as often as the firelight. Eventually Jen set it down, the feeling of the cold metal lingering in the skin of her fingers as she cast blue eyes around the camp. She'd not gotten an ounce of work done in making it and the night was already half-spent. Tired and regretful, she forced herself to work, building the fire up brighter, unpacking things. The only pleasantry in the darkness was the loud clanking of her new companion, and that clanking was responsible for the smile Jen wore as she finally collapsed onto a thin bedroll for a short night's rest.

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Nov 30, 2010 18:11:28 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2010 18:11:28 GMT -5

November 30, 2010 1:41 pm Jenkantu Said:
((Small preface to this one. Doel is a real character. His actions here are written in the light in which Jen perceived them at the time. Also, it is posted with the player's permission and agreement that he is well-represented. Enjoy. ^^))

~~~~~~~~~~

--She felt no compassion for those she killed, nor indeed for those she could have. The weak got nothing in life, this lesson had been made amply clear. Perhaps the reason for her interest when a particularly aged and powerful warlock by the name of Doel approached her. The warlock needed someone dead, but it had to look like a task carried out by the Horde. Jen wanted a way out. Doel proposed she stage the assassination and he infuse her with demonic power, enough to modify her form and give her an edge. Jenkantu accepted readily.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the years after breaking Jenkantu, Sora'jan worked to rebuild her, but he was not the only force at work. While Jenkantu's spirit had been completely smothered and spent on the dark day of Sora'jan's cruelest lesson, it was not content to remain dead. The light of it sparked again over time, a tiny ember hidden in the ashes of a once-great fire breathing of the winds that managed to reach it through the cover. The assassin began to find herself again, though it was as if she were watching another do the same. His abusive strength purchased her devotion; his touch earned him the yield of her young body. Still she relearned some fraction of herself, enough to know the strong fires of hate, enough of it to recognize why she so envied the bombling she'd finally gotten around to naming 'Tick'.

Cold, cruel metal had no emotions. No feelings to hurt, no heart to ache, no pain to suffer. Jen wanted that, and if she was careful Sora'jan would be the tool to making her achieve that. Every time he touched her, every time she leaned into his hand, she murdered that much more of her personality, that much more of her feeling. Blurring one detail at a time in the sculpture of her soul. The span of time between her initial breaking and the hardening through which Jenkantu came to be a true assassin was a time many would not have survived for the want to lapse into pitiable depression and then further into death, but Jen did not fall to that...

A surprisingly cold wind swept over the precipice beside her camp, bringing life to the leaves around her small encampment within the jungle. Jen's eyes lifted, turning toward it, a scent was carried on the wind, and she took that in with a breath. 'Odd,' her mind told her callously as she tried to determine the cause of the smell. Silent hands found the hilts of blades resting on a wooden crate beside her campfire as she moved to her feet in the shadows of night. 'Not the scent of the wildlife... Not the scent of Goblins...' Jen ran her left hand over her blissfully bald scalp before quietly moving from the fire's dancing light. Sora'jan had finally relented and let her shave her head clean again as a reward for good behavior, and secretly Jen despised the fact that she required his permission.

A rustle in the leaves drew her attention, tickling her senses like no other sound of night had yet. Step for step she moved, each footfall carefully placed lest she foolishly break a twig or crush a dry leaf beneath her boot. It sounded again as Jen neared the edge of the precipice, the scent in the air drawing familiar images in her mind. Images of fire. She drew near the peak cautiously, moving on all fours for the added cover it would grant, and at last crested the precipice.

Not two inches from her nose was the face of a type of beast she'd seen on more than one occasion. The bony beak of the creature had jaws lining its edges; it moved closer as Jen fell back with her blue eyes running over the ivory-colored maze of lines that resembled cracked earth. Smooth, black, multi-sectioned antennae with yellow at each connecting joint were turned toward the creature's sides and running down its back, but they moved in response to her noise. She sucked in her breath and held it, trying hard not to give it any further indication of her proximity to it.

So well-trained was this felhound that she already sensed she had little hope of success. The creature's many eyes seemed to pause on her, but still she didn't react. Then a sound began in its throat. Jen lunged forward, launching herself over the edge to the steeper side of the outcropping and tumbling down with the beast tangled in her body. She sank her weapons into its scaled and fur-covered sides as they plummeted down, and was sure she felt the bite of its teeth sinking in her shoulder. They tangled through their sliding, skidding process down the slick, rough hillside. When they finally landed Jen managed to be on top. She had used her swords in the creature's sides almost as handlebars, forcing it to twist below her. The sound of its spine snapping made her pink-tinged lips curl in a cruel and satisfied smirk.

"I'm impressed, even if you are victorious only through luck, Orc," a man's voice cut into her victorious smirk, wiping it clean from her face as she turned her blue eyes toward the sound. A tall shadow in the darkness held a lantern focused so the pinpoint of its light kept Jen from seeing any distinguishing features. He didn't sound Orcish, and yet it was the language he spoke.

She snarled into the night before speaking in a coldly amused voice, "If you don't want to lose your pets you shouldn't let them wander, Warlock." With that she got to her feet, dusting herself off as the creature's corpse disappeared from the earth its blood had stained. The lantern lowered some, and when it did Jen caught sight of his face, masked in shadow though it was. 'Human..?' Her weapons were readied immediately but his only response was a scathing chuckle. "I'd leave here now if I were you," Jen said, her guttural voice easily conveying the threat in her words.

"I'm sure you would," the man responded as he drew nearer. "I'm sure you're arrogant enough to think your little, metal sticks can cut me down," she moved forward to strike him, drawing both weapons upward for momentum, just in time to hear him conclude, "Half-Orc."

Jen's attack halted with her blades only inches from the Warlock, who didn't seem terribly concerned. She was close enough now to really see him, to note the mop of long, gray hair which he wore in a neat tail, the aged lines that were drawn across his leathery cheeks. More though, she was close enough to feel the tangible pulse of power that the man exuded, and she knew in that moment that he'd been telling the truth, she had lucked out with the felhound and their fall. 'Great... what now...?' Jen asked herself. She let the silence linger for a time before lowering her blades, stepping back a pace or two, and squaring her stance with only a few feet between them, "What do you want with me?"

The man's gloved hand twisted a rather potent-looking staff as he eyed her, seeming to decide if he did indeed wish something of the half-orc. Just as Jen's patience was running thin he answered her, "Hmm. I have it under advisement you're in possession of a certain... 'skill set', shall we say? It is for this that I have come to find you, Jenkantu."

Jen bristled a little as he so casually used her name and folded her arms. She knew she shouldn't be rash, but the impulse was there, now throbbing as steadily as the beat of her heart. "I'm sure I can't help you, Stranger." The half-orc said before turning to leave.

"Ah. I thought you might say that. Worried about your keeper, are you?" There was dark amusement riddling the tone of his voice, like dappled splotches of red across a span of black. Jen looked back at him, feeling a fire that had not been in her for some time. It reminded her sharply of the Thousand Needles, of the events that had transpired by the steaming pool, and she checked her temper to an aggravating chuckle from the stranger. "I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't taken that into consideration, Little Girl."

'Are you baiting me on purpose?' The thoughts were barely understandable to her as his words evoked the blood boil she had been so prone to in years past. She breathed slowly, letting her blue eyes fall closed for a few moments' time, and then fixed him in her gaze again. "Speak plain," Jen commanded simply, keeping the words short because she couldn't really think to do much more.

He laughed again, and it grated against her skin like sandpaper would have. His eyes fell on her angry face and he did speak plainly, "I offer you freedom, at a price."

Jen's rage died, her blood running cold as quickly as it had flared. Blue eyes a mix of curiosity, fear, and desire regarded him closely, "Freedom. Quite an offer, but how would you presume to do that?" His lips parted and Jen's brows knit in confusion, but soon that was forgotten. The fabric of the language he now spoke tore at her mind as readily as the fel magic that passed between them tore at her body. The pain came in waves, each more severe than the last, putting her mind in a cloudy fog.

"Do... you... doubt..." He asked slowly, drawing each word out, timing it so it fell with a fresh wave of agony, "...that... I... could... Little Thief?"

Jen had sunk to her knees, by the time his words finished, her body racked by spasms. She'd known worse injuries at Sora'jan's hands, but nothing that felt like this. Magic was only something she'd really faced from those whose skill closely matched her own, never from one so much stronger. Her blue eyes fixed on him as the cloudy fog of pain passed, taking in each of the age lines drawn across his skin. With a last tremble of her body she pushed herself up again, to her feet, hands catching the hilts of her swords. "Maybe."

His eyebrows rose, a smile split his aged lips. "You're not as weak as I thought," he said in a voice that was aggravatingly appraising, his eyes roamed from her face to the weapons she held. "That is only a measure of my power, Jenkantu. If you do what I ask, I will protect you from your... 'Master'," the distaste in the Warlock's voice drew an involuntary smile on Jen's lips, so deep was her hatred for Sora'jan. She did not interrupt as he continued, "First by changing you so that he cannot find you. Then, if he does somehow find you, I will bring him to his knees and inflict such pain upon him that what you just felt will seem trivial at best." The smile flickered quickly as he came to his conclusion.

Jen regarded him coolly, hands still trembling from the pain she'd felt. She saw it in the subtle shake of her blades, she felt it in the strain required to keep her knees from wobbling. Ridiculous.. but he's serious...' A long time passed as she gauged the Warlock before her. Surely he could have killed her in a heartbeat, but he hadn't. When finally she spoke again into the cool night air it was with a calmer voice, one which practiced the distance she had become so fond of, "What, pray tell, would it cost this half-orc?"

A sinister smile snaked across his lips just before they parted in speech, "I need your... touch." Jen looked bothered at the words and it took the man a moment to realize why. When he did the chuckle that sounded from his chest was enough to send a chill skittering down the half-orc's spine, "No, Woman, though that could be fun. What I mean is the distinct impression of an Orc's work. I require a certain soul's end, but it cannot appear to be the work of the Alliance."

Jen's black eyebrows came together as she considered this, her soft, blue eyes running over his aged face again. Slowly she nodded her head in ascent, relaxing her grip on her blades and trying to disperse some of the weakness in her body by shifting her weight. "It sounds... like I could help you. Before we go any further... Who sent you to me, and who, exactly, are you?"

He smiled again, the effect of it strange in the mingled light of lantern and moon. "The first is an easy question, truly. I'm certain you're familiar with the Goblin by the name of Gazlowe?" He waited long enough to note the nod of her bald head, "Much as he admired the coin I was offering as a reward, it seems he's too busy in Ratchet. Of course, he couldn't give this opportunity to another Goblin, one that might end up more wealthy than he because of the task... So he told me about this particular Half-Orc he'd trained in the ways of Goblin Engineering..." Jen nodded again, "The second question... That one's much more difficult. I'll give you the simple answer though," his tone implied she may not understand anything else, and that grated against Jen, "You may call me Doel."

His voice took on a whisper at the name and Jen felt like the jungle around them had suddenly grown colder, darker. Her blue eyes sought the outline of his face, tracing its strange lines in the tricky light they saw by. In time she inclined her head to him, "Very well, Doel. How do you propose we do this?"

The Warlock's laughter punctuated the chill in Jenkantu's mind, sending goosebumps up her arms even under her armor, "Well, my dear, I will give you a portion of my power. A small one, true, but enough to give you a certain 'edge' over your target. It will be, for all intents and purposes, a permanent edge, one that will not fade unless I take it back. Because of your circumstances I will use the power to shape your form, to draw out your human heritage and suppress that of your Orcish father. This way you frame the assassination on the Orcs and walk freely into the Alliance's embrace."

One of Jen's black brows raised skeptically, "And why should I trust you not to take it back soon as the job is done?" She asked, blue eyes glittering as they rested on his. Truth be told she was willing to take the gamble, but her indifference gave her a neutral tone, a tone good for haggling.

Doel chuckled, "Full of questions, aren't we? That's alright, that's quite alright," he seemed to muse as they stood there, eyes running over Jen's body, "I'll bind us as one binds a demon. You will be required to answer if I call upon you, but the fel magic will keep me true. It will not be undone unless both of us wish it so." Silence drew out between them as they stood so short a distance apart. His power was palpable in the air as he regarded her, and this, perhaps, was why she eventually gave a slow incline of her bald head. The winds of freedom were too enticing for even her battered embers to ignore. "Good, excellent in fact," his voice oozed into the night, "You remember though, Jenkantu, that you owe me. I will sew a measure of security into our pact for myself, so that should it be broken you will be unable to do harm to me. To this you must agree, or I walk away now."

He must have sensed his victory, her desire, for until that moment he had not held demands. Jen's blue eyes weighed him as her mind weighed the words. He was serious, of course, and so was the magic he would call upon. As the flicker of his lantern cast her sight in a dancing haze of light and shadow she slowly inclined her head again, "Fine, Warlock... I will play this game with you."

The winds in the jungle swept back and forth throughout their conversation, as though one gossiped to the next about Jenkantu's pending fate. By the end of it though, hope was present in her blue eyes, and fire in her soul for the first time in so long. The embers lay idle no longer, seizing upon the breath of life that had filtered through their ashy blanket; Jenkantu came back from the broken.

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Dec 2, 2010 15:16:44 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 2, 2010 15:16:44 GMT -5

((Again, Doel is a real character. Again, it's posted with his approval / permission.))

~~~~~~~~~~

--Jenkantu became Milanthe, the human with usually-oily black hair worn back in a ponytail, eyes an almost-violet red from the demonic methods used to change her, pale yellow-tinged skin, sensual curves, strong muscles. She chose her mother's name, and staged the assassination per Doel's requirement. Of course, now she had a new overseer. Doel didn't make Jen hate him, he merely exercised control. The two brushed toes more than once in anger, but more often than not Jenkantu was smart, Doel was willing to overlook her temper, and they got along in the end. Jen worked for Doel for a few years among the alliance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Oily, searing tendrils of black energy crawled across yellow-green skin, touching the nerves of it as a burning fire born within the flesh. Jen had felt nothing, nothing like this before. She opened her lips in a scream, but no sound came forth, no sound passed the pink-tinged, brown doors of breath save for a throaty whimper as another tendril snaked its way across her stomach. Doel stood over her, watching as she writhed on the jungle floor, and for that moment she hated him. There was no memory of the fact that she had asked for this, that he had cautioned her of the pain it would inflict, only the knowledge that it was his doing. It built and built, a crescendo of suffering, until finally she felt her consciousness slipping. Darkness roiled across her vision, and the half-orc welcomed it as a shield to keep her from the pain.[/color][/i]

'Obnoxious,' the word floated to her mind through a thick, sleepy haze of indistinct feelings. The reason grew louder in her ear. 'F*ck,' she growled mentally as she forced one heavy eyelid open. 'Ah, Gods!' It fell closed again swiftly. Something struck her as so very wrong. Jen's hands trembled as she made them move. It took so much effort just to lift them, so much effort to move them from contact with the skin of her sides. One hand she used to cover her eyes.

Wrong. Not a thought, just the knowledge that something was amiss. After several labored breaths Jen forced her eyes open again. She was staring at the palm of her hand, its worn lines and rough skin from her years of combat facing back at her with the same patterns as ever in her creamy, yellowish hide. Several moments passed as she observed the lines with her eyebrows knit together, and finally she realized. 'Creamy..?'

Jen lifted the hand further from her face, turning it in the process. Her arms still trembled as she did. 'Creamy.' She answered her own query silently. 'The Warlock!' Jen's eyes turned on her surroundings, her neck moving relatively freely to let her gaze travel. The feeling of hair caught against the earth under her back made the hand she'd lifted fall reflexively to her scalp. There was hair alright. Coarse and oily. Her attention returned to her surroundings, but the Warlock wasn't there.

'What..?' She caught sight of some leathers and a length of fabric, and realized with dismay that they looked familiar. Turning her gaze down and lifting her neck she realized she was indeed in the nude. 'He better have a f*ckin good reason..' Her mind bitterly snarled as she saw the pale, creamy, yellow tone of her skin. Her body was leaner in some places and rounder in others, not the hardened one she'd had before. Muscles that had been thick and dense were now more relaxed, but no less strong.... She hoped. 'Interesting..' the anger was abating, and remarkably quickly. 'Mirror.'

She nodded to herself and tried to move her legs. There was no response to her desire, 'What?' A flood of panic flowed through her, straight to the core of her being as she strained to no avail. Nothing below her waist seemed to want to move. "F-F*ck." Jen stammered, trying again and again with no result. Finally she accepted that she would not stand and she twisted her body forcibly, using her arms for leverage. One leg fell lazily upon the other as her scarred stomach pressed to the verdant life of Stranglethorn Vale. With quivering arms she pulled herself toward her belongings, panic and fear granting her enough adrenaline to force the work on her quaking arms. Little grunts and expletives slid past her lips with each forward grasp of her hand before it finally met the edge of one of her packs.

"Oh Fel," Jen jerked at the voice, pulling the pack down into her with unkind force, "Woman, you shouldn't be moving yet." It was the aged voice of the Warlock who'd done this to her.

"Urg." Jen pushed the pack away again as she swiveled her neck to gaze on Doel, a snarl growing in her throat, "You. What the fel do you think you're doing?"

He didn't look impressed, in fact he looked rather annoyed, "I'm doing what we said I would so you can make good on your end of the bargain, little thief."

The fire burned inside her to his words as her eyes narrowed, "If I could walk-"

"But you can't, and you shouldn't have moved." He crossed the distance between them, and close in his wake was a creature that seemed made of shadows, a Voidwalker. "If you hurt yourself now you're no use to either of us, and that was no small amount of power that passed between us."

Jen tried to twist again, but found her own legs were an obstacle to that desire. She eyed him hard as he knelt close by and started to touch her shoulder. "Get your hand away from me," her voice was still a snarl.

"Or what, are you going to hurt me? Not in that state." He waited a long while as that sunk in. Slowly Jen nodded and Doel mirrored the gesture, "Good, now if you'll stop being foolish I'll help you get better so we can move this plan forward."

Jen let him turn her on her back again, then felt his hands slide under her legs and around her shoulders. She couldn't help a shudder of distaste and the wrinkling of her nose, but Doel gave no reaction save to carry her back where she had been and to rest her on the ground. He'd picked a nice place, relatively speaking. Where roots and thorns were common in Stranglethorn, so too were waxy leaves and soft grasses. He'd found an area with the latter. The Warlock took something from his packs, a small, round, ceramic container. "What's that?"

He didn't answer at first, twisting the lid from the jar and reaching in. His hand came out bearing a grayish-white liquid that was thick and gooey. He moved it toward her, but she shirked away as much as her body would allow. To the motion Doel explained, "This is going to help your body fight the taint... so that you can properly harness it."

She fell still, eyes remaining firmly on his hand as it approached her bare skin. He didn't wait for her comfort, but rather touched it to her stomach. The feeling was cooling and soothing, but the presence of his fingers made her nauseous. 'Don't think about it. Just don't think about it.' Jen closed her eyes and tried to block out his touch, which only served to make it more distinct. Some part of her hated him again for this, but as he tended her he showed great care. His aged hands worked gently at her skin, quickly, respectfully. They never lingered where they were not needed, and that Jen took careful note of.

Slowly the feeling came back to her legs, legs which he was massaging at the calves as she laid there with her eyes closed. Occasionally he would speak enough to tell her to move her toes or bend her knee, but both took time to come to pass. When finally she did bend her leg at the knee, his knuckles kneading the flesh just above it, his voice sounded again, "Very impressive, Jenkantu."

Her eyes fluttered open at the praise and she turned her gaze on him, trying to discern the motives behind it. So far as she could tell the neutrality of his tone was true. "What?" She asked at long last.

His dark chuckle fell upon her ears like drops of rain, and surprisingly she found her anger quite soothed, "You recover much faster than I'd expected," the Warlock explained, pausing in his massaging to push the gray locks of hair over his shoulder. "You look a lot better too..."

She snorted to the words, "You just get me better, Warlock. I don't want your fingers on my skin any longer than they have to be."

"Remember who you speak to. Remember the pain I've already brought upon you," his voice counseled more than it chided and Jen's eyes were on his face again. When she said nothing further he nodded his head. "Better. We're in this together, half-orc. You need me as much as I need you."

Her head fell back against the pillow that was her coarse, oily hair and the waxy leaves of the jungle, eyes cast up to the canopy. Much as she hated to admit it, her mind told her he was right. 'Might even need him more.'

"Try again," Doel said, interrupting her thoughts. She nodded and sighed heavily, willing her legs to bend at the knees, willing her waist to bend. She managed to lift her back from the bed of leaves and to hold herself a little above the ground for a few moments before collapsing against it again. A smile washed over her lips at this trivial progress and her eyes sought his. "Good..." his only response.

Some time passed in silence before Jen remembered why she had been moving in the first place. "You got a mirror, by chance?" she asked, still watching his face. He nodded and reached into a bag made of strangely dark fabric to produce one. Jen took it and turned it to her face, letting her eyes wash over her new form. Pale creamy skin with a yellow tinge framed eyes of almost-violet red. A rumpled mane of coarse, oily, black hair could be seen about her shoulders and pressed into the earth around her head. She angled the glass lower and appraised her new body more attentively. A form like this could have drawn the eye of many men. 'Might be useful...' the fleeting thought sounded, but she knew without thinking that she would never purposefully use her body like that; never purposefully invite another to touch it just to learn someone's secrets or get them alone. Not after what had happened.

Some time later, with the looking glass still in Jen's possession, the Warlock spoke again, "You'll need a new name. Do you have one in mind?"

Violet-red eyes flicked up to Doel's face, searching for his, but the Warlock's gaze remained on the leg he was massaging. "Milanthe." Jenkantu said simply, turning her eyes away again. She never would have admitted it, but this kind of touch, with its soothing intent, felt very nice against her scar-ridden flesh.

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Dec 6, 2010 18:10:13 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2010 18:10:13 GMT -5

((Don't forget, Jen took her mother's name for her human form. Milanthe is Jen in this one. :))

)

~~~~~~~~~~

*-During this time Jenkantu came upon the first soul she saw value in, or that soul came upon her. It was a night elf druidess who stumbled upon Jen while she was stranded and alone in a place known as Hellfire Peninsula. Jen was fighting with 'Shattered Hand' fel Orcs. A new breed of Orcs claiming heritage that tied to her previous organization. Jen delighted in ending their lives, but perhaps too much, for now she was outnumbered underneath their daunting and massive Hellfire Citadel. The fight became close, but well-placed explosives helped to even the odds. In the end Jenkantu should have lost, should have fallen to the last standing fel Orc. She was staggering, bleeding from her side and from her thigh. The blade in her hand was in a weak grasp. A bright pillar of light broke the shadows the citadel. Sudden, intense, the pillar tore through the fel Orc's skin, arcane energy crackling and dissipating as quickly as it came, then another, then a crackling ball of green energy. The fel Orc collapsed into his death, and behind the fallen body amassed with seven others of his kind Jenkantu now saw a night elf. Green energy swirled around her hands, and suddenly the pain from Jen's side and thigh were washed in a the cool, nurturing embrace of Nature's healing. This druid's name was Amainala.

~~~~~~~~~~

'One good thing about this red dirt...' Milanthe thought as she crept from one crevice to the next, carefully avoiding the attention of the red-skinned 'fel Orcs' who occuppied the path laid before her, 'I don't gotta f*ckin say a word to these Orcs... I just gotta kill em.' Fighting on the other side of the lines had indeed been a treat for the past two years. Sure, Doel was a nigh-insufferable prick at times, but other times he was actually pretty good to her... so far as employers went. She took particular delight in the slaughter of the Orcs she was currently avoiding, mainly because they claimed themselves the New Horde and also boasted of heritage tying into the origination of her previous organization. It was pure delight to treat them to untimely death.

'How many souls have I claimed today alone? A hundred?' Her brownish-pink lips split into a smile against the pale, yellow-tinged, creamy skin of her face. 'Maybe more. Death smiles on me. Gotta make sure it stays that way.' It was never a truly conscious transition from dealing in death to worshiping it, but Milanthe was aware that she honestly did now. Each night she prayed Death stay at bay or better yet, lay claim to enemies. Each day she bent her mind to it in the morning, often promising a new yield of lives for its purposes.

The red dirt of Hellfire made no sounds under Mil's careful steps. She left little trace in her passing, save for lighter pockets among the more populous packs of Orcs. Had she been strong enough, the human would have brought all of her enemies into Death's embrace, but her skill was as yet lacking. 'There we go...' Violet-red eyes fixed on a small tent with three Orcs seated below it. They were deep in the path of Glory, so near the citadel it was but a few quick paces away.

With a smirk on her pink lips the human brought her weapon hard into the back of one of the Orc's necks. The others looked around, wary-seeming, and she pinched a handful of wet powder, tossing it behind them. On contact with Hellfire Peninsula's red earth the powder sizzled, quickly evaporating with a bizarre sucking noise. Their eyes fixed in that direction. One trail of her pink tongue across the brown of her lips and she breathed. 'Play time,' her weapon connected mercilessly with her opponent's side, keeping them in place, agony the only expression on their face. The other moved toward her, but a pinch of blinding powder had him out of commission while another well-placed strike built up momentum for Milanthe. The Orc was recovering from her initial injury of him as she brought her other blade into just the same place on his other side.

He didn't even manage a strangled cry between her vicious blade strikes. "HUMAN~" the sudden cry of an Orc above her rang out, sounding like a trumpet through the chasm. Milanthe's eyes moved up above her. At the edge of the wall's lip there stood a fel Orc, hands making a cone around his lips, and beside him a slavering worg. 'F*ck' she thought, eyes returning to the Orc before her. A last stab to his back, through his ribs and into his lungs, assured he wouldn't be rejoining the fight.

Then the other came out of his blinded stupor. He turned on her, weapons in hand, and she fought, calling on the slippery tactics she'd been taught to evade him expertly. Most of his feeble attacks missed easily, and Milanthe was beginning to grin again as the Orc above sounded out another cry, "HUMAN IN OUR RANKS! HUMAN~~~ CATCH THAT LITTLE B*TCH!"

A snarl passed her lips as she buried her blade into her oponent's stomach, leaving him staggering slowly after her, poison coursing through his veins. She turned her gaze to the ledge above, gauging how difficult a climb it would be, and then she heard them, the sound of feet on the dirt behind her. Looking back Milanthe caught sight of a flock of Orcs, five in number. 'Oh good Death, be on my side today...' She'd killed one already and nearly ended another. Her gaze turned on the staggering Orc, hand at his stomach, blood seeping through. The heartless smirk that drew across her lips complimented her cold and calculated gaze as she let one dagger fly and watched it connect cleanly with his side. The Orc died on contact, slumping to the red dirt with a graceless 'thuck' sound.

Stabbing pain in her own side drew her attention again. The first of them had reached her. Ripping her body from his blade, Milanthe drew more powder from her belt. This damp collection of alchemical components exploded in a cloud of smoke when it landed at her feet, and when that cleared she was free of their sight. Milanthe breathed a sigh of relief as she picked over the two she'd killed, avoiding the sight of the others.

"What is this? Gorax will find the little human," his heavy Orcish voice reached her ears and Mil felt the hairs stand up along her spine. 'Hmph.' She turned from the corpse of her first kill to see him dangerously close to the second one, but she had quick fingers. She picked her way over to the second corpse with care, not making a sound in the dirt. Hands slipped into his pockets and free again, her violet-red eyes were on Gorax the whole time.

"Hha," an audible gasp passed her lips at the feel of a hand on her arm. Looking down wide-eyed she saw the Orc that had slumped forward, that had fallen so surely, grasping her arm.

"THERE!" the voice of Gorax bellowed from only a few feet away, and Milanthe's eyes turned up again. She wrenched her arm free of the bloody grasp of her victim, precious silver coin she'd pulled from his pockets falling from her hand as it slid into her pack and brought a bomb out with it. Milanthe lit it in a heartbeat and threw it to the ground between her and the oncoming enemy, rolling away from the pending explosion. The sound of it echoed through the chasm and she looked up and down it frantically while moving forward, hands on the hilts of her blades. It didn't look like anyone else was coming.

"Here little human," one of the Orcs said as he closed into melee with her, bearing the injuries of her explosion better than his allies had. Milanthe wheeled to meet the attacker's blades, her back soon finding the cool stone of part of the citadel pressed against it. She couldn't slip half into the veil like she had earlier. She'd not recovered yet. Nor could she vanish again, the liquid had not set into the next dose... Nor the blinding powder. 'Options, options..' She stabbed him in his collar bone at an opportunity he'd foolishly left open and swallowed hard.

The first fell as the other four came from their disoriented state and rushed toward her. The short time she was afforded to look for a way out yielded nothing, and soon her blades met theirs again in the dangerous dance of an assassin cornered. 'Think woman, think...' There was a clock ticking away in her mind, a few seconds more, blinding powder... vanishing powder... Another fell, but she took heavy injuries, and so she pulled it early, drawing the next dose of powder from the dispenser she carried. Milanthe bit and snarled and sliced, making them lose their balance, before throwing the powder into the eyes of one. Nothing happened save for a few blinks. She swallowed hard again and sprinted, pushing herself off the wall and making for the opening, but 'Gorax' moved into her path and she careened to a side. Looking around she realized she was pushing her luck.

Fingers pinched again, pulling out her vanishing powder, 'Oh sweet Death, favor me. I'll bring them to you, I swear it..' She let the powder fall and the smoke bellowed up from the earth, slowing her racing heart even as she pulled the shadows back around her. Milanthe moved into the crevices deeper, and there drew out a potion and a bandage, after a cursory glance and the use of more distracting powder, she let the shadows fall. The potion she drank in a single shot, the bandage she applied quickly. Her wounds healed under the magical ministrations of both and a sigh of relief passed her lips. 'Still four plus that Gorax prick.' She looked at the wall of the recess she had sheltered in, but it was too steep. 'Can't break an oath with Death anyway, Mil. Less you're f*ckin' crazy.'

She pulled the shadows around her again and edged toward the opening into her little recess. The Orcs were looking for her, that Gorax fellow at the had of them. Mil let the time pass, waiting for her blinding powder, vanishing powder, and the recovery of her stamina. More than once they came close, and she could tell they wouldn't let up.

"I'll get the dogs," Gorax said and turned to walk away.

'No more resting...' Mil took in a long breath and held it, watching as he left. She acted then, moving forward and drawing her hilt hard into the nearest, leaving him as disoriented as his companion had been earlier. A pinch of powder made the three remaining orcs look away for just long enough, just long enough for her to stab one bastard right next to his spine, damn near ending him in a single blow. She finished him ruthlessly before throwing her powder in the eyes of the first one to connect with her tan, yellowish skin. A hiss of air passed her lips as she wheeled on the last and assaulted him, anger moving her blades with more speed than pure skill could have.

Another stab found its way to her side from the blinded Orc. He'd recovered faster than intended, and Mil started counting seconds. She put her weapon through her target's throat before turning on the new danger and letting go her control. It all became a flurry of motion as she moved from one opponent to the next and back again, blades falling upon them like hammers on an anvil. When it passed she collected her thoughts. One staggered, one bled, neither fell. 'Mistake.'

She shouldn't have done it, not then. And soon after realizing this the sound of heavy steps drew her eyes. Gorax on the return, not a hound in sight. 'He fooled me. F*ck.' She moved forward quickly, assaulting the staggering Orc and watching as he fell to the dirt, her spit soon following. Then wheeled on the next in time to parry a blow aimed for her calf.

'F*ck,' Gorax's steps were coming closer. "I'm gonna hurt you, filthy human b*tch. Gonna make you beg," the Orc growled.

It was all she needed to propel her combat, one blade followed the next swiftly, sometimes doubling back for an extra wound to the last Orc's flesh. She dispatched all four before Gorax met her, and then she really was fighting inch-for-inch. The larger Orc hit like a hammer, and more than once he left her on her ass from a blow. She recovered quickly, but it was a losing fight as injury after injury found her side.

'No. I will not.. I will not lose this.' The words burned in her ears, evoking such raw rage as she'd not felt since Doel had infused her with his fel taint. 'This will not come to pass.' Milanthe snarled, her teeth bared in almost-rabid fury as she launched herself forward, drawing herself half in the veil so his blade would not meet her as easily. Nicks she left in his armor, in his flesh, nicks, and here and there a real injury, testament of the fury that carried her in the fight. And as he swung to miss time after time she found her energy swelling, the adrenaline rising to the occasion, she would win this fight despite it being balanced against her.

Gorax saw it in her eyes, and she saw in his the fear that she was right. That too fueled her fire as she brought swing after swing into his arms, his body, his flesh. The poison carried on her blades left some of the injuries she brought to him fizzing with angry bubbles.

And then everything changed. She slipped from the veil, and the moment she did she knew the tides would turn. Fear seized her briefly, but long enough to make her miss a parry, long enough for his sword to find her side and pierce it mercilessly over the smaller wound one of his comrades had inflicted. A shriek passed her lips as she pulled herself back, staggering, only to scramble with her pack and catch hold of an explosive. It sent the dirt scattering at their feet and made fresh burns against his armor, and in the time he was disoriented she managed to take another potion.

Still her breathing was ragged, and as he came out of it her fingers pinched the powder in her belt. It fell to the ground as he roared and advanced and the smoke filled the air in a pillar as she felt the flat of his weapon connect with her head. She staggered awkwardly, knowing this was her chance to pull the veil around her, but she couldn't, not then... And only moments later it was too late. "Ha, Gorax will break you!" The Orc bellowed triumphantly, his sword opening yet another wound in her side, a wound only just closed by a potion, before trailing through her thigh and breaking the armor there too. She felt the blood seep forth from the injuries and sagged on her feet.

'No..' her fleeting thoughts began as she nearly dropped her weapon, still moving back, away from the Orc, 'I guess I wasn't-'

A thunderous noise sounded, ending her thought prematurely, and to Milanthe's amazement a bright pillar of light broke the shadows of the citadel. Sudden, intense, the pillar tore through Gorax's skin, arcane energy crackling and dissipating as quickly as it came. "Aahh!" Gorax screamed as another pillar broke the darkness, ripping through his flesh like it was freshly baked bread. Mil fell back on her rump as she watched, her breathing in short gasps. The crackle of what sounded like lightning reached her ears, but the energy that burst around her enemy was green.

He hadn't even managed to turn his gaze from Mil when he collapsed into Death's embrace, and behind the fallen body among the seven others of Gorax's kind, Milanthe now saw a night elf.

The elven woman was beautiful against the angry red earth of Hellfire, moreso because of the fact that she'd just saved Milanthe's sorry ass. And as the rogue watched she saw green energy, like the crackling energy but more tame, swirl around the stranger's dusky, blue hands. It washed over Milanthe, bathing her from head to toe in a soothing calm that nurtured her injuries and cooled their burn, restoring her strength and her health far more easily than any potion or bandage may have.

Milanthe swallowed, her tongue wetting her lips as she watched the elf approach, "How much do I owe you for that, Elf?"

The Night Elf shook her head, amusement playing at her lips, "Nothing. It just looked like you could use some help."

Milanthe blinked as she gauged the words, surprise born of the fact that this stranger seemed to sincerely ask no reward. "Who... Who are you?"

Violet-red eyes met elven eyes of lavender hue and the graceful arch of a smile on dusky blue lips, "My name is Amainala..." the elf said more than this, but for that moment the name was all Milanthe really heard.

Echo of the Past
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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Dec 7, 2010 11:51:40 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2010 11:51:40 GMT -5

*-Jen traveled with Amainala, who insisted no payment was necessary. She grew to be more at peace than she had been in her entire life. Over time their relationship turned from one of friendship to something oddly deeper. Jen loved Amainala, an emotion she'd not felt before. Amainala cared for Jen, though not romantically. Jen never confessed her love of the elf was romantic, instead simply acting as though it were a sisterly love, but all she could see of the elf was beauty. Beautiful form, beautiful mind, and startlingly beautiful spirit. Nurture and love, and yet raw, ruthless power from the bosom of nature.

~~~~~~~~~~

Milanthe couldn't explain the changes that had been happening. It was all on her side, and she knew that, but Amainala was getting under her skin in a way more effective than anything she'd ever known. Another pop sizzled from the fire and the human turned her violet-red gaze on the flames again. Little sparks flew up from the logs they'd piled up. Amainala was sitting nearby, grinding some herbs in a small, clay bowl bearing depictions of leaves on it. The elf offered another dusky blue smile to Milanthe who reflected it a little weakly. 'F*ck woman, grow up..'

The problem was, she knew she would lose her. 'Elves take a long time to find their...' She shook her head and felt her oily black hair sway around her face. "So.." she managed, looking at her companion again as she tried to brush aside her thoughts, "Where to next?" 'Maybe she won't find someone until after I've died...' Mil's eyes widened a little as the thought registered and she couldn't swallow the look down fast enough to keep Amainala from noticing.

"Are you alright, Mil? You seem... off lately." The Elf said, voice full of concern and kindness. Her elegant hands came to a rest on the lip of the clay mortar, the pestle settled idly against the bowl's wall. Lavender eyes were fixed on Milanthe as the assassin looked at her friend, and it was all she could do to keep a neutral expression.

"I'm fine.. This place..." Milanthe cast her eyes about the marsh, searching for some excuse, some justification. Amainala had proven keen to the body language of others, and since then Milanthe had been working on mastering her own, "It just.. reminds of some pretty dark things I've.. known." It wasn't entirely true, but lying Mil had little trouble with.

Amainala nodded, dusky lips curled in a sympathetic frown. "Why don't we go south then, to Nagrand perhaps?" Milanthe bit her lower lip, looking up at the Elf where she sat. She swallowed, and the unease was not lost on her companion. "Is that really all that's bothering you, Milanthe?"

'F*ck, gotta learn to mind my face better. Having the smoothest voice in the world ain't gonna do a lick of good so long as she can see through my moods.' Milanthe swallowed again and nodded, falling back on a sure conversation-turner, "Yeah, that and.. Well I really think I should be giving you some kind of payment. You saved-"

"No." The druidess said sternly, her right hand lifted the mortar in slender fingers as the mirror of them wrapped about the pestle. "You're not paying me. That's the end of it." Amainala was annoyed, and her agitation carried in her voice as clearly as Milanthe's face displayed the assassin's worries.

Mil couldn't help a small smirk, "I don't see why not, Woman. You saved my life!" She put emphasis on woman, already having figured out a way or two to raise Amainala's hackles.

The druidess' lavender eyes weren't quite icy in their chill as they met Milanthe's violet-red gaze, but they weren't as warm and concerned as they had been either. "I did, didn't I? So you just be polite and mind your manners and we'll call that payment enough... Since it seems to be such a trying task for you."

Mil blinked at the words, her smirk widening, "Ooh, Amainala, that was cold." The humor carried in the rogue's voice seemed to lighten the mood between them as Amainala's eyes softened and the Elf's own smile returned.

"I- I suppose it was," she said with a chuckle. "Forgive me, friend. I only meant. I don't wish payment, and I'm tired of arguing about that."

Her laughter was music to Milanthe, it filled their small encampment, lifting the troubles on the rogue's mind away. "Of course," the assassin said, a lazy smile on her lips as she leaned back against her bedroll, "I won't pester you again, Friend...." The silence carried between them for a time as Milanthe looked at the underside of the mushrooms high above. Eventually she murmured softly, "Sister..." and cast her gaze toward Amainala.

There was a tender light in the elf's lavender eyes at the word and she nodded, a sign of her ascent. "Thank you.. Sister," Amainala said in return.

The grin broadened as Milanthe looked back to their mushroom canopy. 'Death... be kind... For the first time in all my life.. everything seems right...' Violet-red eyes fell closed to the sound of the pestle as it ground away with the intermingled crackles of the fire. Amainala was humming, and the tune seemed to cover Milanthe like a blanket. 'I'll never be able to tell her... But.. that's alright. She deserves to be happy, and as things are... I'm happy for the simple opportunity to know her.'

They were the last thoughts to cross her mind before sleep claimed her and took her to a place where Amainala did know how Milanthe really felt. Where they held hands by the firelight before she massaged Amainala's shoulders as the druid worked on her salves and potions.

Echo of the Past
Traitor

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[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature Dec 7, 2010 12:02:10 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2010 12:02:10 GMT -5

((*Eyes her breakdown, particularly the next bullet point to write about.* Well f*ck. It'll be a while before I get that one done. I guess just enjoy what's there for now and we'll see how the muse strikes me in the coming days.))

[Khazgral] The History of an Assassin - Mature

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