World of Warcraft®

She had paused her pacing in the Silent Guard base for the moment as her eyes came to rest on the odd black envelope sitting on a near by table.

'How did this get here...'

Curious on how such a thing got past the guards, she did not know as she glanced around, seeing no one around or any amiss in the room as she pulled an arrow from near by while her other hand resting on her ever growing belly. She lightly poked the letter with the arrow to see if anything would happen, thankfully nothing. So she slowly walked to the table as something seemed to grip her heart, something painful, slowly creeping into the back of her mind the closer she got to it until she found herself standing over it.

She reached out for the envelope with a shaky hand as she used the arrow tip to tear open the seal as she gasped for a moment at the smell... it was of home...Argus... As she began to read the simple words. But then the smell of ash came quickly as she nearly screamed out as screams filled her mind of her home world... the one before the Legion destroyed as her hands rushed to grab the table to stop her from falling over as the memories washed over her. Tears fell down her cheeks as she watched the imagines of her family fall... her mother racing with her in her arms, only a mere child at the time. Running... screaming as she was tossed into the arm into the arms of a solider as her mother lay dead a few feet away.

It was a long time before she had settled, at least enough to think straight as both her arms curled around her stomach feeling the light kicks from the unborn child. 'No... nothing will bring you harm my child....I swear it'

And with that she grabbed her bow as she strolled out the base, her face harden and determined more then ever to protect her new family.

The first thing Derscha did upon visiting her house was to dust off the accumulated layer of neglect that inevitably covered all the surfaces. Strictly speaking, she spent more time living in Booty Bay or on the road than in the small gnomish house, but she always found time to visit.

She paused, duster in mid-swipe, when she saw the black envelope on top of the wine rack, propped up against the precious half-bottle of Auberdine Red. None of her locks had been disturbed, nor did the patterns of dust in the room suggest any had been there recently, and yet not a speck of dust was to be seen against the dark black paper. Curiously, she slipped on a pair of gloves before tentatively opening the paper.

The scent of paper and ink, and the ominous feel of the letter, forced another pause. Derscha dealt every day with papers and letters. She had thought she'd long ago enured herself to the the particular sharpness of that memory, and yet the pain suddenly felt fresh. She instinctively glanced to Lazack's forever empty chair, and then again to the bottle of red, wondering if someone had deliberately paired letter and wine together. More importantly, wondering who would do such a thing.

The strange message did nothing to abate her suspicious, nor the sudden mental presence she felt. She did not very much care for people prying into her personal, private business, but she was willing to play along for now. Not that she'd show up alone, of course. That would be simply silly, and Derscha was never simply silly.

Calent stood and stretched her sore muscles, cramped from hours of sitting and filling out paperwork. She swung her arms back and forth, feeling life flood back in them as she moved. Being a Corporal was hard work, but it was worth it, she thought. She moved to the other end of the office and went to make herself a cup of coffee. She smiled as she watched the coffee maker begin to work. The device had been a gift to the Stormwind Watch, it resembled a toy train set. She turned with her filled coffee mug and strode back to the table to finish filing away her reports, when suddenly she noticed a black envelope sitting atop her stack of papers. She hadn't seen anyone come into the office, but there were office workers moving about all the time, maybe she just didn't notice. She shrugged and picked it up, looking at the envelope, she felt her heart quicken as she broke the seal of the envelope, she did not know why.

Suddenly she was no longer in the office, the scent of wheat grass and soil surrounded her, the crisp outdoor air. She was in Westfall. She smelled a scent she had not known for ten long years, it was the scent of work and sweat and home. Her father's scent. Suddenly she was ten years old again, helping him to load a cart with flour to deliver to town.

The smell of sweat intensified, she was surrounded by throngs of shouting people, she could smell the rusty metallic smell of their farm tools, the soot and smoke from their torches. Her father had bidden her to hide, and she did. She heard the cacophony of the voices around her, thick smoke filled the air as their cart was burned, the poor mule at the front screeching in agony. She dared peek out from her hiding spot, just in time to see her father fall. The roiling mass of humanity hadn't even noticed he'd fallen and trod all over him. The scent of blood washed over her so strongly she could taste its metallic tang, she felt helpless, weak, and angry.

When she came back to herself, she was trembling, the parchment wadded in her fist. She realized that she could still taste the blood, and then noticed that she had bitten her lip. A drop of blood fell and splashed onto the parchment as she read its message. She stared for several long moments before balling up the parchment and tossing it away.

"Who will march with?" She asked herself aloud, the sender had gifted her with a fresh reminder of why she started down this path in the first place. She would not stand by helplessly and watch while others suffered. No, she could not participate in the rabble rousing. But go, she must, all the same. Something was afoot here and she needed to know what. She cursed silently to herself when she realized that she had dropped her coffee mug, it lay in shards upon the floor. She could have used that coffee, though it would do naught to steady her shaking hands as she went to don her armor.

I wish I would have known about this sooner even though I am there as I typed this

Witheeis eyed the Black Envelope sitting inside the bags of his saddle. "Strange, I don't remember putting this here... Ah well, I regard to it later." He mounts his horse, and they kick off into the air on the Hearthsteed's ethereal wings.

He could see the Gates of Ironforge ahead, and steered is steed toward the entrance. Upon landing, the steed took him toward his small house in Ironforge. He got off and pulled his contents from the saddle bags, including the Black Envelope. His steed shimmered and grew inwardly, turning into his hearthstone. He placed it in it's usual spot and went inside.

Once he was inside, he put everything away after tossing the letter on the bed. Upon finishing this he walked over to his bed and sat down on it. He removed his armor and changed into his regular at home clothes, and leaned against the headboard. Grabbing the letter he turned it over, seeing the seal. "Hm, interesting seal..." He was feeling apprehensive now, but non the less, he opened the letter.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming smell of rotting corpses. He pulled the parchment out, but the images in his mind was overtaking him. He could now smell the scent of blood and ash mixed with the rot.

The images inside his head were horrific, memories of what he done under the Lich King's rule. The Innocents he killed and watched burn. The memory of waking up, dead. He watched as he approached a man on the ground. This was his final test, to kill this man. The man looked up, and Witheeis immediately registered that he looked familiar.

"Come to kill me have you?" This man said. His eyes were foggy, clearly he was blind. He began to spout off things about the scourage and the Lich King. Witheeis knew what he must do, and rose his sword into the air. One swing and it would be over. He brought the sword down, and just before contact, Witheeis realized that this man had been his father in his living life.

Witheeis jerked awake, breathing heavily. He was shivering, his body covered in sweat. A memory he had long since buried, forgotten. He knew the time and the place. He wasn't sure if he should go. He let the letter fall to the floor.

The night out to Dalaran had gone smoothly, surprisingly so for she had her husband with her. A bit tense at various time, but good. Very good even, considering how far into her pregnancy Ciellia is. Upon arriving home, she tucked Eillan into bed and lulled him to sleep with a bedtime story. She had noticed two letters on the table in their kitchen, but dismissed them to do her motherly duties at first, now she had the time to read them.

Upon plucking up one of the letters, Lia did a double take of the envelope. Her stomach turned without even opening it. She stepped outside and into their vast garden, opting to sit on grass and dirt than a hard bench. After mindfully ripping one edge of the envelope and wiggling out the piece of parchment, the scent wafts into the air.

Blinding pain shot up her spine.

Ciellia pressed on to read the two lines: "Change is upon us. Who will you march with?"

The events played in her mind, over and over and over.

"Oh, sis… You sadden me." He released the fel fire bolt at her stomach and she cried out in pain. Wyatt's hands came together as he drew the summoning portal. His torture of her was not going to be quick. He was going to draw it out. The felhound that emerged first followed Ciellia's magical aura, sniffing her out before starting to siphon the mana from her writhing body.

Wyatt shuddered in pleasure, basking in the transfer of energy from his hound and in Ciellia's fear. He kneeled down between her legs and took her jaw in his hands. "Did you really think I would give you peace? After what you did to Faxton?" He laughed at her meager attempts to look away from him.

The slow draining of her energy continued for close to an hour and as it went on, her heartbeat slowed. Handprints of the imps had become embedded into her flesh and seared some of her hair away as was the case for the imp at her head. Heartbeat erratic, as was her breathing, Wyatt grinned wickedly as he sent a surge of fel magic into her body. A source of corruption for her already being so weak.

Her heartbeat stuttered. Seconds passed before another beat came.

Ciellia passed out in the garden with little more than a gasp.

Quick summary of tonight's RP: Alniyat got the letter, went to the "party", and helped a young woman (Emmaiya) come down from her panic attack. A priest named Orrick Allsfine helped out, as well as two druids, one named Lamius Thorne and the other Icecube C-something. They agreed something should be done, and Lamius, Orrick, and Alniyat moved to a warded spell room in the Violet Citadel to tease out the spell. Lamius had to leave to take care of his friends, but Orrick and Alniyat together figured out the structure of the spell:

* An alchemical ink, which, when smelled, triggered
* An arcane spell to change the mind's perception of the smell and identify the most emotional memory of loss, which then triggered
* A fel inscription of hysteria or fear to amplify the effect. All three of these come in one short burst and fade away quickly to make the effect seem non-magical if scryed after the initial burst.

But wait, there's more!

* Draconic-inspired arcane teleportation runes to deliver the letters and replace them if damaged (as someone was demonstrating at the party).
* A shadow-based invocation, not unlike those the trolls use to communicate with Loa, to imprint upon the recipient's mind the time and location of the party.
* Draconic spell "glue" to make the magics work together smoothly.
* A masked mana channel to signal to a separate location, which Alniyat theorizes is the delivery mechanism, since that isn't contained in the letters and they seem exchangeable anyway.

Alniyat contacted the Watch, teleported herself and Orrick to Stormwind, and met Officer Calent, along with Harmarth and Lamius, in the Recluse for a recap. They agreed that the delivery system should be found and deactivated to prevent more letter deliveries/replacements, and then the apparatus destroyed. Alniyat suggested that the issue would be better tackled after everyone had a chance to cool down and get some sleep, and she'd also need another arcanist or mage to help triangulate the device's location.

If someone wants to continue this without me, officer Calent has a crystal with a copy of a spell structure diagram for the letter's spell. Otherwise... Sunday? would probably be the best bet to keep going, since I'm busy tomorrow and Saturday. I have no idea if the device would be guarded, who sent the letters (if anyone), or where things should go after this.

<Alniyat punts the RP ball back to Khromie.>

Kaietsu stepped into the house from outside, Ciellia was nowhere in sight, which was unusual for the time of night, but he didn't think anything of it at the time. Their trip to Dalaran had gone smoothly, surprisingly. Having only had to briefly endure some insane, and no doubt magic induced nonsense by the wayside he could see no reason to be concerned.

His eyes fell upon the single black envelope remaining on the table and he snatched it up to examine it more closely. He remembered the warning he had been given in Dalaran, that if he should encounter any such envelopes that he should not open them. He sneered, what nonsense. He tore open the envelope and read the lines aloud in a low growl, "Change is upon us. Who will you march with?" he shook his head, 'That's just stupid.'

A wracking pain shot throughout his body, and his fist closed tightly around the missed invitation as the envelopes scent washed up into his nostrils.

The pain forced the warrior to one knee. On the ground next to him lay his now severed ear, limp and blood, cut by a bladed arrow. A furious shriek followed, “BROTHER! You left us to die!”

Kelleigha burst toward him from the surrounding ghouls, swords drawn, her eyes filled with a hatred and rage that matched his own. She knocked his last weapon away as he attempted to parry her attack, a quick spinning kick to the head knocked Kaietsu to his hands and knees, and a second follow up kick drove him face first into the ground.

With one foot she rolled Kaietsu onto his back, and, standing over his broken body, put the heel of her boot on his throat, “Coward. Traitor.” Her words echoed his own thoughts, “You should have died here.”

She was right. He should die here, but not yet. He grabbed her by the foot and twisted, pulling her down to the ground, rolling after her to swing at her head, but she was already gone, and behind him he could hear the sound of a bow being drawn. It was over. He closed his eyes, letting blood loss take him into darkness, the last sound he heard a sharp whistle of an arrow let lose from a bow.

It sounded like a hundred.

The kitchen table flew across the room, shattering into pieces as it impacted on the far wall and the warrior let out a furious and thundering roar. His feral eyes scanned the roomed, looking for an enemy that wasn't there, the entirety of his body poised to attack at the slightest movement.

Nothing. There was nothing, and this was just a memory - no longer relevant. His chest heaved with long angry breathes and he threw the crumpled envelope to the floor before his he turned toward the door. It was open when he came wasn't it? 'Runae.'

Barely contained rage still pouring off his body, he strode quickly and purposefully toward the door, leaving the house in search of his wife.

Neir strolled through the cathedral square on her way to Jon's home as she would normally do. She walked past the giant fountain in the center before taking a slight turn left heading in the direction of the lake behind the cathedral. Upon reaching the dock that connected the cathedral and the canal passages, she turned and walked past a black envelope on one of the posts. She stopped and thought for a moment.

"Was there an envelope there?"

She turned and looked back and stared at the envelope. The black caught her eye first drawing a thought of who sent it. She began to walk towards it almost sure Ettinjandy was the one behind placing it here. She grabbed the letter quickly as she let out a growl then looked down at it almost ready to tear the letter. But then suddenly got a bit of a shudder from it.

"This does not feel like a letter form Ettin. No this is something else. But what?"

She turned the letter over to look at the simple seal before reaching up and breaking it as she suddenly get a slight smell from the letter that made both her and something inside her begin to tremble. As she pulled the letter out and the sent fully draw into her nose causing the thing inside her to claw it's way out as it did in the past when it first appeared. But this clawing was in pain and fear as she to was deep in the same feelings as memories she wished had died with her past self began to pour into her mind.

After a few moments, and her letting out a loud howl that anyone could hear miles away, she managed to calm back down and fall to the ground crying as if she relived her horrible time again. As the moment passed she sat up on the ground and looked at the letter again eying the words on it. She began to growl deeply for who ever sent the letter and tucked it away certain she will find who gave her this letter.

Maethi was working in his lab, he was going with the rhythm of his many machines which covered almost every wall. He was working on a new weapon to help defend against the Forsaken. He turned to grab a tool from one of his many worktables, which he then noticed a black envelope.

"How Curi-ous..." The end of that word dragged on as he looked at the seal on the letter. He hesitated before grabbing his letter opener and broken the seal. He took out the letter and started to read it when a smell hit him. One that was too familiar.

He looked away from the letter and found himself somewhere else. He slowly felt his strength fading as he noticed where he was. He was in his old home in Stratholme, behind him was his brother and sister who were terrified. He had put up a magical barrier which would hide them from the soldiers who had just left their home. Looking around, he dropped the barrier and noticed two bodies.

Those bodies belonged to his parents, his father's had his head cleanly removed while his mother had two gashes across the front of her body. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he rushed to their corpses. He heard his brother and sister cry behind him but he couldn't bring himself to look at them. He looked out the broken door and saw the sky which was blood red and filled with smoke. He called out to his brother and sister, "Follow me! I'll get us somewhere safe!" He got up and moved to the door. Looking back, his brother and sister still were crying over their parent's corpses. He ran over and grabbed them, and pulled them out of the door.

Maethi could hear fighting going on all around him. The smell of smoke filled his nose and stung his eyes. But with the sounds of fighting and of the fires, there was another... It sounded like machines, familiar machines but they were faint. At first he thought it was the ones from his home in Stratholme. But no, it wasn't right for those were destroyed. The familiar rhythm of them slowly made him crazy with curiosity. Then it hit him. It was his machines from his lab, he started to wonder if this was real. He looked around using his senses to see if this was a spell, but quickly it started to fade.

He woke up back in his lab. He shook his head to clear his blurred vision and stood up. He had fallen backwards and not into all his tools which he was thankful for. He looked at the letter, "Curious indeed." As he said that, a date and place slipped itself into his mind.

"Perhaps he wishes to meet me there? No... No one would do this and willingly meet in Dalaran. This kind of thing would get them punished, severely." He sighs and looks over at Assistant which, as always sat there waiting for orders. Maethi reached out to him with his mind. Using his magic, as weak as it was, to give the small mechagnome new orders, which were to go to this place and find out why he was given this information. He moved over to a chair and sat in it, "Now I wait and see who this mysterious person is. And when I do, I think I should repay him for this." After resting for a bit, he went back to work on a new invention to try to get the memory out of his head. One which he was looking forward to using.

((So what's the body count on this envelope thing so far? :O))

08/21/2014 09:31 PMPosted by Alniyat

If someone wants to continue this without me, officer Calent has a crystal with a copy of a spell structure diagram for the letter's spell. Otherwise... Sunday? would probably be the best bet to keep going, since I'm busy tomorrow and Saturday. I have no idea if the device would be guarded, who sent the letters (if anyone), or where things should go after this.

((Veeeery interesting. I would be interested in joining, though I couldn't make the gathering due to a cardiological event*. I enjoyed that intricacy. Well done!))

-------
*((I fell asleep on the couch...))

Mellrune would land in the Cathedral and spy the black note with his name on it, he would shift to his elven form and walk over to it curiously. "Where in the Fel did this come from?" He would open the letter carelessly and look at the contents slowly, his eyes slipping out of focus as he would hear the Necromancer's laugh begin again, and he would fall to the floor in a fetal position, remembering the Temple and the tortures that occured during that time. He would slowly pull out his hearthstone and whisper into it, "Help... me..." After this he would fall into nothingness but would be thouroughly haunted by where he was seemingly trapped again.

It had been days. The black envelope rested, hidden, in an uneven and tipsy stack of papers that to everyone other than Orwyn looked exactly the same as the other stacks covering his desk. To him, however, it was known as "Miscellaneous."

The day it arrived, Orwyn had been hard at work at his desk. Bent over the document he was reading, he reached a point where he paused to look around and stretch a bit. The envelope was sitting in his in-box. Orwyn sighed and gave it a cursory glance. Accustomed to paperwork appearing as if by magic (but really due to a clerk) while he was hard at work, the envelope's sudden appearance had no effect on him. He quickly saw that it had no official seal, stamp, important identifying numbers or letters, and was from no one he knew. Grumbling mildly to himself, he resumed reading. A moment later though, he absently lifted a stack of letters, upon which the envelope rested, and slid it into Miscellaneous.

The day continued. More mail arrived. Other letters were shunted onto the envelope, causing it to quickly recede from view. The sun set. Eventually, Orwyn went home, and left the next day for a scheduled trip to the Exodar.

Time passed. Days passed. On a hot afternoon, a fly entered the room through a partially-opened window - a measure taken to prevent the room from filling with the odor of musty papers. After a few aimless passes around the interior, it landed on the teetering stack containing the envelope. It paused. Did the envelope call to it? Of course not; it was a fly. It wandered purposelessly to the edge of the stack. Slowly, almost infinitesimally at first, the stack began to slide. The fly realized the danger and quickly took wing, but there was no hope for the papers that composed the top half of the stack - including the envelope. With a rush, they spilled off the desk...and into a wastebasket left there accidently-on-pupose by Orwyn.

The forces of evil had fallen into the same trap as equipment solicitors, hopelessly unqualified job applicants, and Oarwind autograph-seekers, and mistaken the in-box as a means of delivering a written message to Orwyn. Instead, it and the seemingly endless piles of paper form a protective barrier, through which no written distractions may pass. Many have mistaken the stacks of paper as a sign of laziness or disorganization. Many are very wrong...

((I know there were some people who were going to start investigating this and trying to track down the guy behind this... has there been any update on this, or this plot in general?))

[ Coming soon! <3 ]

There is no greater cover-up than the passage of time. With it, the sting of the scented envelope fades--demons subside, if not fully banished. And one day, the envelopes dematerialize, leaving behind nothing, no trace of their dark existence--neither ash nor dust.

Somewhere in the heavens is a kingdom from whence they came, a compound of sky scraping towers cut from whole pieces of violet-tinged obsidian. The very material of the buildings aid the sublime magics that keep the headquarters of the Oracle Corporation obscured from the masses.

In the tallest tower, a fair-haired woman helms a lavish corner office, sipping milky tea from a gold-leafed bone china cup. She's dropped in five sugars today. She is pleased by the report of the ashen-faced blood elf before her.

While the room is vast, its furnishings are disproportionately small to the blood elf. And while he is made giant amidst the land, the man is sweating bullets. His hands, along with his voice, shake as he addresses the ever so petite woman behind the desk.

"... While the subject pool has been greater than anticipated, we are still head of schedule with data analysis. The most notable outliers are in the process of being marked for phase three. There are no foreseeable impediments to beginning 480BC straight away. Stress testing will being as soon as a control group has been established."

The woman behind the desk takes another sip of her tea. The blood elf grows paler in the silence... Until she speaks.

"Very good, Mr. Bloodsworn."

The elf's sigh of relief is too loud. He quickly ducks his head and clasps his hands behind his back. The woman behind the desk continues, but not after deliberate pause during which the man before her thinks of his young wife and the babe growing in her womb.

The woman behind the desk speaks again. "I would like a report prepared for our principle investors. No need to trouble them with any... taxing details. The focus must be on the allure of our current developments."

"As...as you wish, director. Will there be anything else?"

"No, Mr. Bloodsworn. You may take your leave."

"Thank you, d..director."

He all but runs out of that office, the double doors shutting soundlessly behind him. The woman behind the desk holds her smile well after the elf has departed. She sets her tea aside and activates the holographic display of her desk. She flicks through blue-lit panels filled with dense text and intricate graphs, still smiling.

"Lord Compeyson, if you would."

The shadows behind her grow particularly inky. They materialize into the looming mass of a voidwalker. The woman behind the desk is unaffected by its chilling presence. Rather, she beckons it closer to stand at her side. The voidwalker's terrible glowing eyes seem to read the holographic panels as the woman flicks through them.

"We will note that Mr. Bloodsworn has failed to fully report on the incident of select outliers in Dalaran." The woman behind the desk twirls a strand of her hair before she closes the display with a swipe of her hand.

"See that our dear colleague Mr. Bloodsworn is reminded of the importance of thoroughness. I hear Mrs. Bloodsworn is expecting. Imagine how dreadful it would be if such carelessness on his part caused harm to his offspring. Babies are such... taxing creatures, after all."

With an agonized cry natural to its ever-tortured existence, the voidwalker vanishes to do the bidding of his mistress.

The woman behind the desk is not smiling anymore. She recrosses her legs and folds her hands beneath her chin.

"Send in the crisis management team."

She presses no button, makes no gesture to trigger a spell, but for the finest of ears, her soft-spoken command triggers a flurry of motion just outside the great double doors of her office, trickling down through that tall dark tower.

In the days yet to come, those who are searching for a criminal machine will find one: a mechanical sheep device that has somehow crossed wires with a cursed magic beyond the full comprehension of the addled old gnome who claims to have built the machine.

He's got a prison record for aiding an infamous mage who was obsessed with dragon magics. That mage is a criminal legend; this gnome is but a lackey. Still, his rants about ending the world make just enough sense to lead to a turn-down of his tiny cottage on the outskirts of Stormwind.

There is correspondence with black market dealers of the obnoxiously shady kind. All in all, the case of the black envelops would beg to close with the fate of a mad old gnome whose scheme to take over the world had just enough luck to cause some degree of panic, once upon a time.

[OOC:]

Hi gang!

Some time has passed since the black envelope incident. The machine All Nut's team was looking has been found (would love if the involved parties wanted to play this out or post this), but I imagine some characters may still have lingering questions and suspicions.

The Oracle Corporation is the worst kind of Big Evil Incorporated. They are the 1% of the 1%. Most laypersons don't even know that they exist. Their power comes from their immeasurable wealth. It's the kind of money that moves the world. The corporation is above the law and we are their guinea pigs.

Oracle is currently in the process of marking subjects for phase three. They'll be focusing on those who had a strong reaction to the envelopes especially, but will also need control samples (i.e. folks who missed or chose not to open the envelopes).

If you'd like to keep playing along, imagine how this enormous entity with limitless resources might utilize your characters' vulnerabilities to track and observe them.

For some characters, Oracle might take a completely inconspicuous tactic, such as putting an undetectable substance in something your character consumes regularly. For others, particularly the outliers from the envelope experiment, Oracle will want to stress test them and use tactics that feed on their fears.

Characters who have been marked for the next phase of the experiment may display any of the following symptoms: paranoia, fatigue, migraines, mood swings, night terrors, and blackouts. You're also welcome to add your own twist!

I want to keep this as open-ended as possible to facilitate participation. Your reactions will shape where this story goes. I only ask that you not be That Guy. You know who I'm talking about. You can't be the special snowflake supercool detective who solves it all in one go. Let's indulge in torturing our characters for a while!

Anyone is welcome to join, even those who haven't had a chance to participate yet. Any questions and comments are always welcome!

((We may need to talk... http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/13242594243 ))