08-10-2010, 01:34 PM
(( This is a storyline I will update with time, so if you want to IC post, please PM me before you do. OOC reviews deeply appreciated. Also, in case it is misunderstood, the character is -not- dead. it is the story of how Demitrius faked his death in order to cut all former connections. Meaning, unless you are informed ICly, you are to believe it is so. The graves are dug. ))
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Goldrinn - A massive Ancient renowned for its ferocity in battle. He resembles a white wold-beast. His legend extends throughout Azeroth to Elves, Trolls, Goblins and Dwarves, who all have their own version of the story. In each tale, the Ancient's unyielding will and sheer ferocity enabled him to push through the boundaries of the afterlife to aid his people. In orcish he is referred to as Lo'Gosh. The Ghost Wolf.
-Explenation of Goldrinn.
"How should I call you then?"
"You choose."
"I shall call you.. Goldrinn."
"I like the sound of that."
-A conversation between Demitrius, a human, and Tarania, a Kaldorei.
"To us, to have a surname, you must earn it."
-Serenwylde.
-------
Honor Hold, Hellfire Peninsula, Outlands. Year 23.
A piece of the journal of a soldier.
"Dear Journal. It has been already ten years that we are here. Half the Squad is gone. Fallen to Demons, Fell into the Nether, or took their own lives, unwilling to adapt to this alien world. I haven't written in you for around two years now, but I have took the chance to do so now, now that I have found you. It has been ten years since we came here. And six years since Elena plunged into the unknown. After a decade in these barren wastelands of destruction, I stopped having hope. I don't believe we will ever go home. But I will not fall, not without a fight.
I have decided to give myself a new name to mark this occasion of a Decade without home. But I can't think of anything. One day I will. Our camp is under assault. I am writing now, because I am wounded, and I was told to stay behind. My bow is in the other end of the camp.
I will survive. No matter the costs. This is no longer a battle for the Alliance and for Azeroth.
This is War.
For myself.
Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated.
It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war, who can thoroughly understand how to profit from waging war.
I am not a soldier. I am an army. And -fear- and -death- are enemies. So I will use them as my weapons.
There will be no mistake."
-------
Eastvale Logging Camp, Elwynn Forest, Azeroth. Year 30.
A young man in a bussiness suit and a man with gray hair and gardening-clothes stand infront of a house in Eastvale, the man in the bussiness suit holds a bag, the other holding a cup of smoldering, scented coffee.
"It is lovely. You have yourself a deal." The man in the bussiness suit smiles, offering his hand, the other man sips from his coffee, shaking the hand with a firm grip.
The bag exchanges hands, and so do some papers, a key, and meaningless words. Later that day, the man who enjoyed his coffee would leave Stormwind, returning perhaps after a few years.
-------
Stormwind City, Elwynn Forest, Azeroth. Year 33. Current.
Morning in the city, people walking to their places of work, shops opening, scented aromas of fresh bread and the morning brews of the citizens fill the streets in the moist, morning air. A young boy sets a stack of newspapers, standing on a crate, tidying a rather fancy hat for his age, smiling, he begins to yell; "News here! Get your latest edition of the Stormwind Weekly! Duskwood Assassination resulting in three deaths! See what's new in the Alliance! Reviews of the Festivals of the Lich King's death! Get your Stormwind Weekly here!"
An elegantly dressed man with a short, tidy black beard and a black hat walks up to the boy, looking up at him, smiling; he pulls out some silver coins from his pouch; "How much is it?"
The boy looks at him, his eyes suddenly widen with awe and respect; "Y-You're that Investigator! I've seen your picture! You're on the paper!"
The man smirks, nodding at him; "How much is it, then?"
"T-Three silver coins, sir."
The man gives the shocked child five silver coins, taking a paper, walking down the street.
He walks to the older part of the big city, into a restoraunt called "The Pig and Whistle", walking to the counter, he tips his hat at the barkeep, Reese Langston, who nods at him, cleaning a glass. The elegant man tossed the newspaper to Reese.
"I already read it." Reese says, cleaning his glass, grinning.
"Oh?" The man raises a brow under the brim of his hat. He takes the paper, sliding some silver coins across the counter.
"I enjoyed reading it. Brilliant work.. Goldrinn." Reese smirks, taking the coins; "Whiskey, or Coffee?"
"Just Coffee. Too early in the morning to be drinking." Goldrinn answers.
Goldrinn takes his cup and his newspaper, walking to a table in the upper level, sitting down, opening the paper, sipping from his cup calmly.
" STORMWIND WEEKLY
TOP STORY: THREE CORPSES IN RAVEN HILL ACCIDENT. ASSASSINATION GONE WRONG.
It is a dark day indeed in Duskwood today, as a house in Raven Hill, the local town who is believed to be a ghost-town, caught the eye of the local guard force when a patrol spotted one active chimney in Raven Hill, but it was not smoke leaving it, but even weirder, the chimney was spewing out flames of strange, pinkish hue, as eye-witnesses describe. The flames were put out quickly, and the scene was soon taken over by the hands of a local human Private Investigator, who returned recently from the celebrations in Northrend. Investigator Goldrinn entered the scene, claiming to be hired by a personal employer, and the case was solved rather quickly. Three corpses were found in the boiled house, documents found both on the victims and surviving furniture indicated, as Goldrinn explained later, that the three victims are Lord and Lady Blackraven, two nobles who were planning, according to documents, to revive Raven Hill as a military base. The third body belonged to an older Human, a veteran of the Draenor Expedition of the Second War, Demitrius Breadsmith, also known, as his own documents and personal notebook show, as Ghost-Wolf, a Contract Killer working all around Azeroth and Draenor for the past three years. Goldrinn assumes that Demitrius was hired to assassinate the two nobles in their own, remote home. Yet his plan backfired, and he died aswell. The three bodies would be buried in the Eastvale Logging camp. Sadly enough the burial would be simple and silent, seeing none of the victims have any relatives or friends to report in."
Goldrinn smirks, folding the paper, finishing his cup of coffee, getting up, he fixes his hat on his head, smirking. He sets his cup down on the newspaper, walking out, tipping his hat to the waitress as he leaves. Perhaps never to be seen in such public places again.
-------
Goldrinn - A massive Ancient renowned for its ferocity in battle. He resembles a white wold-beast. His legend extends throughout Azeroth to Elves, Trolls, Goblins and Dwarves, who all have their own version of the story. In each tale, the Ancient's unyielding will and sheer ferocity enabled him to push through the boundaries of the afterlife to aid his people. In orcish he is referred to as Lo'Gosh. The Ghost Wolf.
-Explenation of Goldrinn.
"How should I call you then?"
"You choose."
"I shall call you.. Goldrinn."
"I like the sound of that."
-A conversation between Demitrius, a human, and Tarania, a Kaldorei.
"To us, to have a surname, you must earn it."
-Serenwylde.
-------
Honor Hold, Hellfire Peninsula, Outlands. Year 23.
A piece of the journal of a soldier.
"Dear Journal. It has been already ten years that we are here. Half the Squad is gone. Fallen to Demons, Fell into the Nether, or took their own lives, unwilling to adapt to this alien world. I haven't written in you for around two years now, but I have took the chance to do so now, now that I have found you. It has been ten years since we came here. And six years since Elena plunged into the unknown. After a decade in these barren wastelands of destruction, I stopped having hope. I don't believe we will ever go home. But I will not fall, not without a fight.
I have decided to give myself a new name to mark this occasion of a Decade without home. But I can't think of anything. One day I will. Our camp is under assault. I am writing now, because I am wounded, and I was told to stay behind. My bow is in the other end of the camp.
I will survive. No matter the costs. This is no longer a battle for the Alliance and for Azeroth.
This is War.
For myself.
Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated.
It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war, who can thoroughly understand how to profit from waging war.
I am not a soldier. I am an army. And -fear- and -death- are enemies. So I will use them as my weapons.
There will be no mistake."
-------
Eastvale Logging Camp, Elwynn Forest, Azeroth. Year 30.
A young man in a bussiness suit and a man with gray hair and gardening-clothes stand infront of a house in Eastvale, the man in the bussiness suit holds a bag, the other holding a cup of smoldering, scented coffee.
"It is lovely. You have yourself a deal." The man in the bussiness suit smiles, offering his hand, the other man sips from his coffee, shaking the hand with a firm grip.
The bag exchanges hands, and so do some papers, a key, and meaningless words. Later that day, the man who enjoyed his coffee would leave Stormwind, returning perhaps after a few years.
-------
Stormwind City, Elwynn Forest, Azeroth. Year 33. Current.
Morning in the city, people walking to their places of work, shops opening, scented aromas of fresh bread and the morning brews of the citizens fill the streets in the moist, morning air. A young boy sets a stack of newspapers, standing on a crate, tidying a rather fancy hat for his age, smiling, he begins to yell; "News here! Get your latest edition of the Stormwind Weekly! Duskwood Assassination resulting in three deaths! See what's new in the Alliance! Reviews of the Festivals of the Lich King's death! Get your Stormwind Weekly here!"
An elegantly dressed man with a short, tidy black beard and a black hat walks up to the boy, looking up at him, smiling; he pulls out some silver coins from his pouch; "How much is it?"
The boy looks at him, his eyes suddenly widen with awe and respect; "Y-You're that Investigator! I've seen your picture! You're on the paper!"
The man smirks, nodding at him; "How much is it, then?"
"T-Three silver coins, sir."
The man gives the shocked child five silver coins, taking a paper, walking down the street.
He walks to the older part of the big city, into a restoraunt called "The Pig and Whistle", walking to the counter, he tips his hat at the barkeep, Reese Langston, who nods at him, cleaning a glass. The elegant man tossed the newspaper to Reese.
"I already read it." Reese says, cleaning his glass, grinning.
"Oh?" The man raises a brow under the brim of his hat. He takes the paper, sliding some silver coins across the counter.
"I enjoyed reading it. Brilliant work.. Goldrinn." Reese smirks, taking the coins; "Whiskey, or Coffee?"
"Just Coffee. Too early in the morning to be drinking." Goldrinn answers.
Goldrinn takes his cup and his newspaper, walking to a table in the upper level, sitting down, opening the paper, sipping from his cup calmly.
" STORMWIND WEEKLY
TOP STORY: THREE CORPSES IN RAVEN HILL ACCIDENT. ASSASSINATION GONE WRONG.
It is a dark day indeed in Duskwood today, as a house in Raven Hill, the local town who is believed to be a ghost-town, caught the eye of the local guard force when a patrol spotted one active chimney in Raven Hill, but it was not smoke leaving it, but even weirder, the chimney was spewing out flames of strange, pinkish hue, as eye-witnesses describe. The flames were put out quickly, and the scene was soon taken over by the hands of a local human Private Investigator, who returned recently from the celebrations in Northrend. Investigator Goldrinn entered the scene, claiming to be hired by a personal employer, and the case was solved rather quickly. Three corpses were found in the boiled house, documents found both on the victims and surviving furniture indicated, as Goldrinn explained later, that the three victims are Lord and Lady Blackraven, two nobles who were planning, according to documents, to revive Raven Hill as a military base. The third body belonged to an older Human, a veteran of the Draenor Expedition of the Second War, Demitrius Breadsmith, also known, as his own documents and personal notebook show, as Ghost-Wolf, a Contract Killer working all around Azeroth and Draenor for the past three years. Goldrinn assumes that Demitrius was hired to assassinate the two nobles in their own, remote home. Yet his plan backfired, and he died aswell. The three bodies would be buried in the Eastvale Logging camp. Sadly enough the burial would be simple and silent, seeing none of the victims have any relatives or friends to report in."
Goldrinn smirks, folding the paper, finishing his cup of coffee, getting up, he fixes his hat on his head, smirking. He sets his cup down on the newspaper, walking out, tipping his hat to the waitress as he leaves. Perhaps never to be seen in such public places again.
![[Image: 8.jpg]](http://www.nodiatis.com/pub/8.jpg)