When we landed at Masyaf, we thought we were in trouble, again. We had just lost our disguises, and here we were, surrounded by angry looking men, who probably have never seen creatures like us. But to our surprise… a man came from behind and explained he recognized Yu Gwai. And that I looked familiar too. Turns out… uncle Verroak was walking around them in his true form.
Continue readingOur ultimate goal is to find another rift like the one we lost, but getting to places where we could get one… almost requires we already had it. The start of our journey? Earth. A planet so distant even the most powerful mages from Azeroth would find impossible to connect to via ordinary arcane magic. We do however have one… ally, so to speak, that could get past those limitation. The Keeper Melektas, on the nearby Eosphere. It took some… creative license at describing recent events to get the depressed constructs to use his Titanic gateway to shoot across millions of light years and multiple galaxies, but he finally agreed. We were shot all the way to a distant, strange planet.
Continue readingDear officers of the Tower of Krasha, I need to speak to you regarding the recent events. As you know, my uncle and your former employer, Verroak Krasha, has fallen in battle to the vengeful loa, Lehba. Although I have arrived just in time to banish the spirit, we were left with an abrupt void of power. According to the rules of succession my uncle has established himself, as his closest living adult relative, the leadership and ownership of the Tower of Krasha falls to me, Orkan Krasha, son of Tarakan, brother to Verroak. I want to address some concerns.
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Name: Ughul of Ihgaluk, known as the Cancer
Race: Saurok
Gender: male
Age: 51
Class: Shaman (elemental)
Professions: flesh-shaping
Religion: none, philosophical nihilist
Alignment (per D&D): Neutral Evil
Traits (per CK2): genius, scholar, diligent, patient, proud, deceitful, ambitious, arbitrary, cynical, leper, scarred
There it was, at long last, our first ship completed. I know people doubted my reasons for building it. Like, yeah, I know we have rifts that transport us to planets in an instant, but transport is only one thing a ship can be used for. One thing is defense. Pirates did not find us yet, but when they do, having a ship throwing arcane fire at them will be invaluable. Also, transport. Yes, I know what I just said, but our orders can sometimes be pretty big, and other than using half of my porters to push a giant box, we can now use the ship to move the whole thing more easily. Sure, it costs quite a bit, but I figure the opportunities it gives us outweigh the costs. For the past few weeks, we’ve been building the ship and preparing everything it needed.
We had a bit of a lull in our off-world activity. I mean, at least when it comes to actively going out and looking for stuff. We’re still selling off-world a lot and maintaining all our contacts out there, but ever since my crew got busy with their research they stopped going out. I never thought I’d complain about my employees actually working, but here I am. Well, it’s not bad. It’s good that they’re doing their actual occupation, it’s just that they never seem to do it when I want them to. I’m getting away from the topic I wanted to talk about. What I wanted to say is, after they’ve been here most of the time I realized how much I only heard about from them and never seen in person. So I decided to change it. I went for a trip to see some of those worlds.
The outskirts of Stormwind were filled with rickety, provisional homes, draped in multi-colored cloths and filled with ringing and clanking bells and windchimes. Despite what someone from Azeroth Prime would say, it was not a goblin camp. It was a shanty-town built by the vishkanyas when they arrived on Azeroth in this timeline. Azeroth-7, or as some know it, the Illidari timeline. Maiev failed to stop Illidan from cracking Northrend apart. The Lich King died, and the Scourge was wiped out. While some would feel that was a positive change, no one expected what followed. Not only the tidal waves from the melting glaciers destroyed numerous cities and broke ancient dams, Illidan went on to become an unchallenged Lord of Outland. And with this power, he took fight to the Legion and fought them across the stars. Numerous innocent worlds found themselves in the crossfire, including the vishkanya world. A small percentage of their people successfully escaped to Azeroth through one of Illidan’s portals.
Now, they live here, in the outskirts of Azerothian civilization. Cast out, abandoned, unwanted. Although King Varian accepted them and let them stay, most of the humans feel they have enough problems with orcs and draenei “squatting” on Azeroth, some feel the vishkanya are the final nail in the coffin of humanity’s power.
Agam was careful to cover her face when she was crossing the streets of Stormwind. For about ten years she lived in this city and knew what the people on both sides were capable of. Does the perception filter even work when she’s in her own timeline? It does, after all, filter out only the extraordinary and on Azeroth-7 her eyes are not something completely out of place. No, they are just something that could get you in trouble. Luckily, Llore was at her side, showing his face without a care in the world, drawing attention away from her hooded face. Together, they walked right out of the Dwarven District and continued down the path to the outskirts.
Once there, she could finally take off the hood and look at all the lights and bells, and take in the smells of the familiar cuisine. She could finally once again hear the familiar noise of her native language, even if it was the crooked merchants hawking their wares and old women yelling at disobedient brats. For all its issues, this was home.
“Agam,” she heard from behind. She quickly turned around and saw what appeared to be a large, muscular human with a bronzed skin… but with eyes just as serpentine as hers. Llore looked up at the man who was showing a rather forbidding visage.
“Is he trouble?” Llore asked her.
“No,” Agam responded, smiling. Suddenly, the mustachioed man smiled back. “He’s my brother.”
Meanwhile, a human guard was leaning on the walls of one of the houses and looking at the two vishkanyas, and then frowning at the sight of Llore – a human, unusual in this district. He snarled and looked back to another guard, sitting nearby and sipping wine someone left over at his porch.
“You seen him?” The first guard asked.
“Whom?” The second answered, for a moment getting the bottle out of his face.
“That one,” The first guard continued, pointing at Llore. “Looks like we got ourselves a snake-fucker.”
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The Arakkoa Chronicles 
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