#Nessex

[safrona-shadowsun]

Who does your OC absolutely hate, the one person who they’d sell to Satan for one corn chip? Why do they loathe this person so?

“...let me preface to say that it takes much to earn my hatred. I don’t enjoy being brought to all that ugliness. The Void tends to feed on that negativity, can bring me away from sense. From myself. Even when I must involve myself in tying off loose ends, I sever out of a certain necessity, yes?” 

The Courier tilted her head forward, a dark fixation seeping out of her professional veil. “I’ll continue then to say then that a mindraker by the name of Nessex has earned that hatred, and I will let you imagine what offense this monster has done to earn that ‘reward’.”

{ @braedensunstorm }

[fieryphrazes]

the existence of an essex, sussex and wessex imply the existence of a nessex

[haonqq]

“Already got lost In my mind not a fantasy I'm getting antsy We're the forgotten souls So stop drop and roll Ya lost all control“

-- Crown, Nessex

[nixalegos]

The Devil in the Details

Somewhere in Silvermoon- Five Months Ago

“Boss?” Came the scrying eye that came to life. It wasn’t properly formed, its unblinking baleful glare not as clear, but still the warlock set down his spanner to observe it.

“Ranseul.” The Sin’dorei said as he looked up from the collection of spare parts and blueprints. “What do you got?” He said back to the scrying eye that was not his own.

He knew who the human was, obviously, and why he was being called, after all, he trained the man, funded the mans endeavors. They knew what Nix was looking for.

“I found something unusual.” This news made the warlock sit up from his workbench.

“Alliance guards reported a small conflict not a night ago, printed in a smaller newspaper. Claimed amnesia until questioned, then tried to bite a guard who had apprehended her.”

Nix came to reach up to rub at the tuft of facial hair he bore. It needed to be trimmed he thought. “And?”

“She was a Ren’dorei. One Lady Andrasel Sunwake.”

“Sunwake?” Nix responded to the lesser eye. “Am I supposed to recognize that?”

“Maybe? But here’s the weirdness. That amnesia into hostility? Happened a month ago with a rough houser named Wess Hammett. Picked up in the same place.”

Nix sat up so fast his stool fell out under him, clattering to the floor.

“What happened to them?”

“Died in custody, brain hemorrhage.” The eye responded.

“And Lady Sunwake?” Nix moved to his records.

“Alive, let go on bail.”

Nix drew a small folder from a cabinet, drew papers up, moved back to his workstation. Started drawing lines that would be wires and plates. “Boss? I see you’re uh...planning something.” “Why would one be killed before they could spill anything and the other left alive?” “Still useful.” “Yes, and what use does a possible displaced noble have?” “Connections?” “A bank account.”

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Two Months Later- Somewhere in Silvermoon

“Did it arrive?” The Sin’dorei asked, his vision sharper then the human could conjure.

“It did. Are you sure it’s going to work?” His conspirator asked.

“Lady Sunwake came from real money, her defection to the Ren’dorei unexpected.” The other warlock stated. “Why would a self exiled noble be caught in Stormwinds docks past dark, let alone to try an attack a guard is still the talk in certain circles even as far as Silvermoon. She’s being conned for gold, a line of credit to pay off bribes and acquire materials and supplies, I’m sure of it.”

“And a...mechanized crab is suppose to help?” The human said thousands of miles away.

“That crab isn’t just a crab, it is a camera.”

“A camera...crab?”

“Yes a camera crab. Just dump it into the docks when no one is looking.”

“And then what?”

“If our Ren’dorei the Courier is so worried about is there, I will find them.”

“Among the hundreds of boats that come to and fro Stormwinds docks?”

“The son of a bitch is a mind raker from their warnings, and clever enough to hide and move among the shadows. But even they need supplies, and need a base of operations. If they are hiding in plain sight, then plain sight will expose them.”

“You’re putting alot of faith in a gamble.”

“A calculated risk is no risk at all. All I’m gambling is some time.”

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Somewhere in Silvermoon - The Night of Winter’s Veil.

Days wasted. Nights spent pouring over sent photos that had been recorded. Every five minutes a mundane looking crab that clung to the side of a port buoy snapped a single picture. A fish eyed lens capturing the entirety of Stormwinds major port. 

And every week a sad looking human with a mustache in dark robes with heavy eyes that clearly screamed they needed more sleep collected the film and swapped it out for fresh film, with much swearing and praying he wouldn’t be caught sending the entire reel to his ‘employer’ who by all definitions, was an enemy of the state.

It was an astounding time lapse, the sheer scope of Stormwinds imports, exports, and transports laid bare. The equivalent to observing the lifeblood of the human capital itself. Nix couldn’t tell what was in each cargo shipment, nor what was sent out in the massive colored boxes that took up the deck of some whole ships. It wasn’t what he was looking for.

He was looking for patterns. Like the domestic food supplier, The Emersham, which brought produce from around the world three times a day. Or The Chatham, which from guard placement alone said armaments meant for battlegrounds across Azeroth. The sheer value of that information would have been worth a fortune, if he’d bothered to follow that fact up.

Days led into nights, back into days. With nothing coming up.

No anomalies. No predictable patterns aside what had to be on time every day.

Dozens, hundreds of small merchant ships coming and leaving with shipments. 

Each unique, each at random times on random days. Couriers with consignments. Crews paid with plain coin. Nothing.

Still he sought.

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Somewhere in Silvermoon- A day after Winters Veil celebrations.

The break came while comparing old photos. That single needle in a haystack.

He’d been so focused on what came in and left, Nix nearly missed it. A single unnamed courier craft. Barely fit to carry cargo that wasn’t express.

He looked back over two months worth of details.

It only arrived at night.

Every week, once a week it came back. With uniform wooden boxes, carried inside a warehouse by hired muscle, and then brought back out by wheeling the now heavier cargo boxes onto the deck. So everything was being loaded behind closed doors into unmarked boxes. Boxes just large enough to shove a person inside, if you didn’t care for their comfort.

He contacted Ransuel three times that night to look over old missing person reports dating three months back.

The three days leading up to that singular boat leaving had the highest missing persons reports. A spike of less than ten people, was still a pattern.

He’d found Nessex.

“Boss, what are you going to do now? Report him in?”

Nix looked over gear he’d been tinkering for just the occasion.

“I’m going to invade Stormwind and kill them before they get another shipment out.”

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Huge thanks to @safrona-shadowsun​ for getting to play my part.

[lifeprotocol22]

Nessexity!

[zombieeaterindustries-blog]

NESSEX HAS RETURNED!!

"DUBSTEP 4 WHORES" DEBUTS TODAY AS A BEATPORT.COM EXCLUSIVE! [LINK]

[winnie-the-bish]

Thank you Youtube suggestions. I appreciate this so much because you know me well...too well. 

[since1943]

They're filthy

[safrona-shadowsun]

The Victim’s Eye

{A follow-up in response to @nixalegos​’ story here, and a prelude to the Visions of N’zoth events to come. Thank you for reading if you do! }

Thread the loop, hook, knot. Thread the loop, hook, knot. Sometimes Quintin Delaurac would wake before dawn and thread his bait, just to have it neat and ready. There was nothing like the smell of the sea before dawn and the sentimental quiet of the harbor. A true treat for a fisherman. No matter what fishing holes and great catches he’d found out in the world, Quint always found himself back at Stormwind’s harbor. No longer so much the resident bum, he’d made a small name for himself with his local fish fry. What’s more, he had an actual date for the first time in years. He’d kid himself to think some classy elf could actually be into him, but it was a new year, and sometimes you just had to cast out your line and take a chance. He’d felt bad, not remembering her name in the moment.

Yet, his mind rolled further into that thought, detailed what he considered the exotic lines of the elf’s face, that lavender skin, the wind of her braid. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the name of someone like that? 

No...that was wrong. He hadn’t spoken more than three words to her. But he knew her office like the lines of his hands…

He was no damned thief, not anymore, he told himself, though memory was already seeping in past implanted imagery to show him glimpses of what had really transpired in elapsed time. He was--

Quintin felt the thin, sharp pop in his ears, or his brain, telling him something was wrong. Then his perception of his world crashed back into dreaded reality. There was no fishing bait in his trembling hands, and the sea did not roll out beyond the metal cage containing him as he thought. The wolf was back to anxiously pacing in his own skin, his cursed sensitivities picking back up the ungodly hum of a continuous thread of dark, black magic. Sand was coarse between his toes, and his feet were blistered, mouth dry. He was starving, but moreover god’s damned terrified of what was happening outside of his prison.

Briefly, he remembered depending on the Wolf he normally subdued deep inside, and it made a terrible mess of everything, futilely thrashing himself into the cage bars until he passed out. No, now Quint knew it was a time to be in control, to observe, to recall, to remember. Figure out what happened to his Rum.

Something crept out of the humming darkness beyond his cage, and Quint felt the Wolf growl in his throat, ready to snap. But the monster that wrapped its little hands around the metal bars this time seemed impish and weak, and a little comical with its long, pointed nose.

 “Heeeey guy…” it squeaked out quietly as it could. “You just sit tight. Boss is takin’ care of everything.”

“...the fu---”

An explosion deafened all noise, red overtaking the violet plumes of darkness that obscured his sight. Quint felt the panic rise at the back of his neck as his ears popped and sound slowly re-established itself.

 “Okay, weird little dude. I need you to let me out now. Need to find Rum.”

“...seriously? Kid I know you been out here for a while but its not the BEST time for a drink--”

“My DOG. Rum’s my dog. Just gotta make sure he’s okay. Especially now seeing as everything’s BURNING.”

Through the acrid veil of sand-swirled smoke and fire, a hooded silhouette stepped up boldly toward the altar that was the centerpiece of the enclave ruin. “Found you. Time to put an end to your little operation, mindraker.” A layer of animosity drove the words, spat in Common, a disdainful challenge. "The Courier no longer requires your services."

Quint decided he liked this voice even less than the one that had gone poking around in his head.

“So anytime now, you can let me out,” the fisherman muttered to the imp, but to his horror, the thing was burning the lock with its own tiny, sharp hands, fusing it closed. He was never getting out of there now. 

“What in the hell?? Let me out!”

“No can do,” the imp replied, darting away to the next cage Quint realized was nearby. Another voice, calling in what had been blackness, weeping. “Trust me, kid. You all are gonna be safer this way.”

"Interesting.” The single word slithered in and around the air, caught up in the darker fog that still encircled the space. Hollow, invasive and sinister, it was a voice that immediately induced shivers in Quint. It was familiar in ways he didn’t want it to be. “I am afraid my stance remains unmoved. But perhaps you may consult with my...assistants.”

An edge of structured pleasance lifted the normally monotone voice, and at once Quint convulsed. The Wolf clawed inside with a frothing desire to ravage, triggering his shift from Man into Worgen as if on cue. Others within their cages around the altar began to bellow out, rattle their cages with a triggered rage. The imp had managed to solder the locking mechanisms of each prison, save for two.

Manic, screaming and entirely not themselves, the duo of prisoners charged the intruding figure, and hell began to break loose. A hell that Quintin was not there to see, lost, subdued within his own body by the suppressing force, or his own tired, shattered will. Another explosion sounded, the far away sound of bellowing words in a language he could not decipher if his life depended on it. Quint waited in some restricted limbo as his body thrashed itself against metal bars, back into the sweet hold of sleep.

All he wished to do was go back to the docks, and fish.

When Quint next came to, plumes of varying color were rising off the sand, the darkness of the enclave penetrated by a noon-day, hot Uldum sun. Others stirred in their own cages, equally as disturbed, as violated at the mind as he had been. Slowly, Quint rocked himself in place within his cage until signaled rescuers would find them, and finally free their languid bodies from their prisons.

“Thread the loop...hook...knot….thread….thread the loop...hook….knot….” It was the repetitive mantra that kept Quintin Delaurac alert, an uphill journey back to sanity.

Reunited with his mastiff, Quint clung to the beast of a dog like a child, thankful for slobbery kisses. A brief respite before another rush of coming madness. He would only learn later that his captor had escaped. The paranoia clung in his airways, the eldritch tongue scarred to the folds of his mind like a dreaded song he could not forget. 

When would be the next time a word was spoken in that empty, mind-drilling tone and make him succumb?

[obnessive]

so did anyone else notice how jess' shirt is super unbuttoned when her and nick are making out on her bed in the captain?? it definitelyyyy wasn't that unbuttoned when they were eating in the kitchen..

[nixalegos]

"Aren’t you tired yet? Haven’t you had enough?”

Somewhere in Nazjatar

He managed to wrangle the last of the altered mutated overgrown eel’s teeth from his upper arm with a snarl as he looked to the scrying eye, the only real source of light that deep in the foreboding cave he’d contacted her from. “I can’t get back to the hunt for this...Nessex until I’ve done my duty to the bloody Horde.” He said as he rolled the injured shoulder as best he could. “...My contact in Stormwind’s going over every scrap of news about kidnappings or missing people as far as he can get his greasy little hands on it. Soon as anything resembling a pattern or deviancy from the...expected horrible events and I’m there, alright? Or did you mean all this?” He said gesturing to the void soaked caves around him. Even the mundane shadows seemed somehow alive, writhing and shifting unnaturally, fel glow against utter blacks and blues. “Don’t play coy with me.” He said he stiffly came to pluck his bolt gun off the caves floor, and shook off grime and watery silt off its handle. “I can feel you peering into your end with a trace. Feels like worms at the back of my skull, very distracting.” He admitted as he slowly made his way deeper into the black. He was quiet for a moment, the only sound the crunch of his boots, and the pishawwww of him rearming the engineering tool.  “Can’t stop. Void addled Naga will scurry into nooks like these and wait both the Horde and Alliance out. Queen or no Queen. We’ve enough Old One worshiping garbage on the surface, don’t need more down here...making monsters. Doing the unspeakable. Aiding the real threat.” A step, a splash. The drip of water falling from stalagmites that were never suppose to have been exposed to open air. Fungi that had never been exposed to light, magical or not, hissed as the warlock strode past. “...Can’t stop. You didn’t know me then Courier. The things I did. The graveyards I filled. The pain and misery I caused.” He spat blood tinged spit into a puddle. “The Tyrant without Territory.” He muttered to himself. He had to shift sideways to slip past the jagged sharp edges of a rocky impasse, knicks slicing through his armor in places, scraping the metal in others the fit was so tight. A vulnerable place.  “And I know what’s before me. The endless, personal torment I have to pay back with interest for eternity when I finally fail. Being tired of all this, sick of all this...It’s an excuse. Weakness. Can’t stop. Gotta do some good. Gotta bring a little misery to the monsters. Gotta remind them that they aren’t the only thing that goes bump in the night. Gotta give them reason to fear the man.” He growled. She could hear, from her end of the scrying eye, something -large- click and chatter in the dark near him. Carapace, so pale it was nearly translucent. Beady black eyes darker then pitch staring not just at him, but the scrying eye, and impossibly, at -HER-, it’s intelligence obvious. A void addled beast that was as smart as they. “...I believe this is the Ghost I went looking for.” He said, cutting the connection.

Thanks @safrona-shadowsun!))

[jemma1107]

#25BobZ #nessex (at Edward A. LeLacheur Park)

[zombieeaterindustries-blog]

NEW RELEASE!! "Hot Sauce" drops in exactly 3 weeks as a Beatport.com exclusive!

[allaboutnewgirl]

"It's good."

[winnie-the-bish]

I respect this man. He got to witness Nessex. Right On.

[since1943]

AW, SHIT! ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN JUST CAME ON MY PANDORA AND I CANNOT RIGHT NOW.

FUCK THIS SHIT I'M JUST GONNA SIT IN THE FETAL POSITION FOR A FEW DAYS. I'M FINE. *_*