Kopf's Story

- by Kopfjagger and Lucia


Time passed for the Head Hunter and Blood Fist. The mercenary company grew in numbers, power and prestige. Some came, some left but the Fist was forever. It pleased the Head Hunter as he weekly surveyed the guild at their meetings. From humble beginnings, the roots of power began to spread deep and wide. Soon the massive trunk would grow and thicken, preparing to support the branches of success after success.

He knew that *he* had to grow personally, however. The Head Hunter was responsible for nearly two hundred souls and as their leader, he needed to be at the forefront. Lead by example. Show his dedication to them as they showed their dedication to him and the Fist. But how?

Lieing in bed with a nasty cold, he felt totally useless. His bride carried weak broth soup to him, his children laid damp towels upon his forehead gingerly and with care. His youngest, barely able to walk, even brought over his blanky so that pappa would be warm. All he could do was lie there and accept their love. His smile was feeble but heartfelt; but he was a giver, not a taker. His heart yearned to show more than a smile. He would be there for his family through thick and thin. Not only did he owe it to them, but he willingly pledged it out of love and respect. He fell back asleep with a warm smile and a heart full of love.

A letter was thrust into his hands by a Deathguard while he was visiting the bank in his capital. The Seal was that of the Dark Queen herself. His hands trembled slightly as he methodically opened the seal. The script was written in a flowing, beautiful female hand. The letters seemed to swim rather than stand upon the page.

Head Hunter

It has come to my attention that you are becoming something of an asset to the Forsaken. There is an objective that requires one of your stature to accomplish. Come see me at your earliest opportunity. There is much to discuss.

Your Queen
Lady Sylvannas

His hands shook as he gently re-folded the letter and placed it inside his breastplate, next to a tarnished golden ring. He set off at a run to go to her. In moments, he was kneeling before her and her demon guardian. He did not know that things name, and did not want to. That was power incarnate starting down at the Forsaken rogue like a giant stares at an earthworm it desires to crush on whim.

A sweet voice, like a gentle breeze across a placid pond reached his ears. He was not sure if she spoke out loud or in his mind, but it was soothing and tender. His apprehension melted into devotion nearly instantly.

Head Hunter, the sweet voice began, The Forsaken need information that your devotion and skills could obtain for us. Remaining on his knee he raised his eyes to look up at her and was graced with a smile. Her demon guardian looked down upon the worm at his feet and his eyes flared. Kopfjaggers eyes never left the floor after that.

What would you have me do, my Queen, came the deep, hollow voice from the floor.

Information, rogue. We require information about the daily happenings of the humans in and around Goldshire. The rogues head tilted slightly to one side in a silent question. That, for now, is all you need to know, Forsaken. Rise and be gone.

He bowed his head even lower, turned with his eyes still on the floor and ran out.

So it BeginsEdit

((what takes place from here on was an RP thread that took place many months ago in the RP forum. The transcript, provided by Lucia, was 82 pages long, single spaced and in a small font. Ill do my best to present the meat of it here but this is where and how Kopf the character really began to grow and I would like to share that with you now. It will be edited, condensed and tweaked to put it into this story, and I will do my best to represent the spirit of all of those that contributed to the thread originally.))

The Head Hunter had his orders and gathered the supplies he would need for the long trip to Goldshire. It took him several hours to locate the maps, reagents, poisons and tools of his trade. He packed vials, pulled his dried herbs from the bank and let his cherished guild know that he would be gone for quite some time on a mission that he had to do alone. He waved off their questions, the eyes of the Demon protector fresh in his mind.

His mind fully upon his work and his task at hand, he set out. His mission was anything but clear. He was to acquire information on the daily happenings of the once-born in Goldshire. Shaking his head at what that could possibly mean, he double checked to make sure that he had plenty of parchment, ink and quills. This was going to be a very strange mission, indeed.

He fingered the stone ring that was given to him as well. It was like a hearthstone, but hollowed. He was to place his messages to his dark Queen inside the stone to send them to her instantly. He had no illusions that her demon protector, whose name he had failed to pronounce correctly and been laughed at by his guildmates, would instead receive his messages and forward those of merit onto the Queen. It was an interesting and ingenious device. He was humbled and at the same time, quite nervous.

Standing on the platform of the zeppelin tower between Brill and his capital, the Forsaken rogue stood quietly. His twin swords were mighty now, having been constantly upgraded during his countless delves into the dark places of Azeroth. The guild enchanters had swathed them in flames and they hung low and deadly upon his hips, their orange and red glow menacing. His cowl hid his face but yet his eyes still glowed an intense yellow. He was not finished with his trainings yet, but he was no longer the lost soul seeking his way. His way was known and he was closing the gap to greatness with surprising speed.

The trip to Grom Gol was cold and long but he stood there as straight as his broken spine would allow, never moving, always looking. He had to figure out what information was needed, how he was to gain it and then escape with his spirit still attached to his rotted flesh.

Not once did memories of his past life flash before him. They were coming fewer and further between now. It was as if the memories no longer recognized him. He was not that man and they, somehow, knew that. When the zeppelin docked in Grom Gol, he cracked his neck with a quick twist, picked up his blades and began to run.

Field and stream, forest and lake flowed past him as he jogged his way deeper and deeper into enemy territory. He had his warpaint on from the beginning and knew that it would not leave him any time soon. So be it. He was heading into the heart of the enemy let them know that he had come for war. It was just not going to be war in the traditional sense. Whatever his Queen was planning, it was going to require his information and he was sure that it was going to be glorious.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))

A GardenEdit

Had his heart had a rhythm it would have been pounding. He ran for hours to get close to the nestled village of Goldshire. He approached a small, sharply rising hill and veiled himself in stealth. If his studies were correct, Goldshire was very close now. Having spent months practicing bending the light around himself, he was pleased that even his glowing swords were well hidden. Stepping lightly but with swiftness, he crested the hill. And there it was. Laid out in the distance he could see the village.

The sun was low in the evening sky. Shadows were long but vision was clear. It was a perfect time for him to slither his way forward into their midst. Step by step, his adrenaline building in his muscles, the hunched twice-born rogue made his way towards the home of his enemy.

A small house was on the edge of the main road, right across from his current location. This home was in the perfect spot for observation, he quickly concluded. If somehow caught, he was close enough to the small yet steep hill to flee and vanish. Yet it was definitely part of the social arrangement he was sent to study and observe. As he slunk closer, he noticed two small children out front.

The sound of children laughing and playing was something that this bloodless rogue had not anticipated. The battles he had fought had involved the enemy, not the grown children of forgotten parents.

He watched a small child playing with a frog. He was trying to tie it to the ribbon of a little girl of similar coloring. It seemed odd at first, but through the haze of his shattered memory, Kopfjagger remembered doing something very similar once to someone.... was it a brother? Did he ever have a family?

A human female shouted what he could only guess was a curse on the small boy. The boy jumped, squeezing the frog a bit too tightly. The girl seemed very smug about the whole thing. The woman appeared quite rattled and seemed to have run her fingers through her long hair one too many times.

Was this what he was to observe for the Forsaken? This was almost cruel. He looked in the window of the young human woman and wondered where his own humanity had gone.

He stood outside that window looking in for several long minutes, unaware that he was slowly making his way closer. Somewhere inside him a warmth stirred and it came from that room. Unknowingly, he stealthed his way to within inches of the open window. The children no longer crying, the sun nearly set and a Forsaken outside trying to look in.

Taking a deep breath (he was still convinced it was habit more than need) he looked down upon the glowing swords in his hands. Yet his eyes passed over them and fell onto the dirt his feet had trodden upon. He was in her herb garden.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))


The Forsaken rogue watched the activity of this woman's home for several long minutes through the open window. He was only inches away from her when she was close to the window and he hoped that the smell of his corroded body was masked by the herbs and bushes he was hiding in. Flashes were coming to him and his mind teased him. He remembered tiny feet being guided around new growth. Something about burying someone underneath those same stems tickled at the back of his mind. Lost. He was losing himself and he knew it.

He was completely absorbed in watching the daily living of the once-born that he began to become careless. Perhaps there was a way to regain himself in watching and observing what it is like to be normal to be mortal and caring.

He was not as in tune with his surrounds as he normally was. Right now there was no care if his spirit was ripped from his rotten body. He knew that he would have new fleshed forced back onto his soul. He hated that never-ending struggle between freedom and flesh imprisonment.

Watching her and the children hurt in many ways. It was as if he was trying to pull long buried memories from the tomb of a past abandoned.

Her giggles were contagious. Bounce me higher daddy!

Wait! What was that!? Reality crashed in on him in the sound of a twig breaking. He was deep in the enemies territory and his stealth did not make him invulnerable. The intrusion upon his past made his fists wrap around his blades maliciously. He was close.

Who was this woman? Even as his senses searched for an enemy he did not yet see, his mind searched for answers it could not find.

So much to find out, but at what cost?

Anguish washed over him as memories of burying his heart deep beneath her beloved herb garden bombarded him. Her arising as Scourge, the killing of his heart and his beloved little ones because they came back with no mind all of it flooded over him in a wave he could not stand against.

Two solid *thuds* were heard as his swords plunged into the side of the small house. His back arched until it nearly broke and his mouth gaped to the point of snapping, his mouth let forth a silent howl. Quivering muscles failed him and he knelt abandoned by hope in the herb garden. His soul screamed but his body would not let the sound escape. His torture was his own.

A weapon was placed at the nape of his neck. It was sharp and cold even against his dead flesh. His gaze upon the ground, the Forsaken mourned not the loss of his own flesh, which seemed inevitable, but of the herbs that his captor had mindlessly trampled.

Words were said to him in a language he did not understand. Slowly, hands released from the imprisoned blades, he rose and accepted his hell. As he turned to face the guard that had found him, his mind went back to the woman. The Head Hunter had killed many, many humans. Often he found letters or drawings on these bodies and he kept them. Not as a trophy of death, but as a reminder of what it means to live. Perhaps he could help this woman. The odds were against it, but he wanted somehow to ease someones suffering. His soul demanded it.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))

Paper KissesEdit

She was standing in her kitchen, yelling at the two small ones outside. They never seemed to get along any more. Since her husband had gone to fight the undead in Tirisfal Glades she had been trying her best to raise the two little ones on her own. It had been eight long and lonely months. He was supposed to be back by now but well, he was fine. It was a war, after all.

"Alexi, don't you make me come out there, or I'll," she floundered, what, her husband always disciplined the children. That is, he did until he went to the undead lands to destroy the squatters in the fallen city. We will drive then out, he had declared, and then left.

"I'll tan your hide!" Yikes, that didn't come out as well as it did when her husband said it. It had been a long eight months.

The raven haired woman gazed out her window and settled her eyes on the peaceful little villa that was Goldshire. It was a haven for her; she couldn't stand the thought of raising her children in that city. But still close enough that it was still safe.

Two sharp thumps against the wall caused her to jump and drop a plate into the basin. Rising from her window was evil. It had glowing yellow-red eyes that seemed to suck the breath from her as it rose slowly. For the brief moment that their eyes met she knew that death had come for her and she was not prepared to die. Her mouth opened to scream but not a sound came. And then death turned away from her and raised its hands.

Immediately she ran from the kitchen to grab her children. Had her heart not been on the verge of exploding from fear for them, she would have merely herded them to safety. Instead, she grabbed them both roughly by the back of their ill fitting clothing and dragged them to her. They saw her fear and began to cry, not knowing that their mother had seen the eyes of evil incarnate.

The guard kept the blade at the throat of the Forsaken but it took effort to keep his gaze on the glowing eyes of his captive. The Head Hunter nodded slowly, to ease the tensions in those around him. He had been caught, but the trap was not full proof. There was a way out and hopefully, he would not have to shed the blood of the innocent today. He did not think he could even if forced. Not today. Not in the herb garden.

Very slowly the Forsaken reached into his breastplate with one hand. The other remained high and open. His eyes never left the guards. Very slowly. His fingers wrapped around his bundle of mementos and he gently removed them from beneath his breastplate. Feeling and finding a tarnished golden ring, he pushed that deeper into the pocket and slid the bundle out to hand to the guard. Again, he nodded as he offered the package to the guard.

Reaching out with one hand to take the package, the look of fear replaced with curiosity and apprehension, the guard oblivious to the female grabbing the children. The movement was not lost on the rogue, however, and he smiled beneath his hood.

The guard tentatively felt the weight of the package. His brows knit together as he tried to figure out what this was all about. It looked like a collection of letters, drawings and other postal items. The Forsaken nodded towards the woman and pointed with his outstretched hands.

Turning to look at the woman, the guard took a step back to hand the bundle to the woman and her huddled, terrified children. That was all it took.

Throwing a handful of flashpowder into the air, Kopfjagger spun quickly, yanked the blades out of the wall and was gone. He was across the road and in an alley before the two knew he had moved. A tickle of pride touched him as he let the shadows swallow him. He was looking for a safe spot to watch the woman.

He had to gather information for the Forsaken. The bundle held personal interest to the undead rogue, but it was not worth the pain of having the Earth Mother force rotten flesh around his free spirit again. He hated that pain above all else; even more than the fact he was refused death.

From the shadows of the small alley, he could see the human female and the guard look for him. She quickly lost interest, however. He eyes had fallen upon something in that bundle that had meaning for her personal meaning.

The human woman was in a daze. She stood there numbly, cut off from her normal activities, her two children clustered at her feet. A bloodstained piece of parchment in her hands.

For my daddy, it began. It was a mess of wide looped scribbles that were barely recognizable as words except to the father. He could read what it said.

She remembered that day, warm with the smell of baking apples and crisp spices. Her husbands happy face, her daughter so proud at the first written words of love to her father.

She remembered him leaving. Pack slung over his shoulder, promises to return, and her daughter running after him with wails of "Daddy, wait, pleathse wait. Your kisses daddy, don't forget your paper kisses." A tiny hand clutching the parchment.

He had lifted her high in the air and told her, never, I will never forget to take my paper kisses every where I go, and he took the page that she now held in her numb hands, and placed it in his traveling cloak pocket.

"It's right on top of my heart now" was the last thing he had said to his family before he disappeared down the road.

Unseen to her, a Forsaken in the shadows felt her pain as she knelt down between her children, pulled their heads onto her shoulders and cried in the middle of the street.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))

Old WoundsEdit

He watched her for many long moments. The Forsaken feeling, for the first time in his un-life, remorse. Her agony was laid at his feet. Her family destroyed by his agony. Long he sheltered in the cool shadows, watching her and the two terrified little ones. The guards were actively looking for him now, but he was at home in the shadows and unafraid.

He had to stop his feet from going to her. Surely he could do something. Finally, she retreated back into her home with her children. The twice-born Head Hunter could not tell you how long he sat there watching the womans house. All he knew is that it was dark now. Everything seemed dark.

The nerve-wrenching sound of a hunters flare shot through him. His body immediately hunched over as he tried to make himself as small as possible in the alley. But it was too late. Coiling and twisting their way up his legs were roots grown unnaturally fast, guided by the hateful magic of a druid. He muttered how hypocritically these earth mother worshipers were. Twisting the natural growth for their war defied what they said they held dear. Balance. Ha!

Blades out, wreathed in flame, he sought out his attackers. Moonfire burned him but he still had no target. Arrows began to pelt him as Moonfire continued to punish his rotted flesh. Still he had no target. Cursing, he waited out the roots. No magic could force nature against her will for long.

He hated waiting.

Moonfire again tried to pull his spirit from his flesh, but he was not going to let that happen today. Finally, he was free. Flashpowder flew again as he dashed across the open street. There were his attackers, but for right now, he was free. With quick steps he stealthed across the street and into some sort of inn or tavern. The crowded room offered him little chance of escape, but it was far better than the open air with a druid and hunter around. He slunk between patrons, benches and chairs, trying to find a way out. Faster he moved as his search became desperate.

A window.

It was not close, and was above a table full of half-drunk humans and dwarves, but he could make it. Desperation drove him towards the loud table. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the druid enter the inn. She was one of the purple mutants with the long ears and lithe body. She would probably be attractive if her ears werent longer then her arms. His snicker was lost on the patrons.

He summoned his adrenaline for a rush through the window. Coiled and ready to strike, his legs launched him up onto the table. His stealth held for now, but his haste and adrenaline pushed him faster and faster across the bench and out the window.

As if in slow motion, a dwarf began to raise his tankard. It was an odd shape, fat and round, more like a bowl than a drinking device. Slowly the tankard came off the table and rose in front of the rogue. A smile crept painfully slow across the dwarfs face as he changed the direction of the mug. He was going to toast the person across the table from him.

The Head Hunter could not change his course. Adrenaline and desperation drove him forward. Eyes widened as the mug crashed into his leg, slowly tumbling, spraying, falling.

Diving out of the window, Kopfjagger found himself in plain sight in an alley only feet from where this entire encounter had begun. He was desperate. The moon was bright and his blades shed their own malicious glow around him. Shelter. Shelter or face the pain of a spirit torn.

Quickly rounding the corner, Kopfjagger kicked the door in and leapt inside the house. It was her house. Two children and a raven haired human jumped at the noise. He sped through the house, ignoring the shrieks of the mother.

The Forsaken found the small boy now hiding in the corner near the fireplace. The undead rogue seized the frightened boy by the arm, ripping him from his sister and dragged him outside, fending off the mother with his other hand. Instinctively, totally without thought, the Forsaken released and re-grabbed the boy childs other arm. He had grabbed the boys damaged arm damaged from a fathers failed attempt at caring so many years ago

He met the druid in the doorway. He stared her in the eye and slid his sword gingerly across the throat of the writhing boy. He hoped that the druid could not tell that he did not want to have to do this. This boy was his only chance at leaving this town in his flesh.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))

Strength and WeaknessEdit

Footsteps could be heard on the old wooden floor. They were coming closer from behind the Rogue. Burning eyes locked on burning eyes, the undead raised his bony hand from the throat of the child to make a 'Stop' gesture to the woman coming up behind him. It was difficult with the sword in his hand, its fiery glow washing over the terrified childs face. But it was clear. She stopped. The child only whimpered now, no longer struggled wildly.

Kopfjagger began to move towards the door, dragging the boy-child by the arm. He motioned for the druid to step aside and began to slide out of the doorway, easing the boy farther away from him, inch by inch so that they women would know that the boy would indeed be released, if he too was released.

The mother gripped the plank of wood so hard splinters were driving into her fingers. She would do anything to get her son from the undead threat and those eyes of evil.

Peeling her eyes away from the undead holding her son for the first time, she noticed the druid. The undead seemed to be holding her son between them and quickly her mind seized upon what was happening in its entirety.

She didn't care about anything else, she wanted, no, needed desperately, to get her son back. The only thing she had left. He was the spitting image of his father, her living reminder of her husband if indeed he was dead. She could not imagine anything other then death would separate him from his daughter's letter.

"Let him go druid!" She said, "Please, if he will release my son, let him go. I care nothing of what he does as long as my son is safe. I will let him burn Stormwind to the ground if it would save Alexi."

The words meant nothing to the Head Hunter. He was ready to wait this out if necessary. Let the mother bargain for his life. That was probably what she was doing. At least, thats what he *hoped* thats what she was doing. He made no movements, made no attempt to flee. The last thing he wanted was to hurt this boy, but by fel, he was not going to suffer through another resurrection if it could be avoided.

The mother turned from the undead, and raised her weapon to the druid; "I'll do anything to protect him." she declared and prepared to slam the wood into the druid if she refused her request.

His focus on the Druid, the undead rogue did not at first see the weapon in the hand of the human woman. Her yells and shrieks pulled his eyes off of this druid that had threatened his flesh too many times. The human was armed, angry and facing his enemy with a wooden plank and a heart ready to kill. His smile was again concealed behind the mask.

He came here to find the weakness of humans but instead found their strength. The human woman would kill anything and anyone to save the life of her child. But, this is also a weakness for she has (temporarily, admittedly) allied herself with the Forsaken.

Kopfjagger started to back out of the doorway and onto the street. Very slowly he moved, stretching his hand holding the juvenile boy closer to the mother. When his body was enveloped in the moon-shadow of a tree hanging over the road, he kicked the child in the back, propelling him towards his mother.

He took three quick steps backwards, threw his powders into the air, turned and ran under stealth.

His research was complete, now he just had to report back.

((This part of the story was written in partnership by Kopfjagger and Lucia. I have the honor of retelling it but at least half, if not more, of the creative power comes directly from Lucia even though her name does not appear to the left of the post. *bows deeply to Lucia* Thank you, Lucia, for letting me retell our story, I hope to do it justice.))

End of Kopf's Story Book 3
[<---Book 2] [Book 4--->]

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