Plagueland Roast

The sky was a festering wound, an uneven and sickly yellow streaked with occasional crimson clouds. The trees in the woods below had grown twisted; the essence of the land warping them until they appeared to be writhing in agony. I clenched my daggers a little tighter in my claws, taking a moment to stand tall on the hill by the roadside so that I could properly assess my surroundings. Down in the valley off the beaten path, two spiders with abdomens the size of barrels chattered and shrieked at one another as they each attempted to lay claim to the venom-bloated corpse of a Scarlet watchman who'd strayed too near them. Off in the distance, a large bear covered in weeping sores rubbed its face compulsively on the jagged edge of a large stone, leaving chunks of its flesh behind in the process. Overhead, a buzzard circled, it's cruel, greedy black eyes fixated on the remnants of the bear left unceremoniously on the rock; its next meal.

The behaviour of the nearby wildlife and the pestilence concentrated in the area confirmed what I had assumed for a long while...even more so than the Undercity, this was my home.

He had asked me to set the main barracks tent in the Scarlet outpost ablaze, leaving a Scourge banner in the wake of the destruction. It wouldn’t be difficult to pass it off…so far as I’ve been able to tell, no Scarlets can distinguish between Forsaken and Scourge anyhow. It also had the advantage of setting the two factions that most actively sought to destroy me against one another. I revelled in the notion until nightfall, absently watching the sky deepen from yellow to a grim purple, then I walked back to the road and headed towards the camp. Spotting a figure in the distance, I phased out of view and stepped off the roads into the shadow of a nearby tree. The Scarlet watchman strode past without so much as a glance my way, jaw set and brow creased to make determined little slits of his eyes. I dismissed him as irrelevant to my current task and let him get a fair piece down the road, then set out once more.

I reached the camp a few moments later and examined the guards posted around. Two were engaged in a game of dice by the fire pit, and one other was posted by the road, looking back and forth anxiously and occasionally blowing into his hands. My upper lip curled upwards as I made my way to the barracks tent, still phased out of view. Reaching into my pack, I removed two of the mageweave ties I’d made specifically for this mission and used them to seal the exit flap at the front of the tent shut. I then removed the bottle of dragon’s breath that he had given to me and splashed the canvas liberally with it. The acrid smell assaulted my nostrils immediately and some of the folks in the tent began to stir. Knowing that time was of the essence, I phased back into view, dashed towards the fire pit, leaving a small stream of the dragon’s breath behind, tossed the quarter-full bottle into the heart of the pit, dove aside and rolled gracefully into a crouch. Chaos fell instantly as a scorching wall of heat blazed past me, searing what little of my leathery flesh was exposed at my back. The tent went up a second and a half later, the wails of surprise and agony rising up into the night sky and echoing off the surrounding hillside. I turned into the heat in time to see the two guards who had been dicing clawing at their faces as they thrashed around on the ground in a frenzy. The remaining guard turned and spotted me immediately, charging at me with his sword drawn. Fortunately, I had anticipated the possibility of having to fight my way out of the area and easily sidestepped his first arcing swing, spinning quickly and burying Widowmaker through his chain mail and deep into his side between his ribs. He staggered, then turned more quickly than I expected and slashed me across the thigh, cutting me deeply. The sudden pain that shot up from the unexpected wound sent a surge of adrenaline through my body and I bore down on him with Satyr’s Lash like a being possessed, striking at every opening and parrying every blow he sent my way. Finally, I managed to kick his sword-hand with the tip of my boot, sending his blade flying behind him. It buried itself to the hilt in the dirt as I buried Satyr’s Lash in his belly, drove it upwards, then pulled it out with savage force, eviscerating him with the hooked end of it. He reached down into the gaping hole and held his hand there for an instant, then looked at the gore he came up with wearing an expression of dreamy disbelief before he fell backwards and ceased to be. I knelt by him, pulling Widowmaker from his side and wiping both blades off on him, adding a little more scarlet to his tabard for good measure. I then pulled the banner from my pack, stretched the telescoping pole out and buried it in the ground a little piece away where it wouldn’t catch fire. Walking away, I phased out of view just in time to escape the notice of the wandering patrol who were just heading back to base after making their rounds. I watched them try in vain to save someone, anyone, from the blaze in the barracks, then slunk away, entirely satisfied with my night’s work.