World of Warcraft®

He could hardly feel the blade in his hand, even as he sliced through the woman’s flesh. Blood splattered across his face, and he could feel that: warm, thick, and sick-smelling. The woman’s eyes went wide, staring at the sword imbedded in her side as though she wasn’t sure how it got there. He tugged on the blade, but it had gotten lodged in a rib and refused to budge. He kicked the woman back, drawing a dagger from his side and a gem from his pack. Her eyes pleaded with him as he advanced, but only nonsense spilled from her mouth. He ignored both as he slit her throat, pressing the bloodied gem to the gaping cut. Her eyes slowly gazed over, her tongue finally falling still as life left her body.

Gris stood, wiping the gem on his tabard. He held it to the rays of the dying sun: another mote had joined the five that were there, imperfections in the otherwise perfect diamond. The blood turned the light into fire, trapped within the gem, threatening to burn him until he released it. He put the diamond away, driving such thoughts from his mind. He did not have time for this.

Gris wrapped his right hand around the pommel of the sword, pulling on it, but it slipped from his grip. He wiped his hand on his tabard, growling, and tried once more only to have it slip again. Enraged, he ripped his glove off, throwing it to the ground. The stitches that had reattached his fingers still held, even though the flesh around them had turned black. He tried to clench his fingers, but they barely moved in response. Truly, he was lucky that it had lasted this long, but if he let it continue any further, it would consume him.

He looked at the dead woman and, for a moment, envied her. The dead were lucky – life was so much harder for the living.

“Where have you been?!”

Gris had been back no less than ten minutes when she had showed up and started yelling at him. He almost regretted returning, “It KNOWS what this one was doing.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer the question!” Abigane Scarlette was not an intimidating woman, no matter how much she scowled, even if she puffed up to her full 5”2’. But she still scowled as though she thought it would intimidate him, as though he would be cowed by this diminutive undead.

Gris glanced to the other patrons of the bar, shaking his head, “This is not to be discussed HERE.”

Abigane deflated somewhat at that, although she looked as though she still wanted to pursue the topic, “Fine… How is your hand? Is it worse?”

She had already been staring at the limp arm at his side; he knew she already knew the answer to that question. Still, he let her take it, turning it over and examining it. When she removed his gauntlet, her eyes went wide, looking up and meeting his, “How far up does this go?”

Gris shrugged his left shoulder, “To the elbow.”

Her face drew back in a grimace, “… We’re going to have to cut this off.”

He grunted in affirmation; he had seen enough injuries to know what would have to be done. He watched her pick through her satchel, drawing a small embalming knife, “The CLEANER the cut, the better – a SWORD would be best.”

Abigane looked at him in something like horror. He had expected her to be used to such things – granted, she probably did not see much as an embalmer, but surely she had some experience with mangled bodies. Luckily, at that moment, an orc approached the table, Kagran, as he had remembered her greeting him, “Would this work?” he hefted an axe from his back, extending it for inspection.

Abigane let out a small “meep” at the sight of it, stepping between the two, “You’ll do no such thing!”

Gris sighed, pushing at her with his good hand, “An axe is IDEAL. It will cut through the bone.”

“Besides,” the orc added, “it’ll take forever with that little knife.”

Abigane looked at Gris, uncertainty clear in her eyes. She took a steadying breath and nodded, stepping to his other side.

Gris stripped the armour from his right arm, revealing the necrotic flesh. The rot stretched up his forearm, stopping just shy of the exposed joint. In places, the flesh had peeled away completely, revealing brittle, grey bone. He felt Abigane stiffen beside him at the sight, and Kagran’s nose wrinkled against the smell. He set the arm on the table, positioning the elbow before Kagran, “Make a CLEAN cut.”

The orc nodded, hefting the axe over his shoulder. Gris felt Abigane’s fingers wrap around his free hand, more for her benefit than his, he was sure. With a spin to create momentum, the axe fell, severing through the joint and biting into the wood of the table.

Gris lifted his arm, examining the stump. The axe had sliced through the cartilage, leaving the end of the bone uninjured – it was a keen strike, “Many thanks.”

Kagran chuckled, pulling his axe from the table and returning it to its sling, “Any time.”

As he left, Abigane circled around once more, fussing at what remained of his arm, checking to make sure all of the rot had been cleared away, “Do you think that’ll stop it?”

“No.” This body would rot, he knew it. Already, lines of black had appeared on his chest, traveling along his arteries and veins. Perhaps this would slow it down. It was unlikely, but he could still hope.

Abigane looked at him, similar worry reflected in her eyes, “What will you do now, then?”

“This one will seek HELP,” Gris stood, picking up the detached arm from the table. As he moved to leave, the warlock stood in his path.

“Okay, what do we need to do?”

“This one did not ask for ITS help.”

Abigane frowned, once more expanding to her full height, “I am a HER, thank you, and I did not OFFER my help, I am GIVING it,” she retorted, mocking him.

Gris stepped to the side, but once more she blocked him, “This one does not WISH for its help,” he growled.

“Don’t you growl at me, mister!” she poked him in the chest for emphasis, “I’m going to help you, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Even if helping this one would HARM others?” She faltered slightly at that question, but determination once more flooded into her eyes. With only a second’s pause, she nodded.

Gris stared at the woman before him, wondering how he had changed. Before, he would have taken advantage of such kindness without a second thought. Now, though, all he wanted to do was to push her away so that she would not be caught up in this. What had happened to him? Had all those years made him soft? Or, perhaps, she reminded him too much of himself, before all of this had happened, before he had sought a way to cheat Death. He suddenly felt very old and so very tired, “It was so much SIMPLER before…” he murmured in Common.

Still, her gaze was fixed on him, waiting for an answer. He had faced her determination before, and then, as now, he succumbed. “FINE.”

Instantly, Abigane’s face lit into a smile, “Great! So, where do we start?”

“Hold this,” Gris handed her the severed arm, digging through his pack, “This one once met a TROLL who sought hearts for some RITUAL.”

“You mean… Dree’jin?” Abigane asked in a hushed tone.

He grunted in reply, “This one’s goals are SIMILAR to its. Perhaps it can HELP this one.” He drew out his hearthstone, bringing it up to speak into it.

Abigane laid her hand over it, halting him, “The Horde fears Dree’jin… if others hear that you are conspiring with him, they may come after you.”

“This one will die REGARDLESS, whether it be from the hands of OTHERS or by decay.”

“But… if he finds out what you are, he may take that from you…” she tapped on his breastplate, towards the pendant beneath.

“Then this one will not LET him know,” Gris pulled the hearthstone away, and Abigane let her hand fall. Concern was still written clearly on her face, but she knew as well as he did that their options were few now. Gris activated the hearthstone, bringing it to his mouth and speaking, “This one seeks to SPEAK with the one known as Dree’jin.”