World of Warcraft®

This is the last of the chickens...

Not all of them, not yet... just of the hutch I found.

the farmer didn't complain when I took them, he didn't have enough face left to complain with... I wonder if someone has found him a new face, I hope so, he seemed like good company... but that's not important, THIS is important, the last chicken...

I took the rest apart, I have to see how they work, one must know the enemy if one is going to face them, one must know them better than one knows themselves. So I took each one apart, each in their time, just like plucking flowers... but messier... and noisier at first.

How I hate them.

I have been watching this one for three days. I think it died sometime last night, but it keeps staring at me. I am not going to take this one apart, I want to see how long it can stare.

How I hate them.

ohhh a bug..
No..not a bug, but rather a pile of..parts or many bugs. The dagger still half embedded in the loose, tilled garden patch had caught his eye. That had also been the reason he had spotted the bug..or bugs rather.

Dismounting he walked closer, and what he saw was more disturbing than the scenes of battle that haunted his dreams. This was wrong on so many levels that it shook his very core.
The bugs were not alone..around the back side of the crates were some rotting, fly covered meat..the remails of squirles? He had not noticed their being scarce, but upon reflection, he had not seen one for days..and now this.

He walked over to the piles, and realized the tilled soil was not someones garden patch..the stench told him that beneth a few inches of dirt lay the rest of the missing animals, he was sure. Carefully he continued and spyed the feathers..and what looked to be the beginning of someones dinner at first glance. But it was just not right somehow. The parts were torn off, some cut off. Nothing of uniform size. just legs here...wings over there..the bodies, well, shredded chunks at best and the heads....that was the thing that threw him...the heads were all there..lined up in a row on top of the storage box like the were attending a great play, their eyeless skulls all pointing to the crude resting area that had been created by the undead one he had seen earlier...

.....that one had been dragging the half rotted chicken where ever he had gone. That one was not right in the head, well none of the living dead were "right" but some just came back far more unright than others..

The old Shaman knew it was time to return to his spirit guide..to learn as much as he could to be ready for what he felt would be a show down between this fanatical dead thing and his friends, and anything that truly lived. He would have to keep an eye on this one though..this one was evil..

It started blinking... the hateful thing started blinking!

Maybe I shouldn't have been carrying it around when we were reanimating those villagers.

Maybe I shouldn't have held it in that cauldron to see what would happen.

Maybe I shouldn't have fed it those eggs.

But now it's blinking... and stumbling around after me... and trying to make clucking noises in it's gurgling way... I need to think about this.

What is that smell? Wacker thinks as he set his ale on the bar. Through the haze of smoke and the oder of old and new brews, the stench overpowered all.

There was that crazed Undead, hmmm, Shattering...a fitting name, it seemed to be a reference to that ones mind. At his feet was the source of the offensive smell. The chicken he had carried for days was following him. Like a baby duckling to is mother, no matter how Shattering wandered about, this chicken thing followed.

On the far side of the bar, Shattering sat and the chicken thing jumped into his lap. It croaked some gurgleing noise and Shattering mumbeled a reply to his newly made friend.

What else would this morphed version of the plague bring..His spirit guide had told him that like the face of a printing press, used over and over, it wears and becomes slopy. The plague had done just that. The remenant of humanity that had been present in the returning ones had become smaller and smaller, to the point of what he had been seeing now.

And now it also brought back half rotted chickens..and gods what a mess this could be. It was time to talk to the Cheif about the trash cans in town. It was time to make sure that all left over meals were burned..who know what may also raise from the dead.

Shattering loves chickens. Do not let him tell you otherwise.

I have seeeen him love chickens.

It is..most unsettling.

Send him more chickens.