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He stood still, looking at the creature from behind the bushes. It looked so.. divine. Long ears carefully listening, the expression on her face very alert. He would have to stay very still.. be very silent. He felt his mouth watering. A little stream of drool was running down the side of his oral cavity. Normally it would have been stopped by a lower jaw, but he didn't have one anymore. He carefully moved a bit more behind the tree, in case she had heard the drool splashing on the ground. He just wanted to watch.. for now. From his crouching position he could see her perfect legs. How muscular they looked underneath the leather. He could imagine the soft, purple skin.. He could almost.. taste it. He started driveling again. So beautiful.. so close. His fantasies were ended abruptly, when a dwarf and a human joined the elf and all three rode off, towards the Scarlet Monastery. He slammed his fist against the tree. DAMMIT! Why, why did they come! His eyes started watering. Why.. He walked back towards Brill, sulking.


It had not always been like this. He had some memories, of his life in the past. People had looked up to him. He had been respected, elven women like the one he had been looking for just a moment ago, they had been swarming around him. Marcus Ieatnelfs, paladin extraordinaire, had been well known in his village as a kind of a local hero, people came to him with their troubles, he was good with the women, fun to be around. He had enjoyed his fair share of female attention. Until that fateful morning. He had not felt good. Not good at all. When he had went out, people had looked at him in horror. The women looked in disgust. They didn't want him near.. The plague, they had said. They had told him to stay away. There were others, too. Then.. it was all a blur.

Now all he could think about was her. Well, not just her. They were all the same, beautiful, pure.. He just wanted to touch, touch the smooth purple skin. Smell it.

..taste it.


But they came to Tirisfal Glades so rarely. Days like this were rare. Often they were just passing by. And this was becoming unbearable.


"I want to go to Darnassus"

"WHAT?!"

"You heard me. I want to go to Darnassus"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You can insult me as much as you want. I am not going to change my mind."

"What could you possibly do in Darnassus?"

"They live in Darnassus. If I get there, I can spend all my days with them."

"..not again. Marcus, please. You just don't seem to understand. The night elves, they will not happily greet you if you waltz into their main city. They will kill you. You will not get past the sentinels, that is for sure." "Then at least I will die happy. And what do you know about what will happen? You can see the future? We are destined to be together. They will know it, just like I do."

"Yes. I am sure the huntress you tried to approach a week or so ago filled you with arrows just out of love.."

"She just didn't understand.."

"So there is no way I can talk you out of this?"

"No."

"Fine. Then I will come with you."

"You don't have to."

"But I will."


While preparing, Marcus had the happiest jawless grin on his face. He couldn't wait! He imagined what it would be like. Darnassus.. They would be there, celebrating the night.. Their purple skins glowing in the moonlight.. so shiny.. so magical.. And they would welcome him to join them. They would understand. He could feel it. They would understand.. they would know why he needed to be with to them. Close to them. Feel them.

..taste them.

His eyes stared in the darkness as he pictured it.




He stood still, looking at the monstrosity. It looked so helpless, out of this war-torn world’s situational factors. Rotten feet carefully digging themselves into the ground to retain strong footing in the soft soil, the expression of his face was that similar to a young child on the eve of Winter’s Veil, awaiting a visit from the Great-father. Feston would have to stay very very still… be very silent. He felt the remaining parts of his brain ache. He buried his head within his right hand, and ran it down the side of his face, near to his oral cavity. Feston carefully moved a bit more behind the tree, in case Marcus had heard his almost constant sigh. He just wanted to slap Marcus…for now. From this crouching position Feston could see his brittle hand stroking the area near his crotch. He could imagine the stupid look on Marcus’ face, and the lack of logical thought underneath. He could almost… feel the foolishness. Feston started to face palm again. So stupid…so close. As Marcus’ fantasies were ended abruptly, Feston began to think to himself for a moment, warding away the illogical and irrational thoughts Marcus could be having. He banged his head against the tree. DAMMIT! Why, why do I even hang out with this guy?! WHY?! He followed Marcus as he walked towards Brill, attempting to form a gloating grin on his dirty, skeletal face.


It had not always been like this. Feston had some memories of Marcus’ life before. He often spent his days surrounded by Elves of every type, causing them to almost swoon in his presence; Feston almost envied this ability, but accepted that everyone was different and had their own gifts. Marcus Ieatnelfs was a strong and hearty Paladin, he was not just a womaniser, but an intelligent friend, a kind of local hero. Feston looked up to him. Until that fateful morning…Feston had woken up, not feeling good. Not good at all. He had a killer hangover. When he went out, he found Marcus looking at him in horror; filled with boils and a disgusting growth, he fell to his knees and …dropped dead. The plague they said. They told Feston that he ‘was going to die, mate’. Then… it was all a blur.

God dammit, Marcus.

Now all Feston could think about was how stupid his best friend and his thoughts were. They were all the same, “ooh, I love Night Elves”, “I wanna hug some Night Elves”, “Did you know that Night Elves like herbs? I am going to be a herbalist” (which was rather entertaining, Feston would have to add – killing once prospering vegetation with his touch). He just wanted to clout…clout Marcus’ clunky head. Thump it.


Thankfully, they did not visit Tirisfal Glades often. Days like this were rare. Often Marcus would whine about their lack of punctuality. And this was becoming unbearable.


"I want to go to Darnassus"

"WHAT?!"

"You heard me. I want to go to Darnassus"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You can insult me as much as you want. I am not going to change my mind."

"What could you possibly do in Darnassus?"

"They live in Darnassus. If I get there, I can spend all my days with them."

"..not again. Marcus, please. You just don't seem to understand. The night elves, they will not happily greet you if you waltz into their main city. They will kill you. You will not get past the sentinels, that is for sure." "Then at least I will die happy. And what do you know about what will happen? You can see the future? I can. We are destined to be together. They know it, just like I do."

"Yes. I am sure the huntress you tried to approach a week ago filled you with arrows just out of love.."

"She just didn't understand.."

"So there is no way I can talk you out of this?"

"No."

"Fine. Then I will come with you."

"You don't have to."

"But I will."

"Then we have some packing to do, dear friend."


While preparing for the long journey ahead, Feston had the happiest jawless grin on his face. He couldn’t wait! He imagined what it would be like. Proving to Marcus first-hand, that his thoughts and ambitions are senseless, foolish, and …stupid. Imprinting on Marcus’ him the important aspects of undeath would be Feston’s goal! He would be there, celebrating the night. So magical…and hopefully the ideals that Marcus could be shown would be welcomed within his mind. That he would understand. Feston could feel it. He would understand…he would know why he needed to force himself onto the path that fortune created for him. And achieve it.

…Complete his destiny.

Feston’s eyes glistened in the darkness as he pictured it.




When he started putting together a list of what was needed, Marcus realised that here was but one problem in his way. Money. Unfortunately, he had not been buried with his earthly possessions. He stopped for a moment to recall if he HAD been buried in the first place, but then shook his head and continued with more important thoughts. Regardless, the truth was that all Marcus had were the rags on him, and a few silver coins in his pockets. Even if his head was filled with obsession, he did realise that he needed money in order to carry out this lengthy journey. Luckily, his Forsaken brethren in Brill seemed fairly busy and had a lot of tasks to give out, in exchange for some coin. So he decided to invest in some weaponry to be able to execute the tasks. The local Blacksmith did not have a huge variety of them, but enough to find something suitable for starting out. Marcus tried lifting a mighty two-hander, only to realise that his arms weren't strong enough to wield it. He cursed loudly and left the smithy. He scuffed back to the inn, slumping in a chair and started his usual mumbling about the unfairness of the world and how he only wanted to fulfill his destiny. Absent-mindedly he picked up a knife left lying on the table and started to play a little game of toss-catch with it.

"Why don't you just end your pathetic un-life with that knife?" asked a random guest of the inn and laughed.

Sooner than the man knew, the knife was sticking out of his bony forehead.

"Hey! What did you do that for!"

Marcus prepared to make a snappy comeback, but then he started thinking.. He hadn't realised he was quite handy with a knife. During his living days he had not bothered with knives, there had been bigger, more impressive weapons to wield. In undeath he seemed to have lost the ability to even pick up one. But now it seemed he had gotten some accuracy instead..


He pulled the knife off the poor gentleman, who was now rambling about it leaving a mark, and left the inn, deep in thought. He wandered off towards the woods of Tirisfal, spotted a rat, quickly aimed and tossed his knife. The rat let out a little squeak before it stopped moving. He pulled out his knife and spotted another prey, a relatively large bat. He tossed his knife.. but even though he hit the bat, he did not manage to kill it with that one shot. He quickly realised he had no other weapon on him and when the angered animal started flying towards him, he started running. Safely back at Brill, he revisited the smithy and purchased a slightly sturdier dagger, as well as slipped a set of throwing knives in his pocket. After all, his aim was to GAIN money, not to lose it. With his newfound confidence, he accepted a menial task to rid the woods of some of those bats, made use of his new knives and was filled with glee every time a bat's lifeless body hit the ground. For once he was not thinking about Elves at all, the joy of what he was doing filled his mind completely. And then he saw it. It was white, and slightly bigger than the other bats. He realised that this might be a more valuable kill than the regular ones. His semi-rotten frontal lobe started working on a plan and surprisingly managed to come up with one. He followed the white one stealthily, until it drifted farther away from the other bats. Carefully he aimed with his throwing knife.. And it hit it's target. But what he didn't realise was the size and strenght of the beast. The enraged creature dodged his attacks, while it furiously clawed and pecked poor Marcus. He realised this was not going to end well and tried to flee, but he could not outrun this beast. This is the end, he thought, he would never see the Elves due to his recklessness and stupidity.. When suddenly, something charged the beast, taking it's attention off Marcus. It took a while for Marcus to recover and start hitting the beast, to aid his helper in getting the beast down. And together, they did. Marcus finally got a look at his saviour and his expression changed into one of surprise.

"Feston?"


He had clearly undervalued the need for a companion. He didn't even think of WHY Feston was here, if it had been a coincidence or if he had been following him.. What Marcus did think about was that his original plan, which was to leave without Feston, as he didn't quite seem to be into the trip for the right reasons.. Nevertheless, it might have been a bit foolish now that he thought of it. No matter what Feston's motives were, his physical strenght was something Marcus lacked. And if he wanted to reach Darnassus in one piece, he might require the aid of his friend after all. So, with the help of Feston he finished his task and they returned to Brill, together. After a short discussion about plans for the next day, he retreated to his room for some rest. Even if these preparations took longer than he expected, he would get there. Darnassus.. His mind drifted off to fantasies of what would happen then.

A tendril of drool ran down his lip.




Feston stumbled out of Brill’s Inn; his head clouded and woozy, filled with thoughts of grandeur and glory – Marcus was a shadow of his former self, and with this trip, he would be returned to the world. The thought excited Feston. He wanted to guide Marcus onto a path of his choosing, and considered this “trip” to Darnassus the hard way for Marcus to learn of his true fate. He died and rose up as a faceless monstrosity, controlled solely by the mighty Lich King, slave to his raging will. Marcus and Feston were turned against their loved ones and their precious Alliance. The faces that belonged to the slain were faces recognised all too well from local drinking-holes, one-night stands and the army they once served. However, the Lich King’s slaves were not allowed to keep their thoughts…thus the dreadful horrors that this duo executed were not supposed to be remembered. When Marcus was set free from the Lich King’s grasp, he remembered his time spent among the living; the pleasures he received, the recognition he earned through his good deeds, and the loyal friends he had. When Feston was released from the Lich King’s clutches, all he remembered was the pain he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his beautiful, magnificent Alliance. He remembered how the people that he once knew looked at him; with fear and repulsion deep in their eyes. He remembered how those very same people treated him with respect as one of the living, years ago. He remembered those very same people run through by his sword, ripped apart by his hands, and devoured by both his body and his soul. No…Marcus was not to live his life in death gallivanting about through Kalimdor, searching for that which will not accept him. No, Marcus was to learn about his fate and achieve his destiny, destroying the force that destroyed so many lives, fighting back at the Scourge.

Feston blinked.

He was not in Brill anymore. He was in the middle of the Tirisfal’s forest area. Twirling around in an ecstasy of confusion, Feston began to smile. In his mind, it would be so easy; he could bring Marcus through the Eastern Kingdoms, sneak onto a boat to Kalimdor, travel forward into Darkshore and voila! Feston began to laugh wildly. He could watch Marcus from the shadows…watch him receiving blows from the Night Elves, being struck down, watch Marcus’ happiness shrink and drop, watch him plummet to the ground…again. He would rise once more, Feston was sure of that – he was counting on that. When Marcus would rise, he would rise enlightened! And side-by-side, the duo could fight the good fight once more; with honour, vigour and valour!


Feston’s mad cackling was interrupted by the frightful screams of a voice far too familiar to him…

“Marcus?”

The Forsaken warrior’s head snapped to the direction of the scream. Drawing out his large sword he traversed up a steep hill with no regard for the indigenous flora and fauna, stepping on plants and ignoring the devil-like beasts chasing him. Reaching the hill’s peak, he could see Marcus in the distance, being brutally attacked by a hefty, ghostly-white bat. With full force Feston sprinted toward the relentless animal, screaming; “Maarcuss you iddiioott!” with his coarse voice.

Grabbing the beast’s attention with an uncouth yell and a sword swing that merely cut air, Marcus was given time to recover from his encounter. It wasn’t long before Marcus regained his energy and began stabbing the bat’s rear with his dagger, and soon enough, the beast fell.


The next morning, Feston spent his time honing his abilities as a blacksmith – he found forging weaponry difficult in undeath, losing much of his precision and skill. It didn’t help that his mind was elsewhere, thinking about Marcus.

When Marcus awoke, he would get out of bed and notice a wrapped box with a card reading ‘For the Journey’. Inside were two copper daggers, crafted especially for him.

Feston continued crafting; a sinister grin was smeared across his face.




Marcus got up and stretched his body before looking around. Ah! A new day, a new challeng— His train of thought was suddenly interrupted, as he noticed a clumsily wrapped box on the bedside table. Now what was this? He recognised the handwriting, this was from Feston. Now the guy was getting him gifts? Odd.. Marcus ripped open the package and unveiled two glimmering copper daggers. He took one out and examined it carefully. Nice craftsmanship, nice indeed.. He took a good grip on the handle and swung the weapon in the air, once, twice.. It was surprisingly light. He took the other one, placing it in his left hand. Hm, this make take some practice. But with two weapons, mmm.. He would be deadly.


Bats didn’t seem like much of a prey anymore. He craved for challenge. He stepped out of the Inn and noticed a little poster. Hm, it seems he got his chance, as he found that there was a bounty for any Scarlets slain in the nearby camp. They posed no real threat to the people of Brill, but were an annoyance nonetheless. Knowing his limitations, Marcus snuck to the little tower the Scarlets had claimed as their own, and assessed the situation. They were many, but they were disorganised. Perhaps their long stay in the lands of Tirisfal had become straining. Nevertheless, they seemed like easy targets. He waited until the guards carelessly wandered away from the others and picked them off, one by one. It was tedious, but he knew he could only take on one at a time.

Marcus Ieatnelfs, he was not a man of subtlety. He charged his steed in the middle of the field of war, swung his sword once, twice, and like reaped crops his enemies fell..

Marcus shook his head. What was this nonsense? He had to focus! His bony fingers quickly removed the signet rings the dead man was wearing and put it in his pocket. Proof, for claiming the bounty. It seemed most of the guards were preparing some sort of a meal at the campfire. He silently moved around to the other side of the camp. And there he saw her .


It was a young mage, sitting alone in the darkness. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, perhaps awaiting for the dinner call. Marcus was not that interested in her thoughts. What he saw was an easy prey. He snuck closer.. The mage seemed to hear something, as she became more alert, looking around.. But it was too late. With one swift movement Marcus had incapacitated her and she stood there, unable to move a muscle. Her confusion turned into fear, as Marcus stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of her. His fingertips ran over her cheek. So soft.. He could imagine it, the warmth, the feeling of life. He looked in her eyes. They showed disgust, horror and.. genuine fear of death. How she struggled to get away from his touch, how she struggled to get back the control over her body. He felt elated, the excitement, it filled him. And when he finally sunk his dagger in her stomach, using the other one to slice her throat, the light slowly fading from those watery eyes.. Marcus shivered. It was so beautiful . And he yearned for more..


Unfortunately for Marcus, he had not exactly hidden the corpses he had left behind. Suddenly the Scarlets were buzzing around the camp, trying to locate the attacker. Marcus quickly tiptoed away.


Back at Brill, he collected the bounty and went to the smithy, in order to find Feston. He did not find his friend, but he found a big, silvery shield. Marcus admired his own reflection. His tight red leather armour suited him well. He removed his tunic and admired his chest, which was still rather unaffected by decomposition. He flexed at the shield and grinned.

”Marcus, what in the Nether are you doing?” said a voice behind him.

Marcus quickly turned and found Feston standing behind him.

LinksEdit

Marcus Ieatnelfs

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