The Bloodstained Letter.

[Kazthul]

The goblin had noticed it in the morning.  He had ordered a few of the others to clean up the mess and was met with resistance.  When he demanded to know why no one would follow his instructions with disposing of the the body, he found the answer most curious. 

Fear, pure fear. 

He hurried to the steps where it had been left to find the servants scuffling.  He roared with his fierce little lungs for them to behave.  The sorry lot of goblins ceased their actions and hung their scraped faces in shame.

The goblin turned to the mess of blood and bone that was once some sort of creature.  Humanoid, of some sort at least.  He lectured the others about doing as they were told, as he leaned in towards the heap of dead flesh he was emphasizing the importance of orders and the chain of comman....... 

It moved..

No it didn't... 

Yes it moved...

Are those hands....   

The hands were swift and the fingers seemed to lash out and wrap themselves around his arms.  The eyes came alive the mangled face shifted and sneered.  He struggled but the creature forced him to the ground.  He heard the screaming of the others as they ran.  He cried out for help but no one would answer his plea.  The creature snarled and hunched over him, some sort of spittle dripped from its mouth, or was that a wound, some sort of gash, he closed his eyes.  Nightmares filled his mind, he felt himself being lifted into the air and being shaken violently.  He screamed and screamed until he could not make a sound. 

The shaking ceased. 

He waited and waited, and then slowly he open his eyes and was greeted with two deathly ones staring straight into his.  He whimpered and felt warmth pouring down his leg.

The the fingers loosen and he drops to the floor and piles in a heap.

The creature shove a wad of skinned flesh toward him, thrusting it towards him. 

The goblin whimpers and sobs as he is smacked with the bloody flesh and blacks out.

When he again reopened his eyes, he found himself lying with the wounded.  He heard whispers.

Something of a Ghoul.
A Death Knight.
Gorthus.
The skinned flesh was a letter.
Something of these Death Knights among Grim.
Who is Gorthus?
Can we trust them?
Should we trust him?
Gorthus?