The King of Rats
Maledictus - December 27, 2005
The undead necromancer known as Maledictus detested Brackenwall
Village. The Ogres who ran it were a disgrace to the Horde:
guards guzzled ditch liquor from rusty mugs and staggered
drunkenly along their patrol routes, burping and farting as they
went.
They defecated wherever the mood struck, and took no measures to
impress the superior races among their Horde allies. As he
arrived, Maledictus muttered to himself, "Brackensqualor, you'll
never change. This dung heap will one day be the sad tombstone of
the Ogre race, when Sylvanas commands their destruction..."
Many Grims had gathered around the greasy fire in the center of
the village. The dead priest had been carrying two wooden boxes
and as he approached, two Grims -Frain and Thalevia- each took a
box to ease his burden. Maledictus nodded his grudging thanks,
then shuffled painfully to the front of the Grim assembly.
"Sister Frain, sister Thalevia, take care not to tamper with
those boxes, or let any harm come to them. We Forsaken may be
resistant to the contents, but the un-deceased among us would be
at great risk," the dead priest sharply instructed.
Maledictus rapped his mace loudly on the ground once, then began
to speak, "Good evening Grims. This may seem an unlikely place to
discuss the Royal Apothecary Society, but I assure you, there is
a reason.
"As most of you know, the RAS conducts ongoing research involving
plague formation, which will be used against the Alliance in due
time.
"These noble chemists -many of whom are Grims- are an integral
part of the war against the hated Alliance, but there are
naysayers even among the Horde. Some ignorant detractors claim
the RAS inflicts needless suffering on the realm.
"I would remind them that although the RAS' methods are
unconventional, the same could be said of The Grim. Are we not
the most loyal of any Horde Order? None would dare question The
Grim's loyalty to the Horde! So too does the RAS continue their
research, paying no heed to fools who speak against plague
research.
"We at the RAS have had much success so far, thanks to a steady
supply of volunteer Alliance 'lab rats'. The carcass vats in
Undercity are filled to the brim daily with the by-products of
our super science! Our phase 3 plague virus trials require the
use of live test subjects, which many of you have witnessed in
our facilities.
"We strive to strike a balance between lethality and transmission
efficiency. If a plague strain is too lethal, it kills the host
before the virus can spread to others, which limits its global
effectiveness. The plague must keep the host alive long enough to
be shared among plentiful Alliance hosts, to quickly spread our
beautiful toxins among as many of the hated enemy as possible.
"Our goal is to create a stable virus which infects the host
slowly but lethally, is readily spread to nearby hosts, is very
difficult to cure, and affects only Alliance races. This may be
impossible, but the goal remains.
"The unfortunate news is that with our current stock of fragile
"lab rats" we may have reached the limits of our plague research.
Thus, we are compelled to seek out test subjects with hardier
constitutions which may stand up to our newer, more aggressive
viruses.
"Across the bay east of Dustwallow Marsh, an island rises from
the mist. Ships give it a wide berth, and few that venture there
return to tell of it. Alcaz Island. Colossal sea serpents known
as Hydra roam the black water surrounding Alcaz, and have been
known to swallow unsuspecting travelers in a single bite.
"Worse, a legion of fierce Naga have taken over the island
itself, and they will butcher any trespassers.
"Rumors have circulated that these Naga are guarding a secret of
great importance to the Alliance. It is speculated among the RAS
that this terrible island may hold a key toward a quantum leap
forward in plague research.
"Thats where The Grim comes in. Inside these wooden boxes are
several jars of plague samples. We will transport them to the
island, find a new source of "lab rats", and expose them to the
plague samples.
"It is hoped that whatever species we discover will prove hardier
than the pathetic Alliance vermin with which we've had limited
success. If all goes well, Alcaz Island may become the breeding
ground for a new strain of plague, the likes of which the
Alliance races cannot cure.
"We Grims have never turned down a fight -no matter the odds- and
today will be no different. If we remain united, we will survive
this treacherous mission. Those who stray from the group will no
doubt meet a quick demise."
Amidst cheers and warcries of the expedition force, The Grim
marched east from Brackenwall, across the fetid swamp, eventually
reaching the beach. From there they could see the outline of a
dark island in the distance. At Maledictus' command, the group
swam and waterwalked eastward, drawing ever closer to Alcaz
Island.
A few dark and looming shapes greeted the raid party, and as the
Hydra snapped at a potential meal, they were quickly slashed to a
bloody mess by Grims. Soon all had reached the shore of Alcaz
Island, most were gasping for breath but otherwise healthy.
"What's that hissing noise coming from the jungle?" asked a young
hunter, scanning the trees with unabashed dread. At that moment,
fierce elite Naga warriors and mystics sprang from the foliage
and attacked the recovering Grim.
With the crew at nearly full strength they reassembled battle
formation and, after a long and bloody standoff, killed the naga
defenders. Maledictus glanced back at the docks and noticed the
bloodshed had drawn the attention of more Hydras. "Head up the
path, Grims! Get away from the water!" he ordered.
Up the worn path from the docks, the raid group spied several
crude huts nestled among the island's mountainous landscape. As
they made their way toward the buildings, many Naga assaulted the
party, and each were killed in turn.
At an intersection of two jungle paths, Laughingcrow sniffed the
wind and -pointing eastward through the jungle- yelled, "I smell
a human. This way!"
The Grim approached a cluster of huts that surrounded several
grated prison-pits embedded in the soil. More Naga fought against
the party's encroachment, but after much bloodshed, the reptiles
lay dismembered and dead on the sandy ground.
The rogue Licidion spied an opening in the ground amid the huts,
and the raid party quickly gathered around it. Some of the tauren
snorted at the ghastly smell rising from the hole, but one by
one, the group moved to the slick steps, and down into the humid
gloom.
The stone passageway beneath the jungle floor resembled a crude
sewer, with fattened rodents scattering at every footstep. The
crew huddled in the narrow passage, and slowly moved forward,
until the floor gave way to a water filled passageway below.
"This way, we've found someone!" Grims ahead of the main group
shouted, "Below the water is a tunnel!"
Eventually the entire party had traversed the underwater passage
and stood, dripping and heaving from exertion.
There, in the dark and moist hell of vermin and feces, mixed with
the bones and decay of his former fellow captives, stood the King
of Stormwind -Varian Wrynn- with a rusted crown perched comically
upon his dishevelled head, still wrapped in his filthy regal
robe. He stood tall and silent as the Horde gathered around him.
A few of The Grim stared in surprise, but no one doubted that
this gaunt figure was indeed King Varian Wrynn, not a mad
imposter. The assembled heroes of the Horde glowered menacingly
at King Wrynn, like wolves surrounding a lamb.
"Stay your hands, Grims. Lets do this properly," Maledictus said,
barely concealing his sinister glee.
"As legend goes, the King of Stormwind was being escorted through
Dustwallow Marsh for a diplomatic summit with Jaina Proudmoore in
Theramore Keep. He was kidnapped along the way, and disappeared.
"Some say the Defias Brotherhood was involved. Varian's son
Anduin acts as king now, in his stronghold at Stormwind, but this
pathetic wretch is the true King!
"King Wrynn, you stand accused of crimes against the Horde, too
numerous to mention. We assembled races of the Horde wish to give
you a fair trial. If you have a statement in your defense, please
speak up."
Wrynn stood silently, staring at a brick in the wall of his
underground cell.
Maledictus listened with mock sincerity for a moment, then
shouted the verdict into the King's face, "Thunder Bluff to the
West finds you guilty! Orgrimmar to the North finds you guilty!
Lordaeron to the East finds you...GUILTY! And I believe the
unanimous decision is...death."
The Grim shouted in unison, "Death to the King of Rats!"
With that, the Horde forces set upon the defenseless King Wrynn.
Afterward, a few of the hungry Forsaken kneeled at the King's
mutilated corpse, greedily ripping large gobbets of flesh from
it.
As the undead finished their quick snack, a strange thing
happened. The blood from the walls and floor began to shimmer and
move, slowly reuniting on the spot where King Wrynn had stood
moments before. His bones rose and knitted together, and new
flesh spread over his skeleton. The shattered skull reformed, as
if an explosion in reverse.
The dead priest Maledictus watched in amazement, and then began
to convulse with unaccustomed nausea. At once, he began to vomit
up chunks of meat and blood, as the King's body claimed its
missing portions.
"What deviltry is this! The King is alive again," Maledictus spat
out the words as a curse. And then, with a spark of diabolical
inspiration, he let out a low gutteral chuckle.
"This prison is diabolical indeed, Grims. Not even death itself
can free the King. Someone wants this human to remain alive. Such
a cruel enchantment that he must endure an unknown sentence, with
no possibility of escape. I believe we have found our plague
research subject. The King of the Lab Rats! We shall infect him
with our viruses, and see how he fares."
The Grim attacked the King again, hacking the limbs from his body
with gusto. Soon Vrynn lay "dead" again, his innards scattered
around the cell.
"Thalevia and Frain, bring forth the plague jars from the boxes,"
Maledictus instructed. They carefully removed the small jars from
their padded box and handed them to the dead priest. He opened a
jar and began to sprinkle the black plague powder into the wounds
of King Wrynn, then watched as the powder sank into the flesh,
bubbling slightly.
Sure enough, the mangled corpse of King Wrynn began to
reconstruct itself again, and soon he stood whole again, gazing
dispassionately at the murderous assembly.
Maledictus spoke with derision, "How are you feeling, Wrynn?
Anything...unusual?"
Wrynn did not answer, or even flinch. His ensorcelled prison
stasis permitted no emotional reaction to the horrific fate that
had befallen him.
Turning from Wrynn, Maledictus muttered, "Bah, we must give the
plague virus time to incubate and fester. Six days should be
sufficient time. We will return here next Sunday to examine our
unkillable patient, collecting plague samples if he
survives...and defiling his corpse if he succumbs. And if the
Alliance sees fit to...relocate... our patient before we return,
we must be prepared to track him down wherever he is held."
With a mocking bow, the necromancer bid farewell to the
reassembling King. "You are now our Royal Plague Incubator, King
Wrynn. And your father thought you'd never amount to anything!"
The next day:
Maledictus' day began as any other; a review of the Royal
Apothecary Society's research data, a devotional poetry reading
to the aloof Sylvanas, then a report of the day's news from his
closest friend and confidant, Jeremiah Payson -the cockroach
vendor.
Payson sat under the archway beneath the bank of Undercity, while
his pets scurried nearby. Maledictus spoke first, while running a
finger absently over the indention above his stomach where his
spleen had been removed, "You've heard by now of course, that we
have located a new lab rat for the RAS' plague research..."
Jeremiah nodded, his neck creaking loudly. "Oh ayeah, some
prisoner on an island. Can't be killed, they say. Sounds like me,
in my younger days," he boasted unconvincingly. With a hoarse
chuckle he added, "Volunteered like them other Alliance
downstairs, did he?"
"Yes, Payson. He was most accommodating. This new lab rat is
unique in all the realm, because he cannot leave the confines of
his watery prison, nor can he be slain by normal means. Believe
me, we tried many methods!" Maledictus replied.
"You may have heard of him, despite your limited contact with the
outside world. That pathetic prisoner is King Varian Wrynn
himself. Sound familiar?" the dead priest teased.
Payson stared thoughtfully for a time and rubbed his chin. If
onlookers didn't know better, the cockroach vendor would have
appeared somewhat wise. "Yeah, he's the King. I know all about
that. What's he doing in prison then?"
Maledictus shrugged, "That king has become a pawn, to be used for
our research purposes. His crime against the Alliance is
irrelevant to me, because they are all deserving of death at our
hands. Crimes among the Alliance are meaningless to a Forsaken.
We will return on the Sabbath to check on him, gather plague
samples from his blood, and torment him for sport. I wonder if
his cries of agony will reach Theramore Keep this time...none
heeded his call last night."
At this, Payson perked up a bit. "You're thinking the Alliance
might try to interfere with the work of the Royal Apothecary
Society? They surely know what you're up to now, and if I was
them I'd be rightly pissed about it. You better bring some armor
and a sword. I have an old sword around here somewhere."
The dead priest shook his head, "Bah, we are armored with
righteousness, and our sword is the truth. Also, we have an army
ready to defend this noble expedition. It is my fondest wish that
the Alliance WILL try to interfere. Let them battle us all the
way from Brackenwall to Alcaz Island, we'll grind them into the
dust. Most likely however, only a few Alliance will nip at our
heels. That is the way of the meat animals; rarely organized for
a large battle. If they show some semblance of a spine and
prepare for us, I will grant them a bit of respect."
Jeremiah Payson looked interested. "What time is this expedition
again?"
Maledictus rose to his clawed feet and turned to walk away. "We
depart from Brackenwall Village in Dustwallow Marsh this Sunday
at 9:00 pm. I hope to see many Horde and Alliance that night, and
we will make Dustwalllow Marsh and Alcaz Island a bloody
battlefield of epic proportions."