A quick note before I get into today’s post. About halfway through last week’s RP post I noticed how incredibly annoying it is to type out Dueg’s full name. In retrospect, it’s probably not such a good idea to give your main character a name with five vowels. Dueg’s full name was actually a joke back when I thought I had left priesting behind and figured I’d have him as a sort of link to my original char on Alliance side. However, as you can see, I could not resist the tempting call of priestliness.
I’ve considered changing his name a couple of times, but to tell you the truth it’s kind of grown on me. Except when I have to type it. I hate typing it. So I won’t. From now on I will just refer to the main character as just plain “Dueg” in the interest of saving some of my already somewhat limited sanity. I doubt this will be a problem for anyone, but I just thought I’d explain it lest anyone become confused. The character’s full name is still Duegathalas though. And for anyone who has an issue with this, I’ll give you my standard GM answer for when one of my players had problems with what I was doing: “Because I’m telling you how it is, and I will so drop a meteor on your ass if you don’t shut up.”
And now for part 2: Arrival
Dueg stepped from the dirigible onto the sky port in Vengeance Landing, wrinkling his nose at the slight scent of rot that pervaded all of the Forsaken’s outposts. Questionable smells aside, he felt relief wash over him to finally be able to step from the infernal flying device. The constant swaying in the air and pervasive vibrations of the backfiring engines had been a test of his constitution and patience. Had it not been for his diligent prayer and meditation schedule, he most likely would’ve jumped ship and levitated the rest of the way a day ago. No, he decided, three days was simply too long a trip to fly, next time he would pay for magical conveyance.
As he shouldered his way along with the other passengers down the stairs of the platform, mostly mercenaries eyeing him up as competition, he once more opened his orders and read through them. They were brisk and to the point, he was make his way to the local inn, though it was really more of a watering hole for the military presence. However, a modest room had been reserved for him for a single night. Once settled, he was to make his way down to the bar and wait for his contact who would have further instructions. Dueg couldn’t help but frown slightly as he read the last part once more. The whole thing reeked of espionage.
Stepping out from the port’s exit, his eyes were drawn to the thick plumes of smoke to the south of the landing. His scowl deepened slightly as he realized that this settlement couldn’t be more than a few miles off from a point of conflict. He quickly made his way onto the main avenue of traffic, navigating through the crowd of off duty military and the usual mob of followers who seek to draw profit from war. Finally, after about a half hour of stopping and checking his directions and sighting out landmarks, he found himself standing in front of his destination.
With no name of any kind it stood like a shrine to the macabre, as most of the Forsaken’s questionable architecture did. Dueg shrugged and supposed that were he beyond the mortal coil he would have a fascination with death as well. Stepping through the yawning archway he walked up to the counter and addressed the undead man behind it, giving him his name and letting him know that he had a reservation. After a minute or so, Dueg was given a register to sign, a key, and pointed up the stairs to the sleeping quarters for the living.
After finding the room and laying out his meager belongings, he washed his face and hands with the pitcher of cool water waiting for him atop his dresser. At least an attempt at civility, he thought, grateful for the opportunity to wash some of the grime and dirt kicked up from the stamping feet of marching military. Afterwards he took from his travel pack a small oblong gem, clear except for a single crack floating in the center, which glowed with infused power. Dueg placed the prayer gem in the center of the room and sat before it. Clearing his thoughts, he began to whisper gentle prayers to the holy light, chiding himself for his transgressions against morality and asking for guidance in all things.
An hour later he stepped from his room, the weight of the trip washed from him as he walked down the stairwell and descended into the drinking area of the inn. Dueg always found the Forsaken’s need to emulate a tomb by burying their dwellings somewhat distasteful, but “When in Stormwind…” as the old saying went. He entered the main bar and moved to an empty table and sat, his eyes roaming over the sparse crowd as one of the undead serving ghouls stepped up to his table.
“Wine, Silvermoon stock if you have it,” he said, though he doubted they did. The ghoul stared at him stupidly for a moment then turned and shuffled off to the bar, bringing the request to the undead Highborne standing behind it. Dueg placed a few silver Undercity marks on the table when the ghoul returned and sipped at the wine, wincing at the strong taste of vinegar. As he placed it down he became aware of a Blood Elf standing at the bar, staring at him intently. Slowly the stranger detached himself from the crowd and made his way through the tables to stand before him.
“Duegathalas?” He asked in a gentle, if slightly gravelly voice.
Dueg nodded and motioned for him to have a seat, “I had not expected you to be so quick,” he said, “but I am glad to see it is so. What news do you have from this frozen wasteland?” he asked in Thallassian.
The elf leaned forward and lowered his voice to whisper, “The campaign does not go well. We are beset on two sides by the Scourge and the ‘peaceful’ Alliance, burn their souls. It appears as though the ceasefire only holds on the mainlands, if even only slightly there. Sylvanas’ lot are requesting more support on the front lines, where I am to escort you imm-”
A large, blue hand suddenly fell on the messenger’s right shoulder, the three digits obviously clinging like a vice, “Excuse me, mon, can ya be sparing some scratch?”
A violent scowl came over the elf’s face as he turned to give the beggar an answer when someone suddenly swung up from the next table and spun in, driving a dagger up through the chin of the messenger and deep into his brain pan. The Blood Elf shuddered and suddenly his skin began to melt, slowly fading away in smoky tendrils till all that was left behind was browning, mummified flesh. The dead thing slumped forward onto the table, it’s ratty hair spreading out in a nimbus about it’s ruined head. Dueg looked up at the two attackers and raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps another glass of wine is in order.”