"Glare at me all you like, but it won't get us out of this mess, Zhar'mon."
Ametrine sighed, running bony fingers through tangled bruise-colored hair. The undead warlock gazed down from the gnarled oak where she and her spectral minion were currently hiding, peering between the branches at the Scarlet Crusade camp below.
As one of the reconnaisance team of the Wolfpaw clan, Ametrine was sent to spy on some of the Crusade. With their fanatical beliefs that all who had been touched by the Plague were mindless Scourge servants of the Lich King, the Scarlet Crusade were considered a threat to the clan; Wolfpaw did not have many of the Forsaken - that is, those undead who still retained their free will after their revival from death - but any threat to some of the clan was considered a threat to all of it.
Zhar'mon gazed over his mistress' shoulder, the embalmed sorceress and the bluish wraith hidden only by the fact that it was well past sunset, leaving little light to reveal them to those looking skyward.
It had been a simple task - sneak into the camp while they were out hunting some of the Scourge, find and retrive some battle-plans they were known to have, then get out before they return.
But they returned earlier than intended, forcing the warlock to flee for cover, knowing even her magic could not take on so many at once. And while the Scarlet captain ranted on in his self-praising babble about how the "mighty Scarlet Crusade was ever-closer to eliminating the taint of the undead from Azeroth after the victory tonight", and how they "will arise tomorrow and not rest until Scourge-blood is again on our blades". Ametrine was stuck up a tree, waiting for this arrogant, murderous bastard to shut up and have them all go to sleep so she could grab the papers and run.
The worst part was, Ametrine knew only one area of undead nearby this encampment - a small gathering of Forsaken refugees that inhabited a ruined cemetery and catacomb. Forsaken, not Scourge. Innocents. Their blind allegiance led them to slaughter a band of innocents, possibly even people who might have known and even loved these soldiers back before the Plague of Undeath stole the life from their bodies.
"Murderers, all of them," Ametrine muttered under her breath to Zhar'mon. "They heartlessly slay anyone who even might have been touched by the Lich King's hand, innocent or not... And yet, it is my kind who are deemed the monsters."
Ametrine snorted in disgust. "Preach on, Scarlet fools. Your time will come some day..."