Chapter 3
The march to Quel'Thalas was a long one, but it was the frequent stops and roadside attractions which truly led to the time delay. As every village and every home was visted by the Scourge. The new successor to the throne of Lordaeron needed his time spent this way in order to boast recruitment for this next campain. By doing this he was pleased, the Lich King was pleased, the armies of the Scourge seemed pleased. And the people of Lordaeron? Well, they got the short end of the stick.
Wayne spent this time well in the flexing of his new found powers. Necromancers' were in very high demand for the Scourge. Without them constantly raising the fallen to fight, the armies of the Scourge could be broken. Of course not just anyone could become a necromancer, either in life or death. It took years of magical study and training before one could imagine the powers that one must tap into. Unluckly for Wayne, his previous life afforded him great capacity for expansion in the new one.
On one such recruitment outing, Wayne, five other necromancers' and a vast contingent of the Scourge came into the village of Theres. As they all stood in the village square, looking at the empty, lifeless scene around them, they knew that not everyone had left. By now of course, the word of the horror that was the Scourge had spread, many homes and towns had evacuated. But always there are some who remain.
Their orders were clear, to turn them after they had died as quickly as possible, and to leave nothing alive. Wayne knew in his own mind that this was to prevent the major functions of the brain, muscles and nerves from being too badly damaged. In many a case, would be Scourge were carried and dragged to the feet of a necromancer, still fully alive. A signal was given by a few necromancers' to spread out, and into homes, searching for anything alive. The noise in the village grew thunderous as ghouls and skeleton soldiers ripped through homes, howling and barking in rage.
Wayne strode forward and into a home whose door was only recently unhinged and thrown off into the street. Already behind him were cries and screams of humans being carried to the necromancers' who remained standing in the square. As a similar sound enveloped all around him, the shrieks and screams of those who had been found. Apparently the village was still very populated.
Inside the home that Wayne had ventured into, several ghouls were amusing themselves by ripping apart furniture, cabinets and everything else. It almost seemed necessary for someone more capable to do a final lookthrough. Ghouls and decay minded soldiers were shown to be poor observers of key hiding places. Though this time it was not the frightened faces of peasants that caught Wayne's full attention, it was a mirror. A tall cracked mirror, at least six feet tall.
Wayne stared into the mirror desperately, it must be his reflection that he was looking at, but his mind could not wrap itself around the concept. His brain was sending out so many distorted signals that the idea of identity was nearly abolished. He moved to within an inch of the mirror's surface and thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had once had color in his eyes. He lifted a hand to touch them, so to know for sure that it was truly himself that he was looking at. There was no longer any color in the iris, only cloudy, pale white appeared at the window of his soul.
He ran his fingers down the rest of his face. On both sides his cheeks were open and exposed, one could see his rotting tounge and gums without his mouth being open. His long dark hair remained, though the bone headdress kept it well contained.
A ghoul that was ripping up the floor nearby lifted a particularly long board which ran under the feet of the mirror. Within two seconds, it wavered to the left and fell, shattering into a thousand peices. Wayne continued to stand there, not feeling anger or sadness, in truth he felt nothing at all, he was not capable.
Turning slowly, Wayne walked out of the house the same way from which he came, with nothing in his mind. The noise had died down quite a bit as more Scourge returned to the square. Newly christened members weakly stood on top of a thin layer of their combined, still fresh blood. When it appeared that all of the convoy had returned, they set off with haste towards Quel'Thalas once again. In their wake, the small village of Theres stood utterly destroyed and abandoned after only a few minutes visit.
End of Ch 3