Yo' guy' cane gah ckretty hoon.
Derrington made it sound as if he cared, but really didn't.
What..? I mean, no sir, yes sir, I mean, uh, we just needed to do a quick thing or two, aye.
Kwyzkakle tried his best to make it feel like it was completely normal for someone without their jaw to hold a conversation. After all, he was still the High Executor; respect is due, especially considering that what he and Needle sneaked out to do wasn't really something allowed, politically speaking.
Whaa' ing 'eh hack?
..ack? The sack? This sack here, sir? Oh well, we, uh, I-
Food for the worms, the gas-mask boy said with his voice muffled because of the filters.
It's for the old hag in Brill. You know, she wanted something more, he paused. Exotic, this time.
Speaking of which, I'd really need you to deliver Rhody a couple of supplies.
The boy turned his head towards apothecary Dithers, his sack full of elven goodies on his shoulder as he held it just like a grim version of Winter Veil Greathfather.
He took off his gas mask, now hanging from his neck.
A creepy smile painted his ghostly face.
Why don't you get your stupid stuff delivered to that witch yourself, you rotten and pustulent scum?
Oye boy, now now. Sorry, my kind sir. He's just a bit stressed because of the journey. Saw a bit too many plagued bears on our way through the Plaguelands, aye. Now if you'll excuse us..
Kwyzkakle pushed with his green baldie head the boy away from The Bulwark, with the eerie sound of High Executioner Derrington's chuckle becoming lower and lower. It took time before Needle got his eyes off of Dithers in defiance.
Boy you gotta watch your goddamn mouth, will ye?
The forsaken lad smirked.
He didn't care at all.
He didn't care one bit of anything anymore.
But for sure, something was going on inside of his cold brain. Something made him way more alive than he was before, altough the reasons might not be as healthy as one could think.
In the distance, the boy and the goblin could admire the small town of Brill in all of its gloom. Brill was one of the earliest towns to become afflicted with the Plague of Undeath that would eventually cripple the norhtern lands.
This shithole. Uhf, I had to come back straight here after the fiasco in Ambermill.
And before that you came out of the nose of a forest Ettin?
Huhfnh, the goblin panted.
Why are ye such an asshole?
And why are you so green? What a racist fuck.
The goblin dropped the sack on the ground, wiping the sweat off his forehead as Meleon's body pieces were pretty heavy for one his size. He stopped and started glancing the pale young man, who was creeply standing still in one of his usual unconventional poses right after dropping his sack aswell.
Yoo'r becoming way aggressive lately, ain't anyone tell you that?
Kwyzkakle hopelessly stared the boy's eyes down, but all he was having back was a sneering look.
Why don't you wanna tell me what happened with the blood elf?
You know, I do remember her well in the inn.
She was with you.
These eyes ain't tricking me, boy.
Shut up, Kwyz. You don't want me to sew your mouth, do you?
The exhausted goblin sighed.
Whatever, kid, he said grabbing the sack back to carry it on his tiny shoulder.
But try to get that sand off yer panties someday, he added as his voice were accompanying him away towards Brill.
Needle stood still, a grimace adorning his spectral connotations.
By mere casualty, watching his little green friend leaving without him and walking away allowed his sight to behold a familiar shadow, not far away from his position.
The anonymus figure would blend way too well with the landscape.
Needle nervously sighed, leaving the sack on the ground as he hastily approached that mysteryous man kneeling down on the cold grass.
Thompson, the boy called for.
But the man would not answer.
The forsaken lad slowed down, stopping right in front of the scene of what seemed to be a ghoul devouring the corpse of a dead woman. He seemed to cluessly chewing that festering meat, looking around without focus and groaning uncontrollably.
With a hand on his hip and the other holding his chin, Needle shook his head.
He crouched at the same height of the kneeling man who'd still enjoy his improvised meal, now landing a hand on his shoulder in what seemed to be an empathetic comfort.
What did you do, Thompson?
The man fixated the ground, his jaw hanging.
He groaned.
It's no good, no good.
I told you it won't do.
From his belt, Needle took a short rope. It was consumed and pale, but still seemed pretty firm.
He gently placed the rope aorund the ghoul's neck, tightening it with an elaborate but solid knot.
The ghoul answered with a wail, making noises as if trying somehow to cry out his despair.
Shh, let's go now, Thompson.
Let's go find a giant good rock, you and me.