Blood Pact

Zulgha wiped the blood off of her robe as she bit Goody Two-Shoes and the Bastards of Arugal farewell for the day. They'd spent the past ten minutes throwing captured SI:7 spies to the non-Alliance worgen to let the lupine skirmishers blow off some steam and for Zulgha to see a live demonstration, and the practice yard outside the schoolhouse had gotten a bit messy. Not that she minded the mess, but she did prefer to keep her clothes neat and tidy whenever her profession allowed for it.

Jeeves, having just come out of a surgical procedure with the Bone Collectors to transplant the face of Leeroy Jenkins onto its head, was quick to re-dampen her handkerchief as she walked back into the schoolhouse. "Looking good, Jeeves," she told it as she wiped down her robe again and walked toward her office.

"Thank you...master," the zombie replied. The face of the human paladin fit rather well, and the lips actually synched with its speech, unlike its previous (and original) face post-mortem.

Once she was satisfied that she'd done the best she could, she handed the handkerchief back to her assistant, resigning to herself to a visit to a laundromat later that evening. For the time being, she still had unfinished business for that day.

She seated herself down in her newly organized office, patting one of the ragged little Bone Collectors who'd been jerry rigging her filing cabinet into an Iron Maiden for her on the head. "So we have one more interview today, apparently," she said while flipping through a manila folder with grainy, creepy photos of a dreadful looking sindorei prince. "I hope it's a good one. We've found some good people so far, but we're running out of time."

Having been in surgery for the past half hour, Jeeves appeared a bit pressured. "I read most...of the file. There is a...letter. From Barghash."

Zulgha squinted at the files in the folder for a moment. "Where is...is it on the back of one of these forms? I don't see it."

Jeeves plucked out a folded up note wedged in the middle of the stack. "Here," it said while handing her the note.

"Thanks. Let me see this...oh, what the hell?"

Z,

I think you should take a look at these guys.

B

"Well, no shit. Seriously, he doesn't usually do stuff like this."

For the first time, Jeeves was actually able to display emotion since it had a fresh face. "He doesn't...write notes?" it asked flatly, but with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"He writes a lot of notes, but they're usually excessively detailed." She paused for a moment, flipping through the photos and reports from Forsaken scouts in Northrend. "Maybe this is what I get for asking him to be more brief in his writing."

Aside from being grainy and creepy, the photos didn't reveal much. There were a lot of bats, but not ones large enough to ride; just little weird looking ones flying in formation like ducks. There were also some photos of black blotches over the moon, and what appeared to be a Lordaeron dragonhawk with greyed, frayed feathers. There were also a few more weird portraits of blood elves that looked sick, but not in the way wretched do. There was also a very elaborate portrait photo of a pipe organ and some guy in a cape brooding over the keys.

All of the photos carried dates and signatures of the various field agents who'd taken the photos, but there was no written explanation of what it all meant-

"Good afternoon."

"What the hell!" Zulgha gasped in fright at the sudden voice of a third person in the room.

On pure instinct, she scooted her chair straight back against the wall, and the spellcast for her silence ability had already begun when she saw the dark figure casually sitting across from her. At no point had the door to her office shifted, nor had she heard anyone floating up the halls. The man was clad in dark robes similar to hers and looked entirely corporeal, so he couldn't have floated in like a ghost. Yet there was no call from the doorman, no hint from Jeeves, no sound or even vibration in the air to herald the strange albino wrapped in deathly garments.

Seemingly unbothered by the fact that Zulgha was very obviously preparing to cast an offensive spell on him, the haggard-looking albino with a black cloak collar covering his mouth spoke calmly.

"I hope I've arrived at a convenient time," the thin figure said in a Thalassian accent.

Retaining her spellcast for a few more seconds, Zulgha remained on edge as she studied the drowsy eyes circled by darkened skin. The familiarity struck her quickly and she glanced down at the creepy photographs, connecting the berobed man to the guy playing a pipe organ.

"I can't actually play that," the creepy thin man said, somehow oblivious to how much he'd startled her. "I just thought it would make for a great picture."

Mildly upset that he'd welcomed himself inside, Zulgha reminded herself that he had technically been scheduled for an interview and allowed the intrusion to slide. "Yes, well, your friends do have decent photography skills," she replied while brushing off her robe and sitting in a comfortable position again. Jeeves continued hiding behind her. "Mister?"

"Prince Marrow, formerly of Quel'thalas. Formerly..."

The sickly elf in gothic robes stared down at his own lap for a moment, his sullen eyes glimmering with a whole bunch of melancholy which Zulgha didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole.

"Right. Prince Marrow. Well, unfortunately my associate Barghash hasn't given me much information to go on. However, we both know that you're here to interview for a role in our battalion, and that you'll need to be ready to roll in less than two weeks. For what reason are you interested in joining?"

Sniffing the air like a creep for a few seconds, Marrow seemed to snap back into reality from a far off place. "Right...the Restless Dead. Myself and five of my associates are the ones interested in joining your cause, actually."

After a few moments of conversation, Zulgha finally realized that the man speaking to her was no ordinary high elf. She always kept a few spare vials of the blood of different races in her workplace, and in that case, she'd stored them in the desk drawer in the office she'd commandeered. Rather than asking him further questions about his friends, she opened the drawer and pulled out a glass vial of fel blood as a test.

Hazy, glistening eyes suddenly focused when she opened the drawer, and she could tell that he was able to smell what she'd been storing. The beady pupils followed her hand's exact motions as she held the vial between them on the desk as if even a millimeter of movement would be noticed. When she propped the vial up in a little stand on the desk, Marrow actually laid his palm down on the desk before stopping himself and noticing that he wasn't alone yet.

Eagerness unbecoming of beings as long-lived as elves swept over the parts of his face she could see, and it was almost cute. He tapped his finger nervously like he was deciding whether or not to ask.

"May I?"

Zulgha grinned. He was darkfallen. "I don't know. Can you?" she asked right back. "Fel blood corrupts."

"Not us. We're different from the rest of you." Lifting his hand up, he strained his narrow fingers like spider legs as he held his hand next to the vial. Red spheres of energy began to emanate from the vial at the same time that the green goo began to decrease in volume. The color change was instantaneous. "My kind are, shall you say...experts in blood magic. Whatever we drain, we convert to a form most palatable to us."

Zulgha watched as Marrow's skin darkened to a relatively healthier tone, and the exhausted glean in his eyes diminished. "But how do you intend to use this power in the battlefield?" she asked.

Savoring the experience, he waited a few moments in a stupor before answering. "Hm? Oh, yes. My friends and I were all dragonhawk riders once; aerial anti-air units. Our aerial shackles could magically hold any other flying troops in place. An enemy will not hold still while their life force is being drained, so we...how do you say? We force them to be still."

"And you have your own mounts already? Like, you'll be ready to go when the boat for the Broken Isles leaves?"

Though the hunger had left his eyes, the way Marrow sniffed the air again seemed less creepy and more greedy. "My friends and I are fully geared and ready for combat at any time. We could use, of course, a bit of sustenance between now and our departure." His eyes met Zulgha's and then darted down to her desk drawers again. "We can make small amounts last."

His suggestive tone wasn't lost on her. She tended to hoard her reagants, but she was on a recruitment drive; she'd have to give a little to get back in return. "Am I correct in assuming that you're in this for your sustenance, and not for the money?" she asked while handing over her last six vials of different types of blood.

Gladly accepting the gifts, Marrow tucked them away into the pockets of his long coat, his attention falling away from the conversation again. "Yes, that sounds about right," he replied. "So Barghash told me that if you accepted, we'd meet on the northwestern coast of Brill at the port they're rushing to build. Is that right?"

"Yes. It seems he already told you the logistical details, hoping I'd accept you." Zulgha picked her ledger back up to write an entry about having found another aerial anti-air unit. "His hope rings true, because I'm actually glad we found you. Now, just to be sure...Prince Marrow?"

Jeeves glanced around the suddenly empty office with her, its dull eyes shining in confusion. There hadn't even been a poof of smoke to signal the darkfallen's disappearance.