Sometimes it's just the little things.
Hundreds, thousands of years of conflict, nations at war: hatred, tolerance, peace.
Bigger threats would oppress this world; Kings and Chiefs would put aside differences.
To work together.
Fight together.
Fall together.
One little crystal to change everything.
Or is it the hatred, the rancor lurking behind a creature who already died many years ago; her despise, her disappointment towards life itself.
But is she to blame after all?
One who lost everything can really worry about consequences and morales?
And is it really about one single entity alone?
Or are we talking about more? Many more?
Many, but as one.
This was her plan all along.
Death for everything and everyone.
This was the only thing she wanted to rule over, and not a bunch of stenching, barbarian beasts screaming in unison for war.
Or did she have other motives beneath appearance?
That was irrelevant.
Rhody didn't care one bit: the forsaken witch was granted, together with every other Undercity alchemy cell, a portion of Azerite coming straight from the pulsing veins of the wounds caused by Sargeras' sword in Silithus.
And with it came the order to experiment, test and create new weapons, utilities, resources: everything that could be used to extinguish life and bring annihilation.
Magnificent.
She couldn't stop thinking of any other word.
Her researches highly improved and accelerated, and the forsaken hag started successfully creating empowered abominations for her own cause.
But she couldn't care less for The Banshee Queen plans or visions of the world: she had her own path to follow and she wasn't one for selflessness.
For each report Sylvanas requested from each of her forsaken alchemy laboratory, she would send only abortions of the true fruits of her hard labour: failures, artificial unsuccessful horrific amalgamations.
But that was okay, because the Royal Apothecary could afford to invest some of that powerful mineral that couldn't stop being extracted in abundance by Gallawyx's goblins.
Rhody would be just one of many and no one would ever really worry about the fact that she would plot against Her Majesty, The Banshee Warchief.
Instead, she already had about a dozen of the most qualified alchemists and surgeons caught into her twisted vision of what had to come.
Right next to the Undercity, another underground organisation was gaining strenght day after day.
And nobody would have ever known.
Day after day.
Not until the time would come.
Day after day.
Everything is the same.
Day after day.
I don't want to be here.
Day after day after day after day after day.
Is it ever going to stop?
Day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day.
His clock wouldn't stop ticking on the same second, the same minute, the same hour forever.
Dear.
His pale skin and body didn't get any better nor worse. It felt like he was stuck in time, untouched by the true form of death.
My dear?
His ghostly eyes, usually veiled by his raven black greasy and dirty hair, would glow when looked upon the beauty of the moon.
Needle.
The dead boy moved his neck towards the creepy woman.
He was huddled in the corner of Rhody's personal laboratory, staring at the clock with no literal conception of time, waiting for his moniker to be spoken.
He looked up to the decrepit forsaken, flashing a big, forced and deviated smile.
Yes, auntie, he crawled forward on all four in apparent pathetic submission.
Most undead did not bask in the power of Arthas' Val'kyr to be resurrected with an inch of will left. The old generation of forsaken couldn't keep the integrity of their flesh and bones, the beauty of their living body.
But when he was raised, the Lich King was dead and the Banshee Queen had his former flying pet maids in chains to reproduce her people.
And with the same magic, Nathanos Blightcaller, the Champion of The Dark Lady, was also renewed.
How sadly unfair.
She was delighted by his trait: she knew not many were like him and he just loved the way he'd blossom in its own way among all of those decaying monsters.
She was fascinated and envious.
She loved and hated him for it, and she wanted him to writhe like a worm on a hook.
But at the same time she wanted to take care of him, to own him.
He was nothing but a toy, just like everyone else.
But he was the favourite.
Auntie wants you to travel to the Undercity to retrieve a package from a special someone.
He nervously stared panting.
Yes, auntie.
He will be waiting by the ruins of Lordaeron, in the gardens at the back of the entrance on the surface. Don't mind possible mindless wanderers in there, nor do care for the guards to notice you: they will not.She took two steps towards the boy, touching her own nose with one of her horrific, wrinkly rotten finger covered by a delicate dark purple glove. He will be dressed anonymously, probably in a hood and a cloak,
But don't worry, darling: you will be able to find him. Just follow the emerald glowing and you'll know it's the right person.
The disgusting lady took our of the breast of her horrific levander colored gloomy dress a gold and crimson necklace.
Right in the center, the shape of a swan: carved on it what seemed to be thalassian, the language root of quel'dorei.
When you find him, show him this pendant and he will give you what I need.
The shadowy, slender silouhette of the boy creepily stood up without the help of hands, reaching for the elfic trinket that Rhody let fall in his hand.
He peeked at it, his glowing ghost white left eye coming out from the shade of his fringe to study it.
Finally, he clenched his fist and left the laboratory without a sound.
Dark, darker yet darker.