Doomsday Songs··On-going Novl duration N/A
My name is Aenar MacVenner. Frag it! My name was Aenar MacVenner till I woke up and saw just above me a fragging corpse staring at me. I remember searching with my hand frantically to grab something and in the end hitting the bastard’s face with a big rock.
Well, Scourge ain’t going down that easy but on the other hand scourge does not swear and weep like someone who was hit at the face with a rock. So, that corpse was not Scourge and was about to greet me after waking up…
Frag! Frag! Frag! I am dead! These were the first words I spitted when I looked at my hands. I ain’t sure about you fellas but I don’t like it when people wake me up. So imagine my annoyance when I woke up and a fragger tells me I am dead. I ain’t sure what people think when they realize they are walking dead, but I wanted like mad a fragging cigar. I ignored the corpse with the freshly mauled head who was telling me some mambo jambo about the glory of the forsaken and our beloved Queen and I looked around to find some smoke. The corpse guy looked annoyed and sighed. In the end he asked me if I want to serve the forsaken and his Queen.
“I am a scout of the Stormwind’s lions fragger. You think I will go renegade that easy?” This time he grinned and waited so the realization would sink in. “ Hell’s teeth I am already a renegade! Why the frag I woke up dead!?!” His grin widened and I punched him at the face. It made me feel a lot better.
So here we are now with the guy, whose name is Wilson, asking me what kind of weapons I use and if I am ready to be tested. I sigh annoyed and I tell him that I ain’t a fool and I do what I do for money. He frowns and tells me that my services will be rewarded. I nod half satisfied half suspicious and ask him to bring me a gun of medium caliber, four rounds of bullets and a shortsword. He asks me to wait, having a rather smuggish look on his face, which makes me uneasy. I wait for a while and he comes back with a bag. He lets it drop down and briefs me about my first mission which is to go hunt some forsaken that lost it and are roaming mindlessly.
I look in the bag and swear which causes the dead flesh of Wilson blush. I look up at him. “I asked for a fragging gun. That’s a fragging crossbow that looks worse than your face Wilson! And if that’s a shortsword then Bertha in Stormwind’s red light district is virgin. And where’s my fragging smoke?” He grins bemused, folding his arms, his words full in mockery. “You are lucky I did not call the deathguards to finish you, you pig. Your insolence tires me.”
There are times you have a bad day. Less times you will have a very bad day. And there’s that time you wake up dead, your smoke is gone, instead of a gun you get a pair of wood thingies glued together and called crossbow and you also have a twat being a smart arse. My mother always told me I should control my nerves. I wonder what she would do if she was in my place.
Well, I leaned, picked the crossbow and started checking it. Wilson was staring at me, having that fragging air of superiority. His smile vanished when the back of the crossbow landed on his face. He fell down and I kept hitting him. Again and again. Well, Wilson left the dead to join the permanent dead. I found some copper in his pockets, picked my miserable weapons and went down the hill where I could see some houses.
The area was full with dead. Some roaming like lost others running up and down. A forsaken guard, a death guard probably, stopped me. “Where’s Wilson?” I pretended to be shocked. “Well your Wilson lost it and attacked me. I had to put the bugger down.” The deathguard raised an eyebrow but then he turned back as some fight among the freshly risen erupted. “Move!” he said.
Well I am a lucky fella, I admit that. I got inside a house that looked like an inn. I paid with Wilson’s money to get some smoke and something to eat. I inhaled the smoke and heck it felt good. I remember Bertha telling me that I smoke too much and it would kill me. Well Bertha…You were very very wrong…