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10.2.5
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10.2.6
A Decayed Hell - Part 1 - In Darkest Night
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Post by
Monday
((New series, this is based off the journal that Fünden received in Stormcross. The journal itself will be in italics, and Fünden’s thoughts will be voiced, for sake of writing. I will switch between Fünden for the present and Khaz’s flashbacks. I know it might be confusing. If it is, please tell me.))
Fünden picked up the worn journal and studied it. The cover was leather, cracked and slightly worn. Inscribed on the front in what looked to be charcoal was a single word: “Khaz”.
Fünden opened the journal, careful of any damage to it, and started to read.
Day 1:
I write this so that I may not go insane at the coming of each dawn, for each brings me to a new hell of torment. I dare not sleep for too long at night, nor do I dare write this when not in broad daylight, when the Scourge seem to not be as vigilant.
Currently I am in the bottom of a house near the southern edge of the city. After escaping from the inn, I made my way to the east side, when I spotted several Scourge. Not wanting to give away my position to so many, I took a detour into a broken down blacksmith. I immediately barricaded one door, and readied my rifle in case of danger. They came that night. After several fell to my blade and rifle, I knew I was doomed. Yet I discovered a way of escape. Taking the chance, I broke free of the blacksmith. Afterward, I ran as far and quietly as I could, taking shelter in a ruined home. I found a small child’s toy, a wooden horse and knight. It was covered in blood. It was almost too much for me that night, but I endured, and I will avenge that child.
Khaz lifted himself slowly and painfully out of the wreckage. No Scourge were near him, a fact for which he was thankful. He had been far enough away from the bomb as for it not to be fatal, but it still hurt.
A lot.
Khaz checked his injuries, taking stock of several bruises, and one particularly nasty cut across one pectoral. He quickly bandaged the cut with a scrap of his shirt, but Khaz was afraid it would infect.
Like I need anything else on top of this…
he thought grimly.
With a sigh, Khaz started walking, none of his legs were injured, another fact for which he was thankful. He started making his way south, toward the bridge.
Perhaps they are in enough disarray that I can slip past…
he thought hopefully.
Khaz was next to a house, one story and had almost no walls, when he heard a scuffling noise near him. Khaz’s heart started pounding painfully fast, and he went for the house, entering and taking note of some stairs. He quickly laid on the stairs and lifted his rifle, ready to fire.
A zombie shuffled by his position. It seemed focused, walking in a straight line toward the eastern edge of the city. As soon as it left and silence returned, Khaz lifted himself from the house.
Checking the sky, he determined it to be near twilight. “Not good,” he muttered. “If I get caught outside during nighttime, and none of the houses are defensible…” Khaz trailed off as a blacksmith came into view to the western edge of the town. He quickly moved toward the blacksmith, and entered. One door had collapsed completely, blocking any entrance.
With newfound strength borne of desperation, he barricaded the door with the rotting furniture and stone found in the building. With that done, he checked his rifle, determined it to be ready to fire after being cocked, he fell into a fitful sleep.
Khaz’s dreams were dark and troubled, and he twitched, whimpering almost like a dog. With a final twitch, he toppled over from his sitting position. As soon as Khaz touched the ground, he cried out in shock and scrabbled to his feet, waving his rifle.
The building was empty.
Sighing with relief, Khaz sat back down. No sooner as he had done so, a moan rent the air, followed by another and another. Khaz stood up again on shaking legs. “No,” he murmured, “They cant’ve found me.” No sounds followed. Khaz kept standing for almost five minutes, before exhaustion made him sit down again.
With a sigh, he fell back into sleep.
And jerked awake not five minutes later as something heavy slammed into his barricade, knocking one chair off the top, revealing a ghoul with half its skull rotted away. Crying out in horror, Khaz lifted his rifle and fired a shot, blowing the back of its head out. The ghoul tumbled away, only to be replaced by a zombie. Khaz ran to the barricade and stabbed the zombie with his sword.
It fell backward into a group of seething undead gathered outside. More started gathering outside. Khaz looked on in horror as another score joined the already huge mass of the dead. Scrambling backwards, he slammed a hand on the back of the blacksmith, again and again, knocking a hole out.
It was empty.
Sighing in relief, Khaz lifted his rifle and pegged another ghoul trying to crawl in, killing it. The rest continued to slam against his barricade frantically. Mentally preparing himself for a dash, Khaz slammed his shoulder into the side of the blacksmith, knocking out several stones, but thanks to a support beam and pile of rubble, not dropping the roof on his head.
Quickly crawling out, Khaz ascertained that nobody was following him and ran. Spying a mostly intact house, he immediately ran inside. Khaz stopped and sat on the edge of a chair, catching his breath. Several zombies shuffled by, but none noticed him.
Khaz stood after sitting for about five minutes and walked down the stairs. Empty.
He went over to what looked to be a small shelf set into a wall, a perfect place to sleep for the night. He unclipped his cloak and moved to lay it on the ground, when something smacked him in the back. He fell forward and missed smacking his forehead against the top of the shelf by about an inch.
Scrabbling backwards, he unsheathed his sword as a zombie came into view. It was small, only about 4 feet tall, and it held a small wooden mallet, which was probably what it had attacked with. Khaz stifled a scream and stabbed, slicing through the zombie’s stomach.
It toppled backwards, dead. Gagging, he grabbed it by the feet and dragged it up the stairs, stuffing it in the fireplace, and he went down in the basement. As he settled down he spotted something that didn’t seem rotted like everything else. In a detached sort of curiosity, Khaz lifted the item, which proved to be a child’s toy, a horse with a knight on top. The Knight was fashioned in the likeness of Lordaeron’s former prince… Arthas Menethil. Several emotions hit him at once.
First was that he was holding the image of Azeroth’s greatest enemy, and disgust roiled in him. Second was a lurch of guilt, sadness and shock, as he realzed that the zombie he had slain was probably the owner of the toy.
Khaz’s shoulders shook as he lowered his face into his hands…
Post by
576272
This post was from a user who has deleted their account.
Post by
Behelich
I almost regret knowing that Khaz survived AND remained perfectly sane... Or did he?
Regardless, please do not abandon this. Or they will find you. ;P
Post by
Monday
I don't think he'll remain perfectly sane. I use him in A20, but that's kind of an alternate universe.
As it is, I am writing the second part now, as to not lose my grip on the tentative story.
Post by
Skreeran
Hmm... I'm gonna have to read Stormcross eventually. I haven't yet, due to schoolwork and RPing not really allowing me to read anything (anything WoW related, that is; lots of school-related reading to do... :P) not-canon or not-relevant to a current RP arc... :\
But, since you read my fan-fic, I'll do my best to get started on yours... :P
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