Stanton threw another piece of dried wood on the fire as he crouched down to adjust the tent at his small personal camp on the ridges of Orgrimmar. He’d never been one for city life. Stormwind as a concept had been poisoned for him at a young age. You couldn’t pay him to go there unless it was with a conquering army. The Undercity never really felt like home either. He took to undeath well enough but never quite got used to the spookier quirks of some of his peers. Shadow Priests ghosting through walls or Deathstalkers crawling on them never really became ‘normal’ to him. Plus, what was the deal with sleeping in coffins? It’s not like mattress making was some lost art.
Staring out over Orgrimmar though - its great pyres burning peacefully under the cloudless, starry night – maybe, he thought, just maybe, he could get used to this. His pets seem to be getting along alright too. Batthew was off hopefully culling the wild boar population this time – if not it’d be another stern talking to from Razor Hill’s swine farmers. Daisy seemed to be doing just fine but she was always oddly social for a darkhound, Blighter the plague rat was always content so long as she could squirrel away in a satchel or cloak pocket, and as for Plaguey, well the undead bear was currently to his rear loudly snoring. How lazy of a beast must he have been to remain so committed to naps long past the point of biological necessity? Though, now that he thought of it, sleep did sound kind of nice. It was a rare luxury for his kind but one he felt in this moment was earned.
He tilted his hat down and laid on his slumbering beast. Plaguey protested the sudden pressure on his side but calmed when Stanton’s claws began scratching his head. The undead bear opened its eyes, looked at Stanton, farted, then returned to sleep. It was at times like these that Stanton was thankful that breathing was also a luxury for his kind, as whatever exited from his ursine companion could probably be considered a chemical weapon. Unfortunately for her however, breathing was still very much a necessity for the person hiding in the shadows of Stanton’s camp. A coughing fit immediately gave away the intruder’s position.
“Bail up or yer a dead man” said Stanton, pointing his rifle at the source of the noise as Daisy and Blighter swiftly rushed to encircle the threat. Plaguey contributed a menacing yawn.
“For f&$k’s sake is that where Blight comes from?” asked a familiar voice as Daisy and Blighter’s growls and squeaks faded.
Stanton sighed and poked his hat up to look at the half orc petting his darkhound. “Is robbery just your kneejerk reaction to everything?” she added.
“Usually shootin’ is so guess we both ought to count ourselves lucky. If ‘imma get fired for pluggin’ the bossman’s daughter prefer not to do it with bullets” said Stanton to a disgusted groan from the half orc. He tilted his hat back down and tried to fall back asleep before something heavy impacted his chest.
“Mordracca I don’ care who the fel yer pa is ya do that again I’ll” began Stanton before investigating what he’d been hit with. His disposition softened upon determining it was a full bottle of Badland’s bourbon. “Alright then ya got my attention” he mumbled as he stood up and wandered over to his tent.
“Well, I managed to get that job at Fuselight. Thankfully there’s some blood elf dig site not too far off and they’re cool enough to offer portals back here so it’s not all that bad but… It’s not what I should be doing. It’s not right other people are fighting the Alliance while I’m sitting in some outpost a world away” said Mordracca, sitting down by the fire.
“Whut ya wanna join up with ‘em Honorbound folks? Fight the good fight? Yew and every other youngin’ full of pi$$ and vinegar” replied Stanton as he poured bourbon and dwarf blood into a cup, stirring it with his claw.
“I want to make a difference. I should be doing that already. I don’t need his help; I didn’t have it my whole life. I know it’s him, too. I’ve been second guessed since day one but nobody’s ever given my name a look of horror before. Why is anyone scared of him anyway?” asked Mordracca, stabbing at the fire with a stick.
“Frank? Eh, nice ‘nuff guy I ‘spose but I’ve seen him turn a man into a keebab witha tentacle that kept telling me my kid sister died scared an’ alone so – I thank he’s his ways with folks” mused Stanton as he sipped his cocktail.
Mordracca nodded slowly, digesting that information.
“’Sides girl, there ain’t no big difference to make out there. Best case, ya get to see a bunch of yer friends die. If yer less lucky, ya just die quick like. Not so much, well, ya might be sittin in a ditch wit’ yer guts out screamin’ for a healer what ain’t never ‘gon come” added Stanton.
“I’m well aware of what a dying man sounds like, Stanton. You know I’ve killed before.” growled Mordracca.
“Well bes’ I can figure you ain’t died before ‘an the bossman wants to keep it that way. Take it from me, ya can run on for a long time but sooner’r’later someone’ll catch up with ya” replied Stanton, rubbing the noose marks around his neck.
Mordracca sighed and stared into the fire while Stanton poured himself another drink.
“What was it like?” asked Mordracca.
“Wut was wut like?” asked Stanton.
“When you, you know” she said, gesturing at the Forsaken gunslinger.
“Well I was ‘bout fifteen. Big gal, real sturdy ya know? She’d been feedin’ me beer for about two hours ‘an then she took her shirt off ‘an” Stanton’s story was interrupted by a burnt stick bouncing off the rim of his hat.
“You know what I meant. I did my digging I know you’re one of the rotters the Warchief’s Scourge raised. You died. What happens next?” she asked.
Stanton shook his head. This wasn’t an uncommon question for the undead and it seemed like they all had different if not conflicting answers. Figured, nothing was simple in life why would death be different? His experience however wasn’t particularly interesting and that’s what made it problematic.
“Weren’t no thang” said Stanton.
“Skip the tough guy act. I’m sure you shrugged it off like a paper cut but that’s not what I” started Mordracca.
“Nah it – there was nothing. I remember the rope goin’ tight. They f*%ked it up on purpose. Wanted to make it hurt. I jerked ‘round, tryin’ to kill that sunnofabi$#h marshal with my eyes, then everythang went dark. Then I woke up in the Glades. Nothing in between. Some folks thank I mean it was dark but, nah, weren’t a single thang. No, me, to see some dark or anythang at all” said Stanton, finishing his second drink in one gulp and going for a third.
The two sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Is that common?” Mordracca finally asked.
“Everyone got their own story. Heard worse. Heard stories of a mean ole’ black what goes on forever, full of even meaner thangs that like to make ya bleed for every dumb thang ya ever did. Figure after what I done, nothing ain’t so bad, considerin’ the alternative” he mused.
“Well, where’d you want to end up if you had a choice? I’d imagine some have nicer stories” asked Mordracca.
Stanton shrugged, “Seein’ as this version of an afterlife got bourbon, this’ll work just fine fer the time being”.
Mordracca chuckled, “I suppose not having to worry about a liver would be paradise for you”.
“’Mongst other thangs” said Stanton as he pulled a cigar from his tent and lit it on the fire, “Tell ya wut ya keep bringin’ this here good stuff and I won’t tell yer pa yer sneakin’ back into town. ‘An maybe, down the line, I could try an’ convince him ta’ let ya tag along on a scoutin’ mission”.
“Oh gee wilikers mister you’d let me stand around in the dark with some corpses and watch the Alliance? I can hardly contain my excitement” said Mordracca, rolling her eyes.
“Don’ push yer luck missy. Yew do yew jus’ don’ lemme know ‘bout it. Know how hard ‘tis ‘ta lie to a man what reads minds?” said Stanton.
“Yeah, yeah, well you keep your thoughts tight and I’ll keep the booze coming.” said Mordracca while standing up and dusting herself.
“Deal” Stanton said, pouring the remainder of the bourbon into his cup.
Mordracca gave a very performative and mocking salute before vanishing into the night. Stanton sat back down on Plaguey. Blighter hoped up and crawled into his satchel as Dasiy laid down and rolled over, demanding a belly scratch. He idly pet his dog while sipping the remainder of his drink.
“Dumb b%#$h ‘gon get herself then me killed” he muttered as he finished his drink and tilted his hat down, finally drifting off to sleep.