The Scourge

The white road streched on, the pale man's destination forever in the distance and just beyond his vision. A gentle breeze blew, shifting the white sand beneath his feet. Soon though, he would make his first stop.

A small fern grew beneath a tree. Its caretaker watered it and stroked its leaves delicately.

The pale man stood upon a long, straight road. The path was white sand, and on either side of him, endless plains of beautiful green grass. He walked along the path, the sunless yet illuminated sky never fading into night. He did not need sleep. For a long time, he had not needed sleep. His muscles did not tire, his eyes did not grow heavy, and his mind did not grow weary; he simply was. He continued, undaunted, along the white road.

((Did some doodling, and came up with this. The future is mysteeeerious~...Pffbt))

Twenty-five hours, Dubaku thought, since the breakthrough.

Dubaku the Sleepless sat upon his perch, deep within the black halls of Icecrown Citadel. All around him were more of the walking dead; his comrades, his allies. Geists patrolled the darkest reaches of the hall, their lonely gaze barely falling short of Dubaku's detailed habitation. Dubaku's station was devoid of luxuries, despite its eminence. This was something he had grown accustomed to, and came to prefer. His subordinates grew in number exponentially with the influx of Argent Crusaders and their allies.

The chill wind of the Fjord was comforting to Dubaku, who had become accustomed to the warmer climate of Quel'thalas. He peered across the region, still acutely aware of his surroundings, but distracted by the odd pink hue of his goggles.

   The undead ghoul shattered beneath Dubaku's weight as he lunged at it, rolling a few more feet across the tiles in a mess of blood and ectoplasm. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself to his feet, clumsily darting away as a lumbering skeletal warrior swung its chipped zweihander at him, narrowly missing his shoulderblade. Sprinting up the stairs, he could finally see light--real light--for the first time since his capture. As he stepped from the passage, a cool breeze chilled him to the bone, having been unclothed and unaccustomed to any variation in temperature.