A Real Drengr Omake 1 (Patreon)

Tyron Westtyr groaned as he came to. Such a rude woman, running around with a sword all whilly nilly like that! She could hurt someone! He paused as he stood. His back wasn’t hurting, his hips felt pretty good too, they were moving like butter!

“Ah, you’re up, good,” a woman’s voice said from Tyron’s left. He turned to see a woman clad in plate armor covered in skulls next to a floating skeleton in robes. The woman grinned at him, revealing a set of sharp teeth.

“Oh, hello, sorry about the mess,” Tyron said as he grabbed the broom he’d been working with just a moment ago. “A young woman just ran into me, completely ruined the job I’d been doing cleaning the front of the chapel.”

“Yes, well, you won’t need to be worrying about that anymore,” the woman said.

“Oh poppycock,” Tyron shot back as he stood and stretched. He hadn’t felt this good in ages! “I’ve still got a job to do.”

“No, you don’t,” the woman said, pointing to…

“Oh the nerve of that woman!” Tyron shouted as he spotted the big red puddle in the middle of his workspace, staining the stone steps and the floor around it. “She spilled cranberry juice all over the steps! Now I need to go get a mop and bucket.”

Arthana Menethil blinked in disbelief, as the newly raised undead ex-peasant left and came back with a mop and bucket. Holding up a hand, she said, “You don’t need to do that anymore, this might be hard for you to hear but… that’s not cranberry juice.”

“Don’t be silly, of course it’s cranberry juice, I’d smell it if it was anything else,” the new undead said with a scoff.

“No you wouldn’t, because… you’ve… set sail for the Great Beyond,” she said after a moment. It was a mixed blessing that undead had no sense of smell, but by and large the pros outweighed the cons.

“Ridiculous, I’m Lordaeronian, not Kul Tiran,” Tyron shot back.

“Yes, but you are… sleeping with the fishes,” Arthana tried again. She’d never encountered an undead that took so long to realize their new life-challenged status.

“Oh don’t be stupid, look at me, do you think a naga lass would so much as give me a side eye?”

“No, you’ve kicked the bucket.”

“What that bucket?” he asked, pointing to the mop bucket he’d brought.

“No, no, you’re pushing up daisies,” Arthana corrected, beginning to lose her patience.

“This one? Thank you for noticing, my granddaughter gave it to me after the morning sermon,” Tyron said, holding up a daisy that had been placed in his shirt.

“No! You are six feet under!”

“Well now I am, when I was younger I was a little taller.”

“No! You are dead! You died!” Arthana shouted, standing up and driving the point of Frostmourne into the chapel steps. “You’re no longer alive. You were murdered, you stupid ex-peasant!”

The former peasant stared at her for a minute before slowly nodding his head in understanding. Arthana could almost see the realization dawning on him as he processed what she had told him. After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke again, “Oh.”

Arthana took a breath, forcing back the frustration at dealing with the raised peasant. Only to blink as said undead took hold of his mop and cheerily said, “Well anyway, back to work.”

“What?” Arthana asked. She’d never met anyone, undead or otherwise, so obtuse.

“Well this cranberry juice isn’t going to clean itself, afterall,” he said, starting to mop up his spilled blood.

“What part of you being dead do you not understand?” Arthana asked.

“I may have said that I’d sleep when I’m dead, but I do still have a family to provide for, after all,” Tyron explained. “Besides, what does my being dead have to do with me not doing my job?”

Arthana looked around, at the burned out husk of a village, before turning back to the old man, “There’s no more cranberry juice, no more cleaning, and no. More. Family!”

“But I’ve never felt so alive,” he said, standing straighter than he had in over a decade.

Arthana stood straighter, a finger tapping on Frostmourne’s hilt as she said, “Well, that would be the necromancy. Like they say, there’s nothing like a necromancer to raise your spirits.”

The formerly old man gave a slight chuckle at the joke, before asking, “So if I’m dead, what happens next?”

Arthana reached into a pouch on her belt as she said, “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so… read this.”

Tyron took the small pamphlet Arthana held out for him, the front with the words ‘So you’re dead… what happens next’ in well designed calligraphy. Opening the pamphlet, he started reading aloud, “Death is not the end… life begins after death… join your local Scourge army today and live your afterlife to the fullest.”

He gave a small chuckle at the pun, before turning to look back at Arthana and asking her, “What if I don’t?”

Arthana’s eyes glowed a deathly blue as she snarled, “You will join me or die… like, die-die… permanently.”

Tyron gave a hum but rather than being intimidated he simply asked, “What’s in it for me?”

Back to her earlier affable demeanor, Arthana said, “Well we have a wonderful death insurance policy.”

“Well how about dental?” he asked.

“Of course,” she easily agreed, a slight smirk forming on her face, “after all, you’re going to be doing a lot of biting.”

He laughed at her response, giving a joking biting gesture in her direction before refolding the pamphlet and saying, “Well count me in.”

Tyron dropped the mop and moved up the steps to stand next to her as she pulled out a parchment with a list of villages on it and crossed off the current one, “So he wasn’t from here either, onto the next village.”

“Oh, you’re looking for someone?” Tyron asked, peeking over the edge of the parchment.

“Trying to find the home village of my old quartermaster,” Arthana said as she rolled up the parchment. “The man was a miracle worker for a living army, and given the fewer logistical requirements of an undead army, I can’t begin to imagine what sort of magic that Emile will be able to work once he’s killed and then recruited.”

Tyron blinked, “Emile? You mean Little Pete?”

Arthana’s head snapped over to the former old man, “You know him?”

“Oh yes, my granddaughter had a crush on him growing up, a real nice fellow, always tipped well when we traded with his village. Had some odd views on the Light, but not a bad chap by any means. He was also so polite all the time, I swear, you’d have an easier time getting a sailor to say two sentences without cursing than you would getting Little Pete to so much as utter a dirty word…” he rambled before Arthana cut him off.

“What village was he from?” Arthana demanded.

“Oh, memory isn’t what it used to be, but I think it was Downshite, or Dunkirk. Or was it Hobbiton? I remember Little Pete talking about that place a lot. Maybe Corneria? Though he did mention ‘Generic Hometown’ that one time,” Tyron mused aloud and asked no one in particular as he scratched at his head.

Arthana rolled her eyes and unrolled the parchment again, checking through the remaining names on the list. After a minute, she brightened up and said, “Ah! Darrowshire! That must be it.”

Tyron nodded, “Yes, that was it! Darrowshire. I remember Little Pete talking about the town square there, saying how it was the perfect spot for a pint of ale and some good conversation.”

Arthana looked at Tyron in surprise, “You know, for an undead, you certainly have a good memory.”

Tyron shrugged, “Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I can’t remember things.”

Arthana smirked, “Fair enough. Let’s head to Darrowshire then.”

As they walked, Arthana couldn’t help but think about the irony of the situation. Here she was, a powerful necromancer, working alongside an undead janitor to find the home village of a man they both knew in life. It was a strange world they lived in, but Arthana was determined to make the most of it.

A grin spread across her face as she considered all the things that she’d have Emile do once she got her hands on him and raised him to serve the Scourge. She imagined him using his logistical skills to create an efficient supply line for their army, and his polite and charming nature to convince other villages to surrender before the Scourge had to resort to violence.

And if he refused to join them? Arthana’s grin turned into a snarl as she thought of the torture she could inflict upon him before finally turning him into one of the undead.

Tyron seemed to sense her change in mood and looked at her curiously, “You seem to be enjoying this a bit too much.”

Arthana shrugged, “What can I say? I’ve always had a bit of a sadistic streak.”

Tyron chuckled, “I can tell. But it’s good to have someone like you leading us. I never would have thought that being undead would be so… liberating.”

Arthana raised an eyebrow, “Liberating? How so?”

Tyron gestured to his own decaying body, “Well, for one, I don’t have to worry about getting old or sick. And I feel stronger than I ever did in life. Plus, I don’t have to worry about petty things like morality or ethics.”

Arthana nodded, “Yes, I can see your point. It’s a strange world we live in, but I’m glad to have you on my side.”

Tyron smiled, “Likewise. So, what’s the plan when we get to Darrowshire?”

Arthana tapped her chin, “Hmm, well, first we’ll need to find out if Emile is still alive. Then, we’ll need to… persuade him to join us.”

“Oh, you should probably focus on the benefits, I do remember Little Pete talking about how bad the benefits offered by the Church were,” Tyron said as they continued walking towards Darrowshire.

Arthana chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a whole pitch prepared. Emile won’t be able to resist joining our ranks.”

As they approached the village, Arthana couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. This was the first step towards building an even stronger undead army. And with Emile’s skills, there was no telling what they could accomplish.

“Now, how to get his attention, assuming that he’s even here?” Arthana muttered under her breath.

“Well you should ring the bell,” Tyron said.

Arthana turned to send a confused look at Tyron’s suggestion, “The bell, what bell?”

“The bell! The church bell. Oh you know, the bell in the tower, you give it a little ding dong,” Tyron said, making a wide, up and down gesture with his arm that seemed vaguely obscene. “Ya know, ya yank the chain.”

He did the gesture again, and despite herself Arthana felt some amusement bubbling up. She normally didn’t have her thoughts turn dirty so quickly, but something about the way he was making the suggestion gave mind to masturbation.

“You pull the rope,” he continued, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. “You give it a tug.”

Arthana couldn’t help the laughter that came out of her. It was all she could do to keep her amusement subdued, her shoulders shaking as her hand came up to smother her chuckles. But of course, Tyron had to keep going.

“You know, beat it on the wall,” his gestures this time were from left to right. “Sign the note until it makes a sound, it’s gotta, it’s gotta do something.”

Arthana didn’t have to look to know that the former old man was grinning as she fought to get herself under control. Of course, that wasn’t enough for him.

“You’ve corpsed,” he said with a grin, referencing the acting term when an actor couldn’t help but break character to laugh.

That was the final straw for Arthana, she doubled over howling with laughter, while at the same time sending a wave of necromantic magic into the ground, sending it towards the village graveyard.

Far from there, at the Roof of the World, if Ner’zhul wasn’t trapped in ice, he’d have facepalmed at the antics of Arthana’s latest undead minion. The sad fact was that it was one of the more intelligent rank and file. The rest were obsessed with ‘lootz’, ‘pwning’, and calling each other ‘kill thieves’, whatever those meant.