Response to 3/4/10 Confirmed/Prospective Tavern Night

[Darren Tereos]

Many things wind up on the floor of the Gallows' End Tavern, adding to the pervasive clutter and dust, adding to the decay and grimness of the Forsaken-run establishment. But these things didn't seem to provide much in the way of deterrence to the regulars of the unliving establishment.

Maron Stahlkil sat alone at a chair, chewing absently on a undifferentiated piece of fungus. Tasting nothing, Maron chose to eat mostly from habits left over from his living days, but also to occupy time. As an undead with little need for most of the daily routines of life, Maron found that he had entirely more free time than he needed or wanted. Without need for sleep, eating, cleaning, or any of the other sundry activities with which he once busied himself, there was just too much time to be filled. To remedy this, he simply added in some of these meaningless frills, such as eating. As such, he sat chewing on the mushroom, listening to the sound of tendons stretch and the socket grinding.

Passing the time in this fashion, his eyes wandered about the room, carefully avoiding eye contact; doing so was unwise amongst the cautious and sometimes paranoid undead. This meant the floor was usually a safe bet. Looking down, he saw a scrap of paper lying on the floor, apparently discarded. Paper often had writing on it, writing was information, and information could be power. Opportunities such as these did not often present themselves and, wasting no time, Maron reached a slender and bony fingure to pull the parchment from the floor. Glancing at the note, the eager Forsaken found it to be a brief list:

To do list for tomorrow
Go North until you find snow
Avoid the little air-gulpers
Get into the catapault

Disappointed, Maron dropped the note on his plate. However, with little else to do, he mulled the meaning of the miscellaneous list. North was probably Northrend: everyone seemed to be making their way there to have their hand at putting an end to the Scourge. "Air-gulpers?" Could be any number of the small tribes of whatever living in frozen reaches of the continent. However, reading the last line seemed to cement the meaning of the note. It was likely that it was yet another person going to fight the Alliance over that insignificant keep in Wintergrasp.

The Forsaken's thoughts seemed to spill from his internal world to the one around him. At first his lips moved as he spoke, mouthing words such as "meaningless," "waste of resources," and "titans left ignored." Soon his words were audible, "I don't see what we do sending our people any further, nothing good has ever come from crossing the waters North; that's what started this mess, isn't it? I have half a mind to go tell..." Realizing he was now speaking out loud, Maron silenced himself. Words were information and words could be dangerous.

Maron tossed the unfinished fungus to his table and walked quickly from the Gallows' End Tavern, hoping he could leave before anyone managed to comit his visage to memory. Whatever business this person had in Northrend was their own and it would probably be best if Maron managed to find himself less conspicuous methods of information gathering.