Story: Temporomandibular Memories

[Darren Tereos]

It had been a long day for Dayari and, for lack of anything else to do, he found himself again at the Gallow's End Tavern. The day had ended with Dayari making his way to Brill and finding a Human on the roof, gesturing wildly at some Blood Elf. It had perplexed Dayari to no end what motivated the living to do pointless things like that. However, the rogue was very clear in his motivations; Dayari had plunged his blades into the back of his living victim and the Human had been left a corpse on the roof for duskbats to eat. The fight had left him with some injury and Dayari pondered the damage, noting that his jaw was a lot harder to close than it had been before.

“I should write things down.” Dayari mumbled to himself. “Angellis said I should write things down.” Dayari then put quill to parchment.

It hit hard, the air-gulping thing; I hit harder. I guess this is something to remember. My jaw has become somewhat dislodged, but I don't think anything terrible will come of it. It's not like I will rot any faster.

Dayari paused and stared at the wall while his hand continued to write. His hands moved across the parchment; his jaw slowly moved, loose in its socket.

I woke up in Deathknell and the first face that greeted me was one putrid with rot, so far decayed that any loose piece of skin or bone had fallen away. I was confused by what I saw. My mind was nearly blank. I remembered the pungent smell of the dirt and the fetid smell of death, but little else. I gazed at the Forsaken in front of me and tried to speak. At first nothing came. Then, I blurted out “Who? What?” My companion in the mausoleum I found myself in looked at me, blinked, and said “Yeough air D'ay-arr-rr-ee...en...Tt-arr-ee-ohsss,” and then more clearly “You aaare Fo-rasaken, noot aaa Slay-ve.”

“I am Dayari...Antarios and I am Forsaken?” The jawless undead in front of me shrugged and pointed me out the door. I found my way to a Shadow Priest, who took more time to tell me of the plight of the Forsaken and the hatred of the Scourge, and humanity, and all else that breathes. But I felt very little, as if my emotions were like my breathing: shallow and barely necessary. I found a good deal more...

Dayari put the quill down. “This isn't my quill: mine is gray.” The Forsaken looked about the room and, not finding his quill, wandered out of the tavern. The parchment and its words were left alone in the room and soon found themselves whisked from the table by an errant breeze and soon coming to rest in a corner, where it would likely face the fate of most of the things found in the tavern: covered in cobwebs, dust, and mold.

“Was it in the abomination's guts? I had an apple there last time.” Dayari saddled his skeletal warhorse and set off for Undercity. “It could have been left at the Royal Apothecary...It's probably a bird now...”