Story: On the Other Side

[Darren Tereos]

Undercity is a dark place, only illuminated by scant torches and the luminescent glow of the liquid flowing through the city's canals. In these dark places, all matter of dark deeds occur. However, on this day the only deed on the mind of the Forsaken Rogue called Dayari was the mundane act of clearing through his vault of items secured throughout his travels. Easily discarding useless objects, Dayari stumbled upon a tome unfamiliar to him, with dark stains upon its cover. But, like many of his written works, they all seemed unfamiliar until reading them manages to catch whatever faint trace of memory that had first inspired them. This one was different, Dayari noted upon its opening. This one was in a strange handwriting and detailed events from a decidedly different perspective, as Dayari discovered in the reading of its contents.

My name is Apothecary Brooker and today I start my journal, a journal of treachery. There are likely other journals like it, but this one is mine. While some might consider the putting of these words to paper a risk, the very act of planning disobedience within the ranks of the Forsaken is sufficient risk in of itself, so that the discovery of this journal is the least of my concerns. Discovery of actions or intent is the far greater danger, as compared to the minimal risk of a few shreds of paper. But I digress. I write my words down so that, should I fail in my efforts, perhaps someone else will discover my writings and see my words for the truth, thus sparking their own quest to save the Forsaken from itself. Yes, we are a race that is rotting both in body and in spirit. I blame Master Apothecary Faranell and his blindness. He guides us toward the creation of a New Plague, one to kill the living humans and the Scourge. But, he fails to see the perils we face in our allies amongst the Horde. The Orcs? The Trolls? Those beastly Tauren? In life these were our enemies, who slaughtered us without thought. And we ally ourselves with them now, merely because we find ourselves cast out from our former lives? Far better we focus our efforts and wipe the living, in all its repelling forms, from the face of Azeroth. Faranell does not see this and it is likely the Royal Apothecary Society will not see this goal realized with him at the head. With a change of leadership, perhaps things might be different?

* * *

It seems, upon review of my previous entry, I did little to detail my plan. I suppose doing so is necessary so that, if I am unsuccessful, someone else might plan to complete my work. I do this out of a sense of selflessness, as it is far more important that the Forsaken come to its senses than for me to merely gain status. However, the latter is admittedly the most palatable of options presented at this point. As far as the plan is concerned, I intend to pursue in secret a concoction of the utmost toxicity to the Forsaken, such that even the masters within the R.A.S. will be unable to counteract. Additionally, I intend to create a toxin that only reaches peak lethality after a period of time, to allow it to be placed inconspicuously and only felling those in proximity once sufficient time has passed in order to secure an alibi for myself and any others involved. Yes, I plan to invite co-conspirators to my aide. They will at least prove valuable fodder. After all, as my “superiors” find themselves indisposed, I will need to have a coterie of loyal allies to assist in my elevation within the Royal Apothecary. Master Apothecary Brooker does have a certain ring to it.

* * *

Progress is slow. I find myself continuing in my daily responsibilities in simple plebeian poison development. Forsaken after Forsaken come to me with some menial errand and in turn I guide them to this or that task, depending on the Royal Apothecary Society's needs at the time. My plan seems at a standstill. But, patience is required.

* * *

Dayari skimmed over pages filled with recipes and details of various concoctions. The diagrams and notes were meaningless babble to his untrained eyes.

* * *

Today a newly returned citizen of the Undercity arrived from Brill, sent to us to further Faranell's work. He seems to be an amnestic half-wit who follows orders blindly. But, surprisingly he has a knack for finding the rare and toxic herbs that we need to continue our experiments. I'd hazard a guess that it's something to do with dimly remembered memories from life. Perhaps a farmer or an apothecary himself? Regardless, he may prove useful.

* * *

I stand corrected in my earlier estimation that his living occupation was as an alchemist of any sort. Aside from the most basic of toxins, he shows utterly no skills in the combining of ingredients. I spent the better part of an hour attempting to guide him through rudimentary processes to make a simple healing potion. What was produced at the end merely bubbled and released a sulfurous stench that makes me glad my nose has rotted to a mere remnant. I believe we will find this Forsaken merely suitable for gathering things for our needs, rather than anything close to a true researcher of the Royal Society.

* * *

I asked him his name today, to which he told me it was Dayari. A very strange name, but it would not be the first within the ranks of the undead. His ability to find my needed herbs combined with his unthinking loyalty and memory of a goldfish make him a good, albeit unwitting accomplice. Merely telling him that he must do something for the Forsaken is sufficient to compel him to my aid. Today he brought to me a veritable cornucopia of toxic plants and glands extracted from the plagued creatures that roam Tirisfal Glades. At this rate, I will soon be ready to implement the testing phase of my plan.

* * *

Testing has gone smoothly. The concoction did its work and dispatched the test subject within an acceptable time frame. The death seems to leave a corpse that can neither be reanimated, nor distinguished from any of the other traditional poisons used. I plan to deploy the toxin soon. I cannot suffer the sight of these Orcs and Trolls running unhindered through our fair city. Faranell and the others must be stopped from bringing about the ruination of the Forsaken.

* * *

Dayari has taken the Flask of Delayed Destruction, as I have entitled my creation, to be placed in Faranell's study. I hear he plans a meeting with Oni'jus and Masjenal later this evening. Perfect timing to make way for a new regime within the Royal Apothecary Society. While I have no doubt that immediate promotion is unlikely, I know that whomever takes the reigns of the Society will be just as easily dispatched and soon I shall take my place as lord of our noble Apothecarium.

* * *

I write these in what are sure to be my last moments. I am not certain to how I have fallen into disfavor, but it is likely that someone has reported my actions. Dayari is entirely absent, a sign that he was captured or somehow been dealt with. No matter, he would be of no use to me now. The Royal Apothecary does not take well to disobedience and their punishment is sure to be swift and merciless. However, my conscience is clean, I have always worked to the betterment of the Forsaken and should my documentation be discovered, I am sure I will be vindicated. Whomever my readers might be, I implore you to consider the foul beasts you now side with and do your best to remember what it was like when you saw them opposite you during the great wars. But now, I have naught to do but wait: running would be futile and combat would only draw out the process. It has been a long time and I have seen both life and death from a perspective that few can appreciate. Perhaps I will see

* * *

Closing the tome upon reading the last, unfinished entry, Dayari paused in contemplation. He remembered finding the book after pushing it from Brooker's still corpse. Master Apothecary Faranell had wanted it brought to him. The Dark Lady was supposed to need it, to discover what Brooker had planned. But, Dayari remembered telling Faranell he had found no such thing, forgetting that it had remained in his backpack until discarding it months later in his vault.

The rogue looked at the journal, then looked toward the Apothecarium. Casually, the book was tossed back into the vault, forgotten again. At least until Dayari's next vault-cleaning.