Waifu Catalog: Warcraft Beta Tester

4/30 noon

I looked down at the old man sitting in front of me, pondering what to do with him. For now at least, I intended to keep him right where he was. According to the description for the orb in the catalog, I needed him firmly entranced for a solid ten hours if I wanted to work on progressing him to the next stage of depth. “Just stay here, master, and I will see to whatever you need. You can trust me.”

“Ghost hair thread. I need a spool of it, for my work. My beautiful work.”

“Oh? Where would I get that?”

“Madame Eva in Darkshire has a supply. Don’t know where she gets it or I’d do it myself.”

“Of course master. We will set out once all other preparations are made.”

I strolled out of the little hut feeling pretty good about myself. I didn’t have any particular intention of going to Darkshire today, but now me and my girls had a reason to be here in Abercrombie’s eyes. When I went to the firepit, Drusilla looked up from tending to the spider legs. “How’d it go?”

“It went well. As far as he is concerned we are here to start an apprenticeship. Long term, he is going to be under my thumb. I want to be sure he's a bit deeper in the orb’s power before I try to get him in a necklace.”

Darcell seemed disgusted, “you’re going to keep him alive?”

“Of course. He will be useful, and I was able to surprise him. I don’t really intend for him to be particularly recognizable by the end of this, but I’m definitely going to make use of him. I’m not sure if I’m actually going to learn necromancy, but it’s on the table.”

Darcell found the idea unsettling, but Drusilla’s reaction was characteristically pragmatic. “So are you planning on taking control of him before you take a single lesson, or did you intend to sit through some introductory classes?”

I shrugged. “I figure he’s reasonably likely to be the kind of guy who thinks apprentice means unpaid servant. If he sits me down and teaches me how to animate corpses, then I’ll pay attention. It’s not like I need to join the cult of the damned just because I know a few forbidden spells. Speaking of which; Drusilla, I’d like to learn about being a warlock. I doubt there’s any cosmic law keeping me from channeling both fel and light magic. Priests of the void can still access the light after all, if they have a strong enough will.

••••••••••

After a nice small lunch of spider legs, we decided that we wanted to find somewhere a bit more comfortable to sleep than Abercrombie’s tiny shack. Until he was properly under my control, staying near him could only very loosely be called safe.

I thought cellars would be the most defensible, but the second one we checked was host to a pair of zombies that didn’t take well to our intrusion. Easy enough to deal with in a small group, but we could have encountered more very easily.

In addition to the presence of tangible enemies, there was an inescapable sense that we were being watched no matter where we went. Figures were seen only out of the corner of our eyes, and a general sense of foreboding enveloped the whole town. The most surprising aspect, however, was that they didn’t seem malicious, just passively curious. I have literally no idea where communication talent got that tidbit for me, but I felt it in my gut: the watchers were not my enemies.

“Hello?” I asked the empty street. I felt like an idiot, and Drusilla clearly agreed. Darcell presumably just accepted that I was a medium without comment. “Can you show us anything important? A safe place to rest? If I can help you in any way, I will.”

There was a pause, and then a door just down the street creaked open extremely loudly. We walked over to the door and as we got close, it was quickly slammed shut. That was easily enough for me to be curious. As we reached the point where we could touch the door, I caught a whiff of decay coming from the other side. I tested the door and found it unlocked; it didn’t creak near as badly from me as it did from the spirits.

“Heywaddayathinkyerdoin!”

I was surprised to hear a rapidfire vaguely New Jersey accent coming from inside, that’s for damn sure. It clashed with the atmosphere quite a lot. The smell of rot on the other hand stayed very consistent with expectations, and extremely pungent. A 3 foot tall green man was looking up from a table at the door, quite put out with my intrusion.

Having taken a second to parse what he’d said, I replied, “I’m just looking around for a safe place to stay the night.” The goblin’s demeanor shifted from confrontational to amicable 

“Alright. Pay up front, four silver per person, room, no board. I also accept gemstones, work contracts, and promissory notes issued by all major cartels and the national banks of Orgrimmar and Stormwind. You won’t find a safer place to sleep round here.”

The exorbitant price was a bit of a surprise, but it probably shouldn’t have been. Goblins are greedy little buggers; the most common reason for one of them to develop ethics is to secure repeat customers.

“Uh. Probably not today. What are you doing out here?”

“Investing. I’ve developed a patented recipe and I’m building up a stockpile. The Scourge’ll be back eventually, and when it happens you know what everyone will be lookin for?”

“Uh. Plague cures?”

“Yes, but any alchemist worth the name can make one of those these days, and the standard ingredients are hazardous to procure. No. What they will be looking for is Bliztik’s patented all natural organic non gmo Shadowscreen ointment. Those necromancer types use shadow magic all the time, and a bottle of this will make sure you come out of that without a scratch. You want some? Only five gold pieces.”

“Too rich for my blood, but I’ll spread the word.” I’d definitely remember this guy; he wasn’t wrong about how useful his product would be. Assuming, of course, that it wasn’t actually a giant scam. People don’t usually live in haunted ghost towns just for the grift though, not even goblins. “How do you stay away from the undead?”

“Byproduct of the distillation process. If I smell like a zombie, the stupid ones don’t recognize that I’m anything but. Eau du Death cologne will be a bit harder to market, but I think I can make it work. Want some? Only five silver for a bottle. You’ll smell like the dead but ya won’t BE dead.”

“Deal.” I fished through my coin pouch. “Have you tried marketing it to the night watch?”

He gave me the spritzer before answering. “Oh yeah sure, but apparently it drives animals and worgen into a feral rage. Keep an eye out for that kind of thing, eh? Also, no refunds.” Figures. Still, even with the drawback it would be nice to be ignored by any armies of undead I might encounter. It’s not like I have to walk around with it always on.

I turned and saw that the ladies had decided to just stay outside. I didn’t blame them; it smelled awful, but between body defense preventing nausea and stress defense doing its thing, it wasn’t too hard to ignore. “Alright. Looks like our best bet is to line the doors and windows with this stuff to mask our presence, unless you just want to stay in the hut with the necromancer.”

We all agreed no, and made our way back to a modestly sized one floor house that we had dismissed because it had too many windows. We liberally spritzed the windows and front door with the Scourge Cologne to mask our scent, and unpacked our luggage. All told, we’d spent around five hours wandering the town. There was still sun in the sky, but not too much.

“Drusilla, see if you can start some stew? Based on those spider legs I doubt the old man has had anything tasty in a while. Easy way to ingratiate myself with him.” I noticed that Darcell scurried over to watch what Drusilla was doing. From the look of intense focus mixed with pleasure on her face, I could tell it was to improve her cooking. It only took a short time for her to make a simple but tasty soup with ingredients from my inventory.

Ladling a bowl full of preserved meats and chopped vegetables, I made my way back to the shack. Abercrombie was sitting in the corner, still staring at the orb. “My master, I have returned with food for you. It’s inappropriate that you should have to prepare your own.” He nodded absently. I plucked the orb from his hands and held out the bowl, along with a relatively fresh loaf of bread. “I hope my servant’s cooking is to your liking. May we discuss how my apprenticeship might progress?”

He kept staring for a moment until his eyes focused on me, and he spoke with none of the feigned pleasantness of before. “Yes. I suppose we might.”