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| - The Female Night Elf that had brought Kopfjagger water spoke into the still, tense room. "Forsaken," she began timidly. "We do have many questions for you. It would" She paused and fidgeted with the stack of papers in front of her. She seemed to become exasperated and with a sigh, she continued into the otherwise stagnant room. "I will just speak bluntly, Forsaken. The Council referred to is seeking a cure to the disease or whatever it is that has afflicted the Forsaken. Your answers may do you and your kind a great service in the long term." Still looking down at her papers, she placed her hands squarely upon the top of the stack in finality. The dry brows of the Forsaken grew together in a concentrating frown. Perhaps these games are not so silly. Chains rattled as he tried to rub his chin as he thought. There was not quite enough play in the chains. Still, he pondered long the implications of the Elfin revelation. His hollow voice seemed to echo off of the barren walls. "What, pray tell, makes you think that the Forsaken desire such a thing?" Playful confusion glimmered across his features as he tried to take his leisure within the confines of the chains. The result was him leaning arrogantly against the wall with his arms stretched out, but hanging lazily by the wrist bindings. The Night Elf and others at the table made a small gasp and looked up at their captive with wide eyes. Several people stammered in what sounded nearly like protest. The human in the over-sized armor chuckled under his breath. Coming from him, it was rude. "Consider, for a moment mortals, what immortality must taste like," the Head Hunter continued. His voice was low, deep and some would say, enchanting. "To live forever to see the lives of your enemies, particularly the short-lived humans come and go their feverish lives played out while the schemes and desires of your own heart ripen. Immortality may have a price, yes." His hands flopped palms up before falling limp against the tension of the chains. "But, for some, the price is worth the purchase." He shrugged and leaned back against the wall. "The beast lies," spat the human. "The Scourge are no more immortal than squirrels! Bah!" The whip began to move again before the Elf bade him to hold. He did. Kopfjagger was almost welcoming the blow. The more reason to eat the man's liver before his very eyes. "Please," the Night Elf gestured consolingly. "Please continue. How is it that the Forsaken believe they are immortal?" A pen was in her hand, freshly dipped in an inkwell. Glancing at the parchment, Kopfjagger was surprised to see that she had already taken a great deal of notes already. He made a face of approval at the Night Elf despite himself. At least someone was paying attention. And, he thought to himself, why not speak freely? Shrugging again, sending the chains to rattle ominously, the Forsaken tilted his head to look curiously at the Night Elf. "I have sought an end, Elf. I have questioned the Spirit Healer often in my many visits to her. It seems, as best I am able to glean, that the Forsaken are meant to occupy our dead flesh until time itself has lost its meaning." The Human with the whip burst in. "We know that the Scourge are constructs of animated matter. There is no " Kopfjagger did not appreciate being cut off. "FORSAKEN!" His bellow echoed fiercely off of the walls of the small room. In the silence, a gnome who had before gone unnoticed stood on his chair behind the table. "Sir," he addressed Kopfjagger weakly, "Please do not take this rudely, but what, precisely, is the difference?" The Gnome sat down quickly. A low growl rolled across the dirty, wet floor. It started low in the bowels of the chained Forsaken but it seemed borne of his entire being. "The differences are many, Kibble," he finally replied. "Scrouge" he spat,"are mindless, soulless animals. Forsaken have full communication with that which makes men truly men." His memories of Lucia were proof enough of that, he thought to himself. The humans laugh was anticipated and for the laugh, he received a mouthful of spittle on his cheek. The laugh ended with a whip-crack to the Forsaken's forehead. The small wound barely trickled dark, coagulated blood. "As I was saying," Kopfjagger continued, "Scourge are mindless. They are soulless. Forsaken have independent will. We have hearts as well as minds." The human in the ornate cloak laughed again. "You," the Head Hunter sneered, "I will kill slowly and with pleasure." Human liver was quite wonderful. Standing and taking a position between the Forsaken and the Human, the Night Elf stood tall and confident. "We believe that we can remove the affliction that keep the Forsaken in their dead flesh." She seemed proud and looked at the Forsaken before her as if expecting praise. "To what end my dear?" Kopfjagger shot back. Her curious look prompted him to continue. "What would become of a Forsaken when the 'condition' is removed? Would we become permanently dead? Our flesh most certainly is. Would we perhaps have new flesh restored to our bodies, only to watch it grow old and die again? My life ended when I died. You will be hard pressed to find those willing to die again." Her countenance fell as the words sank in. Her posture shifted until she felt a little awkward standing. Slowly, she made her way back behind the table and sat; deflated. "It is not a matter of finding 'willing' participants, Scourge." It was the human's turn to spit. Kopfjagger ignored him and returned his attention to the Night Elf fully. "How long have I been asleep?" She tossed a hand casually. "Four or five years, maybe more. It took the Council a very long time to figure out what to do with you. We have not captured a Forsaken before or since you actually. You are quite an oddity, really." Kopfjagger stopped listening after he heard how long he had been chained to the wall. Lucia His mind screamed with the implications of being away so long. Her children would be nearly grown now. Lucia herself could be anywhere and probably thinking that he had abandoned her. Slather oh poor Slather. He could only wonder about the Shaman. Blood Fist! His guild! What of them? His absence from them, for so long, was inexcusable. He lost his strength as his mind spun the consequences of being absent for so very long. Chains rattled as his broken body hung limply from his bonds. Her name fell to the cold, damp floor wrapped silently in single a tear of loss.
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