What's green and purple and red all over?
Who: Arthas and Eddie (Nygma)
Where: Lurking just off the hallway to the cafeteria
When: Today
Warnings: Torture.
Psychics on Azeroth would generally tell you that nothing good could come of trying to muck about in a Death Knight's mind. The process of becoming a member of the Scourge was punishing, breaking - the psyche generally had to be torn open entirely, shattered, rearranged, trimmed, added crudely onto, and then forced back together and made to animate a body that nature never intended to walk again. They were built to be persistent, psychotic in their tactics and in their ferocity, and above all loyal to the Lich King. He was at the core of all of them, woven in too intricately to be extricable. Attacks on the mind were just as likely to break something personally important to the Death Knight's well being as they were to accidentally brush up against something ... else. All-seeing, vast, terrible with its rage, and not taking very kindly to one of its minions being sabotaged.
Arthas had just never been on this end of it before. Generally it had been him waiting as the last line of defense if something went mentally wrong with one of the Death Knights he had so carefully created in his image - or him as the Lich King. Now, though, there was something cold and heavy in the back of his head like a stone, and he let it guide him. He'd seen Wayne around in the halls again - so Nygma was back too. Not in his cabin (Arthas had checked) but wherever he was he'd need to eat sometime.
So he stood in the dark in the empty cabin on the first floor, perfectly silent, with the door only ajar a hair's-breadth. And he waited.
Where: Lurking just off the hallway to the cafeteria
When: Today
Warnings: Torture.
Psychics on Azeroth would generally tell you that nothing good could come of trying to muck about in a Death Knight's mind. The process of becoming a member of the Scourge was punishing, breaking - the psyche generally had to be torn open entirely, shattered, rearranged, trimmed, added crudely onto, and then forced back together and made to animate a body that nature never intended to walk again. They were built to be persistent, psychotic in their tactics and in their ferocity, and above all loyal to the Lich King. He was at the core of all of them, woven in too intricately to be extricable. Attacks on the mind were just as likely to break something personally important to the Death Knight's well being as they were to accidentally brush up against something ... else. All-seeing, vast, terrible with its rage, and not taking very kindly to one of its minions being sabotaged.
Arthas had just never been on this end of it before. Generally it had been him waiting as the last line of defense if something went mentally wrong with one of the Death Knights he had so carefully created in his image - or him as the Lich King. Now, though, there was something cold and heavy in the back of his head like a stone, and he let it guide him. He'd seen Wayne around in the halls again - so Nygma was back too. Not in his cabin (Arthas had checked) but wherever he was he'd need to eat sometime.
So he stood in the dark in the empty cabin on the first floor, perfectly silent, with the door only ajar a hair's-breadth. And he waited.