Kel’thuzad emerged from the death gate, Arthas and Anub’arak close behind. “Gentlemen, welcome to Darkshire.”
“Dar’ksheer?” Anub’arak try to pronounce the word.
“Dark-Shire” Arthas corrected him. “A boondock thousands of miles away from any undead of note, they are not even Scourge. What are we doing here Kel?”
“We are escaping the mainstream, looking for a fresh face with a new perspective. No offence, you are both royalty, and it’s always hurt our image with the common ghoul. We’re going to need a more down to earth ‘everyman’ to broaden our fan base.”
They could hear the music coming from the hole in the wall they were approaching. It was literally a hole in the wall of a partially collapsed Alliance barracks. Arthas felt strange as they walked in. No one recognized them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to go anywhere without a entourage of ghouls to fight off acolytes desperate for autographs. Here no one bothered giving much more than a second glance. Anub’arak was getting some strange looks, but rather than being mobbed, the crowd was giving them space.
“This place is a little dated isn’t it?” Arthas was clearly displeased. “The ‘ruins’ look is a little last decade.”
“Ignore the decor, Arthas, listen to the music.” as they approached Kel motioned towards the stage. There were a couple ghouls playing guitar, an armored skeleton on keyboard, an abomination on drums, and a banshee singing lead. It was a cover of one of their songs.
“Pitiful” Anub’arak finally said. “These creatures do not match our talents.”
“Agreed” Arthas added. “That keyboard solo was garbage. He can not replace Mal’ganis.”
“We aren’t here for the keyboardist.” Kel’thuzad replied. He then turned to face Anub’arak, “You spin now yes? You’re no longer drumming.”
“Yes. I enjoy it more than the sticks.” Anub’arak responded. He turned to look at the abomination at the drum kit. “I would like to continue with my current set up, but out old songs require a drummer, and I will not stand for to our beats be mangled by an abomination. It will not be able to keep up with…” as the Crypt lord spoke the band paused, and the Abomination launched into an epic drum solo. It was tight and fast, a masterful execution that got the nerubian to change his tune, “How is such a thing possible?’
Kel’thuzad explained, “You see Stitches up there is not like the mass produced abominations we have up north. He’s all hand crafted and painstakingly imbued with the most perverse mixture of love and loathing you’ll ever find. His creator and manager, Abercrombie, is over there, left of the stage. The rest of the band has a separate manager, but Abercrombie keeps a tight leash on his unique creation. He’s the one we will have to negotiate with.”
“Very well” Arthas strolled up to Abercrombie at the side of the stage and leaned in. “We like your drummer, we want to offer him a place with our band.”
The old hermit twisted his face up. “I get a full manager’s cut. Anywhere he goes I go. He doesn’t do anything without my say so.”
“Very well” Arthas casually pulled out Frostmorne and plunged it into the old man’s heart. The music stopped dead, and the room fell silent save of the screeching sound of the man’s soul being pulled into Frostmorne. Arthas pulled the sword out and pointed it at Stitches. “You. I have the soul of you master and creator bound to me. You will do as I bid. I am your manager now.”
“Cool” said Stitches. “What we do?”