Wisps of aromatic tobacco smoke drifted lazily from the end of a lit cigar. A human lip cradled the end of the slug, yellow teeth sunk gently in to hold it steady. Dull, tired eyes grazed the lamplit street with idle boredom.
Stand in front, guard the door. Don’t let anybody in unless they’re on the list. Simple.
Thirty-five minutes until his shift ends. The human lifted a gloved hand to drag through thick, greasy locks of dark brown hair. Just as the digits had almost tilled completely back across the crop, a callused ring finger caught in a small tangle. Noticed only too late, the human let out a shallow, breathy curse as his scalp tugged and a small tuft was wrenched into freedom and that so-secure cigar dropped to the cold cobblestones. Bending at the hip to retrieve the cigar, the man still allowed a stream of airy curses as he dusted it off. He rolled it over in his palm, shoving it back between his teeth and fumbling for a match. Focusing keenly on the rolled tobacco, the human sparked up the matchstick. Once, twice, and…
A massive, red and silver breastplate stood directly before him. Catching the dim light of the match, the feeble flame immediately went out. Slowly lifting his gaze, the human-
The inside of the opium den was as still as ever, slumped piles of bodies with drapes of silk hanging overhead to add to the superfluous aura of the room. The piles breathed gently, eyes half-open on each of the assorted cadavers. A thick haze hung about the room like a low coastal fog. The dense cloud carried the sounds of a long, flat string instrument from the corner across the room in a shallow echo. The device was manned by an incredibly old-looking pandaren, small and frail in nature with clear cataracts in both eyes. An uncertain air to the playing of the string instrument, and a hand that probed the strings after each pluck assisted the blind and deaf old man in his tune. Three guards stood about the room, one of which was a younger pandaren that seemed to be dozing near the entrance and the other two humans who were cleaning their blades in the corner of the room opposite the door. Nearby them was what appeared to be a silk-shrouded doorframe leading into another room.
All was seemingly still, until:
The door shook in its frame, rattling the delicate bells that hung about the establishment. The guard nearest the door perked up, peering narrowly towards the noise.
The other two guards took notice now, looking up from their blades across the room. The second thump had sent an ornate vase in one corner to be rocking gently on it’s end.
The door slammed open, lock splitting directly through the doorframe as the heavy wooden facade battered the inside wall, sending dim natural light and a cold breeze flooding through the establishment. All guards rose to their feet, weapons drawn. The vase fell from the corner, the bells shaking violently with the shatter.
A strained gurgle could be heard from outside, moving swiftly inside as a human body was sent tumbling into the building arm over arm. The human was still moving, eyes bugging out as one hand clutched at his missing voice box and the other tried to maintain a massive hole in his lower chest cavity. Fractured bone could be seen from the upper abdomen as sticky, red plasma poured onto the floor from both newly crafted orifices. After a moment, the human went limp in a puddle of his own ichor.
With a croak, the pandaren guard inched towards the doorframe with a hatchet raised over his head,
Three heavy footsteps brought with them the massive shadow of a beast, ducking under the doorframe as the poor pandaren was lifted from the ground by his throat. The hatchet dropped to the floor as both of the guard’s hands clutched the forearm that had gripped him. Jaw gawking open, a bloody mass of human throat was slammed into the open mouth as a low growl permeated the haze,
A second later, the same hand came down in an arc from behind, slamming a human rib into the pandaren’s left eye socket. Muffled screams left the poor guard, biting down on the human thyroid in his mouth and only causing further blood to pour down his chin and onto the massive gloved wrist that held his neck. The rib was drawn back, and then brought down once more. This time a deep crack could be heard from the inside of the pandaren’s skull that shook his whole body, his other eye pleading for purchase upon one of the stranger’s features but finding no relief in the gargantuan silhouette. The rib was drawn back again, and in a muffled grunt and a splatter of blood and face-matter the rib split deep into the pandaren’s skull, burying itself within the brain and killing the immigrant instantly. The hand dropped the body as it fell slumped upon the other on the floor.
The cloaked figure’s head tilted, four hollow cracks emitting from the back of his neck as his gaze set upon the two humans in the corner of the room. One stood trembling with his sword held tightly in both hands, peering over at the form of the beast. The other guard had just begun reeking of the urine that had sogged the front of his leathers, sword on the ground and his hands in the air. The stranger lifted an oak branch of an arm, a single clawed finger pointing towards the door. It didn’t take words to convey that message. Both humans booked towards the exit, the one reeking of ammonia making his way out as the figure’s clawed digits set upon the back of the collar of the guard that had just been slightly slower. The poor blonde-haired boy yelped, freckled complexion barely of age to grow stubble. He howled and pleaded, but the walls were of course soundproofed in the opium lounge. The stranger dragged the human behind him across the ground, feet knocking and kicking over bodies that were heavily intoxicated, the forms beginning to shift and moan slightly with the commotion that had jostled the whole room.
Moving past the silks, the massive form entered an even hazier space. In it were three concubines, nearly nude; two elves, one human. The girls were each trembling in corners, covering themselves in a last-ditch attempt at modesty. Standing in the far corner was a pandaren holding out a blunderbuss, aimed directly at the stranger’s chest.
“You have made a mistake, Oku. The pact will hear of this treachery, you filthy swine!”
Lifting the human boy’s body out in front of himself, the young adult squirmed in his grasp and clawed at the gauntlet. His body fell slack as scattershot from the shotgun left a bloodied apron over the blonde-haired guard’s front, sputtering up blood as the face came closer with each slow, heavy step from the stranger. Keeping the boy outstretched enough to take the brunt of the second shotgun blast, he quickly tossed the boy aside once he was within arm’s reach of the druglord. A massive plated gauntlet caught the barrel just as it had been reloaded, knocking the end of the weapon up towards the ceiling in time to deliver a blast to the low wooden cover. Splinters splattered all over the floor like spilled toothpicks, littering dust and allowing thin shafts of light to seep in from above. The mass of power took the gun, easily pulling it from the man’s hands to hold it between two palms the size of dinner plates. Muscular digits wrapped about the stock and the barrel, then bent until the device snapped at the receiver into two parts. Letting each piece fall individually to the floor, the massive knuckles swept up slowly to pull back a thick hood. Loose hair had been arranged into a tight topknot, intense blue eyes occasionally catching odd light shafts as the furred face lowered to the level of the druglord.
“I will tell the pact myself when I bring them your head.”
The druglord’s face paled as Oku donned a grim smile, fangs glinting in the lanternlight. Those bloodstained claws lifted to the man’s chin, tilting it up gently as if to deliver a kiss as the other hand drew a knife from a belt-sheath. The gaze was trained upon the terrified man’s pupils, locked in eye contact as the ceremonial curved blade slipped across the front of the man’s neck. Dragging slowly, the druglord’s face stammered with shuttered eyes. A font of blood dribbled from his lips as the knife dragged across the front of the throat. The knife clattered to the ground now. Clawed digits dug themself into the incision, a thumb still gently cradling the man’s chin as his life slowly leached into the air from his esophagus. The hand that had been holding the knife placed softly upon the shoulder, before in one swift upward motion;
A chorus of screams from the nearby concubines acted as ensemble to the act, highlighting each individual movement.
The muscle of the neck tore easily beneath the power of the massive pandaren. The head was still attached at the spine, tilted backwards like an opened tankard lid as blood sprayed across the walls and across Oku’s face and front. The hands re-placed themself upon the exposed spine, applying a dense grip to snap the already awkwardly bent structure. A bubbling of blood and spinal fluid left a drag-mark across the corner walls as the body slumped to the ground, beheaded. A canvas sack slipped around the departed head and the massive form of the pandaren took his leave with heavy steps, horrified eyes of the females present staying trained upon him in terror to take in every detail of the traumatic experience.
An ever-constant plucking of strings persisted, blood pooling and seeping into the floorboards in various spots. Natural light filtered into the den from the busted door, producing hard lines through the thick smoke. A patron’s body twitched as it began to awaken from the high.
And at once; all was still.
