Vitriol

Featuring: Plagos, Pestilesa
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===Vitriol===
==I==
In the not too silent darkness of some basement laboratory, a zombie lurched through the shadows. A set of worn, wooden stairs leading from the basement crept along the south wall, the only decoration on four, damp stone walls. The windowless room was empty apart from a long, solid, oaken table crossed the length of the center of the room. A series of beakers and bottles sat on the table hovering over various flames, gurgling an churning furiously at the silent walls. 
The noise from the lab did not quite overshadow the shuffling and dragging noise of the creature moving across the room. The figure stopped at the far end of the long table, as a monstrous, clawed hand dripped the edge. The undead being bent low. A series of opaque lenses gazed down at a suspended beaker. The light from the flame beneath it reflected off the lenses, making the figure look rather bemused. Another hand produced a quill pen and started jotting notes onto a pad of paper.
Plagos Deathweaver made a low grunt. The fluid still in his throat produced a similar gurgle. He twisted a knob on the finely crafted goggles which fitted deeply into his eye sockets. Two of the four small lenses over his right eye protruded further, allowing his vision to zoom in on his experiments. He tapped the glass beaker with a bony finger, causing bubbles to rush up through the green liquid.
The undead Forsaken rose to his slightly hunched height. Setting a hand to his hanging lower jaw, he propped the loose bone temporarily back into its proper place. He spoke in a low, guttural tone.
“Excellent. The test is going well. I hope you're paying attention,” Plagos looked across the room, toward the bottom of the stairs. A disgusting, tentacled creature lied prone on the floor. One large eyelid was closed. A tiny mouth directly below the eye had let forth a tendril of drool which fell into a pool around the creature.
“Zkol'guub! Wake up!” Plagos yelled the words in a harsh demonic dialect. The undead snatched an empty vial off the table and hurled it at his assistant. A loud crash against the wall shattered the glass and started the creature to wake. It floated a few inches above the ground, and squeaked a disapproving insult in a similar vicious language, which Plagos ignored. Though the demon was quite knowledgeable and helpful with such tests, it was nearly impossible to keep its attention for very long.
“This new elixir is proving to be more potent than I thought,” he continued, “It won't be long before we have a substance that will prove most corrosive to any Scourge.” Plagos stepped over a couple bones as he made his way across the room, his servant who merely floated in place, watching his master with a large, red eye. Plagos had only begun field work for the Royal Apothecary Society a short time ago, but his background knowledge of Fel and Nether energy, as well as his connections within the Undercity, brought fast progress. His tests would go with the Overseer's reports, which hopefully one of the mad scientists in the Apothecarium would actually use in part of a larger weapon against the Scourge.
“Not just the Scourge,” A harsh voice screeched from the top of the creaking staircase, interrupting his thoughts. A small, about a foot and a half, scrawny, brownish-green creature hunched at the top of the creaking stairs. Two beady pupils looked through ugly yellow, glowing eyes down a long, slender nose. Two sharpened horns curved out of his brow and pointed straight up. A mop of brown hair hung halfway down his bony back. Similar manes circled his lower arms and legs. His wore only a loincloth of animal skin.
The imp suddenly leaped off the stairs. He landed swiftly onto the top of the floating demon, bounding off the perplexed, floating creature like a trampoline. He did a final somersault before landing on the floor at the end of the table near Plagos. The warlock kept his back turned to the whole spectacle as if concentrating on something very severely. But he replied.
“Beltai, I don't know what you're suggesting-”
“I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting!” The imp spat a curse in Demonic, startling Zkol'guub even more. Plagos was visually unmoved, “How better to gain the power you seek? Such a weapon can have powerful leverage against all undead. Not just Scourge.”
“I won't keep secrets from our people that can achieve vengeance,” Plagos said angrily, “How would you suggest I use this to my advantage?”
“You could use it,” Beltai grinned a wickedly evil grin that only a creature with such sharp teeth and wide mouth could manage, “Use it against someone whom you would be able to surpass-”
The demon was sent flying across the room and into the wall by a powerful bolt of shadow magic. Plagos scowled furiously at the demon. This wretched animal actually made the implication that he could actually do away with his own wife, the Overseer, Lady Meridith! The imp choked against the blast, but kept his wicked grin. Plagos stepped forward and towered over the tiny demon, but he hesitated.
“I would be a suspect right way. Besides, the formula is far from perfected.”
The imp coughed amid a small chuckle, “I may know someone who can help...”
==II==
In some forgotten corridor shadowed between two forgotten buildings, the small, impish creature stood. He looked left and right, shifting back and forth on clawed, grayish feet. The two ruined stone buildings towered over him and sighed forlornly in the hazy moonlight. Beltai nervously chewed on a fingernail with yellow, sharpened teeth as he looked up at the old shops or homes in Lordaeron's abandoned capital.
Not completely abandoned at least. The new denizens of the capital now inhabited the catacombs and sewers, as well as a few new chambers dug under the castle. These tenants called their home the Undercity, and they the Forsaken. These undead humans founded a new home underneath the crumbling monuments of a more vibrant age. This is where they plotted their revenge against those who had cursed them.
Beltai took two steps deeper into the alley. He glanced upwards at the black shadow crawling up the way. Two ghostly eyes opened on the wall and focused on him, causing even the demon to jump slightly. The round shape of a skull with shortly chopped hair coalesced itself around the pale glow of what seemed to be eyes. The head affixed itself onto a bony set of shoulders, and a pair of arms and a torso which seemed to have once carried well-toned muscles. A set of un-noteworthy, feminine hips were carried out of the shadows by two long, skeletal legs.
The female undead was covered head-to-toe with dark, crudely stitched leathers. Two gleaming daggers rested on her belt, and a series of smaller, throwing daggers inside holsters lined up along her thighs.
“Were you followed?” What once must have been a female voice rasped dryly through teeth clattering together without lips to inhibit them, causing a permanent, menacing grin that signaled despair and malice rather than glee.
“Of course I wasn't!” Beltai muttered indignantly, trying to mask trepidation. Even worse than the Forsaken, or being under the enslavement of the merciless Plagos, was trying to deal with an agent of the Scourge, a mindless army of monsters and abominations ruled by a tyrannical and powerful Lich King. It made even a former minion of the Burning Legion wary.
“So it worked?” The dark voiced asked.
“Yes. He said he'll do it. He's got some kind of poison. I'm sure you'd know about that.” The creature gestured to a pouch on her belt, from which protruded a small corked vial. The undead continued to listen, “He's using a substance, an ichor from one of your friends...”
“I have no friends!” A dagger shot through the air and struck the dirt path at the imp's feet. Beltai looked up to notice one of the knives along her holster was missing.
“Alright alright!” the imp shouted. He then looked around and lowered his tone, “Just remember our bargain. Make sure Lord Deathweaver dies,” he practically spat the words, “I'll be freed, and you can have... whatever it is you're trying to accomplish.”
The undead nodded, “The Master knows of the Forsaken's plans for the north. We must strike before any settlements are built. We will strike close to the top. Our other agents are already hard at work.”
“Yeah whatever,” Beltai said impatiently, “I'll bring you the formula later. Just be ready”
The agent lifted a mask of distinctively elven origin to her face, obscuring her mouth and facial lesions. And with that, the undead disappeared back into the shadows, leaving a small demon in the dark alley. His giggling echoed off the walls with both an insane glee, and skittish dreading.