Prescription for Perfection: Undeath

[ToxinDoctor]

The man struggled against the chains and shackles holding him down on to the operating table as he let out series of pained whimpers. Several stitched up lacerations covered the human's body adding on to the already horrifying appearance due to the removal of his eyelids. His head was completely shaved along with his eyebrows, nothing save for dirty rags allowing him dignity. What he could tell from his surroundings he was in a small, dilapidated house with very few furniture save for the table he was on, a small stool, and another table with a number of beakers, bottles, and other alchemy tools on it. After a few minutes of waiting, the man on the table eventually heard the sounds of hooves on cobblestones outside the shack, followed by shuffling before the iron doors across the way opened with a loud creak.

What strode into the cottage only distressed the man more, being what looked like a skeleton dressed in macabre robes and a strange avian mask concealed beneath a hood. In his left hand he held a black medical bag with what appeared to be his name marked on the side in gold letters, being “Dr. W. Faminegrin”. In his right hand, the severed head of a human female dangled from long, blonde hair stained in places by blood. The disembodied head stared blankly with glazed eyes at him, the woman's tongue sticking out of her slackened jaw. After registering such a sight, he began to battle against his restraints once again, trying his best to scream but found that the only thing that came from his mouth was an unearthly sound like the combination of a moan and the sound someone makes when they vomit. The Forsaken man chuckled at this as he closed the door behind him and set both his bag and the head up on the table not reserved for his newest patient.

“I do hope that wasn't someone dear to you, my boy,” the doctor mused, tightening his surgical gloves as he gazed over his victim. The man thrashed his head from side to side as Faminegrin placed his claws on his jaw. “Come now! I can't see how those peepers of yours are doing if you throw such a fit!” he cackled after looking over how the result of his patient's latest surgery was developing.

After digging through his medical bag for a moment, Faminegrin removed a scalpel, a needle tied to a spool of thick thread, and a vial of fizzling green liquid. Once had approached the table with these items he stared down into the quivering human's face and raised a skeletal finger to the tip of his mask's beak. Soon, the first incision was made, allowing a new opening in the victim's flesh, on the right side of his neck. Having already suffered the doctor's touch several times before, the man would pass out shortly after the operation began.

[ToxinDoctor]

Once the final stitch was sown, Faminegrin finished the procedure by cutting the end with a pair of rusty shears. Peering out from beneath his cowl, he looked over the human's body on the blood-stained table before him. As the sadistic surgeon had hoped, his victim was still breathing shallow, raspy breaths, interrupted occasionally by a groan of pain. He was surprised the man hadn't died of shock yet, even if the heroes who frequented the Hillsbrad Foothills were known for being resilient. After taking a seat on the nearby stool, he observed his patient while thinking about how he had acquired this most recent subject.

It was quite evident that the Forsaken had been dealing with the remnants of the human kingdoms for years since they had taken control of the Tirisfal Glades. It was also no secret that they had been wanting to expand their territories south for some time as well. The farmlands in Hillsbrad had presented a great deal of problems to Tarren Mill but also provided quite a resource to the Royal Apothecary Society. Faminegrin took the opportunity to steal away test subjects from the farm quite frequently, though it had begun to become much harder to do so as the Alliance began to station guards along with the town's militia outside the fields. The apothecary had to become much more resourceful in searching for new targets in the area, this time opting to capture himself something more durable than a farmhand or peasant for his experiments.

It was pouring in the Foothills that night, like many other nights he had spent there as a junior in the Society. Peering further down the road, the doctor could see the dull glow of a lantern swaying, higher up off the ground. He gathered that it might be a mounted traveler, hopefully one that did not see his shadowy figure before he had crept off the road to hide behind a nearby tree. Eventually the light had came close enough that Faminegrin could make out a man clad in leather armor, sitting atop chestnut mare that was making its way down the road at a slow and steady pace. Once the two were close enough for him to strike, the doctor stepped out from behind his hiding place and quickly strode towards the road.

Hearing the Forsaken advancing towards them, the man's horse began to spook, rearing and attempting to face the side of the road. As the adventurer tried to calm his mount he barely had time to register the apothecary rise out of the shadows, flinging several bottles full of volatile mixtures at his steed. What glass vials that didn't break against the horse's side hit the cobblestone beneath and shattered, spilling horrible acidic concoctions onto the animal's body. Rearing from the pain, the horse soon spilled it's master off onto the collection of horrible chemicals on the road and set off with serious wounds that probably led to the creature's demise later on. Faminegrin wasted no time descending on the confused, terrified man who was attempting to both get out of the puddles of harmful liquid and try to draw his weapons.

The doctor circled around the human, holding a syringe filled with a tranquilizing agent in his hand while looking carefully over the adventurer for some sort of opening. From what Faminegrin could see, the hardened leather armor that the human wore covered much of his body, save for an opening between the chest piece's neck and his helm. After locating this weakness, he dove onto the man, attempting to press the needle into his subject and inject him with the agent until he went unconscious. As the Forsaken sprung onto his victim, the human succeeded in drawing a sword from it's sheath, bringing it around to hold off his attacker. A struggle then ensued between the two, Faminegrin attempting to slash at his face with his claws and inject him with the tranquilizer, the traveler with his legs burning from chemicals swinging wildly with his blade.

Eventually, it was the apothecary who triumphed, first landing a swipe across the man's face, then slamming the needle of the syringe down into the side of his neck. Out of shock from feeling the invading hypodermic needle pierce his skin, the man gave a spasm and violently attempted to throw Faminegrin off of him. Thrown from his victim, the doctor landed on the grass by the road and hoisted himself up quickly to see unconsciousness wash over the human. After checking that injuries he sustained weren't serious, Faminegrin called for his skeletal steed further off the side of the road. He hoisted the limp body of the man onto the back of his horse and climbed on himself, grinning fiendishly at his newest prize.