Acherus was, for lack of a better word, alive. With activity, at least, since its population’s living status continued on in the ‘un’ category. People rushed to and fro with packages and messages to be delivered, the runeforges were kept constantly busy with people intricately drawing their designs on the weapons that were to be sent out of the citadel, and the entire second floor was filled with the constant groans and complaints courtesy of its Master Siegesmith. The minions of Acherus’s denizens were even busy, carrying crates through gates, and orders to quarters, and even a number of items that one wrong slip would have ended with a small crater.
Samuel Dorsey pushed through the crowded halls, muttering his orders to himself as he went. They had been due days ago, but there had been multiple other messages to be delivered, as well as other orders to be given, as well as document, filed, and sent away to be approved. With how deep into Acherus his administrators were, some might not have worried too much about the consequence of a delayed response to an order, but that was only because those people did not know just how far their hands could reach.
The signal had come, and now he was due to follow his orders and deliver the orders to the person he had been directed to. Worgen. 1113th. Those were the specifics. He slowly counted off the doors. The 400th, the 567th, the 890th. There. One clean tag next to a large wooden door marked with ‘1113th’, alongside multiple others that had long since been covered in dust.
Dorsey contemplated knocking, bringing his hand up multiple times, before simply walking in. The Worgen in question was kneeled down in the corner of a room, digging through a wooden trunk. His nose lifted up slightly, ear twitching as the human man entered.
“Bit busy,” the Worgen said, not looking up from the trunk.
Dorsey held up a small envelope, even though the Worgen had his back to him, “New orders in, sir.”
The Worgen snorted, motioning back towards his desk, which Dorsey noted to be piled high with papers, "Toss “em on there. Already have a dozen other things to fill out on the ‘Iron Horde’ and all that. Not that that’s gonna be happenin’ for a while.”
“And why is that, sir?” the man frowned, continuing to hold the envelope out as it was going to be taken by some unseen third person.
Finally standing, the Worgen hefted a large blue mace from the trunk, turning to look the man over. Holding the item up, the creature smirked, showing off a number of sharp teeth, “Plan on bein’ a bit too concerned with fightin’ ‘em over writin’ for the privelage to do so.” Placing the mace on the floor and allowing its hilt to rest against the desk, the Worgen began scooping up a few scattered pieces of armor from the floor.
Dorsey coughed into his free hand, holding the envelope back out, “You are going to take this, sir, as they are your current orders regarding the Blasted Lands and the Dark Portal. You are due on one of the lower floors in approximately two hours, after which your schedule shall be your own, as long as it fits within the orders enclosed.” He let out a small sigh of relief that he hadn’t forgotten the entire speech.
The Worgen finally looked back to the interloper in his office, walking over to snatch the envelope from his hands. Running a claw along it, he tore the paper open, pulling out the note from inside. After his eyes had made their way down the page, he looked up to the man, “And who the hell’s givin’ me these orders.” It was a question, though the way he said it almost made Dorsey believe it to be a rhetorical one.
The human gulped, pointing to the floor, “People far above our pay grades.”
The General snorted, “I’ve never been one for lettin’ those types worry me too much. Issue I inherited from my predecessors.”
“I advise you do not neglect these ones, General. Their will lines up with your own, so it would be out of spite more than anything, I’m sure,” Dorsey said, failing to include the part where if the Worgen chose to do so he would more than likely have found out just how cold the ones assigning the orders could and would be.
Redamous grunted, looking the sheet over again. Motioning towards the door, he growled, “Show me where I’m headed, then.”