Cranque pulled his steel from yet another worgen, Duskwood was full of them these days. One more notch on his blade to convince the Nightwatch of his worthiness. He sneered at the thought that his ability was scrutinized so closely by the Nightwatch, they didn't seem to be the formidable fighting force that they claimed to be. Every so often their guts got scattered by something roaming this dismal land called Duskood. The area was as depressing as finding a chest in a cave, only to find it held mana potions. Gah, who needs mana! Helping the old man by the graveyard gather things to survive was the only redeeming factor of this land. At least helping him provided reason enough to stay here, otherwise Cranque would have jumped on a bird elsewhere.
Cranque pulled the note from his satchel as he trotted toward Darkshire. Strange, he couldn't make out the strange lettering on the parchment. The old man had said that he and the mayor were old friends, perhaps it was written in a secret code that they shared from boyhood. Whatever, Cranque thought as he strode into the town hall, the old man had supplies to last awhile, I guess the rotblossoms helped keep him regular, they smelled awful when Cranque handed them over to the old man.
"Hey mayor, got a note for you from that cool old man at the graveyard." The mayor didn't look up. Cranque heard a groan from the mayor as he muttered "I can't read it, take it to Sirra and don't bring it back!!"
Cranque was puzzled at the reluctance of the mayor as he approached the historian with the note. "Ah, the fifth letter today," Sirra said, "I wonder if it says the same as the others?" After a few moments of concentration, the historian looked up from his parchments. "Yes, the very same thing, bring this back to the mayor at once." Cranque was confused, "But the mayor said not to bring it back..." "Of course he did, now be a good little warrior and go shove this translation under his nose so he can't avoid it."
Cranque did as he was told, what else could he do? The mayor attempted to avert his eyes from the parchment, but Cranque would not let up. A resigned mayor finally read the note. "Blah, blah, blah, doom and gloom... blah, blah, blah, revenge is mine... blah, blah,blah, creator rage and so forth."
This puzzled Cranque even further, "What are you rambling about? Aren't you two old friends?" "Ok, the friends thing, notsomuch. The old kook sends a monster from time to time to wipe out the town. It's not so bad, but this is the fifth time today... I really hate it when you guys are levelling all at once like this. Why can't you all group up and turn this one in together?"
The mayor turned to the cryer. "OK, do the alarm thing again, I know everyone just sat down to dinner, but Stitches is on the warpath again." As the cryer ran out to the square yelling his warning, the mayor took one last look at Cranque and shook his head as he chastised him, "Alts.... why can't you just head to Stranglethorn a little early?"