Tharosk has been on bad situations before, but the current one was probably the worst yet.
"You’ve had an entire herd of Garbors and you’ve lost not only an entire city, but your second on command as well?!" The imperial Pathseeker sneered at him. "I ought to order your execution!"
"My lord, this all the fault of the Blightwarden, if we weren’t slowed down by her orders we would have captured the city long ago!"
"Nethur will be punished for her wastefulness, don’t you worry - but losing a member of your battalion is entirely on you, and you will face consequences for it."
"Silence you worm. I will decide what to do with you later, for now return to your post."
Tharosk bowed and left the command tent.
He wasn’t long for this world, he knew it - losing a second-in-command wouldn’t be a big deal under normal circumstances, it happened to him before after all, but the fact that he didn’t know where Kaerith disappeared was very very bad.
Even if the boy wasn’t that valuable on his own, every body of a Serakhiin was a gift of the Blight Queen, and should be treated with proper respect.
Losing a deceased Blightborn was akin to insulting the Queen herself.
The question was: should he just accept it? Lay down and die, just because he failed to do his job once?
A part of his brain was telling him that it was the right, honourable thing to do - that it would allow him to repent for his transgressions and find forgiveness in the Blight.
But a small quiet voice in his head was saying something different; why should he die? Kaerith disappeared while trying to do his job, it wasn’t Tharosk’s fault.
For the first time in his life... he was questioning the will of the Blight.
His existential crisis was cut short by a commotion happening in the center of the camp.
There was a large group of warriors gathered around the command tent, all observing what was happening in front of it.
Tharosk was quite tall, so seeing above the crowd wasn’t a problem - but he didn’t like what he saw.
The imperial Pathseeker left his tent, and he was accompanied by two guards - guards holding Nethur, who was dressed in torn rags and bound by multiple chains.
"As many of you already know, I came here on direct orders of Lord Korratoth, the Dreadmarshal of the seventh imperial army himself." The Pathseeker paused. "My main task was to investigate the operation of our outposts on this backwater world, but during the inspection something came to my attention."
He walked up to the chained Blightwarden and grabbed her hair.
"Nethur, the Blightwarden of south-western minor outpost has been found guilty of gross mismanagement of the resources given to her, as well as conspiring with a group of rebels." The Pathseeker yanked her head, to look her in the eye while he delivered the sentence. "She is hereby stripped of her position and titles, and sentenced to a metamorphosis."
He grinned viciously.
"May she serve Her better in the future."
Tharosk never saw Nethur look terrified before, but he couldn’t even bring himself to enjoy her suffering - not when he could face a similar fate.
Suddenly dying wasn’t so bad.
Death was at least final, once you’re dead that’s it - not so with the metamorphosis.
He heard stories about the process that would make a battle-hardened warriors have nightmares; but he didn’t have to rely on stories, as he was about to witness one on his own.
Just the fact that it was his first time seeing this in the almost six centuries he was alive showed how rare the procedure was.
The Pathseeker retrieved something from his pocket - it looked a bit like a foulbloom, but somehow more... vile. Its petals were wriggling like miniature tentacles, and Tharosk was almost sure he saw fangs in the place where stemen was supposed to be.
One of the guards holding Nethur forced her mouth open, and the Pathseeker shoved the flesh-like flower inside.
For a moment everything was silent - and then Tharosk heard a bone snap.
Then another, and one more.
Nethur’s flesh was boiling, her limbs twisting in unnatural ways, splitting and multiplying.
The guards move away to make room for her rapidly growing body - in a few seconds her size and mass quadrupled, but it still wasn’t over.
Her flesh was moulded like a piece of wet clay, shaped to be more... useful than before.
A minute later the metamorphosis came to an end, and Nethur was no more.
In her place stood a hulking behemoth with dozens of multi-jointed limbs serving as both hands and legs, its face, if you could even call it that, was frozen in a grimace so ugly it made the Garbors look cute.
"You’re next." A voice came from behind Tharosk.
"What?" He whipped around to face whoever said it.
It was a tall Blightborn in Pathseeker robes, but he was notably missing the imperial emblem.
"If you stick around here you’ll also be forced to undergo metamorphosis." The stranger stated. "They have no use for you, so they’re gonna find one."
"And what? Did you come to gloat?" Tharosk sneered.
"Quite the opposite, I came to offer you another option - join me, and you will be able to avoid this grizzly fate."
"Come with me to find out." The strange Pathseeker snapped his fingers and a black portal opened.
"How do I know you’re not someone from the inquisition, testing my loyalty?"
"Why in Her name would inquisition bother with someone like you? They don’t have the time for such trivial things." The stranger stepped closer to the portal. "This offer isn’t going to wait for you, you’re either coming or not - I don’t need any undecided cowards."
"I’m not a coward." Tharosk hissed.
"Then decide now - are you coming or not?"
Tharosk looked at the portal, and then at the beast that used to be Nethur - it’s not like he had many good options.
The stranger nodded, and disappeared into the portal - Tharosk could only follow.