It began, as these things so often do in Stormwind, without warning. One moment there was idle conversation, a mug of coffee, the evening chill of spring and that quiet background rhythm one only finds late at night. The next there was panic, blood, gunshots and a thing that had once been a woman, though by the time it was done, that distinction felt… generous.
Witnesses described a figure that approached a crowd, touching people. Not striking, not attacking, simply touching. And then sickness. Something spreading, unseen and unfelt, until it was very much felt. From there, events escalated with the kind of efficiency that suggests design rather than chaos.
The creature, referred to by several onlookers as the “smiler”, displayed a disturbing disregard for physical reality and consequence. When it was struck, it fell. Its neck snapped, and yet it kept going. “The creature seemingly not feeling the pain…” as one witness put it.
And then, just as abruptly as it had arrived, it burst. Not an explosion of force or fire or magic, no, something worse in its own way. “it was like… popping a balloon,” another witness said.
What remained was not a corpse. It was sludge.
Unfortunately, it did not “pop” until it had already caused serious injury and, ultimately, death. One woman lay on the ground in a pool of her own blood, stabbed. Someone tore up a shirt to make bandages while calls for healers rang out, loud, urgent, and not nearly fast enough. Elsewhere another person had been impaled by a spear, and a third was seen clutching a bleeding abdomen.
Exactly how these injuries happened I do not know. Like so much of this story, I am left with fragments.
At one point, someone suggested horse tranquiliser. I am still not certain whether to admire the initiative or fear it.
In the aftermath, the creature was described in terms I hesitate to print, but feel compelled to include: “Void bullshit” and “a vile bastard child between necromancy and the void.” Neither feels entirely inaccurate.
The sludge it left behind was no less troubling. It clung to whatever it touched, it lingered, and it did not appear entirely inert. Calls went out for it to be cleansed, burned and utterly destroyed, and people took that seriously. Very seriously.
I later visited the Cathedral to gather what information I could. It seems that, besides the woman who became whatever that was, a local groundskeeper also lost his life. There were quiet concerns among those present, not about whether he had died, but whether he would remain that way. By the time of writing, I could not find an answer.
The others, I am told, are recovering.
According to those on the street, this is neither entirely new nor an isolated incident. “It has been going around a lot. This… is the first time I have seen it,” one person said.
A sentence that lingers longer than one would like.
If you have witnessed anything similar, or if you simply know of suspiciously smiling individuals with a tendency to pop like balloons, then The Lion’s Roar would very much like to hear from you.
Preferably before they pop.