The group stood, tired and injured, but victorious.  The hulking pile of rotting flesh and gore once known as Patchwerk lay dead; its blood and ooze starting to pool around their feet.  The battle was over but their journey far from over. 

The group gathered their strength and began to move on.  A large gore covered Tauren followed slowly, trying to wipe the last of the ooze from the creases of his aged face.  He felt a small drop of ooze run into his nostril.  He sneezed loudly to the amusement of his companions.  He had just enough time to look up and see an ooze flow over him and send him to the spirit realm.  The ancestor’s were surely never going to let him forget about this.

/sigh

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