The wind suddenly shifts directions and in the distance a battered young man limped through the gates of Shattarath, his body was covered with markings in obvious demonic.  The young man was long dead, but his body was moving on it's own due to the power of the runes carved about him, he was nothing more than a puppet for whatever entity had decided to heap this massive indecency upon him.  His head swiveled around and noted the group, hobbling over to them the corpse's white eyes stared lifeless toward them before it began to speak slowly.  It's cold lips turning into a icy smile of satsifaction and the rotting flesh of his face dripped down slightly only to be pulled back up by the force of the magic keeping him intact for the moment.  Intense fire magic had been his demise as could be characterized by the parts of his body that continually tried to melt away.<br/><br/>"Human and Elf scum, we are the demons of the Netherstorm.  You're civilizations will soon quake in fear of us and your bodies with dorn our monuments.  You are no match for the might of the Burning Legion!  Surrender and we will make you are slaves instead of murdering you like the helpless sheep you are."  The man twitched and held together, waiting for response though it was clear his time was near and the call of the scourage would not be far behind.