Arschloch awoke in a dungeon cell deep in the bowels of the castle in the center of Necrograd. As if the fact that he was now deep inside the twisted and corrupted heart of the Gallows Woods wasn’t bad enough, he was also bound and gagged by ropes that were seeped in the blood of his own men, not that he knew this. His cell was like all the others in the Necrograd dungeons, a cage suspended in the air by chains and from his lofty birdcage he could see the desiccated remains of those who had been left to die of neglect. If that wasn’t bad enough, the dungeons were also where Necrograd’s Fel Bats roosted, and thus the smell of beastly musk, drained corpses and guano left the air filled with a stench that had driven lesser inmates to insanity.

Arschloch was one of those lesser men, or at least he would be if he were left up there to face the horrible screeching and rank odor that filled that dark and miserable place. No, the minute that Arschloch regained his senses and woke from his sleep the mechanical apparatus that allowed the cages to be filled and emptied sprung into action due to the will of the operator. The rattling of chains, whirring of gears and clanking of metal grinding against metal sent the swarms of Fel Bats flying off into the skies as the vast clockwork contraption sprang to life. With jerks and stutters the suspended cages began to move as though a Rube Goldberg machine of immense scale had activated.

Arschloch screamed in terror, or tried to, through the blood-stained rope that kept him from biting his tongue as the cage he was in danced through the near pitch-black cavernous room. The screeching and stink of the Fel bats had been replaced by the ungodly sounds of heavy industry and the smell of heated oil and grease. Every so often the built-up guano would block progress, but the machine merely powered through and the resulting debris made of bat-poop would rain down on everything below. Arschloch flailed desperately in his cage to avoid being covered in a mix of dried and wet fecal matter, but he could not avoid all the scattered particles and his glorious uniform now not only had HIS stink and stains upon it, but also the stink and stains of Kain’s ‘air cavalry’.

His cage swung wildly as the last bits of blockage were cleared away and the machine began to move at full speed, Arschloch once again emptied his bladder and bowels as the cell was yanked along at speeds faster than a horse at full gallop. For what felt like an eternity the clockwork mechanism sent Arschloch on a wild ride that would not meet even the laxest of Roller Coaster safety standards, and with each turn the fat Field Marshal was flung around his box like a rag doll. When at last the tubby Teutonian could take no more and began to sob out of fear and surrender, the machine ground to a halt and the blubbery bastard was given one last tumble before the door to his cell opened.

“Urgh, thrhnk grghd! (Oh, thank god!)” he exclaimed before instantly taking back his praise as he gazed upon the Skeletons that at come to drag him out by force.

The cowardly commander was loaded onto a cart and was sent from the dungeons to a place he was not expecting to go.

…

“You’re joking….”

“The gentleman will not insinuate that I am joking. Please disrobe and bathe. You will be provided clothes once you leave the bath, and your current wardrobe will be disposed of. The gentleman cannot meet the Master and Mistress in the gentleman’s current state. To bring the gentleman in front of the true rulers of all Mortis in the gentleman’s current state would bring shame upon both the gentleman and I.”

“But my clothes are...!”

“Filthy, stained and unfit to be worn by anyone. Now disrobe and bathe before I am forced to summon ‘assistance’. The gentleman DOES know how to disrobe and bathe himself, or has the gentleman never been taught self-care?”

Arschloch begrudgingly took off his clothes, only just now realizing due to the lack of fear that he was indeed absolutely filthy. Still, what kind of bath would the Abominable King give him? Would he be boiled alive in a giant pot, to be served to throngs of cannibals, or perhaps something else? Arschloch walked through the doors with his eyes closed, afraid to open them for fear of witnessing the true nature of the ‘bath’ he was destined to die in. He waited for a few second for the inevitable push into a massive cauldron, but after a minute curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes and beheld what was making the steam that buffeted him.

No. This was impossible. This kind of place could not exist. Not on Mortis, not in this hellish place!

What lay before him was a scene out of heaven, a vast bathing complex that seemed to reach into eternity. He was tempted to go straight for one of the more lavish looking baths but was grabbed by the arm by a Skeleton and led to the side and away from the vast complex.

“No! But… The Baths! I need to be cleaned!”

…

Arschloch found himself sitting in a wooden tub filed with lukewarm water with only cheap soaps and a pumice stone to use to clean himself. He watched with anger as he saw people he recognized as members of Krueger’s own forces walk straight past him and into the sprawling complex that he was denied.

“They are probably being cleaned better so they taste better. I will survive while these race-traitors will be eaten.”

As Arschloch emptied his fifth tub of water and prepared another he grumbled to himself and made up reasons as to why HE of all people was being denied the luxuries that were his due.

“I swear, once I get back to Teutonia these people will pay. They will all pay. I will return and in greater numbers and with more powerful troops. THIS time I will be generous and let my men have shields. Maybe let a few cowardly archers in as well and have a few towers prepared just for good measure. Now I know everything about my foe, I will not need to make a tactical withdrawal again!”

As he sat down in the tub the water overflowed and he began scrubbing himself with his 8th piece of pumice and 13th piece of soap. Lost in his grumblings and self-cleaning he failed to notice that he was being watched by someone he had a massive hate-boner for. Behind one-way glass that had been made to look like a solid wall, Erwin Krueger was watching as Arschloch dug himself into his own grave. With each few sentences that exited his mouth, the tubby Teutonian pushed Krueger’s view of Teutonia and its current survivability and reliability deeper into the negative.

“I have seen enough….” Krueger said for the seventh time since Arschloch had started bathing.

“We both have, by far. But neither you nor I will leave this place until the ugly duckling is done washing. People say the darnedest things when they believe no one is watching or listening, so let’s learn a bit more about your lovely Fatherland.” Kain said with a shit-eating grin.

“Can we at least stop looking at him? I think I am going to be sick if I see him get up again…”

Kain sighed and accepted this request.

“Fair enough, even Zombies aren’t as morbidly disgusting as him, so let’s look in a different direction. But no leaving the room until he is out of that one. For either of us…”