Many thanks to Chris Metzen for creating such an amazing world for us all to enjoy, hope you all like the story and please review it at the end.
The undead bound to the bed writhed against its bonds, struggling and straining to break loose. Markon paid it no attention, his mind lost in thought. The shack they resided in was not much to look at, long abandoned since the scourge had conquered these lands the walls were rotting and decayed with entire sections completely worn through. The interior was not much better; a single bed was almost as badly rotten as the walls, the room sparsely furnished with only a chair, table and set of draws for clothing. Markon had guessed it had been a logger▓s cabin for the winter months. Hardly the finest accommodation, but then he did not intend to stay long. Markon barely heard the struggles of the undead as his mind turned back to years past┘
The heat of the sun burned down upon Markon and the other labourers as they worked the fields gathering in the harvest, it was hard work, but honest and he enjoyed the simple exercise of scything the corn ready to collect and be shipped to Andorhal. Years of hard work had turned his once rapier thin frame into a fuller more heavily muscled physique, which combined with his sandy blonde hair and roguish smile made him very popular with the girls of his village. He paid their admiring glances and not-so-subtle hints no mind though having eyes only for his Rebecca. The daughter of the village innkeeper, Rebecca had a warm welcoming personality, with a smile that stopped the heart and flowing red hair. She was a true beauty. Many a night Markon had sat in the village inn nursing a single ale, simply enjoying the sight of her.
He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would be the girl he would marry; it had been the greatest day of his life when in the light of the setting sun overlooking the fields they had first kissed. They had spent countless evenings simply talking long into the night, enjoying one another▓s company as their love grew. On one occasion he had spent an entire day wandering the countryside in search of a rare flower to give her, the look upon her face as he presented it to her had made the effort more than worth it.
After two blissful years of courtship at the age of 18 they were wed. Families had come from miles around to celebrate the union; the day was filled with dancing, singing and feasting which continued long into the night as the people celebrated their love. Markon had saved enough money to buy a farm of his own from one of the elderly farmers and so it was with dreams of a peaceful life raising a family he and his wife moved to their new home. A year passed, full of peace and happiness before Markon received joyous news, Rebecca was pregnant, and he was going to be a father. The months leading up to the birth passed by in a blaze of activity and on the day his child was finally born, he christened him Joseph. On that day he knew nothing but happiness.
Such blissful peace was not meant to last. Whilst in the village purchasing supplies, Markon began to hear rumours of a terrible sickness spreading across the land. Despite all efforts made by the healers and priests, this sickness continued to spread. Markon quickly purchased the supplies and hurried home, wanting to be with his wife and child after hearing such harrowing tales. When he returned to the farm he was greeted by an unusual silence, the usual sounds of Rebecca busying herself in the kitchen and Joseph▓s crying was strangely absent. With a mounting sense of dread Markon dropped the supplies and rushed into the house, running from room to room until finally he found Rebecca collapsed before their bed, her face deathly pale. ⌠Oh no, it can▓t be. It just can▓t be■ Markon sobbed. So the rumours were true; a sickness was spreading across the lands. He hastily put Rebecca to bed then raced back to the village and demanding the local healer come at once. It was a futile gesture. All the healers▓ efforts, the apothecary▓s potions, the priest▓s benedictions and even a passing mage▓s magic failed and Rebecca continued to slowly slip towards death. His young son died within days, his tiny body unable to fight the sickness that had fallen upon it. Markon buried his 5 month old son in the shade of an apple tree. One week after burying his son, he dug another grave next to the first. Rebecca, his wife the woman he had loved more than life itself, had died.
It was with a heart hardened by tragedy and a near suicidal lust for vengeance that Markon left his hometown and enlisted in the alliance military. Rumour had it that a vast and terrible demonic army was coming to attack the world and he wanted nothing more than to seek an oblivious death on the claws of some demon, after sating his anger in the blood of its kin. Markon threw himself into the training with reckless abandon and so it was that, at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, he found himself a corporal in a front line unit. He had unleashed all of his pent up rage at his wife and sons senseless death, massacring demons whenever they came close. It had taken 4 of the strongest men from his own unit to bring him under control after the demons had been vanquished.
It was during the battle that a paladin of the light had noticed his fighting with an almost religious zeal, striking down demons like some avenging angel. He spoke to Markon of the holy light and his belief that, with sufficient tutelage and prayer, Markon would manifest the powers of the light within him and could become a holy paladin. Having failed to meet his death in battle Markon accepted this chance to find a new sense of purpose for his life and after many months of meditation and study he was finally accepted into the ranks of the holy order of paladins and joined the Argent Dawn in their crusade against the undead scourge. It was in the service of the Argent Dawn that he had learned of the actions of the Tauren and renegade undead the Forsaken; rumour from passing adventurers held that the Tauren, with the aide of an enclave of Forsaken, were attempting to find a cure for undeath. He felt this was a noble, but hopeless, cause and dismissed it from his mind.
He had been returning from delivering a message to the Dawn▓s representatives at the bulwark when he had come across a lone undead. He had swiftly dismounted and loosened his war hammer, fully intending to unleash the power of the light against the abomination when suddenly he was seized by a moment of clarity. He knew that face. But no, it couldn▓t be, she was dead, he had buried her himself. But as sure as he drew breath, he was looking upon his Rebecca. The brief paralysis brought on by this realisation had almost cost him his life as, gibbering unintelligibly, she lunged at him, intending to rip out his throat. He dived to one side and unleashed a bolt of pure holy energy, not enough to kill her but enough to stun her so she could be bound.
His mind snapped back to the present, his eyes turned to behold his darling wife as she struggled against her bonds, his heart torn. He knew his duty as a paladin of the light and a member of the Argent Dawn was to destroy the scourge wherever he came across it, but this was his wife. How could he be expected to kill the woman he would have willingly laid down his life for? Perhaps he could keep her prisoner, bind her until the Tauren found a cure for undeath, perhaps he could save her? Markon contemplated long into the night until finally with a heavy heart he knew what he must do. He rose from his chair and walked over to the bed; Rebecca still thrashed against her bonds and muttered unintelligibly. She had no idea of what was coming. His eyes clouding with tears, Markon took up his war hammer and raised it above his head. He would be forever haunted by this, he knew. Moments before he brought the hammer crashing down, the light of recognition entered her eyes and she uttered one last parting phrase┘ ⌠Thank you■