Not even the Lich King could hide from the death he so wildly wielded. It happened so fast – all of it. One giant blur, I can barely remember a thing. The only thing I can piece from the maelstrom of chaos is bloodshed, screams and cries of terror, and an unrelenting chill that burrowed to my bones. Even now, as I gaze out upon the lake I had almost forgotten, I can feel that icy bite.

I thought coming back here would change that. I hoped, at least, but I know what lingers here. It is where the darkness was born, and it will be quite some time before its vile sting dissipates. At least that is what Nathanos tells me.

He also tells me that the new Light's Hope Chapel is also a blemish that will cure itself, but I don't feel quite the same. Yes, it does feel a tad out of place, but that is simply how a budding plant will seem when place among a rotten till of crops.

A beacon, of sorts – that is what Carlin says. I find myself leaning more towards his view. A bastion of hope is what it is; a new start from a very somber ending. Sounds rather fancy and pleasant, if nothing else.

Now do I believe that? I want to say it matters, but to me, it is all the same. I grew up with the death and decay, so it is nothing new. At the same time, it might be nice to meet some new people. Actually, there is a really nice girl that didn't slap me when I said she was cute.

Red, flowing hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that seemed to rid that wicked chill that haunts these lands. "Jessica" that was her name. Is. I believe she works with Carlin and the other paladins, since she wears thick, plated armor with pretty gray and gold trim. She looks really nice in it. Well, I mean it looks nice on her. No. Wait.

Never mind that, it doesn't matter. She and dozens of others have flocked to the Chapel, doing whatever it is you do after a war terminates your employment. Pretty much the same thing I do, I guess. I only wish the work was different.

At the same time, something is unique about this all. The unusual sensation pops up if only in my head and then it is gone. There are times I feel like I have it figured out, but it vanishes, as if it literally slips from my mind. I'll figure it out. I -

As if on cue, the sounds of footsteps flutter upon my ears. At first, they crunch against crinkling and decaying grass, transforming into soft creaks as they venture upon the aged and wind-worn boards. A brief moment of prolonged, rather eerie silence hangs upon the air.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Softly the door speaks to me. I don't feel like answering it. I mean, I really don't feel like answering its call. All I have to do is ignore it. Not a hard feat at all.

Knock. Knock. It is louder, almost frustrated now. Whatever the door wants, it truly desires it. Unfortunately, I am not in the mood. It is simply going to have to come back later – in a few months or so.

Knockknockknockknock,this door almost seems angry now. What in the world.

Knock, knock, crack, snack…

"Damn you, Worm!" Light chases the shadow of a faceless man, "you know I hate knocking! Someone of my standard does not knock. Doors swing open in my presence. If they don't, I open them with my foot. Got it?"

"I-"

"Shut up, Worm." In a blur, the man draped in dark green – it looks black to me, but he really likes to push the issue when I try to correct him – startles the calm air, ripping me to my feet before I can even draw a breath. "We have work to do."

"But-"

"No," he gently smacks the top of my head, "bad, Worm. Bad."

"Eh-"

"Not a word out of you, Worm," the comfort of my home is lost to me, drowned in the dark light of the sky and draped in the lingering frost of these fields, "there is another detachment moving from Stratholme. It would seem that the thick-headed Rivendare doesn't quite understand how to stay dead. Or that he is defeated."

Grass quickly fades from beneath my feet. Sounds of crackling gravel fill my ears – if but a whisper beneath the ramblings of a faceless man. "That is the problem with Rivendares: they are tall dwarves. Don't get me wrong, I do quite enjoy the company of a dwarf, a bar, a few pints of ale, and the challenge of attempting to outdrink one of those over-bearded stools, but tall dwarves are an entire different breed."

Over a bridge, past a few house casings with the builders eagerly eying our every movement, and a handful of people passing by, down the unknown course we go, rambling all the way. "Tall dwarves are stubborn, stupid, stubborn, and extra stupid. Not only that, they cannot even hold their booze. A complete mockery of the dwarven people."

Nathanos abruptly stops, "Don't you dare tell the Lady I spoke highly of dwarves, Worm. Do you understand me?" His finger points into my soul. His gaze burns into it.

"OK…"

"Good," back on our trail, "remember, if you do, I'll cut a meter from your intestinal track. Understand?"

"Sounds bad…"

"That is all you need then," only crunching gravel fills my ears, "ah yes, stupid people." And it vanishes. "Rivendares are as dense and dumb as they come, Worm. You kill their parents, their sons, their grandsons, their entire damn line, and you know what they do? "

"I-"

"You don't answer that type of question, Worm. It is rhetorical. Meaning: if you answer it, I kill you. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic." Gravel crunching. "See that smoke, Worm? That is the smoke still blooming from the charred remains of Stratholme. Another stupid human burnt it down, so the only logical thing to do was place a stupid family line in charge of the ashes. So comes in the major malfunction with the Rivendares: they are too damn dense to die and stay dead."

We dart around a sharp bend, darting past a small pass carved through the middle of a quant hill. To my right: a tower looms, a dozen guards are planted around a few makeshift barricades. To my left: a field of rot and decay conjured by the deepest depths of the damned spits rancid filth into the heavens. In between them: a small army of undead.

"See, Worm? Utter stupidity at its finest." Black rain pours from the tower upon the hill, drizzling upon the encroaching soldiers. The undead swarms twist and jerk, collapsing into a deep, perpetual sleep. "If the Rivendares had sense, they would just stay hunkered in their damn fiery fortress. We cannot chase them into them. Not unless we have a damn, dumb Rivendare of our own."

Quickly, the two forces grow. Their sounds beginning to trump even the rambling man's voice. "OK, Worm. It is simple: see the dead things? Revoke their life-licenses. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Good, Worm." The pull of the man vanishes. I nearly trip over my own feet, catching myself. Soft twangs snap at my ears, followed by a gentle humming. From the corner of my eye, I watch as the lone figure spawns a rain cloud of his own. "Going to watch, Worm? That is fine, but I will have to punch you if you make me do all the work."

While that is motivating, I find myself unable to act. Nathanos has always had an odd alluring aspect to his archery art, and I am often devoured by the display; it puts me in a stay of trance. I want to say that is the reason, yet there is something else.

The way the guards hold upon their positions, feverishly fighting against the odd; the way the undead relentlessly slam themselves against the defenses; the screams of battle, the clatter of war – it seems so distant, a continent away.

"Worm," twangs slip in between his words, "it is going to be an extremely hard punch. Right to your spleen."

I sigh heavily. My feet drag heavily across the soft gravel path. It has been quite some time since I ventured this far north. Considering it is maybe a kilometer or two away from my house, that is really saying something. Then again, seeing what it is here, that really doesn't surprise me.

Again I sigh, this time eying the slowly advancing, drearily dressed interlopers. Their armor is dull and faded. Their faces empty and hollow. Lifeless husks among a sea of dead. It seems only fair that I end their suffering.

My shovel rises effortlessly. A finely curved tip aligns upon the masses. I take a deep breath. Lights flicker across the shaft. I scan the ranks. Runes glimmer upon the metallic face. I exhale. Flash: a burst of light consumes all: the air before me, the ground, the horde of husks, everything is lost in the wake of the light.

With a single flash, the world plunges into an intense stillness. I take one more breath, fidgeting as I embrace the new, unusual sensation once more. I can feel it, down to my very soul. I am so close to figuring out what it is, but this damnable silence is deafening. Not to mention I can feel the hairs on my neck draw to their ends.

Nathanos' gaze pierces down to my soul. The broken bodies gawk back in disbelief. From upon the hill, dozens of dumbstruck eyes stare at me. As they look at me, I cannot help but smile. It would seem that even the mighty paladins have not witnessed the power of the light. Good thing a gravedigger is here to embolden the enlightened.