The Essence of Un-Life
Vince blinked awake and stood. He suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of a crypt, devoid of life, aside from him. He felt stiff; dead, almost. Looking at his body, he gasped a breath of the heavy, moist air. His skin had turned the color of a dying violet, his hair, filthy and oily, hung like a weeping willow's branches from his head, and his clothes were tattered shreds of his simple cloth vest. Sticking from his vest were his ribs, broken and sharp. The flesh had fallen away from his elbows and knees, leaving only the yellowing bone and pale beige cartilage. Even his fingers had lost their once lively luster and had become sharp like claws. Vince let out a scream. The voice that erupted from his decaying throat was not his own; his own being a light and cheery baritone, replaced with a shattered crackling that only the dying man possessed. He was a member of the undead!
"Shut up!" a murky voice bellowed behind him. He turned to see a decomposing skull, slightly tilted to the side. This all confused Vince quite a bit, but he complied and decided to get a better look at his surroundings. He appeared to be in a mausoleum, which, if his knowledge of architecture were worth anything, told him that he was still in his cherished homeland of Lordaeron. The crypt holes and ground were littered with skeletons and ragged bits of cloth. He suddenly became aware that there was a staircase that could lead to an exit, perchance, to fresh air. As Vince climbed the stairway, he could feel a vigor take over him. He felt strong; stronger than he had ever felt before. The pains of life had been abolished and only a dim reminder of feeling was in his feet when he stepped on chips of stone.
The last thing that Vince could remember of his old life as a human had been the shipment of grain coming into his township and… and people getting sick. There must have been something within this shipment, because Vince, himself, remembers becoming sick and getting weaker being tended to by... Marsha… But who was Marsha? Vince shook his head. He could not remember who this person was, yet, there was a longing feeling that he SHOULD remember who they were. Finally he reached the top of the stairs and saw another standing affront to the gods. This one appeared to be holding a clipboard.
"Name?" The beast asked. Vince stuttered a bit before answering and then asked what, exactly, had happened since he'd Fallen.
"Well, I'm only guessing here, but it looks like you died during the Plague. It's a wonder that you didn't raise with the rest of the Scourge… Anyway, Prince Arthas attempted to stop the undead Scourge that was spreading across the land by means of the Plagued grain. In the end, however, he succumbed to an evil worse than any demon and returned to Lordaeron a different man. No longer the Paragon of virtue; no longer the Paladin of the Holy Light; but a Death Knight. The most vile of men, twisted even worse by the Lich King. He slew his father, King Terenas Menethil II, and stole the crown from him. From there, he began to rape the land and spread the Undead Plague as far south as he could. Eventually, during and attack on the Lich King, a section of the undead, we, the Forsaken, broke off from the Lich King's Hold. Sylvanas Windrunner, once a mighty elven Ranger-General, rallied us together and became our Queen. She is the current governing leader of The Forsaken Ones" He went on, but Vince could not believe what he heard. When the man finished he pointed out the nearby town of Deathknell and instructed him that he had an obligation to fight for the Lady, so he must suit up and prepare. And so it begins…