The Culling of Stratholme
Chapter 1.
Her eyes widened; abruptly awoken from her slumber as she heard screaming and the popping of burning pine. She realized she was being suffocated by the choking fumes of smoke. She arose out from her bed her sheets flailing off her mattress and floating to her floor. She woozily stepped to her door, her footsteps unbalanced; drunk off of the smoke, as she made her way to the bedroom door that lead into the living space her golden locks quivered as she stopped, hearing a guttural growl coming from the other side of the door.
There was a crack of light through the door, big enough for peering eyes but not too big to be caught. She silently continued to step closer to the door and stood at the foot of the entrance to her room. Her silver orbs spotted a humanoid creature hovering over her dead mother's and father's corpses, recently stripped flesh hung from it's jaws. A loud creak came from where she was standing, adrenaline started to flow through her veins afraid she had been discovered. The creature tilted its head trying to locate where the sound had come from, it crept on all fours to her parents bedroom scanning for any sign of movement. Once it reached her parents bedroom she could no longer see the creature, as a corner of the house's structure obscured her vision to her parents bedroom.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief, as she reopened her eyes thought's swirled around in her mind thinking about what to do. Suddenly her eyes stopped on the family sword above the fireplace, the fireplace was a straight shot from her room, the sword was a one-handed enforcer delicately crafted from holy smiths and intricately designed with a golden finish. She glanced back to her room with one final look of goodbye and turned her head back and bolted from the door to the sword. Her heavy steps echoing in the house as she reached the fireplace. She shot her hand to the sword handle, as she grasped it, it glowed with holy energy that pulsed through her arm with a painful sting. And then she heard an inhuman growl coming from her right, the 'human' came onto her running full speed on two legs; instinctively she whipped around her sword hand, the sword sliced halfway across the man's chest, the zombie jerked as the blade severed through it's thoracic area, it's lich red eyes fading to dark blue. Her mouth gaped in shock as she began to process of who it was.
"Tristan?" She stammered, her eyes beginning to tear up.
Tristan managed to gurgle, "Hannah.. Please…".
She gazed for a moment at her brother's mutilated corpse; a tear, escaping the dam of water held by her eye lid, rolled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry, my brother.." She said, choking on her own tears and smoke, she retracted her sword from his chest, and closelined the deadly blade straight through her brother's skull, ending his suffering. He fell to the floor, his skull splitting in half as his head hit the wood. She rushed back to her bedroom to a chest at the foot of her bed. She opened the ancient box and gazed on her most prized possession, her paladin's armor. The golden grafted garb fit snug on her lithe body, lined with enchantments her armor acted as a silhouette of holy wards to block off any plague. She grasped her sword tightly and whispered a prayer to the Light, hoping for a quick death and safe passage to paradise if her life were to end. She regained her wits and strode to the front door of her home, she grasped the handle and pulled the heavy wooden door open. What she found was inimaginable; half burned bodies of zombies and citizens of Stratholme alike lay scattered across the street, the smell of charred flesh and stained blood violated her nostrils as she stepped out from her house and onto the street.
"Leave none alive! Purge them all!", she heard as a man with golden blonde hair and muscles honed for battle, strode onto her street with a squadron of soldiers at his back. Their gazes met, and he instinctively rushed at her, his two-handed war mace with the emblem of a roaring lion, poisted for the killing blow.
"I shall make it a quick death for you!" Arthas yelled as she was racing towards her, but Hannah reacted fast enough to parry the killing blow. As she parried his first advance she screamed his name.
"Arthas! No!".
He attempted to strike her again by trying to uppercut his mace, but she nimbly dodged it, her sword fused in her palm, she pointed the tip of the blade at him, her alto toned voice resonating with anger.
"I'm not one of them! I'm not afflicted with the plague!". She screamed.
"It doesn't matter, everyone in the city is subject to this infection! And I will snuff it out by any means necessary." He replied with a grimace upon his fair face.
"Light have mercy on you! Traitor to your own kin!" She yelled, with no more time to spend she cast a holy spell, as the spell completed she shrieked to the heavens (Imagine the sound of the Nazgul in Lord of the Rings) and every soldier of the squadron, including King Arthas dropped to their knees or crouched covering their ears as if they've heard a wail of a banshee, some even shouting in pain. Not wasting a second, she dashed away from the soldiers, her strides fast and heavy against the cobblestone streets, she heard gurgling vocalizations from the undead as she passed them. She halted in the middle of the street as she saw a child, screaming.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
The child had its back to her, as Hannah placed a hand on the young girl's shoulder, she pivoted the child to face her. The girl's face was deformed, a familiar red hue reflected in it's demon eyes. It's facial features formed into a vile grin as black tar-like fluid drooled out of it's maw. Bewilderment flooded over Hannah's facial features, she grasped her sword tightly and took a step back away from the undead child.
"I'm sorry my child." Hannah spoke, her emotions getting to her. The child lunged at her and Hannah sliced the sword horizontally cutting through the child's neck severing the head. Her gaze shifted from the dead child on the cobblestone to her surroundings hearing the shuffling and moaning, until she realized she was surrounded by undead abominations; red soulless eyes boring into her. She gripped her sword tightly blood dripped down the blades sharp edge, with a quick flick of her wrist the blood spattered off of the blade and onto the stone, a grim look ste upon her face as her silver eyes flickered to each enemy; they rushed in charging and baring their teeth.