…Cold…

His waking thoughts were simple and sufficient. He was really freaking cold.

As his consciousness slowly rose from the stygian abyss, he was puzzled by this new sensation. He tried to remember how he got here, only to find that he could not. Not as someone who forgot where they hitched their war charger or where they put that Skeleton Key, but amnesia like he never had any memories before now.

As any rational being in his position, he began to freak out. A panic so primal in nature that there was no rational that could console him. His mind quickly took on a primal fight or flight focus, but something about the "flight" part felt wrong.

He wouldn't run. He had never run, and he wouldn't start n…

Another presence made itself known. A demonic booming came from every part of his being and this bleak existence.

"All that I am: anger, cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald in a new, dark age for the Scourge.

Gaze now upon the lands below us. The Scarlet Crusade scurries to undo my work, while Light's Hope stands defiantly against us - a blemish upon these Plaguelands. They must all be shown the price of their defiance.

You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny, death knight!"

He sat up, gasping and in a cold sweat. With furtive eyes he scanned the room. His pulse was calming down and the short burst of adrenaline guaranteed he would not fall back to sleep.

Not that he needed it. It just humanized him, or rather vitalized him. The man laughed at his own little joke, a short scoffing affair that seemed to scorn such thoughts and sounded as if it were underwater. He hadn't had a real laugh in a very long time.

With a sigh, the man walked slowly to the balcony. Though, it is not quite accurate to call him a man. Blood Elf was what people normally called him or Death Knight, occasionally a truly spiteful being would call him "Belf" -a hated racial slur- and every now and then he was called hero. He preferred his given name; at least he thought it was his given name, Felryn.

He leaned against the balcony of the inn and took a long look over the nightlife of Ogrimmar. The happy commoners, the content if not lazy peons, and two trolls arm-in-arm in love enraged him. With a snarl, he struck the stone wall and left a crater.

They were happy; something that bastard took from him. Images flashed through his mind: innocent villagers falling before his runeblade, peasants contorting into twisted ghouls of their former selves, his fiancée. His breath hitched for a moment and tears began to gather. He never cried, he hadn't cried since he graduated the Blood Knight Academy. What made this different? True, these thing had happened relatively recently, only months ago in fact. Yet he had progressed in skill astonishingly fast. He smirked. Drive, his drive to thrust a jagged object through the throat of the one person he could never defeat, the one who had claimed to be a "friend." Rage boiled to the surface again, but this time it was fought down by cold resolve. That drive allowed him to reach a power ranking of seventy-four in an amazingly short time span.

He had a ways to go before he was ready, but dammit he would be. He would get his revenge if it was the last thing he did in his unlife. If he had to tear down the Wrathgate, crawl through Azjol-Nerub, and sprint through Icecrown Citadel naked to drive his fist through that bastard's chest and rip out his un-beating heart; so be it. He would never be denied.

With a final sigh, he pushed away from the rail and turned into his room. With a glance and an internal groan he realized he would have to pay for that wall he punched. Then a stinging sensation from his hand elicited a groan and another sigh, his hand needed medical attention and he couldn't give it. The mangled knuckles required a trained healer, probably even a priest. Now if only he could still…

His large ears picked up a shuffle. They weren't just for show, you know. He went on guard, and casually walked over to his gear. There it was again, right in front of him.

With a wicked grin, Felryn struck out with his holdout knife. Typically a rogue's weapon and crafting tool, with a master behind the strike as well as unholy strength, a knife could do a whole mess of damage. A startled gasp was heard and with an almighty lunge, Felryn drove the dagger into the rogue up to the handle. A Troll faded into sight.

Felryn was floored. He had just killed a fellow Horde member, an offense punishable by death. Panic began to take hold. Fighting down his fear, Felryn took the Troll's dead hand and gripped it around his dagger. After putting the corpse into a sitting position, the framed suicide was complete. Wiping off his fingerprint off of the Troll and putting his gear on, Felryn planned. No Horde city would be safe for a while, this event needed to be discovered and then cool down before he could show his face in a Horde city. He needed to get somewhere where he could blend in. Dalaran was a possibility, but the crowds and the sheer vast amount of other Horde champions to discover him made him uneasy. Alliance towns were out of the question. The Ebon Hold? Possible, but he'd prefer to use that as a last resort. Inspiration hit him like the Deeprun Tram, Shattrath City in the Outlands! Not crowded, relatively few people would or could recognize him, many choices of inn and some not friendly to Horde, protection of the Naaru, and he could disappear into the lower city in a snap.

Decision made and gear equipped, Felryn took a last look around the inn before stealing out of the window. Dead body in the room plus hole in the wall equals a very angry innkeeper and a hassle Felryn just didn't need.

So, Felryn the Blood Elf Death Knight ran through the streets of Ogrimmar to the portal permanently erected in the Valley of Spirits. Unbeknownst to him, the "Troll" he had killed slowly slipped from under the effects of his charm. By the time Felryn had flown his wyvern to Shattarth, a very surprised goblin innkeeper discovered a dead HUMAN rogue in his old room as well as so much blood it was almost impossible to believe it came from one human. Felryn knew very little of this, and as such did not quite understand the impact on his life knifing that rogue was going to cause.

A/N Hey! It's The Sandman here! This is my first attempt at a story and I would like some feedback if at all possible. Yes, I will attempt to take this further. I'm going to keep writing to keep the plot bunnies from going Monty Python and The Holy Grail on me.

P.S. I do not own World of Warcraft, Blizzard does. I own an account and made a character named Felryn on Zuluhed, he's mine. My story is mine. I thank Blizzard for such an awesome game. Blood Elves rule! Alliance drools!

Anu bleore dela'na, shorel'aran. (Google it for meaning)