Firstly, I own nothing, except for contrived and overused plotlines, Blizzard owns everything else. All hail Blizzard.

This is not my first written Warcraft story, but it is the first on that I deemed tolerable enough to let other people read.

That being said, I will give you a fair bit of warning about this story; it is not particularly good, it has girls kissing other girls (*gasp* scandalous), I use lore as kind of a suggestion, rather than a requirement, and I will update slower than a concussed snail.

Still here? Good (you poor, poor fool). If you hate this story and think that it is comparable to a steaming pile of bat guano, alright, that's understandable. If you feel like I have to now this, please say it gently, highlighting what was bad, what you liked and disliked, and how I could improve my writing for later chapters. If you like this story please let me know by writing a comment highlighting what was bad, what you liked and disliked, and how I could improve my writing for later chapters, and add a smiley face. (IF you like this story you may also want to see a doctor to ensure that your mental faculties are functioning properly).

This story will not reach mature, and if it does, I will attempt to find a way to keep it PC.

This is all I can think of to warn you with right now, so, Enjoy!

I opened my eyes. Or my left one at least, my right eye was glued shut from the caked blood from a split eyebrow. I whimpered a little, my back was a mess and my hands were still tied to a rack. That damn Deathknight must have been called away to other things and simply left me strung up. It was really quite painful.

I felt the rope, it was thick, but I had managed to get a piece of glass embedded in my left palm during a particularly horrible attempt to pry what was probably outdated information from me. I was glad that it appeared that the message I had been given to deliver to some general was apparently more about long term knowledge. My left was non-dominant, thank the stars, and the glass should be sharp enough to cut the rope, if what it did to my flesh was any indication.

Twisting and straining, I finally managed to saw through the rope, which reopened the gash farther, and dug the glass deeper. I fell and stifled a scream as the glass dug against the bone of my hand, being pushed even farther in as I kept my face from having a heated disagreement with the stone floor (my money would be on the floor).

I pulled the glass from the wound, which was an experience I would never, ever, like to repeat, and tried moving the fingers on my hand, they were nonresponsive. Damn, I'd probably severed something. I wrapped my hand in some rags, mainly to stop the bleeding, the chance of avoiding infection was dead and gone.

Stumbling out of the room I realized that I had little plan of escape, besides run like there was a pack of hungry worgs at my heels.

Hearing the noise of a ghoul shambling towards me, I mentally clubbed myself like a baby Silithid. Of course there were guards. I tried to find something to defend myself with, and got nothing. I darted back into the room and gripped one of the flaying knives in my right hand. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

I tried hiding first, but it failed because my poor lungs chose that moment to state their distress in loud hacking coughs.

Even the half-brained ghoul realized that there was someone there, and leapt at me.

I brought up my knife and stabbed it in the throat as I would a living creature. It was unfazed, and grabbed my nonworking arm. I hacked at its neck, finally, with strength I didn't know I had, ripped its head off, although the fact that it was rotted and the bone was splintery as this stone club I found once helped.

I leaned against a wall, breathing heavily. Then I picked myself up, checked the ghoul for any viable clothing scraps for I was as naked and it was cold, and when finding none, kept walking in the rough approximation of where an exit should be.

I found a balcony overlooking Northrend's tundra. Right area, about fifty feet too high. I heard a skeletal rattling noise, and saw a great dracolich eyeing me, as it hovered on bone wings. I inhaled, a noise which was not a sob (and I will fight anyone who says differently), and considered my state of affairs. I was not going to be captured again, even if it meant my death.

I ran and jumped just as the lich dived at me. Falling for what was only a second or so, but felt like an eternity, gave me time to consider the stupidity of what I had just done. I hit a snowbank, hiding ice, and heard a sickening snap from my leg and my wrist, thankfully left. I hid, shivering in the snow, and hoped that the dragon would assume me dead, and move on.

After what felt like hours, I tried moving and had to stifle a scream. Although the cold had deadened the pain somewhat, it wasn't enough. I staggered up onto my elbow and looked around, it seemed clear.

I crawled for endless hours. I was so cold I just wanted to die. Curl up and sleep. My breathing was ragged, and I couldn't feel my fingers or toes and my leg and arm were so cold they had stopped hurting, which was not a good sign. I would have happily taken the sharp, stabbing pain of the cold over the deadened numbness that I was feeling now.

Eventually I thought that I was somewhere in Dragonblight, but I wasn't sure. I had seen the occasional undead, but they hadn't noticed me, which was good because I had lost my only weapon in the fall and I would make easy prey.

I had crawled under a tree and curled up when I heard voices. I wasn't sure if they were Alliance or Horde, and I didn't want to risk it being Alliance, both because I feared that they might just kill me, and because old habits die hard, even when you're shivering in the snow after escaping from the Lich King's Citadel, although death that might have been an improvement from my current state of affairs.

The voices were speaking in common, which I had learned a while ago. Alliance then. I was considering making some noise in the hope that they might just kill me, but what that damned deathknight had done to me was reminded when my attempt at speaking just caused me to make choked, growling sounds. Slicing my throat in a way to only damage the vocal cords, she had rendered me mute. I could only make inhuman, animalistic noises now.

The footsteps got closer.

I squinted, there was frozen water on my lashes (which again, was not tears), and saw two nightelves.

The taller of the two looked in my direction, "Sunfall, what's that?"

Sunfall responded, "I'm not sure, an undead maybe?"

The taller one shook her head, "I don't know, is it alive?"

"I think it's an orc. Are there undead orcs?"

The unnamed one knelt down next to me, "I think it's alive."

Sunfall had knelt next to me as well, and spoke in orcish, "Can you hear me?"

I closed my eyes, wishing I could make some noise, even if they were going to kill me. I nodded instead.

The taller one had felt my forehead, "She's freezing, we have to get her back to camp."

Sunfall wrapped a blanket around me, and then helped the taller one lift me. The movement jarred my leg and arm, and I screamed. Sunfall looked at me with concern, and lifted a glowing green hand to my chest, letting the power sink into me. It felt warm and safe, letting me fall, with some measure of peace, into darkness.