Chapter 1

Necri was back from the dead. Again.

The question 'how many times' didn't even occur to her anymore; she had long since lost track. Though her return to consciousness from the nothingness was immediate and complete, much like lighting a candle, she still took a few moments to reorient herself.

Her many deaths had left her body in poor shape. She was missing flesh around most of her joints, the bones held together by the remains of tendons and sinew. What skin remained was stark white, without even the delicate tracery of veins to discolour it. No blood coursed through her body anymore; instead, it was invisible arcane energy that kept her spirit housed within the decaying frame. The body could still be damaged or even destroyed, driving her unconscious spirit out until the magic could knit her physical form back together, a process that usually took days, or weeks at most. It was never a perfect reconstruction, though. Each death marked her body in some way. Eventually, she assumed, she would lack a physical form entirely, becoming some form of ghost or banshee.

For now, though, she relaxed into her body, and could immediately feel that there was a constrictive pressure surrounding her. She opened her eyes, but despite the spiritual yellow lights that burned within the empty sockets, she could see nothing around her. It took several moments to realize she was wrapped in cloth bindings from head to toe, and that the cavity of her mouth was stuffed with some thick, hard substance. Lacking a sense of taste or smell, she had no way of knowing what that was.

Testing her bindings by flexing her limbs, she found them decayed; they tore easily, implying she had been here for some time. Slowly, she worked her way free, and found the next complication: she was trapped in a tiny wooden enclosure, barely big enough to fit her body.

A coffin.

There was no need to panic. Her undead body had no need for air or food - in fact, she could not even remember what those needs felt like. With methodical care, she freed herself from the rest of the bindings, discovering in the process that someone had hammered a wooden spike into her chest as well. She began pressing against the lid of the coffin. To her surprise, the nails holding it to the rest of the structure gave way relatively easily, each one squeaking with sharp protest as she popped it free. There was no oppressive weight bearing down on the lid, so wherever the coffin was, it had not been buried in earth. She had had that particular unpleasant experience before - having had to wait several months for the wood to decay enough for her to dig herself free.

It was not long before she was able to push the lid aside, revealing a large stone-walled room lined with dozens of coffin-sized nooks and shelves, into one of which her temporary residence had been placed. She rose to a sitting position, taking in the layers of dust and ancient spiderwebs that festooned the room. A grinding feeling against her ribcage reminded her of the stake, so she pulled it out and threw it away, ignoring the gaping hole it left behind. It would heal... mostly.

She levered herself over the edge of the coffin, her long-unused muscles reacting sluggishly and awkwardly to the sudden demands. With care, she squeezed out of the nook and dropped clumsily to the floor. The impact of her feet kicked up clouds of dust and sent bugs skittering off into the shadows. Step by step, she shuffled her way towards the room's oversized stone doors, avoiding more coffins that had been stacked chaotically throughout the room. Many had decayed into nothingness, leaving skeletons scattered amidst the debris.

Halfway to the door, she stopped, sensing motion. Turning slowly to her left, she watched as twin faint spots of flickering flame slowly resolved themselves into the eye sockets of a translucent demon. Though it had no other facial features, she could tell that it was pleased with itself.

She felt no fear, even at the appearance of such an evil extraplanar entity - merely a brief flash of annoyance which quickly settled into acceptance. The demon was part of the Contract that kept her 'alive', an ill-considered and corrupted bargain made in blood. Once, she might have been angry that the demon had not proactively helped her out of the coffin, but she had come to realize that such creatures would not do anything to lessen a creature's suffering unless they were forced to. Nor would it have sought the return to servitude that her awakening would bring.

She began to speak, only to remember that there was something in her mouth. Digging it out, she discovered it was a shrivelled clove of garlic, which she tossed aside. The living could be so fearful sometimes - whoever killed her must have thought she was some kind of vampire.

Her organs had long since atrophied, and now her voice was little more than a whisper. Yet her quiet order carried with it the strength of long practice and firm intent: "Await my orders from the Nether, Galarax." She turned away from the demon, having no need to watch it disappear as it returned to its home in the Twisting Nether. She climbed the steps that led to the door, finding the lock decayed by time. The door's hinges resisted stiffly (as did her own joints), but with several minutes of patient effort, she pushed it open enough to slip out into the cool, damp air beyond.

Even when dead, there was something deeply satisfying about stepping outside after a long incarceration. She could tell she was still in Tirisfal Glades, on the northern coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, though there was something odd about the trees - a darkness that clung unnaturally to their leaves and hung heavily in the air.

She closed her orbless eyes and allowed the mist to settle onto what was left of her skin and flesh. After a few moments, there was a quiet rustling noise from beside her. Startled, she opened her eyes, finding another walking corpse lurking beside the mausoleum door she had just exited. It was missing both of its lower legs, and was using a pair of Y-shaped branches jammed into its armpits to hold itself upright. Its clothing, however, was tidy and practical, having been tailored to its missing legs. Wooden caps had been fitted to the bones where its kneecaps had once been.

"Greetings," the creature wheezed. "My name is Ropart. I represent the Banshee Queen and the Forsaken of Undercity. You are newly risen, are you? Know that you are welcome here, as are all free-willed dead."

Necri regarded the creature steadily, evaluating the intent behind its words. These 'Forsaken' must be a new political entity in the area, though she remembered nothing by that name in Tirisfal. A civilization of the dead, led by a Banshee? This sounded quite interesting indeed. But caution was warranted.

"Greetings, Ropart," she responded as formally as her whispers could manage. "I am known as Necri, and I have indeed just risen."

The truth was, she had no idea how long she had been dead, this time. She had a lot to learn.