Memories
A/N: I was going to take this further but I got to the end and I didn't know what to write next so, for now, this is a one shot. However if any of you tell me a good idea on where to take this I may just extend this.
The ghostlands are literally ghosts of the lands they once were, the taint of the scourge morphing and mutilating the landscape, flora and beasts. Four years ago the mighty scourge, led by the death knight Arthas, steamrolled into high elf lands and decimated everything. It was only after the destruction of their beloved Sunwell that the high elves finally managed to defeat the scourge. It was a terrible blow, the majority of their population slaughtered and more than half there lands were gone, and worst of all the keystone of their lives, the Sunwell, was reduced to ash. Without the Sunwell their magical supply was gone and many more high elves succumbed to insanity, becoming the wretched, which only live to feed on magic, quite literally. There leader, Kael'thas Sundstrider, renamed the survivors blood elves, and vowed to defeat the scourge. Four years on the blood elves have regained some of their former power and are holding out for now.
I had never run so hard in all my life. The thing behind me was getting nearer and nearer, its rotting stench filled my nostrils and lungs, making me want to hurl. It growled in a way that only a half intact voice box could, spurring me on to ever greater bouts of speed. My calves burned from excursion and my breathing was heavily laboured but I couldn't stop, not if I wanted live. I was entering parts of the ghostlands which I had never ventured into before in my bid for freedom, and the thought of the perils of the unknown flittered through my tired brain. An opening of light flickered ahead through the foliage of the undead forest, and I ran for it as light would aid me, I just knew it. The light was ahead of me, then all around me and I was free from the forest, but not the creature. Then a chill, that was nothing to do with the weather, froze my heart. The reason of the break in the forest was a cliff, with an expanse of dreary grey sand below. I stopped and slowly turned to face my doom; there was no escape from it now. I looked up in time to see a pair of ivory claws and a face full of greed and malice. Claws raked my face and the thing bodily collided with me, sending me flying through the air, down, down to the beach below. A brief burst of pain as my nose drove into the sand, to be followed by the rest of my body, and then pitch blackness.
A ghoulish scream rebounded along the coast and through the tree's, but nothing moved in response, apart from what at first glance appeared to be a bush, but moved with fluidity and grace of a panther. The bush then abruptly stood up and lost its disguise, showing that it was in fact a relatively short nightelf. The nightelf jogged towards the sound and brought out her ash wood bow, and one poison tipped arrow. Quickly the female ran the length of the beach towards the sound, only pausing to climb a small set of boulders. Once over the rocks she gasped, lying before her on a patch of sand was the broken body of a child, no older than thirteen or fourteen. She checked the area for signs of any enemy, and on the cliff above was the source of the scream. An undead rotting cannibal gazed at the body with absolute greed, and still hadn't noticed the nightelf. She drew her bow and fired, the poison tipped arrow whistled as it flew towards its target and buried it self in the cold chest of the undead, its corrosive poison dissolving its flesh and bones. It tipped forwards slightly then toppled backward out of sight. Allowing herself a small, grim, smile the nightelf stood up and approached the body. As she got closer she distinctively heard its laboured breathing, it was still alive! She turned the body over to see its face, and then grimaced. The face was definitely male, but was heavily gouged and cut, and bled profoundly, and also to add to her dismay the face was 100% blood elf, the enemy. She quickly contemplated leaving the boy, as he was technically the enemy, but decided against. He himself wasn't an enemy; he was a child in need.