It's cold, in this place….my breath shows in puffs of white as I exhale. It shocks me to see that my body still has warmth when so many of the others…are cold. The walls are made of stone and skin, of bone and plant and everything that has rotted and died. The light shines green and navy blue on the walls…sickly and sinister at the same time. In the shadows lurk the things of which children scream about in their nightmarish fears, things which men and women try to desensitize themselves to, and things which drive the elderly to their death. The stench is nearly unbearable in this fortress, this necropolis…and I wish more times than not during the day, that I had died so that I would not have to smell it.
I wish that I had died before becoming one of them….
Death Knight.
I had not wanted it this way, I had had only wanted….to be by him….to be by Darion.
I am not a simple-minded woman though. This was the only decision I ever made based on the feminine feelings locked away in my heart…but what else did I have? What choice did I have but to die, leaving nothing of myself behind on this earth? No one would've remembered who I was, and not even the name Anastasja would've remained. Another corpse left to burn on a pyre is what I would've been. Just another former life form rotting in a pit. No…I don't want that…I don't want to be forgotten like that!
Why doesn't Darion remember me…? Was I that insignificant in his life?
My tale begins during the Culling of Stratholme, and the burning of the city following. The prince of the land, Arthas, whose name I only knew from how highly the city spoke of him, charged through the city and killed everyone in sight. The scourge was an undead army led by an enigmatic force they called the Lich King. It had delivered supplies tainted with a devouring plague to which there was no cure. This plague would turn each and every soul it touched into the undead. It was then that they would be added to the ranks of the growing undead army, and sent to strike down the rest of the living. Arthas…thought it wise to deliver us from that fate.
Somehow, being just a child then, I stayed behind the blade of one of the subordinates of Arthas. It was strange, as the men were ordered to slaughter everything in sight, a meeting of our eyes halted him. Everyone else was slaughtered…friends…family, young and old. But me, he left…why I do not know this day. Perhaps it was a lucky moment of conscience, when my blue eyes met his. Or perhaps he had not killed anyone and only made the motions of doing so. It's a mystery I will never know the answer of.
For days amidst my burning house on my knees I cried, my parents charred bodies lying next to me. Both my clothes and hair singed, and my feet stained black from soot. How I found the energy to wail on the third day, I don't know. That didn't stop me from crying as loud as I could, for I could feel the grip of death creeping up on me. The house kept burning and burning without consuming, but there was no way out of it. There was nothing left for me to do but cry out one final time.
You won't find history tell you this same tale, as fabrication is often used to fill in the blanks the unknown creates. On the third day, my wailing drew the attention of one lone young man, a teen investigating the city with the rest of his kind. A young man of the Scarlet Crusade, named Darion Mograine. He found his way past the burning beams of the house, thinking I was some pitiful creature needing to be put out of its misery. He entered the room with one hand gripping the handle of his sword, ready to pull it out on a moment's notice, and promptly stopped mid-step.
He did not expect to find me.
Perhaps he thought of me a ghost at first, for there was no one left of warm flesh and blood in the city. He stood there, for several heartbeats, watching me with his blue eyes large. Realizing someone else had entered the house, I stopped crying and looked over to him, my own eyes as large as his, frightened that he might be Arthas come back to finish the job…or one of the Scourge that now roamed freely in the city.
We stared at each other for what felt like forever, before he darted forward and grabbed me. He pulled me from my house as the magic keeping the fires burning but not consuming faded, the upper level finally collapsing onto the lower. Carrying me as a man carries a woman over the threshold; he pressed my face into his shoulder guard, and hurried from the house as it crumbled into a pile of burning tinder and rubble.
He let me cling to him as hard as I could as we ran through the city…murmuring to me his name, and the names of his father and brother…telling me short stories of warmer places, happier times. Not letting me see the bodies of the deceased, frozen in the poses of horror that they'd taken when death claimed them. Not letting me see the undead that milled through the streets, some chasing us, others eating those that did not turn.
The history books tell you differently at this point…but he was carrying me still, when the Skeleton mage with the fiery skull blasted open his back with magic. They don't tell you that he collapsed to the ground, barely finding the strength to hold himself up so that he would not crush that which he protected, and made sure his body covered her enough so that the mage would not see what he carried. No one knows in the scant moments before his father came, that he made a promise that day, that moment; to a strange little girl he didn't even know the name of…that he would protect her. That he would guard her from harm….that she needn't worry.
Shortly thereafter, Alexandros Mograine, father to Darion arrived. He dispatched the mage and the other Scourge that had gathered to feast upon Darion's body. We were both rushed from the city, and back to the camp that the Scarlet Crusade had made some distance outside of the city. I was pried away from Darion by strong, uncaring fingers, and shoved into a tent far from his own.
One thing you must understand about the Scarlet Crusade…they are driven out of fear. They fear that which they do not understand, mostly being things that are unnatural to a Human…namely other races and the Undead. They could not understand how a young girl would be the only survivor from Stratholme when everyone else was slaughtered by Prince Arthas. Even more, they could not understand how only one girl would not be touched by the plague.
Spy! Traitor! Trap! Decoy!
These words were thrown around without regard to my presence. As though I were some deaf, ignorant creature instead of a frightened human being. Normally they would slaughter one such as I on sight, out of fear that I may be an undead in disguise. But out of respect for Darion, they did not. Darion requested…before slipping into unconsciousness, that I be taken care of…an order which his father, who commanded the group, emphasized.
Since euthanizing me was no longer acceptable, they debated for hours on what they should do with me. I listened as they discussed everything from my genealogy (perhaps my resistance to the plague came from some unfavorable cross-breeding in my family ancestry?), to my uselessness to the world if I did not follow the path of light. Several times I asked to see Darion, but they ignored me.
Alas the dignitaries of the Scarlet Crusade came to a decision. An interrogation was in order. All that came to the Scarlet Crusade were interrogated before being accepted into the order. This was to prevent any unwanted or imperfect people from tainting the holy ranks. I would be taken to the Scarlet Monastery, their base outside of their city of Hearthglen within Tirisfal Glades, if my answers met their expectations. There I would be kept, under strict watch, to be protected and to protect the world should the Plague begin to take effect upon me.
They left me within the care of Interrogator Vishas, a man of cruel expertise and sadism…a man who enjoyed his work. All night there was pain…pain…unending pain. Hot needles…blunt, pointed metal…chains…a bed of nails…ropes…whips…all of these…all night. I cried and screamed…I answered each of his questions honestly…but Vishas would only cackle in his high-pitched voice and continue. I wished for death…I begged for death….a nine year old child should never have to utter these things.
The next morning, Maxwell Tyrosus, a member of the Scarlet Crusade I would later come to trust as a father, found me in Vishas' tent. He had come to fetch me at the request of Darion, whom had awoken. Darion had survived his wounds and the dark sorcery behind them, having led from the darkness by the Light. Sir Tyrosus was horrified that the rest of the Crusade would find reason behind torturing such a small child, especially when she'd obviously suffered so much already.
I no longer cared what would become of me by that point, as I lay upon Vishas' bed of nails, watching them argue. Was this place truly my salvation, or would I have been better off dying in my house with my parents? Why hadn't Arthas killed me as well…? Why was I left to suffer?
The only thing I had to comfort me now was the memory of Darion's kindness….and his promise. At least…at least this would be enough to warm my heart until I made it to heaven.
I fell unconscious before Sir Tyrosus had finished arguing with Vishas, the stress from the night and the multiple flesh wounds Vishas had given me finally catching up to me. I was lost within a dreamless sleep for days, curled up within myself and praying for relief to my pain. I was too scared to ever wake again, I felt. I'd rather hide in my sleep so that I could no longer feel or see or hear.
But….I hope at least…that I hadn't dreamt feeling a gentle kiss be pressed to my cheek. I hope that it was not a dream that I heard a voice whisper an apology to my ear. It was so comforting, just that little bit…it was so much, for such a tiny gesture. I hope….I hope it wasn't a dream.
I awoke days later in the town of Hearthglen, in the care of an older woman whom had lost her only child to war. She was a kind older woman, an acquaintance of Maxwell Tyrosus, a woman I always wondered if he'd loved at one time. Love was a tricky thing among the Scarlet Crusade, I learned later. It was not romantic most times, for love would drive people to do things not in the favor of the Order. Love would cloud the mind; muddle the senses….weaken the heart if it were taken away. Alexandros Mograine was an excellent example of this, I've heard….he was driven and haunted by the memory of his wife Elena, whom he loved most of all. It was love that caused him to protect Darion and ignore his other son Renault….it was love that finally drove his family to its end. No, love was feared….love was kept secret. Love could be used as a weapon as much as it weakened….love had no place in the order of the Scarlet Crusade.
This woman, Einat was her name, became a protective foster mother. She advised me to behave to the best of my ability, to do everything I could to become unnoticed by the leaders of the Scarlet Crusade. Already Maxwell and Alexandros were working to remove my presence from their records, their pity for me driving them to give me at least some semblance of a happy life. With Einat's instruction I would all but disappear from their sight, and they would forget that Einat ever lost her child.
In the time that followed my arrival to Hearthglen, there were days when Darion and his father would not have to fight the Scourge. These days, as few and far between as they were, were precious to me. They would take me with them to the fresh air and lush hills of the Hinterlands, to fish in the clear, fresh ponds there. So different the Hinterlands were to the Western Plaguelands outside of Hearthglen. So quickly the Scourge destroyed what I barely recalled being acres of endless, healthy farmland. Now the land was barren, the trees dead and grass brown. A heavy orange cloud, still tainted with the scent of the Scourge constantly hangs over the Plaguelands now, blotting out the sun. You could never tell this laid to the south of the Plaguelands, and I wished every day that I got to spend there with Darion would never end.
His father always spoke little to me during our outings, Darion dominating most of the conversation with me. He held my attention no matter what he spoke about, no matter how inane or confusing it became. I realize now that these trips were most likely just business to them in the end, that they were still keeping watch over me to make sure that I remained unchanged, and untouched by the Scourge Plague. These days were too few for my heart, for after that Darion and Alexandros would return to not knowing me.
It was for my protection I know, to continue to keep me hidden in plain sight and forgotten about. Still I would tempt fate, and some days sneak into the keep in Hearthglen, just to catch a glimpse of Darion. I had a hiding place within their main chamber, behind a collection of tapestries that hung along the walls. Here I would wait, crouched to the floor on all fours, waiting for a glimpse of Darion as he came to report his day's activities to his superiors. Sometimes, just once in a while, he would turn his head slightly to glance over his shoulder, a tiny smirk gracing the corners of his mouth, and notice me.
These calm days could not last, unfortunately. Soon Alexandros Mograine was murdered they say, by the Scourge in Stratholme. The order of the Scarlet Crusade was shaken, and many did not like the new direction it was taking. This group broke off, broke away, led by Sir Maxwell, taking with them many of the Scarlet Crusade. They extended their hand to those of us living in Hearthglen, offering us a new home with them, although they had no city, no town with secure walls to protect them from the Scourge. I wanted to leave with them, for I felt that, now that Alexandros was dead and Darion missing, I felt that if Maxwell left, I would no longer be safe. Einat could not find the courage to follow him, too afraid of the world outside of Hearthglen after all that had happened between the downfall of Lordaeron-the kingdom in which we lived-and the Scourge destroying the entire country to ever leave.
For six years we hid in plain sight yet, dutifully following the orders given to us, no matter how extreme they became. Inquisitions began by the fifth year, as ordered by the Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan. His orders created paranoia amongst the ranks of the Crusade, filling their heads with lies that the undead could still look human, still smell and sound human, but be part of the Scourge. Einat and I escaped this inquisition for a year…until one day a guard of the city openly noted how I had strange, violet-black hair while Einat had brown…and how we looked nothing alike.
Suddenly the girl that survived the Culling of Stratholme was remembered. The leaders of the Crusade were furious that they had forgotten, furious that Alexandros had tricked them until his death…furious that Einat had betrayed them all of these years. She was tried for treason immediately and found guilty…and hung at the gallows until dead…all within an hour.
I found myself once again in the care of Vishas, whom had been ordered to extract any information about Stratholme that might've been gained the first time he interrogated me but had since been lost. This time, however, I was not a nine year old child. This time I was seventeen….and Vishas' perverted nature truly came forth.
For six months I endured his interrogating, my will much stronger and harder to break than it had been before. My toenails were pulled from my feet, and he slowly began to chip away at my fingernails each day. My fingers were broken but then healed, Vishas making sure that my body, which he touted to be artistic perfection, not be marred by crooked fingers. Hot pokers were shoved into my arms, my legs, my breasts. He whipped me, he abused me. He even took my dignity while trying to break me but I would not break. There was a light in my mind, a light that Darion had shown me and left in my care when he disappeared, and it was this light that I clung to in the darkness of the Scarlet Monastery dungeon.
Finally one night Vishas was careless with my chains, and I killed him with the very tools he used to torture me with. I rushed from the Monastery then and fled, naked, across the forests of Tirisfal Glades, and out into the Western Plaguelands. My strength waned as I crawled towards the lake that separated the path to Tirisfal from the road that would lead to the Hinterlands, and I could barely crawl. If I were to die then, I wanted to at least see the Hinterlands one last time, to breathe its fresh air, to drink its clear water. Memory flooded me as I tried to pull myself across the rock and twig littered ground, driving to mind the happier days that I would spend with Alexandros and Darion. As before, I found the strength to scream one last time, but instead of a mindless wail I called for him….I called for Darion. It was the first and last time I would ever cry someone's name in weakness.
To my surprise, someone answered my cry…but it was not Darion.
A large Draenei man, whom introduced himself later as Anchorite Truuen was my savior this day. Gently he carried me to Chillwind Camp, and there he and a High Priestess tended to my wounds and healed me. I discovered that those in the camp were part of the group that had branched away from the Scarlet Crusade, and had created an organization called the Argent Dawn.
The Argent Dawn proved to be accepting. They listened to my story eagerly; amazed that someone could survive the Culling of Stratholme. They did not judge me; they did not look at me in fear. The Anchorite that had rescued me proclaimed that I must have been deeply blessed by the light to avoid death in that place, and without another question the accepted me as one of their own.
For two years I trained with the Argent Dawn, under the careful leadership of Commander Ashlam Valorfist. I made sure to learn everything I could, and quickly I became Anastasja of the Argent Dawn, a warrior of light and justice. Many proclaimed that my fighting style and stance was an immature form of Darion's own, a compliment that I accepted with a fluttering heart.
I discovered, quite by accident during my first year with the Argent Dawn, that Darion had been found some time before, and had joined their ranks as well. I would catch glimpses of him every now and again, but my station was in the Western Plaguelands, and his in the Eastern. He seemed different, from what I could see from afar…his face more chiseled, and his blonde hair longer. He looked more mature, but the youth had not been completely driven from his face by experience.
With how I mimicked his fighting style perfectly, and how hard I worked at every task given to me, it was only a matter of time before I was taken to the Eastern Plaguelands by Commander Valorfist, and introduced to Darion. My heart raced as we approached him, his back facing us as he spoke with others of his rank. In an almost ironic reenactment of the days where I would sneak into Hearthglen Keep, Darion turned to glance at us over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed as Commander Valorfist introduced me, and my heart fell as I realized there was no recognition there. Time and hardship had driven my presence from his memories as it had the rest of the Crusade's. Downhearted I retreated to my tent…intent to release my grief into the muffling solitude of my pillow, and start the next day without any thoughts of him lingering in the corners of my mind.
For several nights after meeting him again, memories began to plague my dreams. They would become skewed as dreams like to do to our memories, turning them nightmarish or embarrassing. Memories of my parents haunted me, and I dreamt of being a child being cared for by two charred corpses. I dreamt of Alexandros and Darion taking me fishing, but both of them had huge gaping sword wounds in the center of their chests. Dreams of Darion turned into horrific nightmares where he would kill me, or order my death.
But there was one dream out of all of them, which was stranger than the rest. A dream that I now hold close to my heart, a dream that I guard with the ferocity of an animal protecting its kin. This dream leaves me troubled even now…yet anxious at the same time. In this dream, Darion is with me….
The tent shifts as he enters…it almost sounds so real….
"Forgive me for this Anastasja…" he whispers, as I feel a gentle kiss pressed to my mouth. "Forgive me for ignoring you until now…but you are the last shred of light and life I have in this dead world…"
I feel my heart break at this, and tears well up underneath my closed eyelids. "Then take what you need from me," I say, as gently lays feather-light kisses across my chin to my ear. "I don't want you to suffer."
"No…" he whispers, his voice heavy with regret, "I can't…for you must not wake up…and we must remain strangers." In my dreams (although it felt as if I were awake somehow…) I open my eyes to find him hovering over me, his blue eyes once full of life were now weary and tired. I lift my hand and place it upon his cheek, and he shuts his eyes at the feel of it.
"Then drug me…use magic…make me stay asleep…I don't want this dream to end." I whisper.
He holds me in the way that men hold women then…but it is so quiet. No voice but an occasional breath….no sound except for a slight shift of covers. It….it was a dream, wasn't it? Like before as a child…I…I dreamt of it, didn't I? I cannot bring myself to hope for otherwise…it would hurt me too much.
The next day I woke alone, no sign of Darion, no sign that I'd even dreamt of him save for the images that danced through my mind and the sensations that plagued my body yet. I pushed this into the guarded place in my heart, and returned to my duties as Anastasja of the Argent Dawn….I would not let feminine fancies tarnish me now.
That day I was sent to Ironforge on a diplomatic mission to the King, to bring a request for more weapons to arm the ranks to fight against the growing threat of the Scourge. Naxxramas, a horrid floating necropolis had taken up residence over Stratholme around the time that Alexandros had been killed. Every day more Scourge came from its bowels, falling upon the Plaguelands like a cursed rain.
As I returned with the crate of weapons, a strange feeling befell me. There was something odd about the Eastern Plaguelands that day…it was too quiet…too eerie. The gargoyles and giant yellow leeches that once crawled freely over the barren hills were missing, and there was a strange odor to the air, one much different from the lingering scent of undead.
As my Griffin landed I discovered Light's Hope Chapel…the home base of the Argent Dawn…a war zone. Piles of Scourge bodies covered the area in front of the dilapidated chapel as a fire burnt away their taint. Rows of sheet-covered Argent Dawn were lined up next to the chapel, priests, friends and families blessing their bodies and grieving their passing. During my mission the Scourge had attacked, and as my eyes met Sir Maxwell's, who stood in the middle of the slain Argent Dawn soldiers, I knew that Darion was no longer there.
This was but the beginning of a strange series of events. The first thing that had happened was the sudden disappearance of Naxxramas. Following the attack upon Light's Hope Chapel, the massive necropolis disappeared, but the scores of undead did not stop coming. A strange plague, one reminiscent of the one that had infected my home city began to spread across both continents, turning those it touched into Undead Scourge as it had done my friends and family, making the most innocent of people into to minions of the Lich King. A new necropolis, smaller in size than Naxxramas but threatening none the less, came to hover over the mountain range behind Light's Hope Chapel, on the edge of Scarlet Crusade territory.
I was among a group of people sent out to investigate this new building. We were ordered to do so as stealthily as possible…as to not alert the Scarlet Crusade to our presence. We were told to eliminate any Scourge threat that we found, and to find out who or what resided within the new Necropolis. What we found however, was no ordinary Scourge….for the first time those of us who did not fight on the front lines against Arthas after he betrayed his people and fell into the service of the Lich King…for the first time we were faced with Arthas' own Order….Death Knights.
We would not go down without a fight however, and put up a fight until the very end. Despite the difference in skill and power, our spirits would not be dampened. We were the Light! They were the Shadow! The Light would drive away the Shadow with its brilliance! These things became a mantra within my head as I swung my sword…I did not break under Vishas' care, and I would not break now!
It wasn't until I saw the one who led them, the man in black armor whom rode upon a dark, demonic looking steed, that I knew our fight was futile. He walked his mount towards us slowly, his posture and stance much too familiar to me. One hand extended away from his body, his fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt of the very cursed blade that Alexandros Mograine carried to his death…the Ashbringer. I knew, as he approached us, that despite our struggle our battle was over before it began. Shadow was thick here; tangible…it was ready and waiting to snuff out the Light that tried so hard to tear through it. The Rider's blue eyes no longer held recognition; we were no longer friend or foe.
I knew then…that we were all….dead.
We were taken into the Ebon Hold, the name of the Necropolis floating above us, and for days we were left in the cold dark corners of it among bodies of the dead and rotting. Those of us still clinging to life were tested upon daily by their mad scientists, testing new plagues, and new poisons. We were given no food, no water. Some among my group had taken to eating the dead, while others like me searched out edible moss and drank the water that collected in dank puddles in the corners. Many of us died, and even I felt my strength and life fading.
Still, I could not let go completely. My head was full of a better time, the past with Darion, the time when his eyes held life…the past with my parents before the Culling. Every happy memory I could have ever hoped for, every dream that I had dreamt. No, I would not die and leave nothing of myself upon this earth! I had nothing to remember me, not even something a simple as a child, an heir to my memory! I would not die without leaving my name somewhere, I would not! These Scourge…they would not rob me of that privilege!
Several times Darion would make rounds through the lower levels of the Ebon Hold, and pause near the cart where the bodies of my group were piled, those of us that still barely clung to life scattered amongst them. He would stare long and hard at me, considering…thinking…as if he were trying to remember. Any recognition from him now was too much to hope for….or so I thought.
"That one." He said, his voice unearthly and cold. He extended his hand and pointed at me as a Necromancer joined him. She nodded once and then held her hands out, chanting a spell. My body was lifted into the air, and suddenly I felt as if a shadow had befallen me, choking out the light.
A man in blue armor charged up to Darion as the woman worked her magic, shouting at him angrily, screaming "The initiates are mine to choose only!" I faintly recalled hearing this man's name before…apparently he was high in the Lich King's army, a man by the name of Razuvious who instructed and trained the Lich King's army of Death Knights. Darion did not even look at him as he screamed, his glowing blue eyes finding mine and holding them entranced with their icy depths.
"Do you vow to serve and obey the Lich King's will? Do you vow to follow him in his greatness, for all eternity?" the Necromancer asked me as her spell dissolved the tattered rags my clothing had become. My eyes continued to search Darion's, trying to find an answer, and my heart filled with fear. Following the Lich King…and abandon the Light? No! The light is all I had left; it was all I could cling to now that Darion was one of them!
Yet…what good did humanity…the chosen of the Light…do for me? Abuse…torture…everything despicable that could happen to a human happened to me. The one that had guided me to the light was already in the Shadows….staring at me with his blue eyes empty of life. What was left for me in the Light?
"Yes…" I replied, shutting my eyes, "I…I will serve him."