The Undercity, home of the Forsaken. The former Scourge agents now had a will of their own, but found the world to be a cold and untrusting place. Their solution was to force their way into the world. The formerly scattered and disorganized undead became a world power, a feared member of the Horde. With their place in the world more stabilized, the Forsaken were free to pursue whatever goals they wanted. While most of the Forsaken were content to follow the wishes of their banshee queen Sylvanas, some just wanted to live their own lives.
An undead sat with his back to a wall. From his seat he could see all of the Rogue Quarter of the Undercity. Mostly other Forsaken scuttling about, doing this or that, but occasionally he would see one of the other races of the Horde running about. They disgusted him. In life he would have considered them enemies. In death, he found them even less agreeable. Only recently had he been brought to the Undercity, and he still didn't like the idea of working with anyone, much less the other members of the horde. He tossed his dagger in the air with his right hand, catching it idly. He found himself dwelling on his circumstances, his past life.
In a past life he had been human. He'd had a family, a wife and two kids. He had loved them. He began to laugh at the thought, love. Such a fragile emotion. He had loved in life, but in death what was there to love? He recalled the day the Scourge had come. He had returned from a successful hunt, it had been part of the initial outbreak. There were rumors of the walking dead, but he paid them no heed. He didn't believe in such nonsensical notions. They had all sat down to have dinner and were having a conversation. Suddenly there was a loud crash as the door to their home was bashed off of its hinges. The children screamed, and his wife looked frantically to him. A grotesque creature stood in the doorway, rotten flesh falling from its body. The hair that remained on its head was patched and the body showed obvious signs of prior injury, how it kept walking was a mystery.
"Shane? What do we do?" His wife shrieked. He remembered the name only vaguely, having long since discarded it. Shane Mendt, a human who had died that night.
"Run upstairs! Lock the door, I'll hold them off!" He responded, lunging for his hunting knives.
The creature ran towards him, ghoulish claws flailing wildly about. He stumbled backward, realizing only now that he had never even been in a fight. How had he expected to defeat the monstrosity that had invaded his home? He pushed such thoughts away, though the beast had formidable reach and deadly claws, it was slow and stupid. He easily sidestepped its maddened charge and drove the knives into its back. Any living creature would have crumpled, but the monster turned around and batted him away. Enraged, it charged toward him again. He was defenseless and fled up the stairs after his family, seeking only to get away from the horror that gave chase.
Reaching the top of the stairway, he found himself trapped. Of course, the only rooms upstairs were the bedrooms. The children's rooms were far too small to hide in, and lacked locks. The door to his and his wife's room was shut, and locked he assumed. He retreated toward the locked door. The creature stalked toward him, growling as spittle fell from its hideous maw. The creature ran toward him, and swung the vicious claws. Searing pain filled the entirety of his mind as he fell, blood pouring from his abdomen. The creature reared back to swing again, but shook as if struck. It fell back and huddled in a corner. As he lay on the floor, lifeblood pouring upon the floor, he saw a dark garbed man walk up the stairs. He carried with him a large staff topped with what appeared to be a human skull, and wore a horned skull atop his own head. Turning to Shane he looked at him with glowing eyes, and put one hand in front of him. His hand began to seep a dark aura, and he laughed.
"Your death shall serve to bolster the ranks of the Scourge!" The necromancer shouted. The last thoughts that Shane had as a human were that his family never knew what had become of him.
His hopes were in vain. As the last of his strength ebbed, he rose again as an undead slave. A new voice filled his head, one that had no similarities to his own. "Go now! Serve your King! Show them the might of the Scourge!"
The ghoul that had killed him walked beside him, and together they tore down the door that stood between them and the living on the other side. Chaos reigned, as the children fled in terror from the horrors that stood before them. He would never forget what happened next. The ghoul ran ahead and grabbed one of the children on the way. The child screamed louder than ever, but the cry was cut short as the ghoul slew him easily. Shane walked forward, fully aware of what had happened to his son. The mother began to weep and scream. She ran toward the ghoul, punching it as hard as she could. The ghoul knocked her to the side as it pursued the other child out the door. She landed heavily directly in front of Shane. She shrieked unintelligibly at him, and pounded on his chest. The new voice rang in Shane's head louder than ever. "Kill her. Bow to the will of your King!" As he killed her, the look on her face was one of utter betrayal and confusion.
Soon after Shane's family was brought into unlife as well. The four of them were separated soon after, and he never saw them again. So his life continued until the fateful day that Illidan attacked the Frozen Throne. Shane had been locked in battle with the Scarlet Crusade when suddenly the entire world flared the brightest white he'd ever seen. He lost consciousness, and when he awoke he found an entirely new battle raging around him. Undead attacked undead. Unsure of what to do, he fled toward the nearest building. Hiding in the shadows he took stock of his situation. As he tried to recall what he had been doing, the events since his resurrection washed over him in a wave of trauma. He fell to the ground and wept, or rather, thought he should. He found that though he remembered every detail that had transpired, he felt no sadness or remorse. Instead he felt only anger and disgust.
He remained hidden in the shadows of the building, and watched the battle rage. It soon became apparent to him that some of the undead were still enthralled to the Lich King, but others had regained their free will as he had. He felt no immediate need to rush to their aid, and instead turned to go the opposite direction. So had his new life begun. He lived in solitude, honing his fighting skills as well as his ability to remain undetected. Rarely did he come upon any other living souls, and always did he kill any he met. Eventually he attacked the wrong opponent.
His target was undead, like himself. A warrior by the looks of his armor and the large sword he carried, Shane jumped the undead from behind, seeking to plunge his daggers into the other undead's back. His dagger found its mark, but the damage was negligible due to the armor, and the warrior turned startlingly quickly. Shane leapt back, a dagger in each hand. The warrior and the rogue circled for a while, waiting for the other to make the first move. Noticing the warrior misstep, Shane lunged forward. He swung the dagger in his right hand in a large arc, which the warrior sidestepped. He followed with a flurry of stabs and slashes, but the warrior seemed able to block or dodge whatever was thrown at him. After Shane missed with a particularly vicious swing, the warrior used the opportunity to barrel into the recovering rogue with all his weight.
Shane fell to the ground and the warrior was on him in a second. The warrior pinned one of Shane's arms to the ground with his foot and smashed Shane's other hand with the flat of his blade, sending the dagger tumbling. The warrior leveled his blade with Shane's throat. "Undead we may be, but losing our heads would definitely put us into a simply dead state again. Now speak! Why did you assault me?" He barked.
Shane remained silent, for which he received a solid kick to the face. "I'll not ask again, SPEAK!" The warrior demanded.
Shane found that his jaw was broken, but managed to say, "No reason really."
The warrior stared at him, and he stared back in return. Suddenly the warrior began to laugh. "A good outlook for those such as us to have. Remove problems before they start." He said, moving off of Shane. "What's your name, rogue?" He asked.
Shane rehinged his jaw with practiced ease. "I don't have one, now leave me be." He responded picking up his daggers.
"Come now, you must have had a name before you were risen." The warrior insisted, keeping his weapon drawn.
"That name died with me." Shane replied firmly.
"Well, we'll have to name you then." The warrior decided.
"Leave, or I swear I'll kill you." Shane growled, pointing one of the daggers toward the warrior.
"Because that worked soooo well for you the first time…" The warrior responded.
"Why are you so insistent on talking to me?" Shane asked wearily, sheathing his daggers.
"I've travelled a long way and you're the first, and probably friendliest, company I've had." The warrior answered.
"And why don't you just resume travelling and leave me be?" Shane retorted.
"Why? Because I'm almost there, that's why. You must know where I'm going." The warrior responded, clearly confused.
"I don't particularly care." Shane sighed, turning from the warrior.
"There's a whole…You haven't?...There's an entire city of undead like us! They call themselves Forsaken, led by a banshee I'm told. The former Ranger General of Silvermoon, Sylvanas Windrunner. I'm headed there, it's only a day's journey or so." The warrior said excitedly.
Shane stopped and turned back to the warrior. "Oh? That's fascinating, now leave me be."
The warrior groaned at this. Suddenly his demeanor shifted violently. "Listen to me you coward! All of us Forsaken have experienced hardship. That damned Lich King used us as pawns, tore us from our former lives and made us slaves. We all have hatred rogue, we welcome it into our hearts, but the Dark Lady seeks to give that hatred a purpose other than misguided fury. You are a blight upon this world as you are now, a stain that I WILL erase if you don't see sense soon. Now, what do you have to say to that?"
Shane laughed aloud. "Perhaps you aren't the fool I thought you were. Fine, I'll go, if only to shut you up. I advise against letting your guard down around me though, I don't like you and I will kill you if given the chance." The rogue threatened.
"That's more like it, but it could still use work… Next time try saying, 'Gosh, you're right! I'm a stupid oaf and I'll gladly listen to reason and come with you!'. Now I'll need to call you something, and if I stick with Moron it's going to come to blows again. So what do I call you?" The warrior asked merrily.
Shane glared at the warrior with intense hatred. "I. Don't. Care." He said pointedly.
"Well, you jumped from the shadows of those trees and attempted to kill me, also you're a royal ass. Now, that's all I've got to run with… Shadows…" The warrior pondered.
"I will maim you before this is through…" Shane hissed.
"That's it! Shadowmaim! Your name is Shadowmaim, but I'll just call you Shadow because that's kind of a mouthful." The warrior said happily.
"You're an idiot. That isn't a name." Shane sighed.
"What is a name?" The warrior demanded.
"A moniker that separates us from the other faces in the crowd." Shane replied confidently.
"Wrong Stabby, it's what we ARE. A name is more than a moniker, it is a definition of us." The warrior informed him.
"So who ARE you then?" Shane asked him.
"Plateslash, or Plate, if you prefer." He answered.
"I see. Of course you'd follow your own idiotic naming formula. Well, I suppose I'll stick with the name you gave me. It's the only one I've had since being returned, hence it's the best by default." Shane surrendered.
"Good boy, now let's head to the Undercity!" Plate cheered, practically dragging the reluctant rogue along with him.