I do not own World of Warcraft. I do own the original characters in this story.

-.-

A small town was visible in the distance. The rays of the sun had just appeared, the moon still lingering on the horizon. It suited the gentle village sitting in the distance, nestled in the mountains. It seemed very simple. He could only see a few buildings made of stone and wood with the paint peeling. As he walked closer, he saw a man similar to him; that is, a dead man walking. Perhaps that meant he was not as different as he thought? He reached up and hesitantly pulled his hood down, and waved. The man was resting near an odd stand that held… Sleeping giant bats? That had to be it. What an odd village! They were upside down, and as he watched, one stretched its wings, showing dark fur beneath. It opened an inquisitive green eye at him before returning to his nap.

((This place seems oddly familiar…)) He thought. As he pulled his eyes from the odd bat-bed, he noticed a huge graveyard. It had more surface area than all of the buildings combined. Something about it attracted him; he found himself standing before a grave before he even realized he was moving. The grave itself did not seem special; there were larger and smaller graves all throughout the cemetery. It was simply a wooden cross that had begun to fall apart. But as he read the name, he fell to his knees in mental agony so deep that it wrenched him from his body, leaving it to pass out.

"She's dead." The blonde haired woman was standing over a bald priest in light brown robes, a hand on his shoulder. "She's dead. You can not heal the plagued and you know it. Leave her, before she infects you too."

"No. I will not. I will at least bury her." The priest said. "I will at least bury her to put her soul at rest. If I am plagued, so be it." he murmured. He stood; tears were streaming silently down his face. He carried the corpse up the hill, to where other like-minded people were burying their loved ones. A spare spade sat near a freshly dug grave; it seemed people were sharing here, as they had been sharing ever since they had been running. He picked it up and got to work. The woman was standing at the bottom of the hill, arms crossed, waiting for him with worry etched onto her face.

As he finished, he walked down to her with sadness in his eyes and dirt on his hands.

"How could you be so foolish?" she shouted at him, loudly enough for others nearby to hear. Her green eyes were filled with tears, but her eyebrows and mouth both knit into positions of anger.

"How could you bear the thought that we had not had a burial for our own daughter?" He asked, just as loudly. A small number of men, walking past him either way or working on graves for members of their own, silently nodded.

"Get up, you wretched fool!"

He opened his eyes groggily; he was on his knees, his forehead resting on the dirt of his daughter's grave. He looked around for the source of the words. A man was standing above him with worry in his eyes, a dead hand outreached, about to grab his shoulder. He was clad in simple white robes, a large priest's staff in his hand. As soon as he spoke, it was obvious it was not his voice who had told him to wake.

"Are you OK? You've been on the ground, shaking and screaming for at least ten minutes now." He offered a ripped hand to help him up. "My name is Allister. I am a Shadow-Priest. May I ask what happened?" As he stood, he realized Allister had no eyes. The skin around his jaws had completely decayed away.

"…I… I'm not sure…" His body was sore. He looked at the grave. It was worn, and what he could read was not in a language he understood. "Could you please read this for me?"

The Shadow-Priest looked hesitant, as if not wanting to look away from him for fear he might fall over again, but finally glanced at the tombstone. "What's etched on here seems to have decayed away. I can only read a few words. 'Here lies... Emily… of Maya Alisia and…'" he read off. "That's all that is legible."

((Maya Alisia?... Was that my wife? Was Emily my daughter? Was any of that even real?)) He thought.

"Sir, I think you need to rest. You look dreadful. I could take you to a friend's house, if you would not mind? By the way, what is your name?" Allister asked, as he glanced at the man limping on both legs behind him.

"My name…?" He was about to say he didn't know… But he reconsidered. "I call myself Nevren Agol."

The Priest's eyeholes widened and he stopped moving for less than a second. He quickly recovered, but with a slightly nervous, twitchy pace, as if something was wrong. "W-what an… Original n-name!" he stuttered. Something about the way he spoke seemed forced, and slightly scared.

"Is there something wrong with it? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Nevren began, as he thought his new name was something terribly bad.

"No, it's just that… Those words… It's nothing." The Priest concluded shakily. The short walk to Allister's friends' house was over, as it was just outside the graveyard.

They quickly walked in; there was no door. "Alexandre, Andrea," he said, addressing two women who also had pieces of their bodies missing, "this is Nevren Agol." He spoke the name without a problem this time, as if he had gotten over it. But the women glanced up for a second, a short look that one would expect if a rabid dog had walked in. The one named Alexandre had short, green hair and wore dark-green leather with random brown patches here and there. Her shoulder-bones were visible as well as her knees and elbows. Andrea had a small bun of blonde hair. She was wearing light brown and green clothes that looked a bit more managed. Her bones were likewise visible. Nevren thought that if they weren't so dead, they would've looked quite good.

The two women both nodded, as one was working with a sewing needle on a half-done robe and the other pulled skins off of a string across the ceiling. "They work as merchants. She," he pointed to Alexandre, "sells leather armor, while Andrea here is a clothier." He glanced almost disapprovingly at Nevren's ripped, dirty robes. "Perhaps you could buy something from her…"

Nevren looked embarrassedly down at himself. "That might be difficult, seeing as how I don't have any money. I don't even think I have pockets." He admitted.

"Oh! Well… Never mind that for now." Allister said, looking slightly embarrassed himself at his mistake. "You just lie down on the bed and think about something good while you recuperate."

"…Think about something good? Don't you mean sleep?" he asked, as he lay down on the bed. Andrea glanced at the bed and Nevren guessed she would be washing the sheets and pillow-case after he left.

"Sleep? You can sleep? Wow, that's amazing!" he began in surprise. "I've only met a few undead who could actually still sleep!"

"…Undead? What do you mean? How is it possible to not sleep?" Nevren replied.

"Oh no. You've just awakened, haven't you?" He eyed Nevren questioningly. Nevren could do nothing more but look back, a look of deep confusion on his face. Allister sighed. "You are undead. You were stricken by the plague of the Lich King. Do you have any memories at all?" Nevren had opened his mouth to say yes when something inside him advised against it. He shook his head. Allister sighed again.

"The plague is a way for the Lich King to add to his army. It kills anything and everything it encounters, taking its mind, as well as free-will. It is nothing more than a body to be used as wanted by the Lich King. However, a woman, named Sylvanas Windrunner, was strong enough to break free of this binding, a process we call awakening. She was strong enough to help awaken thousands of others, as well. She became the leader of these creatures. She unified them as the Undead. They may have been elves, humans, orcs, trolls, dwarves, gnomes, or anything before… But now they were Undead. If she hadn't done that, we would probably have a hundred factions of Undead running around, fighting each other…" Allister closed his eye sockets and sat in one of the many chairs in the house. There was a fire cracking and popping and a well-taken-care-of wreath hung above the fireplace. "This woman took the Undead to a city under the ground, which is now, rather simply, named the Undercity. It was once known as Lordaeron, before the plague decimated its people. Now, however, it is ours." Allister let out a third deep breath. "Rest now. It may be difficult to keep still for so long, but I guarantee you that once you get used to it, it's not so bad to be without sleep. You have much more time to think!" he finished, thoughtfully.

Nevren, whose eyes were getting heavy, had turned over after he had finished talking. ((I'm an Undead? How long have I been dead? I'm too tired to think about all of this now.)) He closed his eyes and contemplated that he was glad his eyelids hadn't fallen off before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.