The Awakening

...

"Awaken... soldier."

It was a low, coarse voice that echoed, broken through the silence that I drifted in. "Death has not yet won this day. I call upon you, to serve unwaveringly, to the armies of the scourge..." The voice was commanding. Final. It bespoke authority, and my very bones ached to listen to it. To obey. To follow.

As the voice trailed off into a low echo, I felt a grip on my conciousness, vice-like and commanding, drawing me to open my eyes. To become concious again.

My eyes snapped open, and I drank in the sight, the sounds, the smells, of a dark dungeon like cathedral. Its walls, gothic in style, eerily drew in breaths of cold, frigid air, as if it were alive. The beams supporting the structure's cieling were arced, as was the cieling itself, though dark as the abyss and impossible to make out. It seemed to all draw to a point in the unseen epicenter of the circumfrance of the room. Shelves, tables and the floor were coated and stacked with books upon books, looking old and tattered, some dusty and falling to pieces. I could see stains of blood on the floor, though it had long since been dry. There were several unmoving bodies around me, their corpses pale and nondescript.

Though I knew it was, I could not feel the cold air upon my skin. However, this did not particularly pique my interest. It were as if I were merely noting that my skin was green. A fact, not to be questioned, not to be impressed upon. It was not bothersome. It was... naural. Real. Unbridled and built in a lust for combat. I knew I would need no feeling for the one I would fight for.

I sat up slowly, noting the subtle cracking in my bones. My mind produced a phrase, "rigor mortis", and I realized, without surprise, that I had died.

"It fades, the stiffness." A voice, hard and unfamiliar, called. I looked up to see a human male, his armor a shiny blue, his hair cropped short and eyes cold as they stared at me. His posture suggested authority, and immediately I assumed a kneel, deigning respect to my superior.

"Stand, knight. Prove your worthiness."

I obeyed without a second though, and stood, stiffly. I mentally noted that I was not clothed, my body bare save for cloth bindings that were loose and frayed. No shame crossed my mind however, and I took note that an ugly scar covered my abdomen, its edges ragged. My skin was a pale green, but looked not to have rotted yet, likely cause of my recent ressurection. I watched warily as an elf walked forward, her body lithe and her eyes cold, her blood red hair pulled into a sharp bun.

"Mostly intact, one battle wound. " She circled me, taking a short note on her parchment, before walking back before the human male. "Rigor mortis is fading quickly. This subject is well preserved. Awaiting analysis and trial."

I did not flinch, though reflexively, something in the back of my mind tried to. I filed away my bodys response for assessment later, instead turning to look at the pair, who were assessing me as I stood before them.

"What say you then, Goblin?" The tall human male asked, his cold blue eyes calculating.

The response was immediate, without question.

"I rise only to serve the Lich King. I responded automatically, my voice echoing, as if their were another person inside my body. "My sword shall clear his path of the unworthy. For the glory of the Scourge."

A smirk befell the man's face. Briefly, as if only a whisper, something inside of me began to scream. Its horrible crying for a moment, startled me. However, I quickly expelled it from my mind, staring ahead in silence. It would not do to show weakness before the Lich King's soldiers.

"Very well... Death Knight." The man said slowly. "Your first task is to prepare your rune weapon." He gestured towards a rack of war-torn swords, that had been sharpened and inscripted with runes. I glanced over, analyzing each one, before looking at him again.

"Once you've chosen your weapon, you will take it to the rune forge." He pointed to a giant skull like structure, a peculiar blue frosty essense surrounding the forge. "There, you will inscript it with your chosen specialty. It will be clear to you once you choose your weapon."

I walked over to the racks, inspecting the weapons carefully. A slightly jagged, yet sharp two-hander sat, collecting dust, behind several other, newer, looking blades. Red runes were carved upon its blade, shining delicately. I picked it up, weighing it in my hands, and felt as an odd aura emanated from its hilt. As I walked to the forge, and placed it on the slab, an icy wind, seemingly from no where seemed to surround the weapon, emboldening it with its essense. It swirled around it lethally, and I felt a presense stand behind me.

"It would seem that frost has called you to be its champion." The elf from before said, her voice impassive. I turned slightly, to see she had a bundle in her arms, blackened and shined, dark plate robes. She held out the gear to me, and I took it carefully, quickly donning the armor.

"This is your armor. Suffer well, companion." She said. I nodded, and she walked away, likely to attend to another party inside the necropolis. I continued to don the roves, musty with age and stained with soot. The plate fit properly, and would not trip me as I moved about. The hood shielded most of my face from the poor lighting in the necropolis, and I noted the small trinkets, clipping them to my ears carefully. Grabbing my blade, I travelled back over to the human male from before, and he carefully scanned me, likely deciding whether or not I had followed his instructions.

"I see that Frost has chosen you." He said, his voice low. "Go then. The Lich King requires complete obedience. You'll find a key on the table to the training section. Take it and release a prisoner. Kill the unworthy, and then find your way to the Lich King."

Following his instructions, I walked to the table he spoke of and took the key. It was old, rusted, but looked usable. I looked over to the training area, where several prisoners were shackled to the wall, their faces downcast and posture broken. The shackles of unholy energy bound them at the feet and wrists, binding them to a prison from which they could not escape. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of myself.

"Go forth..." A voice, familiar, echoed in my head. "Slaughter an unworthy vessel..."

This was the master's voice. I knew. His will was absolute. There was no denying, there was no disobedience. My eyes caught sight of a young looking male gnome, his skin pale and marked with bruises. His brown hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes an ice-cold blue. He wore basic armor, plate like my own, in a burgandy-brown color, looking older and worse for the wear than my own.

I carefully stepped forward, unlocking the runelock with the crusted over key. Without any trouble, the lock popped off, and the unholy energies that bound the gnome disappeared, allowing him to step free. I could see fear in his expression, and, for another brief moment, unease was felt somewhere deep within me. I pushed it to the side, but the question remained.

Why was I doing this?

"Slay the weak..." The voice echoed again."Slay all who do not serve my will..." All doubt and uncertainty disappeared in that moment, and I raised my blade, intending to make his death quick and painless. As I rose it however, the gnome held up a hand, his expression unreadable.

"You would strike me down without allowing me the decency of a blade?" I paused, casting a glance at the man in blue armor and he nodded infintessimaly. I nodded back, taking a step back, lowering my sword. I gestured for him to be quick, and he knelt down, picking up a sharpened sword that was covered in blackened blood. The gnome took a stance, testing the swords weight, before snarling, and chargin me, the sword aimed for my throat.

"I'll show you unworthy!" He spat, his rage evident in his posture. Almost effortlessly, I parried his blow with my blade, the sword feeling like a mere extension of my arm. The gnome growled and charged me again, unphased by my lack of surprise at his attack. Easily, I dodged and countered, slicing through his armor effortlessly, the plague swirling around him as the frost fever set into his bloodstream.

He stumbled, fumbling for his sword and I tripped him, sending him sprawling to the floor, wimpering. He attempted to raise himself on his hands, but I quickly buried my blade in his back, twisting it, ensuring that his demise would be quick. His body crumpled to the ground, and no sound was heard from the creature.

Without so much as a backwards glance, I pulled my sword from his body, and headed back up the steps to await new orders from the man in blue armor, who was waiting, smirk upon his face.

"Well done, Death Knight." The man said, glancing at the corpse of the gnome, which the ghouls had seen fit to begin to tear to pieces, rending his dead flesh and sinking their teeth into his limbs. He pointed to the left casually.

"Follow the paths to our Lord. He himself will give you your next order." He saluted me, and I him, and immediately I turned.

Despite not recognizing the structure I was in, my body seemed to know exactly where it was going. Upon the balcony of the cathedral-like building, I was immediately assaulted by a flash of what I knew to be a memory.

Laughter. Something about tea and... Andorhal? I saw an Orc smiling at me, his armor bronze and his smile mischevious. But before I could even process what I was seeing, it had disappeared, leaving me with mere tendrils of a ghost of my past.

"Come forth, Death Knight."

The voice that had been echoing in my head was suddenly right in front of me. I was already kneeling before the Lich King, a man thrice my height, his aura intimidating, commanding. I turned my gaze upward, and lookied into his face, his cold eyes trained upon my figure, scrutinizing me coldly. I knelt, unable to move, waiting for him to speak again. To command me to carry out his will.

"I have been watching you from afar for quite some time." He said, his voice penetrating my very being. "Your talents before undeath made you a suitable caditate for this life. I will continue to watch closely as you become the champion the scourge has been searching for..."

He trailed off, but I felt something in me acknowledge that the conversation was over, and I quickly turned heel and made way to the human in blue armor. However, before I could speak to him, I was intercepted by a rather brutish looking Tauren. His fur was pitch black, his eyes a cold blue. His left horn looked to be hacked off, and there was a nasty scar across his snout that had festered over. His blade practically froze the air around him.

"Halt, champion." He said, his deep voice echoing with a second undertone, eerie and dark, not at all like a tauren. "I was told you are of frost. I must escort you to the mid-level for training." I paused, confused. The tauren held out a hand, gesturing that I should follow, and without questioning, I walked behind him as we stepped towards a glowing red disk near the front of the necropolis.

...

Part one of Crysanthemum's undeath! Her story as a DK will differ from the starting quests in the game, I'm taking some creative liberty, so don't be too upset! Enjoy!