"You will serve as one of my bearers of blight," the voice commanded. The woman laid before him, her own blood adding a crimson mix to the slush and slog on the ground. Her body had contorted when it slid off Frostmourne, her soul feeding into the blade as the lights of her eyes faded. The Lich King suspected the last thing she saw was the dwarf's body that lay next to hers.
No, it would not be the last thing she saw. He had a plan for her. Arthas gripped Frostmourne tighter, willing her soul back into her body. The blade obeyed as if an extension to his very being. Her soul licked over her body hungrily, as if eager to continue her futile battle with him. She wouldn't get that chance, her soul had already been purified by Arthas's will and bathed in some of Frostmourne's power.
"Arise, death knight," Arthas's voice made Sarah's bones vibrate. "You will serve me well." A piercing blue glow illuminated her eyes and after a moment, she slowly rose to her feet. She tried to ask what he wanted of her, but no voice escaped her lips, only barely a murmur.
"Breathe in, servant," Arthas instructed coldly. "Your voice still requires a breath of air."
Shakily and sporadically, Sarah asked, "What- is… your-will?"
"You will spread blight upon the living and butcher the forsaken. Succeed in this, and you will know more power." Arthas' gaze lowered to the dwarf at her feet. "This one will help you." Arthas lowered Frostmourne's tip to the dwarf's body and willed it to rise. It would be sentient enough to take and carry out most simple orders, but would be without a soul. A slave for the new servant.
For weeks, Sarah and her lesser subject tormented and blighted the living. Though an uncommon occurrence, Sarah also sparred with other death knights. She lost about as many times as she won, but when her slave fought with her, she won more often than not.
The Lich King often commanded her, not through thought, but through sheer will. Even from a great distance, he could spur her, and she would understand his orders without the need for words. After a few days of silence, he finally willed her to and a few other of his knights to destroy a forsaken encampment. Without any choice of her own, Sarah obeyed, leading her slave to the outskirts of the camp.
It was a short time after midnight they struck. Forsaken may not have slept, but the dark of the night still helped give them an element of surprise. Or so they had calculated. The camp was surrounded by traps, as if the forsaken were waiting for them. Sarah found her legs ensnared in arcane chains and cylinders that wrapped around her hands. Her slave was similarly bound, began to thrash, but its bindings tightened until it couldn't move.
A sinister cackle met Sarah's ears. She stared up at the forsaken, wearing her trademark, cold glare and tensed against the chains. "Now, now," the forsaken chuckled coldly, "Do not resist. The chains will tear you apart if you fight them." He slowly approached her and continued, "This wont hurt." He grinned, pulling out a syringe of angry liquid, "Well, perhaps a little." He injected Sarah's neck with the syringe and the death knight collapsed.
For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing. Just a long, cold and silent darkness. Then, memories of Sarah's life flooded through her mind. Her family, friends, good times and tough times. Heartfelt moments, proud moments, excitement, love and loss, it all flooded through Sarah's mind freely. But only a handful of memories vividly replayed in her mind.
She saw Thorick, a dwarf that had been becoming more than just a friend, smiling at her at the Darkmoon Faire. It was just after they had won a ring toss game, though Sarah would always swear it was an insanely lucky toss.
The man in charge of the game asked her if she wanted a necklace or a ring for her prize. She eagerly took the necklace, a simple chain with a shard of a fake blue gem attached. They had gone to the food vendors after that, hungry after an afternoon of games and shows. A greasy kabob had made Sarah sick, so they were forced to leave after that.
But when Sarah and Thorick had made it to her family's home, a large home that showed their really good income, they stopped before the first step onto the porch. Sarah's father came out, glowering at the pair, and before Sarah could protest, he told her to leave and never return to her family. If it wasn't for Thorick, she would have been homeless then and there.
"You're finally waking," a cold voice interrupted Sarah's memory. It was less a question and felt more of a command. "Arise, sister. We are forsaken and we serve the Dark Lady now."
Forsaken? No, that isn't right. Sarah had someone return home to… Then it hit her, her death and Thorick's death and his body being reanimated.
That can't be right, she thought.
"Wh-what," Sarah barely managed to croak.
"Take it slow, you've been out for about a week. Don't worry about the Lich King's control, he was put down a few days ago, if the report is to be believed."
Sarah's eyes opened and she stared up into the sky. "It-… I'm dead, I..." Sarah knew it deep down even though her mind couldn't quite wrap around the concept. She felt different. Not like if she had suddenly lost a bunch of weight, but more like there was a gnawing hunger in her soul, a black hole that had sucked something out of her very being. There were memories of what it was like to feel, but the hole in her soul seemed to have sucked them all away.
"Yes, you are," the voice stated bluntly. "So, if you don't mind, we have some packing to do now that you're awake. We will take a zeppelin to Undercity and report to my- hey, are you listening?"
Sarah sat up, staring blankly at the forsaken in front of her. He wore a scowl and his skin was poked with putrid acne. "No," Sarah stated. "I'm not a forsaken."
The forsaken's scowl turned into hatred, "I had hoped I wouldn't have to put you down, but it looks like I will have to." He raised a hand, conjuring magic as he chanted. Sarah lunged forward, kicking herself off the table she had been laying on and surprising him with a punch to his throat. His voice stopped as his throat convulsed, Sarah's lunge sending them both to the ground.
Sarah recovered faster, eyed a hauntingly familiar longsword and leaped for it. The forsaken had grabbed her ankle, causing her to fall short of the hilt. He underestimated her strength, Sarah had little trouble dragging him the last foot and a half to grab the sword. She turned and stabbed him through the skull, and stared when she saw the blue flames lazily wrapped around the blade.
Sarah dropped to her knees as she let go of the blade. She knew she should be horrified, but she only felt emptiness. She should be feeling a lot of different emotions, but they just weren't there…
Before she realized it, her hand raised to her necklace and wrapped her fingers around the fake gem. She was dead to her family, they made that clear that night after the faire, and there was no way she could expect Thorick's brother to take her in after what she had become. Perhaps the Horde was the only option for her now. She could blend in as a forsaken, she hoped.
Clicking and a hollow grunt grabbed her attention. She rose to her feet, grabbing her longsword as she stood and looked around. A skeletal gryphon stared back at her as if it were waiting for her to get on and go. Sarah smiled coldly.