Spencer watched a large cockroach scuttle across his boot as Malek stood over him, ranting in his predominantly loud and gruff way. He was sitting outside the inn at Splintertree Post, quietly trying to ignore the lecture he was receiving.

"...Stupid, stupid, stupid," Malek was grunting. "You should have told me you were leaving. Then I could have helped you interrogate her before you gutted her."

The insect was making its way up Spencer's leg now, traversing the steep, jagged peaks of his trouser creases. It halted at the sharp inflections in Malek's voice. Spencer leaned his head back against the cool stone wall and stared at the small creature while it cautiously resumed its course and began to precariously navigate its way over his knee.

"Are you listening to me?" Malek barked in irritation. He looked from Spencer to the cockroach, then back again. "If you want me to come along on this little escapade of yours, then you need to keep me informed of your plans."

The rogue was well aware that he'd made a mistake, and didn't feel that he needed Malek to berate him over it. He knew perfectly well that he had overreacted and it had cost him an important source of information. But now he was more concerned about what he was going to have to do next. He held his hand out as the cockroach reached his thigh, and it skittered into his palm. Malek heaved an exasperated sigh, and Spencer smiled as the creature flitted its way across his frayed fingers.

"I don't understand," Malek said, suddenly switching gears. "How are you still married to this woman? Didn't your wedding vows say something like 'til death do us part'? I think your…em, condition has rather set you free."

"But I'm not truly deceased." Spencer heaved to his feet, cockroach still in hand. "I mean, I died, but…I'm still me. I still have my soul." He gently stroked the cockroach with a furrowed brow. "I still have my soul…."

"So where to next?" his friend asked.

"There's only once place I can think of." Spencer sighed uneasily, then shook his head with displeasure. "I have to go back."

"Back where?"

"…Home."

"You mean to Adorhal?"

The rogue nodded. It was an option he had been dreading. He hadn't been there since it all began, and for good reason. Not only was the area infested with spiritless corpses, ghosts, banshees, and other servants of the Scourge, but his own memories and feelings would surely haunt him as well.

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" Malek asked with concern.

"It's the only alternative I see at this point." Spencer lifted the cockroach to his shoulder where it settled calmly, its tiny bulbous eyes twitching this way and that in curiosity.

It took a day or so for Malek and Spencer to make the treacherous journey from Undercity through the Western Plaguelands to the ruins of Andorhal. Their trek was constantly impaired by a variety of mangy, diseased animals, not to mention the occasional wandering zombie in search of fresh flesh to consume.

Now, after entering the town with seemingly no enemies in sight, the rogue stood before an old collapsing stone archway that had once supported a beautiful mahogany door. It was like some kind of muddled gateway to the past, through which he was dreading to enter. He looked around again, the uncharacteristic quietness of the town putting him greatly at unease. He had been certain that the place would be crawling with various fiends. Instead, a silent, cold wind blew through, ruffling his collar and setting his hair on end.

Spencer took a deep, hesitant breath before stepping across the threshold into the ruined foundations of his house. He surveyed the rubble of the decrepit edifice while trying to keep his reminiscing at bay. His expression darkened as he looked for anything recoverable that may lead to clues of his wife's whereabouts. The roof was gone, most of it in a charred pile on the east side of the structure. His throat constricted as he saw a piece of mangled wood that had once been ornate crib paneling. He immediately looked away to ignore the urge to touch it, and began sifting through the blackened wreckage. He kicked broken shingles and shards of glass to clear a path down the hallway.

Moving into what used to be the bedroom, he saw that the bed was still intact, but was partially buried by the collapsing roof. At the foot of the bed was an old iron trunk in which Mr. and Mrs. Spencer had stored many of their valuables. He rested his gnarled hand on the fire-scarred top of the chest, its frigid surface sending a dagger of cold dread through him. Holding his breath, he carefully lifted the rusted latch and opened it. The contents inside had been protected from the fire, save for bits of ash that had filtered in. A sharp twinge traveled up Spencer's spine as he peered inside; delicately, he lifted out the black silk embroidered shirt that he had worn on his wedding day.

It was tunic-cut, with long sleeves and large cuffs, and a bureaucratic standup collar. He pulled the material through his fingers repeatedly, feeling the texture, hoping its softness could some how silence his growing discomfort. Against his better judgment, he folded it into his satchel for safe-keeping.

The corner of something metallic caught his eye, and he reached in to lift it out—it was Cassandra's old trinket box. Inovercy's comment resonated through his brain.

She did love you at one point, you know.

He slowly opened the lid and the small metal gears inside ground to life; he had forgotten that it played music. The once merry tune was now strained and poignant after years of neglect. Spencer sifted through the old, worn jewelry as the twanging played on. Earrings, combs, bracelets…he noticed her wedding band was not there. Another ring caught his eye though, one that was very large and heavy. He pulled it out and snapped the case shut to silence the eerie music. There was an enormous blood-red stone set in the top of the ring, with gilded threads running throughout. There was some kind of crest with lettering about the base of the stone. Spencer blew the dust out of the crevices and peered at it closely.

"School of…Necromancy?" he said aloud.

"What have you got there?" Malek said as he approached from behind, tripping over blackened pieces of wood.

The rogue stared open-mouthed at the inscription and brought it closer to his face in disbelief.

Cassandra hadn't just been sneaking away to cult meetings…she had been an actual student at that damned school.

He tightly wrapped his fist around the ring, mind racing with possibilities and plans. He chewed pensively on his knuckles and spent several moments in stillness while the orc stared at him expectantly.

"Malek," Spencer said finally. "We're going to Scholomance."

There was a hesitant silence. Instead of an objection, he heard "We're going to need more help then."

"Do you have any idea of whom else to bring along?"

A wide grin spread across Malek's face. "Oh yes," he said. "Yes, I do."

"Then let's get out of here."

Malek nodded. "I'll meet you in a moment. Nature is calling. It might…take me awhile."

Spencer screwed up his face is disgust. The last thing he could imagine doing was exposing his rear in this particular locale. Who knew what was lurking about, staring at the naughty bits of unsuspecting victims. He could only imagine the lack of dignity if he were to get caught off guard or even killed with his pants down around his ankles.

Malek departed the rubble of the house and made for the forest treeline. Spencer was sure to go in the complete opposite direction, as well as upwind, which took him near the center of the town. Curiosity got the better of him as he approached the old marketplace promenade that was lined with the tavern, inn, court house, church, and other assorted run-down buildings that he could clearly remember frequenting. He recalled dancing and drinking at the tavern with his wife and friends, getting his marriage license at the courthouse….

Something rustled. Spencer froze in midstep as the moist, dragging sound became more prominent. It seemed to be coming from the alleyway beside the butcher shop. …Malek? he thought. Silence for a moment, and then a long, steady, groaning slurp. Spencer's eyes were glowing enormously now, as he stared at the corner of the building. Right around it was something very, very large. Something definitely not Malek.

Crunch. And whatever it was, it was eating.

Immediately, he willed himself invisible. But it was too late…and he was in a bad spot. At least three of the abominations that emerged from the inn had seen him before he could stealth, and they were approaching fast. He didn't understand how they could move so quickly with their extremities and entrails dragging on the dirty brick street. One of them swung a bloody severed limb in his general direction (which happened to be at his head), and he ducked while simultaneously sliding a sword into the creature's bloated gut. Black, greasy bile spilled out, causing Spencer to wretch and reel away with nausea.

Now that Spencer was in sight again, the other two monsters ignored their fallen companion and barreled after the rogue. Spencer was prepared to slay them both, when he realized he had gotten too close to the butcher shop alleyway. Several more of them lumbered out from the rubbish heap, screeching and wailing their horrific clamor.

"Oh…shit."

Spencer reached into his bag for some flash powder and found none. In horror, he realized that he had forgotten to buy more when he was in town…he was unable to vanish. It was then that he began to panic.

"Malek!" he cried out. He had both swords unsheathed now, attempting to hold two of the beasts at bay. Four others encircled him. Where the hell had the orc gone?

There was a sharp whizzing sound then, followed by a loud thwap…Spencer looked down to see a trembling arrow embedded in his shoulder. He couldn't see beyond his vile attackers, but he could hear the distinct laughter of a dwarf somewhere beyond. Typical Alliance waiting for the most vulnerable moments of their enemies before attacking. A string of obscenities flew through his mind, but his failing strength made it almost impossible to move his lips.

A halo of light exploded around him then…but before he fell unconscious from the poisonous arrow, he thought he saw Constantina on the hill, her mossy hair billowing in the wind and her eyes raging like the sun.

This confused him. How…?

The creatures blocked his view, and he made one last half-hearted lunge with his weapons before slumping into a heap on the ground beside the rotten, maggot engorged waste from the long-forgotten butcher's shop.