Undeath Beckons

Chapter 2 – The Birth of Blightfire

LOADING…

CHANGING REALM…

FETCHING CHARACTER DATA…

ERROR… UNABLE TO RETRIEVE CHARACTER INFORMATION…

ENTERING WORLD…

I opened my eye sockets and stared up at the inside of a coffin. The acrid stench of decay filled my nostrils, but this concern was a mere gnat in the face of the giant problem of being buried… alive? Was I still alive? Did that word even have any meaning for me now? I reached up in the near-darkness—there was some kind of orange light radiating through cracks above me—and pushed, hoping that maybe I'd get lucky. I did; the lid of the coffin toppled easily, revealing a high stone ceiling lit with torches.

I sat up with some difficulty. My muscles seemed to be behaving strangely. What was this place? I took stock of my surroundings; yet even as I gazed around what I quickly ascertained to be a crypt, I was struck by a far more pressing question: Who am I?

"Hello?" I rasped. Gods, was that my voice? That low, growling snarl that stampeded around the room like an angry beast? I could've sworn I remembered it being nicer than that. I stretched out my fingers, feeling an unusual weight. A visual examination confirmed what I was sensing: my digits were now bony and thin, with terrifying claws where my nails used to be. At least, I thought I used to have nails. I knew that wasn't how my hands had always looked, at any rate.

The rest of me was the same way: a quick scan up and down my body revealed dramatic changes, although what I'd looked like prior to now remained a mystery. My skin—I knew not what color it had originally been—was now an ashy white, with occasional blue and gray highlights. Where my elbows and knees once were now jutted bone, bleached and cracked. My hips were bone as well. Looking down at my toes, I discovered that talons similar to those on my hands had burst though the ragged brown shoes I was wearing. Where had these shoes come from? They didn't look familiar. Neither did the worn pants and tunic I was clad in. I put a clawed hand to my head—ow, shit, pricked myself—and felt my hair. It was stringy, like old twine.

Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is one thing. Waking up on the wrong side of the line between life and death is quite another. I began to feel very uneasy and nervous: Alone, a zombie, and unable to remember how either of those states of affairs had come about. I decided to try standing, and found myself able. The crypt around me was practically filled to the brim with coffins just like the one I'd been in: simple, plain wooden jobs with loosely attached lids. The air stank of mold and rot.

I called out again: "Is anyone there?" Ugh. That rasp was going to take some getting used to. Not knowing quite what else to do, I navigated my way toward a set of stairs leading up out of the catacomb. A few quick turns brought me to the surface, and another startling sight: someone else. Someone… dead.

"Well, lookit that. Another one awakens. G'morning sleepyhead! Have a nice dirt nap?" the ghoul asked. I took a quick stock of him, and for some unknown reason, my mind picked out certain features as important: no weapons, lightweight armor, plain garb. He had a crooked, toothless smile, and was also missing his elbows, knees, and hips. His eyes were obscured beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

"H-hello," I mumbled, suddenly afraid. Who was this man? Or rather, zombie?

"It's a good thing you woke up. We were about ready to toss you into the fire with the others." I now noted the smell of burning wood and flesh in the air.

"Yeah… good thing," I said uneasily.

The man gestured down the wooded hill behind him, toward a small village nestled in the pines. "Welcome to Deathknell. Name's Undertaker Mordo. And you are the Lich King's slave no more."

"Lich… King's slave?" I stammered. Instantly, a memory hit me like a steel fist: falling. Blackness. Landing, hard. Then sleep, very long sleep.

"Head on down to the chapel and speak with Shadow Priest Sarvis. He'll get you oriented." Mordo pointed at a building with a tall spire. "Chapel's that one. Get movin'!"

I hustled away, not wanting to anger the first semi-friendly figure I'd met since I became… this. Whatever I was. Undead, of that I could be sure, but I was not a mindless creature of the night. The Lich King… I knew that name, but not because I'd been his servant. No… I'd never been a slave. The cold grass made little krish krish sounds as I tromped through it, making my way down a winding dirt road to the town. There were many undead here, some clad in armor, others in robes. All of them seemed to be staring at me, and I shivered as I noticed that where their eyes had once been, there now hung orbs of yellow light, radiating with an eerie glow.

The doors to the church were missing, allowing me immediate access as I walked up a set of rotting wooden steps. I approached a priestly-looking man in the back, standing on a raised platform at a pulpit.

"Shadow Priest Sarvis?" I asked, my raspy voice filled with fear.

"Another of the walking dead, hm? Must have been quite a shock, waking up in the crypt with only the cold and Mordo to greet you…" He tilted his head at me. "I see the confusion on your face. Let me try to explain our… situation… to you." He gestured to a nearby empty pew, and I sat down. My bony hips clicked against the wood. "We have been freed from the control of the Lich King by our new leader, Lady Sylvanas. The Dark Lady guides us in our war against the hated Scourge and the holdouts of humanity who dog our every step."

"Father?" I spoke up, "Sorry, but I don't remember ever being the Lich King's slave."

Sarvis paused. "You don't?"

"No. I just… I remember falling and blacking out… and waking up here."

He put two ragged fingers to… nothing, since he had no jaw or chin. Frankly I'd been quite amazed at how easy he was to understand up to this point. "Interesting. What is your name?"

"My name?" I had no idea. "I don't remember."

"Your profession?"

"No clue."

"Your hometown?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

"Well… that is unusual." He motioned in the general direction of the crypt. "Most of the bodies that drag themselves out of there have very vivid memories of their servitude, and who they were before the Plague. It seems your amnesia is going to make things a bit difficult, however." He stopped to think. I shifted nervously. Why couldn't I remember anything? Was there something wrong with me?

"I only know that I was human, and that I haven't been plagued for very long," I informed him, hoping that piece of information might be of use.

"Yes, yes. Well, how about this: Head over to the Inn and let Deathguard Saltain know that I sent you to get some rest. Perhaps a few hours of solitude will bring something back to you."

I rose and bowed. "Thank you Father."

He shook his finger at me. "Among the Forsaken, we have a different means of showing respect. I will teach you." He stood at attention and crossed both arms over his chest, forming an X. I repeated the procedure, and realized as I did it that I was assuming the posture of a corpse in a coffin. Clever. Shadow Priest Sarvis returned to his work at the pulpit, and I turned to go.

As I walked across the creaky floor, I made sure to step carefully so as not to trip on my new, bigger toenails. Just then I spotted an oddly familiar sight. Which was very weird, since I didn't yet remember who I was. How could anything be familiar in this twisted place? I stopped dead—haha, good one—and stared.

"Excuse me?" I said tentatively. The Forsaken woman standing next to the beast acknowledged me. "What is that?"

"That's an Imp," she answered simply.

"Wazzup," the Imp grunted in a squeaky voice.

"His name is Zerk." She patted his head, and he swatted at her with tiny hands. "He's a good little impy wimpy!"

"Uh… huh," I muttered, backing away. "Thanks." Immediately, another memory hit me: an Imp just like Zerk at my side, chattering away. Bolts of fire springing from his fingertips. I shook my head and continued walking. Soon I reached the Inn across the road from the chapel.

"Yes? Your business?" asked a heavily armed Forsaken soldier with a face that looked like it'd been mauled by a bear.

"Deathguard Saltain?"

"I am."

"Sarvis sent me. I'm supposed to get some rest here for a while?" I couldn't look him in the eye sockets. He just creeped me out too much.

Saltain grumbled something about "freeloaders" and admitted me into the Inn. There was a roaring fire in the hearth, which I could sense was hot but found myself unable to feel on my putrid skin. One table was occupied by a couple of Forsaken in fancy robes; I assumed these to be other guests. A female Forsaken in an apron waved at me from across the room.

"Hello! I'm Venya Marthand. What brings you to Death's Rest today?" she asked excitedly, walking up to me. I noticed that her hair—somehow styled in a massive column that jutted out of her head like a tower—was a foul mustard color. Did mine look like that too?

"I was sent by Shadow Priest Sarvis. I… need to regain my memories."

What little was left of her face became instantly sympathetic. "Oh dear. Well, don't feel bad. You're not the first to have that problem. Come, I have a room upstairs that'll be perfect for you." She led me up a staircase and through a few corridors. Stopping before a wooden door, she produced a key from her apron and let me into the room. "I'll be tidying up downstairs if you require anything. Supper's at six. There's a clock by the window, water on the nightstand, and extra blankets under the bed. Not that we can feel heat anymore, but sometimes it's nice to pretend." She winked at me. Good, so it wasn't just me who couldn't sense warmth anymore. Another oddity of being a walking corpse, I supposed.

"Thank you," I told her sincerely. "It's nice to meet someone friendly here."

She smiled, revealing black nubs of teeth. "My pleasure. I know how hard it can be when you first get out of the grave. We were all there once, you know." She patted me gently on the arm. "I'm sure your memories will come back to you in no time. The last girl who had amnesia only needed a few hours before she remembered who she was. I'm certain you'll be the same way."

I performed the Forsaken salute, which Venya returned. She left me sitting alone in the tiny bedroom.

My first action was to draw a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. I slurped it clumsily, dribbling down my shirt, my unfamiliar lips and blanched tongue stumbling through the action. Swallowing also proved difficult, but I managed that after a few tries. The water had no taste at all, not even of minerals or dirt, which I could clearly see in my cup. Would I be able to taste anything ever again? At least I could still smell, see, and hear.

I felt my breathing grow quicker. "Get ahold of yourself, whoever you are," I whispered. My next move was to slip off my shoes and outer garments, revealing tattered but functional underclothes beneath. How courteous of someone to dress up a corpse in a bra and panties. The word "necrophilia" flitted through my mind, unprompted. There was a tall mirror against one wall; I stood before it and examined myself carefully, hoping maybe this act would spark a recollection.

Massive claws on my fingers and toes. Bones for hips, elbows, and knees. My remaining fleshy parts—stomach, thighs, calves, shoulders—were gaunt, leathery, and slightly sagging in places; although it seemed my breasts hadn't lost their perkiness—I remembered being quite proud of them when I was alive. My lower half appeared largely intact, but I had a sneaking suspicion that many bodily functions were now diminished or non-existent. No more biological clock, that was for sure. My vision crept up to my face, and I felt a ragged gasp leave my throat.

The sides of my cheeks, right below my dimples, were gone. Only hollow black holes remained, which would explain my difficulty keeping the water in my mouth earlier. The lower part of my jaw skin and bottom lip were also worn away, revealing gray bone and rotted teeth beneath. Instead of glowing orbs, I found that I had nothing at all where my eyes used to be: just empty, soulless black spaces, with long, thin lines running vertically through the middle of each socket and into my upper cheeks and eyebrows. It was almost like someone had cut my eyes in two and pulled them out.

My nose was okay. It was cute. Had a silver stud in the side of the left nostril. But my hair… ugh. Sickly aqua green, like a fungus growing on the side of a log. I shook with revulsion as I saw how it hung on my head like a wet mop. At least my ears were cute too. One final detail caught my eye—although without eyes it was impossible to tell where I was looking: a tiny, ripped hole in my left eyebrow, on the far edge. I studied it a moment. The hole was there on purpose. I'd once had an eyebrow piercing?

Boom! Like a firecracker going off in my face, a sudden burst of memories exploded into my mind: Human hands with painted nails. Human skin, dark brown, like milk chocolate. Black, silky hair tied back in a ponytail. Eyes. Deep brown eyes. A beautiful, auburn set of lips hiding healthy teeth, and no visible bones to speak of. The final memory: a glistening silver ring through the hole in my eyebrow.

That was what I used to look like, before… this. Before the Plague, or whatever had made me into the hideous fiend I now saw in the mirror. I shook my head and let out a groan of distress. How had this happened to me? I was beautiful once… beautiful and powerful. I could now recall power of some kind. Political? Magical? Who knew?

I let myself fall onto the bed, and before I knew it I was asleep. But sleep was no refuge: I dreamt only of falling, screaming, of bony faces rimmed with frost, of sulfur, of lion heads on blue shields. I woke up with a shriek. There was a knock at my door.

"Dearie? Supper is ready, if you'd like," Venya called through the thin wood.

"I'll be right down," I replied sleepily. I heard her footsteps fade. Did I want to go downstairs and socialize? Well… it was probably for the best. Maybe I'd remember more. I rose, dressed, and headed down.

As I entered the dining room, a high, nasal voice struck my ears, "…to thwart Korgal's plans. Ah, another new creep enters the scene." I swiveled to spot the owner of the voice: a well-dressed Forsaken man was sitting near the hearth with a few others, sipping wine. He was watching me curiously. I noticed a pair of very nasty-looking daggers at his sides, and my inner threat assessment abilities—the source of which I now assumed was my past life—informed me that this guy was not someone I should mess with.

"Hail," I said in greeting.

He nodded at me, then returned to his conversation. But as I found a table, I noticed him sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his orbs—despite the fact that he had no eyeballs, I was somehow able to tell when his gaze was fixed on me. Venya brought me a bowl of hearty stew and a mug of spring water. Without a second glance, I devoured the food, tasting nothing but slight hints of salty and savory. My hunger seemed insatiable. I forgot all about the man and ordered another bowl. Minutes passed.

I looked up from my third helping of stew. The man was sitting at my table. How had he gotten there without me noticing?

"Pardon the intrusion. I am David Trias, trainer of those of the roguish persuasion in Deathknell. I spend most of my time here in the Inn keeping an eye out for new faces and just keeping tabs on up-and-coming prospects. I couldn't help but notice your…" I waited for the pigheaded remark. It didn't come. Instead, he finished with, "…tattoo."

"My wha?" I gurgled in shock, dribbling stew onto my filthy tunic. God, what a pathetic sight I must've been. What tattoo was he talking about?

"On the back of your neck." Damn, I hadn't even checked that side of my body! "That mark… I feel like I've seen it before." He was leaning toward me with an intense expression on his rotting face. "In fact, I know I have." He grinned wickedly at me.

"Ooav?" I grunted as I attempted to swallow my stew, with minimal success.

David nodded. "A black skull wrapped in bronze chains. It's the same mark I saw on another traveler who came through here just a few days ago. Her name, what was it…" He snapped his fingers a few times, producing a sound like flint against steel. "Dystressi, I believe."

I finally managed to gulp down the stew, and took a sip of water. "Really? You did?" I suddenly became very interested. Perhaps this Dystressi knew something about who I was! I peppered David with questions: "Where did she go? Who was she? What was the mark?"

"Whoa, whoa! Easy!" He ordered another glass of wine from Venya, and began sipping it thoughtfully as he recounted the tale: "She came down from the crypt without her memories, same as you."

"Wait, how did you know I-"

"I'm a rogue." He tilted his head coyly at me and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Isn't the answer obvious?

"Oh."

"Anyway, she remembered only a few things about herself: that she was trained in armed combat rather than magic, that she was looking for someone important to her, and that she'd fallen victim to the blight while in the Plaguelands, far east of here. She didn't ever remember her real name. Dystressi was what she chose to call herself, after she began her training."

"Training? Training for what?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "My, your brain really has begun to mold." I bristled a bit at this remark. "Training to be a rogue, of course! A Shadowstalker like myself. I was the one who trained her, after all."

"Okay, so she's a rogue now. Where did she go? Did she remember who she was looking for? And did she say anything about the symbol?" I was getting antsy. I really wanted to jump up and find a mirror so I could look at it for myself.

"Relax. I'll tell you everything you want to know." David leaned in closer. dropping his voice. "But I didn't get to be where I am without learning this critical fact: information isn't free." He grinned at me again, and leaned back.

I swallowed loudly. "Not… free?"

"I have a favor I need taken care of. A teeny, tiny… reacquisition, of some important materials that have gone missing from my private supply. You'll be venturing into the Scourge-occupied quarter of Deathknell to get them. If you can carry out the task, I'll tell you more about this girl: who she was looking for, what her tattoo meant, and where she went." He gestured toward me. "The choice is yours."

"Well," I started. Was this a good idea? I was still barely able to eat without dribbling on myself like an infant, and here it sounded like this David Trias wanted me to do a pretty dangerous chore for him. But hell, I wasn't gaining any ground just sitting around here. "Okay. You've got a deal. What do you want me to do?"

"By the Void!" I yelped as I tore out of the abandoned barn with two rattlecage skeletons and a mindless zombie hot on my heels. The dagger at my side clinked loudly and uncomfortably against my bones as I skirted round the backside of the ramshackle building. With a shaking hand, I drew the blade. Time for an ambush… hopefully. In truth I had no idea what the hell I was doing. But after hours of searching and slaying Scourge, I'd spotted the artifact I needed for David in that barn; and I'd be damned—well, damned further—if I didn't at least make a good effort at getting it.

"Eeeargh!" one of the skeletons crackled as I drove my dagger into its skull. It crumpled into a pile of lifeless bones. The other skeleton took a swing at me, bruising my thin arm even through the leather armor I was now wearing. I lashed out at it with the dagger, severing its spine and killing (rekilling?) it. The mindless zombie, meanwhile, was eagerly trying to devour my shoulder. I shrugged him off and took a few swings. Missed. He moaned at me, his beady blue eye orbs glowing, his ruined jaw hanging by a few threads. Suddenly, another wretched zombie nearby noticed us, and decided to join the buffet line.

"Help!" I screamed. The two disgusting monsters were taking turns chomping into me, and it was all I could do to keep them from knocking me down and feasting on my inner organs. Every bite they managed to steal released a small cascade of blackish, gas-like liquid, which, judging from the pain and increasing sense of weakness, I assumed to be the Forsaken version of blood. I let out another scream, "Gods, someone help me!"

As if from nowhere, a shadowy bolt of purple energy topped with a cackling skull came rocketing from behind the zombies, bursting against one of them and pushing it over. The other monster paused momentarily, as if confused. What is this new intrusion, it seemed to be asking itself. No time for an answer: a column of flame from the ground incinerated it before my eyes. The Forsaken who'd saved me, a young-looking zombie in burgundy robes, moved swiftly to my side. Her hair and face were much more intact than mine—very pretty, really—and she had a wooden staff held at her back with a leather strap.

"You should be more careful out here!" she scolded gently, removing something from the travel pack at her hip. "I'm Mitexi. What's your name?"

I groaned in reply. Both my shoulders were tattered messes of black goop and mangled white flesh, the ooze dripping down the hardened leather chestplate and sleeves hanging loosely off my body. The dagger had long since dropped from my aching hand. I wanted to tell her how appreciative I was, but my vocal cords were refusing to cooperate.

"Thx," I managed to grunt, skipping the vowel.

In moments I began to feel slightly better: the girl was wrapping my wounds with a light linen bandage. "There we go Thicks,"—did she think my name was Thicks?—"good as new." She giggled. It sounded like nails on sandpaper. "Well, not really good as new. But it'll be enough to get you back to town. C'mon, let's go."

"No," I mumbled. My vision was a bit hazy, but at least my arms didn't really hurt anymore. What the hell was in that bandage? I could get used to that feeling. "Gotta get… thing fer… guy."

Mitexi tilted her head at me. "Do you? Hm. Where is it?"

"In… barn." I thumped my fist against the red, chipped paint. "Shelves… back…" I knew the way was clear now. I'd drawn out all the opposition with my stupid attempt at a stealthy entry. Mitexi nodded and helped me walk around the barn. We ventured inside. One wall was nothing but hay bales, while on the other I spotted a set of shelves. And there, nestled comfortably amidst some seed bags, was a tiny golden box. "Thazit!" I groaned, pointing at the chest.

Mitexi retrieved it. "This little thing? This is what you were asked to get?" She attempted to open it, but found it locked. "Hm. Whoever sent you out here might be playing a trick on you… this thing doesn't look very valuable."

"Please," I mumbled, holding out my hands. She shrugged and passed it to me. I quickly checked the top—yes, there was the crest he'd described—and stowed the box in the pouch at my side. "Thank you."

Mitexi smiled. "Don't thank me just yet. Wait until we're back in Deathknell, then you can be grateful." Her face became worried. "It's getting dark out now—darker than usual I mean—and that means the zombies and skeletons will be even more ferocious than normal. They always get worse at night."

She wasn't kidding. Within thirty staggered paces of the barn, we were already under siege by a parade of horrific aberrations. Mitexi handled the situation with skill unlike anything I'd seen in this unlife: shadow bolts flew left and right as she muttered curses and spells under her breath. Walls of zombies fell before her like waves breaking on rocks. I limped along behind, lashing out with my daggers when the beasts got too close. But watching her throw magic around like it was nothing quickly set a twitch in my mind: since I seemed so unsuited to melee, perhaps I could learn to do what she was doing? If my memories could be trusted—and I wasn't so sure about that, to be honest—then I'd once had the ability to summon demons, and presumably do what Mitexi now did with ease.

"Can you teach me?" I asked her plainly, after she annihilated another cluster of skeletons.

She turned her bright yellow eye orbs toward me. "Teach you?"

"How to do that. How to cast that spell."

Mitexi cocked her head at me. "But you're a rogue? You can't do magic."

I shook my head. "I'm no rogue. I took this gear because I didn't know what else to do. But I think I can do that. Teach me, please."

"Well, okay. But be careful." Mitexi had me repeat a few words in Demonic until I could do them from memory. "That's Shadow Bolt. Now, to cast it, all you do is say the words-" the phase left her lips, "-thrust out your hand-" she held up a bony finger at a zombie several yards off, "-and concentrate on moving the magic through your body." A blast of black energy left her palm. It blew the ghoul's head off. "That's the key part: if you're not magically inclined, you won't be able to do it."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Try it on that skeleton."

I mumbled the words and concentrated. In seconds, I could feel a rush of power up my arm, and almost like a breath leaving my body, the Shadow Bolt flew from my hand into the bonebag, killing it.

Mitexi clapped excitedly. "You got it! Get rid of those daggers: you're a warlock now!"

I grinned, feeling genuinely happy for the first time since I'd come back to life. "Yeah, I guess I am. Thanks Mitexi."

"Don't mention it. Now help me blow through that group over there. Town isn't too far, but we've still got a lot of Scourge to get past." The two of us charged forward, bolts of shadowy energy flying from our fingertips. I found that casting spells was slightly draining on me; Mitexi informed me that I'd need to keep track of my mana now, and make sure I didn't tire myself out too quickly. "Your mana is like a physical manifestation of your concentration. If you sit down and relax for a moment, you'll gain it back quickly. Drinking water helps too." She paused in her instructions to burn the head off a nearby creep with a blast of Searing Pain. "The better you get at concentrating during battle, the more mana you'll regenerate while fighting."

We fought past building after building in the Scourge occupied quarter of Deathknell. Mitexi was on a mission to collect supplies for the town, so we occasionally stopped on our way so she could gather clothing and weapons from crates stacked near the abandoned structures. I helped carry some of the load.

This wasn't so bad. I could get used to having a partner out here. Mitexi didn't say much, but she did tell me a bit about herself between fights. She'd been afflicted by the Plauge in Strahnbrad, a town to the southeast, and had served the Lich King for a year before being saved by Sylvanas. She didn't want to talk about what she'd done as a mindless slave, I quickly noted. But she was happy to tell me more about what her life had been like: her two children, her husband, a simple existence as the town seamstress. I silently wished I had memories like hers to reflect on.

The ruins of Deathknell through which we were moving had an empty, melancholy air. Mitexi informed me that, sadly, most of the Scourge we were fighting could've been Forsaken, if only they'd had a bit more of their brains intact. Breaking free of the Lich King's will, she said, required a certain level of uncorrupted intellect, below which there was no hope.

As we neared the final hill leading to inner Deathknell and safety, I asked, "So can you summon an Imp yet?"

She shook her head, looking a bit discouraged. "No. I've been trying to learn, but Maximillion—the warlock trainer—says that I need to get the basics down better before I can cast a spell like that."

"Oh. What about-"

"Grraah!" a ghastly voice roared. The door to an empty building right beside us burst open, sending both of us tumbling to the dirt. Out of the farmhouse rushed a gang of ghouls unlike the ones we'd been fighting prior to now: these monsters were wearing rough armor and had bloodstained cleavers in their stale hands. Leaping to our feet, Mitexi and I backpedaled quickly, she throwing spells over her shoulder as we ran, me trying not to scream in fear. The four ghouls gave chase immediately. Their cleavers gleamed in the moonlight.

"Take cover! I'll hold them off!" Mitexi thundered. I needed no further encouragement; in seconds I was huddled beside a pile of wood, out of sight. Mitexi whirled to face the four oncomers and began peppering them with Shadow Bolts and Immolates. One went down quickly—the skeleton—but the other three were nearly upon her. She dodged as best she could, taking a few good hits from blades.

"Texi!" I shrieked as black blood gushed from her wounds. She limped backward, casting as she went. I had to do something! I began firing Shadow Bolts from my hiding place, landing several direct hits. Another zombie went down, leaving just two standing.

One of which noticed me. Shit.

As he barreled in my direction, I fled from my hiding place, just in time to see Mitexi collapse beside a knoll with black ooze leaking from her side like oil from an old machine. I couldn't leave her, so I changed course and thumped the zombie standing over her with my body. A jolt of pain caused me to cry out. Probably not the best idea to use my injured shoulder as a weapon. The two zombies, now hungry for blood, move slowly toward us, cleavers raised.

"Save… yourself…" Mitexi groaned, her voice barely a whisper.

"No! I won't leave you!" I yelled. There had to be something else I could do: Shadow Bolts weren't affecting these two at all. Needed to remember… needed to remember… yes!

Like a key turning the tumblers in a door, my mind unlocked, allowing me access to a whole bank of spells. I roared in Demonic, unleashing a Curse of Agony. A tiny skull appeared above one of the zombies, and he began grunting in pain. I cast Corruption on the other, causing his flesh to start deteriorating at a rapid pace. A quick pair of Immolates ignited their thin bodies, raising the volume of the moans.

"Burn! Burn in the Twisting Nether!" I thundered, casting Conflagrate. The flames roasting both zombies immediately exploded, taking the flesh right off their bones and downing the beasts. Wasting no time, I rummaged through Mitexi's pack and found another linen bandage.

"You… did it," she exhaled, her eye orbs growing dimmer.

"Hold on Mitexi. I've got you." I wrapped her up as best I could. Thank Gods: she was able to sit up again, and with my help climbed to her feet.

"Guess we're… even now," she groaned with a weak smile. "Gather their weapons… might be worth something…"

I rummaged around where the attackers had fallen, collecting four cleavers, a set of identification papers, a signet ring, and two necklaces. Not a bad haul. One of the zombies was wearing a cloth belt that my senses informed me was magical, so I took that as well. With Mitexi slung over one shoulder, I managed to drag our two corpses back to Deathknell, just a few hundred yards away. We made it safely to the barricaded section, where a Deathstalker met us and helped us to the Chapel.

Shadow Priest Sarvis was waiting inside. "By the Forgotten Shadow! You two are in bad shape!" He beckoned over a robed Forsaken man standing nearby, and instructed him to tend to my wounds. Mitexi was laid out on a pew, and Sarvis began chanting over her, repairing her torn flesh.

Meanwhile, the man hummed a tune to himself as he unwrapped my bandages. "I'm Dark Cleric Duesten," he told me calmly. "Let's take a look at this… oo, yes. Got a bit chewed up, huh?"

I nodded wearily. I was suddenly very, very tired. "Where is Maximillion?" I asked, slurring a bit.

Duesten gave me a funny look. "Maximillion? He usually creeps around the graveyard. What do you want him for? You're a rogue, aren't you?"

"No… I'm a warlock." It felt good to say that. Knowing some fact about myself gave me a sense of security unlike anything I'd yet experienced in my unlife.

Duesten sighed. "If that is your chosen path, then so be it." With a quick wave of his hands, he restored the flesh on my shoulders. It felt like they'd never been damaged, and they looked smooth and unscarred.

"Wow! Thank you!" I gushed. "Hey, can you fix my face too while you're at it?" I gestured to the holes in my cheeks.

"Alas, I cannot. When you were reanimated, your body entered a sort of 'stasis'. In other words, however you looked with you got out of the grave is how you're going to look from now on." He smiled at me, and I suddenly noticed he was missing a large piece of his throat. "You'll get used to it. Now, if you're feeling better, let's go see how your friend is doing."

We walked over. Mitexi was standing beside the Shadow Priest, chatting away. Her wounds appeared fully healed. Duesten left me there and returned to another part of the church.

Mitexi turned as I approached. "Hey! Thicks! You're okay!" She shot me a huge smile. "I'm glad you made it. That was some amazing stuff you did out there! I was just telling Father Sarvis about it."

"Yes," Sarvis confirmed. "It sounds as though you've regained a bit of your memory now, am I right?" He noticed the cleavers I'd stuffed in my belt. "But what are these?" I removed all the items I'd pilfered from the zombies and laid them on his pulpit, relating the tale of their acquisition as I did so. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Those four you fought… yes, I have no doubt… you see, sometimes Forsaken are so unhappy with being sentient undead that, even after being freed, they make the choice to return to the Lich King. These four you describe sound like four of our flock that departed for that purpose a few weeks ago. I had wondered what had become of them." He held up the necklaces and said, "Stephen Bhartec and Karrel Grayves." The signet ring: "Saumel Fipps." The papers: "Daniel Ulfman." He handed me the belt. "This magical belt looks like it may help you, so you should hang onto it."

I felt a bit nervous. "So… should I not have killed them?"

He chuckled. "Ha! No, killing them was the right thing to do. They were servants of the Lich King, after all, and by choice no less. 'Twas a fitting end for traitors."

Mitexi gave me a wink. "Thicks, you're scoring points all over the place today."

I beamed. "I guess so."

"Thicks?" Sarvis said inquisitively.

"Oh." Time to fess up. "Mitexi, that's not really my name."

She looked confused. "But you said-"

"No, I was just delirious. I… don't actually remember my name."

"Still hasn't come back to you?" Sarvis questioned, concern in his voice. I shook my head no. "Well… perhaps it's time you chose a new name, then. Can't go around being called 'hey you' for the rest of your death." He would've shot me a smile if he still had a mouth to smile with.

Mitexi clapped her hands excitedly. "Ooh! Yes! A name! What will it be?"

I thought a moment. Sarvis and Mitexi watched me expectantly, but as I stared back, the memories I'd managed to snatch out of the Nether clouded my vision. I could see my old, beautiful face before me now, almost ghost-like, but still as real as any memory could be. Around me floated images from my past: the blackness I'd seen as I fell, the Imp who'd once been under my command, the spells I knew, and even a few new things—other human faces, living faces; a horse with a flaming mane and hooves of fire; a large blue demon, grumbling as he raced into battle; and the burning eyes of a pale-faced, winged figure with sulfur breath and heavy black armor. Now to the forefront came two sensations: the warm, tender embrace of a roaring hearth, and the sickly gray ache of corrupted flesh—my flesh. This flickering flashback went on for a time, until finally I blinked and came back to reality. My two undead companions were watching me intently.

"A name…" I said softly. "Yes. I have one."

"What is it?" Mitexi squeaked eagerly.

I rose to my full height. This was a powerful moment for me, and I could feel the energy crackling through every weathered bone, every disintegrated muscle, from my green hair to my spiked toes. The answers I sought would present themselves, in time, but until then, I would embrace my new identity. No longer would I cling to my past life, to the memories I had only snippets of. No longer would I sit and brood over what I had once been.

It was time to truly become Forsaken.

"From here forward, I shall be known… as Blightfire."