"We are the Forsaken!"- Part One

Time Played: 24 hours
Words: 4000

“We are the Forsaken!” reverberated on the air, growling across the expanse of the graveyard.  She stood, looking around nervously, unsure of what had happened.  The Forsaken?!  She couldn’t be, would not be, a Forsaken.  She had fought against the Horde in the previous wars and when the Lich King ascended to power, she fought even harder, harnessing her skills as a Warlock.  But now, now she was hearing this blasphemy, hearing it at an alarmingly close distance to her ears.  “We are the Forsaken!” 

                Around her others where rising, looking around, attempting to figure out where they were, what they were.  Every so often a sob wretched through the growling voices, slamming her back into the present.  She was dead.  That was the only option, the only possibility, and for the first time since her younger brother had been killed by a Blood Elf, she wanted to cry.  But warriors did not cry.  Ever.  And so she bite into her bottom lip, surprised she could still feel pain, and started to focus on what was happening around her.

                Loitering near her was a Val’kyr, a beautiful apparition with expansive wings no longer supported by feathers.  Instead, the Val’kyr hovered, ghostly wings vibrating the air, watching over the newly born Undeads—watching their anguish, their distress.  The Val’kyr didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, but Kilystia approached her, weaving past a man on his knees, head down.  “What did you do to me?”  She demanded the apparition, hands on hips, anger whispering through each word.  Keeping her voice low and level was something she had learned when dealing with trainers for her class when alive.  The never suspected her anger, her burning hatred for authority, and she applied it here, looking up at the winged woman.  “What did you do to me?”

                “You have been resurrected to serve Lady Slyvanas and the Forsaken.”  Lilting, soothing, the Val’kyr finally turned her attention on Kilystia, abandoning her position as sentinel for a moment.  “We need you for the Horde and you should be honored to serve.”  The Val’kyr nodded once before, pausing.

                “I am part of the All-“

                “You will report to Deathguard Darnell.  He will instruct you.”  She began to turn away, to take up her post once again.  “We expect great things of you, Kilystia.”

                Kilystia fumed, broiled, and she turned around, loath to face the guard.  I am a member of the Alliance.  I am a human.  I am not part of the Horde, and I am definitely not part of the Forsaken.  The mantra ran though her head on repeat while she picked her way along the bodies beginning to awaken to a new life, and she wanted more than anything to kill them all again so they could be spared this existence.

                “Kilystia?”  A voice growled in her ear, hovering to her left.  “Are you Kilystia?”

                “How do you know my name?” she pivoted, facing the undead man, legs planted in a stance which would allow her to hold her ground.  He was Undead, looked as though he had been Undead for awhile.  Darnell.  “You’re the one who is supposed to help me.”  No questions, no kindness.  She was a traitor to her people, her family, and she had no choice.  She doubted that she could kill herself because they would just resurrect her again, and she doubted the Alliance would even let her get close enough to talk with them.  She was not resigned though—not even close.

                “Yes.  You should follow me.  We have tasks for you before you meet with the Dark Lady.”  He hobbled forward, kicking at a risen corpse writhing on the ground.  “You need to speak with Lilian and convince her to accept her fate.  She cannot fight it.”  He grumbled under his breath constantly as she followed behind.  “She was last seen hiding in Deathknell’s village somewhere.  She shouldn’t be difficult to find.”

                “Why not just kill her like some of the others have been killed?”  Kilystia kept her gaze forward, afraid to look at others, afraid to see the pain in her fellow dead human’s eyes or the disgusting bodies of what they had become.

                “We need her.  She is strong, like you.”

                “What happens if she does not comply?”

                “It will be out of your hands,” he harrumphed.  “Just find her and then return back to me.”  He stopped, turned to face her, and ran his eyes down her body once.  “You’ll make a good Mage.  You have some skills and you will learn more.”

                “I am a War—“

                “We do not care what you were. You are what you are.  Now, go!  The Banshee Queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

                Kaliystia fumed.  A Mage, at least it isn’t that different than a Warlock.  At least I still have magic.  That should count for something.  She looked out toward the village and began walking, dragging her feet as she mother used to call it before her family had been slaughtered by Blood Elfs.  Dragging her feet.  Why did they think she would be the best candidate to convince this Lilian woman to embrace her new life?  They shouldn’t, not really, but it could be a test, and if nothing else, Kilystia loved tests.  She thrived on them.  Spotting a mindless Zombie running about without an apparent goal, she targeted him, bracing herself for the backlash of the spell and let go on her fireball, watching as it lit up the Undead, lighting him aflame.  For a moment pride washed through her before he started at her, shambling along. She braced herself again and released the spell, finishing him off quickly, a smug smile on her face.  At least she could still kill people—and that was what she wanted, was it not?  To kill people?  To release that anger of those deaths?

                After looting his corpse and finding only a measly 10 coppers, she picked up a jog, moving in and out of buildings, looking for her current target.  Lilian was nowhere—or at least seemed to be nowhere.  There were others, others like her doing mindless tasks, others like Darnell who helped point her in the right direction—even if it was a direction with which she did not agree. 

                As she entered the Inn at Deathknell, she heard the prolonged sobbing of someone deeply distraught, a sound she knew, a sound she had felt.  When her brother died at the hands of a Horde member before the last war, she had knelt at his body and keened, sobbing, body retching.  Yes, she knew this sound and she followed it up the rickety staircase to the woman kneeling before a mirror. “Lilian?”  Tentative, cautious.  She didn’t want anything sudden to happen. 

                “Look at me!”  The woman wailed, burying her face in her hands, turning away from Kilystia.  “Look what they did to me!  I’m a monster.”

                “You are what you are.  The Dark Lady needs you,” Kilystia responded, surprised at the strength and conviction in her voice.  She hated the Horde, hated it!  But she was loyal when she had to be, and if she wanted to even entertain the thought of deserting, she had to at least be loyal—pretend to be loyal.  Kilystia grabbed Lilian’s shoulder, turning the woman around roughly and forcing her to look into the cracked mirror.  “You cannot change this and even if you did manage to get away, you would just be killed instantly.  Do you really think that your family would want you back?” 

                Lilian did not answer, did nothing but stare into the mirror as Kilystia held her head forward.  “I guess not.”  Softly, whispered.

                “You will come with me back to Darnell.” No room for disagreement.  Kilystia did not want to fail at her first task, but as Lilian ripped from her grip, she knew she would be returning to Darnell by herself.

                “No!  I will not accept this.  I will not be one of them.”  Lilian ran, flying down the stairs and out of the Inn, leaving Kilystia staring into the mirror.  Kilystia sighed, running her chocolate eyes up and down her new body.  A skeleton—that’s all she really was.  A skeleton with clothing on.  Shaking her head roughly, Kilystia turned and left the mirror, dreading what would happen when she returned to Darnell. 

                Kilystia dragged her feet all the way back to the graveyard, resisting the urge to kill Zombies and fellow Undead.  And, once she saw Darnell waiting for her, however, she drew her shoulders back and approached him with purpose.  “Sir, she would not come.  She ran off.”

                “Ah well, some people just have trouble with this life.  Unfortunately, she has no choice.  We’ll deal with it later.”  He flicked his hand, dismissing the problem as if it were nothing, as if Lilian meant little to the Horde as a whole.  It didn’t surprise her, however.  The Alliance was the same.  They made people sound important, but they weren’t.  Not really.

                “Oh.  Okay.”  Kilystia looked around, waiting patiently, even though she was not sure what she was waiting for.  “Um, what’s next?”

                “Go to the Forsaken High Command in Silverpine Forest.  There you will meet the Dark Lady.  She will give you your next command.  Your assistance is and will continue to be expected.”

                “Yes, Sir,”  Kilystia grumbled under her breathe as she turned around. She had no idea where to go, no idea at all, but it would give her time to figure out what needed to be done if she decided to try to return to the Alliance.