Depression

The room was almost pitch black, with only flickering, pale blue scourgelight coming from lamps that had begun to run low on magic. The chamber had not been disturbed in some time, a fine layer of dust having settled over all of the objects within the dim confines of the enclosed space. The air was stagnant, the scent of dried flowers mixing with the stench of decay and rot.

In the darkness, a figure lay in repose, its unmoving form stretched out upon a regal looking bed, hands crossed at the chest and black dress draped around it. Unmoving, the woman's chest did not rise and fall, and her arms were crossed over her bosom as if someone had laid her in state after her passing. A fine layer of dust clung to tanned flesh, time having taken its toll on both the corpse and the bed upon which is rested.

The room had been thus for weeks, or was it months now? It was had to recall exactly when things had come to such a state. When a mind is locked in a downward spiral, constantly battling itself, time begins to lose meaning. When one has no physical requirements to care for, it becomes even more ethereal, fading away to a nothing that can be ignored.

At what point did one admit that they were in the wrong? After having come to such a realization, for how long could one lash oneself with blame? Was it possible to remain in such a state of self-loathing forever? Worse, when the cause of such self-loathing was the result of pain inflicted on others, when was enough suffering and penance really enough? Such thoughts went beyond merely feeling inadequate or being 'upset' and delved deep into a fetid stew in which one regularly reviewed one's own character and found it wanting, until it was decided most firmly that one's existence was a pointless waste of time and that one had absolutely no purpose in anything anymore, freezing a person into immobility.

A person might think about taking their own life once they reached such a depth, and yet that was not an option. When life had fled, what was left but a seething cauldron of hateful spirit that would continue on exactly as it had when it was alive? When one knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no end to the suffering and that the only way to move past such thoughts was to forgive oneself, it became clear that there would be no victory and that wallowing in misery and self-loathing would be a permanent course.

Of course, nature had its own cures for such things, even when one existed in an unnatural state. In the darkness, the unmoving figure shuddered once as wracking agony passed through the undead form. In the blackness of the room, two burning points of scourge-light flared to life as eyes that had been closed for so long sprang open, unable to process the sudden pain.

The figure shot up out of her 'final' resting place, her mouth opening and a chilling wail echoing from her, the sound penetrating the stone walls of the sealed chamber and carrying far into the corridors beyond. A sound of terrible pain and hate, it was like a banshee's shriek and was enough to alert others who also dwelled in that place to come investigate.

In a moment pounding began on the door, the inhabitants of Acherus concerned that someone had summoned or accidentally released a banshee within the confines of the structure. When the pounding was met with more wailing, those outside of the chamber began to beat against the barricade, eventually bursting into the room and allowing a stream of torchlight to illuminate the dim chamber beyond. They entered warily, blades drawn as they took in the scene.

A blonde-haired woman was crouched on the edge of the bed, one hand grasping a bedpost as she glared at them. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, her body shuddering with the agony that came from a death knight neglecting to feed herself for weeks or months at a time. Her hair was ragged and fell around her face, making her look like a wild animal as she dug her overly long nails into the wood that she grasped.

"C-captain Eastberg...?" one of the death knights murmured as he took in the scene. Beckyann Eastberg had not been seen for many months, and those who had been nominally under her command had assumed that she had either deserted or died long ago. Her quarters had been sealed, and no one had thought to enter them.

The figure on the edge of the bed actually hissed at them, like a scourge creature. The two death knights that had entered the room gave each other a look before advancing towards her, their blades drawn. "Captain...have you been in here the entire time?"

There was no response beyond additional hissing, but as one of the death knights drew close enough, the blonde figure sprang from the bed, her body flying through the air and colliding with his, hurling him back against a dresser. Although she was unarmored, the blonde woman's weight was enough to unbalance the death knight, and he stumbled sideways, tripping over a pile of discarded clothing in the room. He fell with a crash, Beckyann landing atop him and battering him with her hands, which clawed at his face and neck like a zombie might.

"Captain! Compose yourself!" the second knight yelled. He brought his own blade around and smacked the flat of it against Beckyann's head, hurling her off the first knight. She tumbled, her victim rising and cursing as black blood oozed from the superficial wounds her nails had made. A third death knight entered the room behind the duo, his weapon also drawn.

Beckyann turned rapidly in place on the floor, spinning around and launching herself at the knights again. This time they were prepared for her attack, and she was body-checked by her first plate armored foe. The second sprang at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and driving her to the floor, his weight falling atop her. She struggled beneath him, inarticulate hissing coming from her.

"Damn...would one of you grab her legs? She's going to get free..." the knight on top of Beckyann yelled. One of his companions dashed over and essentially sat on Beckyann's thrashing legs, while the third dropped his runeblade and ran around the group, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the floor.

The knight on top of Beckyann looked down into her eyes, seeing nothing but wild hate and a complete lack of conscious awareness. He reached down and slapped the blonde woman hard, the action only eliciting more hissing and additional thrashing. "Captain! Get hold of yourself! You haven't fed have you?! What in the nether is wrong with you? You know better than this!"

The beast beneath him merely hissed some more, and he slapped her again and again. The blows seemed to dull her fury for a moment, and after a time and a good, sound beating, she calmed enough that she was no longer thrashing, her glowing eyes fixed on his. He leaned closer, studying her expression for a moment.

"It looks like she's totally gone," the knight said, turning to look at his companions. "We're going to have to destro-"

As he was speaking, Beckyann lurched up, her teeth sinking into his neck and ripping the flesh from it. Although the wound was superficial, the plagues within Beckyann's mouth ate at his flesh enough to cause him to howl, black blood gushing from the hole she had torn in his neck. The pain she inflicted on the death knight made Beckyann shudder, her eyes dilating for a moment and glowing more brightly. It had been just enough to pull her from the brink, although not enough to stop her from her need to feed.

Beckyann shuddered again, and her eyes snapped into focus just in time to see his fist descending towards her face. The snap of the blow rocked her head to the side, and when she looked back at him, black blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She blinked a few times, her voice low, "W-why are you on me..."

"Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" the knight on top of Beckyann cursed. "You're like an animal. You need to feed now. Or at least get the fuck out of this fortress. I don't care if you're a Captain or not, wild scourge are thrown off the edge or used for parts. So either get control of yourself right now, or we'll cut your head off ourselves! Got it?!"

Beckyann took in the knights looming over her and nodded once, blood still oozing from the welts on her face. When she spoke, her voice was a croaking echo, "My blade. My horse. Show me where to go."

The death knight on top of Beckyann rose off her, the other two nodding and releasing her. One of them turned and stumbled through the darkness of her chambers, muttering curses to himself as he stumbled over her things. He came back into the light thrown from the open doorway, a runeblade in hand. He tossed the weapon, letting it land unceremoniously on her body where she lay on the floor.

"Get up and get the fuck out or I'm reporting this to the General. There's a portal opened to a place called Draenor below the citadel where you can be a fucking scourge construct all you want without us having to deal with you. Go kill some orcs and when you feel like yourself again, we can talk about what you owe the three of us for not reporting this. I'm thinking we're about to get some r&r time in," the death knight that had pinned Beckyann said with a smirk.

Beckyann rose from the floor slowly, her runeblade in her hand and her dress falling around her. She bowed her head, studying the blade and watching as the runes on it began to glow. She knew that the knight was right, and had every right to talk to her like he just had. Her rank meant nothing if she was going to become scourge because she hadn't fed herself. Light, how long had it been? Weeks? Months? A year? She didn't even know, but she could barely think straight and she knew that if she didn't kill soon, she would lose herself in it permanently.

She glanced at one of the knights, her eyes meeting his and understanding passing between them. They all had to face this after all, and she had let the blackness inside her mind blind her to the reality of what she was now. Her voice was more steady when she replied, "Thank you. I will go now. If the others come looking for me..."

"I will tell them that you set out on a patrol and we haven't heard from you in a week or so," the knight replied, his tone softening. "Go before it's too late."

Beckyann nodded once and then turned and walked from the room, not even bothering to don her armor as she left. There was no time to waste, because if she didn't feed soon, her depression would be the least of her worries.

After she left, two of the death knights looked at the one who had spoken, a question in their gazes. He grinned at them and shook his head, "Look, it's a win win. Either she is destroyed outright and we don't have to deal with her ever again, or she gets better and then she owes us a favor. Either way, we don't have to wonder what she is doing. Safer this way."

The other two nodded in agreement and in unison the three left Beckyann's room, pulling the oft-kicked in door closed behind them, leaving the blackness of the room to itself once more.