Awakening

*Raven Hill Cemetery, Deep Within a Crypt*

The old man stumbled, falling heavily against the earthen wall of the tunnel that lead into the blackest depths of the crypt. Wracking coughs took hold, his body shaking as blood welled up and came out of his mouth onto the cloth he held over it. The torch he held flickered in the stagnant air as his convulsions caused it to shake.

After several long, agonizing minutes, Victor Cooper managed to push himself away from the wall and continue his journey further into darkness. In the back of his mind, whispered warnings and clashing thoughts battled for his sanity, the last fading vestiges of his rational thought holding in place by a thread.

A seer for many years, Victor had always been accosted by visions and dreams of the future. As he grew older and his health began to fail, the visions had become darker and more mysterious, often pointing towards the deaths of those who sought his council or were related to some ill tidings. Since the illness had begun to claim him, virtually every night his mind's eye had shown him horrific images of green flames and death raining down on a silent hill that he believed was his resting place.

These visions had continued night after night, even as his body had begun to fail him, until two nights ago when he had seen something entirely different, something he'd had difficulty understanding. The green fire was there as it always was, washing over everything in a vision of apocalypse, but this time it was different. This time the green fire was met by blue fire, the two forces clashing and burning away everything around them until the green flames were beaten back and extinguished at last. It had taken him much thought in his weakened state to try to interpret what he'd seen, and even now he was not sure if he was correct. He'd researched local legends and folklore, trying to come to terms with what he'd seen. Finally, after agonizing hours out of the bed that he knew would soon be his deathbed, he had discovered what he believed to be the answer.

He stumbled again, the uneven stone floor of the crypt's tunnel barely visible in the small globe of light thrown off by his torch. He winced in agony, hearing the patter of his blood as it dripped onto the stones. He'd been wounded many times in his journey, the roaming ghouls and undead creatures that even now haunted the cemetery having taken their toll of his flesh. His own illness mingled with the diseases they carried, his body a cauldron of dark plagues that made each step, each breath a symphony of agony, but he pressed on, his visions guiding him to what he knew would be his destiny.

After many long minutes in the darkness, he finally felt the tunnel wall slip away as he moved forward into a larger, hollowed out space deep beneath the cemetery hill above. With a shaking hand he held his torch high, its pitiful light flickering again and revealing a small stone room with a stone sarcophagus set in the center of the space. Warily he lurched towards it, his hands coming out to touch the smooth marble as he leaned heavily on it. His fingertips traced runes carved into its surface, the words in several languages warning others to keep away from the unholy resting place.

Victor frowned in concentration, his hands running over the cold stone in the darkness, seeking the particular runes that he'd read about. After a long search he finally found them, a satisfied smile coming over his face as he felt the outline of the words in the Language of Death.

Plague-bringer

With a nod to himself he dropped his torch on the stone floor beside him, leaning forward and placing both hands on the lid of the sealed stone before him. He heaved with all his remaining strength, the thin lid of stone giving way after a moment and sliding forward slowly before tipping over and crashing to the floor behind the sarcophagus before shattering into a million pieces. The noise of its cracking almost drown out the death rattle coughing fit that consumed Victor for several minutes after the act.

Blood staining his lips now, he reached down and drew the torch up, his hands shaking again as he leaned over the edge of the sarcophagus, his eyes widening as the light illuminated the stone container before him and confirmed the tales he'd read.

Within lay a figure in repose, the woman's flesh ashen white. Bedecked in black armor with images of skulls decorating it, she lay silently within her resting place, dark blue-black hair framing a face forever frozen in the flower of her youthful early twenties. Her hands lay at rest over the hilt of a sword, the weapon lain atop her and long enough to reach the middle of her armored calves. Although she had obviously lain undisturbed for many years, no hint of decay touched her other than the ashen color of her skin, and the fact that cobwebs connected her dead form to the walls of her resting place. Black-painted lips lay closed, still looking healthy and plump as if her eyes would open and words would slip forth from between them but a moment later.

Victor took all of this in for a moment, holding himself steady with quickly weakening limbs. Here lay a legend from the campaign in the north. A woman whose death saddened many in the nearby region years ago, and whose legacy and contributions to the fight against the Lich King had all but been forgotten. Sealed away from the world in the years following, all but a few had forgotten she'd even existed, and none now living cared. Victor smiled as he looked down at her, the smile fading as he realized what he was about to do, trepidation making him shake his head.

"This was as the vision foretold. Blue fire to burn away the green," he muttered to himself. His words echoed in the narrow space, bouncing back to him in the empty darkness. No response greeted him, nor had he expected any. He'd come as his visions told him, but now that he was here he knew little of what to do.

A coughing fit took him, this one worse than all those before. Agony gripped his chest like hot iron bands wrapped around his form, and he nearly plunged head-first into the sarcophagus as his strength failed him. Here, at the end of his quest, he would fail because he was too weak to finish what he'd come to do. He hung limply over the stone, his coughing becoming weaker, agony and misery mixing together in a bittersweet brew within him. In despair he glanced at the dead woman beneath him, his eyes widening in shock.

Her lips had parted into a smile at his pain, though she remained unmoving.

Understanding came to him at last, and with his remaining strength he reached out, his hand closing around the edge of the sword she carried, the weapon biting deep into his flesh. The agony made him cry out, and crying out made him cough again, the plagues within him causing him to collapse, his last view of the corpse showing him flickering glowing runes beginning to dance upon the weapon he'd touched.

For many long minutes he lay on the floor of the crypt, coughing out his life, the flickering light of the torch that he'd dropped sending shadows dancing across the ceiling. In the echoing noise of his coughing fit he heard nothing but his own agony reflected back at him, and he panted in fear as he tried to cling to life. His eyes slipped closed for a moment as he prayed for the pain to stop, opening slowly as he felt a change in the air.

Twin glowing orbs stared back down at him, the dead woman having come from her tomb to stand over him, her face inches from him. She said nothing as their gazes locked, merely watching as he suffered. When his coughing diminished for a moment, she reached out and grabbed his wounded hand, the pain making him howl again and resuming the coughing fit. Although he resented what she did, the blue fire burning in her soulless eyes matched the hue of his visions perfectly.

As his vision faded away and death finally claimed him, a smile passed over his face. He'd completed his quest after all and brought forth a weapon against the darkness he'd foreseen. Although he could tell her nothing as life slipped away, he knew it would not be necessary. The dark look in her gaze, the wonder at being awakened would be enough. Her curiosity would do the rest, and she would walk the world once more. With a final sigh he passed away, his spirit free at last from the pain.

Within the slowly darkening tomb, Bethani Easting, a death knight of the Ebon Blade and once called the Plague-bringer by the Scourge stood and stared at the dead man. For all these many years she had lain still and silent within the crypt, her form sealed away from a world that had no use for her. She'd put herself there after the Lich King's final fall, as the world of the living had no place and no use for a creature such as she. And yet...for some reason this man had come, had disturbed her resting place and nourished her with his own dying agony to awaken her, and she had no idea why.

She stood silently as the last of the torchlight flickered out, the glow of her eyes and of her newly empowered runeblade glittering in the blackness. She could sense the myriad undead creatures of the crypts around her, their growls echoing in the long darkness. For a long moment she did nothing, weighing the choice between returning to the sarcophagus behind her or venturing forth from the crypt to determine why she'd been disturbed, the decision a difficult one.

Finally, curiosity won the better of her. Despite her misgivings about dealing with the living and returning to the painful reality of what she'd become after death, she began to move. In the crypts around her, the ghouls and other undead monstrosities fled from the sound of her tread, knowing what would happen should they encounter her.

In the darkness of the night, an armored figure emerged from the hollow, black opening of a crypt, scourge-blue eyes staring up at stars that they had not seen in many years.