I recently made a new character in World of Warcraft, an undead warrior by the name of Calmaggon. I decided to put her in a story, and this is what came out of it.
Everything I was carrying felt heavier than when my journey began. A chain mail outfit, a wooden shield with a silver ring, my simplistic copper blade in its leather sheath, all of it nothing irregular. Things felt exactly the same as that time, long ago, before I died.
I don’t even remember it happening. I only remember another work day as a royal guard of King Varian, when a crowd of warriors, spell casters and assassins came along, and I only remember my feeling of cynicism. After that, just darkness, until I woke up, as if from a deep sleep.
It was stone mausoleum, with flowers growing out from the grass floor and along the stone walls. I didn’t have any question about it, I didn’t have a single concern. Things felt fine, perfect, nothing abnormal. My equipment was all with me, and I woke up still feeling exhausted. It took a note on the concrete door for me to realize anything had gone on within my sleep.
It read, Your skills are impressive, some of which I could find much use for. Come to the Horde capital in Durotar, I’ll find you there and you will do as I ask. If you value your returned life, you will appear, or else you will return to the eternal rest.
The journey and the discovery of what had to have happened was short and simple. I looked at my hands, the reflection in the mirror, to find I was a creature of the undead. My left knee and jaw was stripped of flesh, cuts and burns were everywhere on my body, and the armor and gear was in need of ridiculous repair. Opening the stone door, I found myself in a forest graveyard, surrounded by beautiful wildlife, and a sign pointing to the capital city I was requested to by this stranger; Orgrimmar.
Perhaps the lack of muscles made the trip feel longer and more painful, but I didn’t have a choice. As people in a predicament of mine normally would, they’d thank the gods for a second chance at life. I was thankful enough that I’d be more than willing to do as this healer would ask, whatever it may be. I didn’t even have thoughts that I was within the capital of King Varians enemy, the Horde. They accepted me as their own, many of them zombified like myself.
I was told to come to the desert canyon city, but not where. I wandered for at least an hour before I walked into the cave center of the city, surrounded by disturbingly persistent goblin salesmen. And amidst the crowd of many fighters with legendary armor, one was coming towards me. A tauren, a minotaur creature, in blue, purple, and red armor, his shoulder pads giving off some sort of mist. His staff, unlike his formal armor, was tribal, with a glowing red orb inside a spiked ring atop the stick. He walked right toward me and spoke in his deep voice.
“Rumors are spreading that terrible things will be coming to our homelands, in every land we know. Destruction, ruin, and without a perfectly known cause. You are going to journey across the land. I need you to find the seers of these fortunes and find information, and follow any changes”.
“Why can’t you?”, I asked politely. He appeared to take my question more rudely.
“There are enough battles I’m required to fight, warrior”, anger filled his eyes, “But if it’s true, I want to be ready to survive on my own, without this insanity of the Horde commanding me”.
A rebel? I’d been resurrected by a mutinist of the Horde? I hadn’t changed my side from becoming undead, after all, but any mutinist was dangerous. I’d be lying if I wasn’t afraid of what would come.
“And if I don’t?” I asked, for perfect clarity. I’d expected the answer, and I was correct.
“I remove the spell, and your reborn life is gone, unless another rises you”
I nodded and bowed. I didn’t have too much to disagree with, and I didn’t have much of a choice. This was going to have to be my new life, and I’d have to take it in stride. No life goes without challenge, after all, and this one would have to be nothing but. The tauren reached onto his back and into his pocket, and pulled out a leather backpack and a beautiful sword, with a rose red blade transitioning into a silver on the hilt.
“Take these for help, and catch an airship to the Undercity. Send letters to each week on your journeys, and if you stop, I’ll know. I’ll send gifts when and if it seems appropriate. Understood?” I almost did.
"And where do I send the letters to?"
"Omeghot, in Dalaran", he simply said. I assumed it was himself, but I couldn't be certain.
“Best of luck”, he wished me, as he turned away from me and wandered away. I didn’t bother following him, and instead went towards the entrance of the city, to the airship docks. I had a mission to do, and without any reason to disapprove of it, I planned on accomplishing it perfectly.
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