Dharul ducked, narrowly escaping partial decapitation. With one fluid movement, he brought the wrath of flame to the rotting animation, blowing away the arm that had just swung past his head.
The Scourge had surrounded them now. Dharul, a Shaman of Durotar, turned his back once more to Krystol, a Blood Elf Rogue. Krystol's dark red hair had slipped from her hair tie and now hung into her face. Her dark leathers were cut in places from the battle, and she was breathing hard. Even her daggers seemed to have lost their gleam.
Dharul was tired, too. His body ached and he felt the drain on his command of the elements. Soon they wouldn't respond to his desperate calls at all. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his coarse hair, noting his tight braids were coming undone too. Looking down, he saw with mild surprise that his shamanic robes were tattered and covered in grime and goo.
Dharul and Krystol had been fighting for what seemed an eternity against waves of Scourge. The Eastern Plaguelands were, it seemed, fated to belong to the Scourge, as hero after hero fell to their doom, only to rise again as that which they sought to destroy. The undead had backed them into a small ravine, blocking any hope for escape. Slowly they closed in on the pair, sensing the hopelessness and watching for an opening.
One found it.
With a sickening cry, the ghoul launched itself towards Krystol. She was too tired to dodge it's attack, but Dharul caught it with his mace and attempted to batter it to the side. But physical strength was not something he had ever trained for, and the Scourge instead pulled itself past his mace to claw at his face.
Suddenly everything was dark, and the sounds of Krystol screaming his name were distant.
Not yet!
Scourge scattered at the sudden glow coming from the downed Shaman. His amulet, an Ankh, was glowing white-hot, pulling his body upright again. The fatal wounds closed, his feet touched earth, and Dharul looked angrily around for his enemy.
"Ah yes. Reincarnation. I had almost forgotten."
The voice was cold, full of darkness, and rasped as if through a throat that drew no more breath. With horror, Dharul found his companion in the grasp of a plated horror, writhing in pain. It was choking her.
"Let her go!"
The Dark One chuckled. "You will do nicely," it rasped. As if to emphasize it's point, it snapped Krystol's neck with a sickening crunch. "You both will."
Before Dharul could act, the creature tossed Krystol to one side, where the Scourge fell upon her, and he felt cold steel driven into his heart. The shock barely registered as darkness crept in again.
~*~
Arise...
Darkness surrounded his consciousness, pulling him deeper into its embrace, telling him to ignore the suggestion that there is anything but void.
Arise.
It was no longer a suggestion. There was something else, tugging at his soul. Drawing him back to the realm of the living.
"Arise!"
Dharul fell to the floor on his hands and knees, gasping. Such power in that one word... Power, and darkness. But it was the power that held his attention. It was the power he felt flowing through his veins. Sitting back on his haunches, he looked up at his savior to find a dark, hooded figure - and behind it, an image he would never forget, even through death.
The Dark One.
His helm now removed, this man was obviously the same that had driven a sword into Dharul's chest not long ago. But now the Orc could see clearly, and all he saw was power. All he felt was power. He bowed his head.
"What would you ask of me?"
The Dark One smiled.
