Larr'Anreth in Stratholme

Little noise could be heard in the dark streets of Stratholme. The rotten and befouled buildings gleamed from their ooze-encrusted ledges, the full moon barely visible through noxious fumes and storms of vile rot.
A slow plod of footstep after footstep echoed through the almost deserted streets.
A youthful male voice cried out fearfully "Why do we always get put on night shift Bezan!" the voice sounded through the ruins, but no living reply came.
Skittling and broken feet dragged themselves slowly from their perches to stare upon their next meal.
"Bezan! Bezan..." Yelled the voice in the streets, „...its not funny! Don't play pranks here!" calling out desperately for his friend.
A loud scra.ping was heard from a small wooden shack. In the darkness a pair of hollow black eyes peered over, staring at the source of the voice that dare disturb its rest. Down below on the chipped, murky paving stones stood a Scarlet Crusader, clad in the iconic tabard and armour of the Scarlet Crusade. He held a notched blade with fright, seeming ready to lash out at anything.
A rotting claw buried itself into the shack and slowly crept down.
The Scarlet could hear a loud breathing behind him, without turning around he whispered. "Bezan?" The rotting arm rested its claws on his shoulder.
The Crusader realised this too late.
"TIMMEH!" screamed a hoarse undead voice in delight, reveling in the screaming and helpless thrashing of its victim.
After about five minutes of bloody and horrific torture, Timmy drove his claw through the Crusader's front, ripping his heart from his limp, barely living body. The ghoul had grown bored with the captured Crusader, it was no fun when they went limp. Slowly crawling back up the rotten wood, back to its lurk spot.

All was silent in Stratholme for the next few hours, apart from the pitter-patter of a light shower of rain which had started to fall.
Upon the main gate of the ruined city a ghoul lay, peering over the wall very slightly, waiting for the slightest thing to report.
An unatural looking fog rolled across the northern part of the Eastern Plaguelands, concealing much of the landscape. The ghoul wiped its eyes and looked on, angry at the fog that hindered its view. Just past the hising sound of the rain, the ghoul could hear the clip-clop of hooves walking towards the gate.
The ghoul suddenly shot up, slouching onto its disfigured feet.
It yelled out "Persons coming!" in a whiny voice.
A nearby acolyte almost immediately climbed up onto the wall, he listened for a moment, but heard nothing.
"You fool! You waste my time with your paranoia!" hissed the Acolyte angrily at the ghoul. but the ghoul ignored him, pointing on into the fog.
"E..Enemy!" whispered the ghoul.
The acolyte looked down off the wall, and saw a horse-mounted figure advance through the fog. The acolyte grinned and muttered something under his breath. On the wall several dead archers rose, their bones skinless due to prolonged rot. They looked around carefully before spotting the figure and reaching down to pick up their rotten bows and split quivers. They prepared to fire their shots in unison, then aimed at the newcomer, ready to fire.

Moments passed and nothing happened. The acolyte turned around then raised his fist in anger,
"Don't just stand there you wretches, Fire!"
The skeletons looked at each other confused but let loose their arrows. Each one of them whistled through the air and struck the figure, one in the arm, another in the chest and another in the shoulder.
The acolyte grinned for a moment, but the figure continued onward, seeming unaffected by the arrows.
"Fire again! Again!" howled the acolyte impatiently.
Again the skeletal archers let loose their arrows, striking the figure in the leg, another to the chest, and a third to the neck.
The acolyte boastfully let off a flex, certain that the figure was now dead.
In mid-flex he stopped and looked on in horror as he saw the figure was yet again unaffected.
"Keep fi.." the acolyte barked, but was interrupted mid-command by a dark beam of energy ripping him off the wall and pulling him down to the ground below, landing on the horse, right infront of the rider.
The acolyte let out a cry of pain, he looked up. A female Draenei, clad in the garbs of a Death Knight of status.
Even for a Draenei, the rider seemed exceptionally tall, and possessed a very muscular figure. What little of her skin that could be seen was a pale, yet rotten green. Clearly this Draenei was not alive.
The acolyte swore loudly and raised his head, prepared to accept, his punishment for his mistake.
The rider pulled out a cruel looking runeblade, inscribed with powerful runes of death. She raised the blade to his head, and brought it against his neck.
"Such mistakes are not looked upon kindly, acolyte.." she hissed.
The acolyte remaind still and silent.
The rider tilted her head to the side and brought her blade away from the terrified acolyte. "But such..vigilance should be..rewarded.." the Draenei growled slowly, seductively.
The acolyte looked downwards, away from the rider's face.
"Look at me..." she whispered, forcefully moving his head up to look into her eyes. Uncomfortably the acolyte looked into the face of the Death Knight.
"I believe you should be...rewarded, and as for the.. reward itself.." the Draenei whispered, ringing her hand up and gently caressing the acolytes face.

The acolyte looked shocked, horrified and glad, all at the same time.
The rider brought her face nearer to the acolyte, as if she was about to kiss him.
The acolyte smiled and brought his own head closer, nervous as he was. He could feel her
cold breath on his skin and feel the warmth leave him, just by being this close. Nevertheless he felt intrigued and captivated by her voice, almost as if he was stuck in a trance.
The rider brought her left hand behind her, still stroking his face with her right hand. She withdrew a cruel serrated knife and brought it to her side.
The acolyte closed his eyes, ready to feel her lips press against his own.
Suddenly the death knight brought her knife round with insane speed and drew it across the his throat, leaving a neat line.
The acolyte opened his eyes and clutched at his neck in shock, blood poured from the slice and splattered onto his robe, a wretched crackle was heard from his throat and he fell backwards, falling down onto the ground with a loud thud.
The rider let out a shrill cackle and then brought her steed towards the gate.
The gate slowly opening to allow her entrance. Lined up beyond the gate were several skeletal warriors, saluting as she passed.
She ignored them and quickly rode through the dark streets. Stopping at the entrance to one of the ziggurats at the top of the disgusting town. Bringing her deathcharger to an abrupt halt. She dismounted and strode, very military-like towards the ziggurat, the shade guards moved aside to allow her entry into the dark building.

The overpowering smell of rot hit the Draenei as soon as she entered the building, however such petty weakness had left her long ago. She ignored the stench, striding down the left side. A faint whimpering could be heard, two different tones of whimper suggested as to two diffent people.
A calm, old sounding voice announced "And as for you..."
A hissing sound was heard and a howl of pain, a Scarlet Crusader impaled on a spear was hurtled to the wall just infront of Anreth, sticking there and feebly trying to free himself, eventually falling limp.
The Death Knight peered around the corner in interest.
A Scarlet Crusader was lying on the ground, hands and feet bound and gagged. An old looking human male dressed in the garbs of a Necromancer stood before the Crusader. He looked thoughtfuly and then placed his hand on the face of the Crusader, lifting the unlucky victim up.
The Necromancer's hand glew green and the Crusader began to writhe in agony, muffled screams dragging on and on. A heavy stench of burning flesh filled the air.
The Necromancer dropped his victim to the ground, the Crusaders face had been melted off, loose bits of skin hung from the scorched skull, its grim smile adding to the disgust most people would have felt at such a scene.

Slowly the Necromancer turned around to face the slightly amused Death Knight. He peered carefully at the Draenei before raising his arms in an inqusitive manner.
"Who might you be?" asked the Necromancer obviously interested.
Anreth remained silent and grinned slightly.
The Necromancer pulled a small scroll written in a cruel dialect from his pocket and read the contents silently to himself.

"Giorn Bleakeye, you are to expect Larr'Anreth, Death Knight of Draenei race, you will ccompany and serve under her until instructed otherwise by myself. Your knowledge and skills may prove useful in her task.

Baron Rivendare."

The Necromancer then looked back up at the Draenei and raised his arms questioningly, "Larr'Anreth, I presume?" asked Giorn Bleakeye.
"Your presumption is correct, dear Bleakeye. You are the... one who is to accompany me?" retorted Anreth, smirking to herself, satisfied with her new minion. The gates of Stratholme slammed shut, jerking uncontrollably due to their bad condition. Outside the gate Anreth and Giorn both sat, mounted upon Deathchargers.
"Shall we depart then?" asked the Necromancer.
The death knight answered "Soon, Giorn, I have a task I must attend to quickly."
She brought her steed towards the corpse of the earlier slain acolyte.
Giorn let out a quick laugh and asked "His undoing was by your hand?"
Anreth paused for a moment and then loudly replied "Yes, I have no love of acolytes who command their minions to attack me, nor of ghouls who point me out as a foe.."
Atop the wall, the ghoul whined and covered its eyes with its large clawed hands, much alike a young child.

Anreth raised her hand in the air, dark vapours crackled around her fingernails. She pointed her arm towards the acolyte while muttering an incantation in some foul tongue.
The body of the acolyte twitched, slowly at first then more and more until it looked like he was having a fit.
The corpse's skin started to melt, reforming to become something Anreth deemed more useful. His bones re-aligned to fit its new shape and its muscles likewise. The corpse climed to its feet, now a ghoul.
A loud clapping was heard from the Necromancer.
"It takes alot of skill to directly raise a ghoul from a corpse, usually people are not cabable of more than raising a zombie or skeleton."
Anreth grinned triumphantly and her Deathcharger reared up. The re-animated acolyte tried to climp up onto Anreth's Deathcharger.
She looked at it in disgust and slapped it away, bluntly stating: "No, you walk.."
Giorn looked towards the ghoul with almost pity then reared his steed also.

"We leave, to bring glory in the Lich King's name! The Alliance will fall!" announced Larr'Anreth.
"Where are we heading?" the necromancer asked carefully.
"To the city of Stormwind... the heart of the Alliance." she replied, before racing off into the dense fog, her minion running hastily after her.
Giorn sighed and rode after the Death Knight.

From atop the wall, a ghoul sighed with relief...