Whimsi's Awakening

Dark Cleric Duesten looked her over with a stern glare; his glowing pupils scanned the darkness, eyeing the other possible Undead souls that peacefully slept in the dank and filthy Deathknell tomb. He looked at the pile of bones against the wall, catching sight of a limp body that still had most of her skin intact. The only skeleton features showing were her elbows, knees, and all twenty phalanges. Even her head had long, flowing hair that had only been slightly discolored by decay. Almost perfect, but not quite... Duesten smiled faintly; it was a pity even the most beautiful of roses wilted it seemed. Undertaker Mordo scowled at his companion as he held up the burning torch higher, casting dark shadows behind them. “This one,” the Dark Cleric’s raspy baritone voice stated, pointing a bony finger at the one he had thought of as a wilted rose.

The Undertaker scratched his bald scalp, eyeing her as well. “The scouts found her yesterday in a dug-up graveyard where the plague victims were buried. I’m surprised she’s still intact,” he said, watching Duesten carefully, as if expecting him to snap into a crazed idea. “Well, save for her tresses. Some gnolls near the graveyard have been stealing corpse hair for reasons unknown.” The Dark Cleric’s face cracked into a smile, his withered skin stretching slightly over his high cheekbones, “Good. Tomorrow at dusk, see if she’s fit enough. She’ll make a very good priestess.” Mordo allowed his jaw to hang for a moment in shock. “Do not doubt her even for a moment,” the Dark Cleric then said, starting to head up the cold stone stairs that led up to the plague-covered graveyard above. “She hasn’t even woken from her slumber.”

When the sun had set and twilight had settled over Tirisfal Glades, Mordo watched irritably as the body Duesten had picked out twitched and writhed, gasping for air and struggling to focus her eyes. “Easy does it,” the Undertaker stated in a drawling tone, bracing her thin frame as she shivered. The young Forsaken eyed the torch-lit tomb, frightened and confused. She turned to look at Mordo, screaming once she eyed his decrepit and rotting features. Startled, Mordo clasped a hand over mouth, trying to calm her as he kneeled at her side, “Shhhhh! I’m not going to hurt you.” She shook her head, trying to back away from him, listening as he continued, “Shh… Look, I’m going to leave you here for a bit to let you collect yourself. When you are ready, head up those stairs; I’ll be there waiting, I have a task for you.” Once the youthful corpse had gathered her senses into a serene frame of mind, she slowly wandered up the cold stone steps, blinking in the moonlight and scanning the plague-tainted land with her glowing pupils.

Undertaker Mordo watched her warily, observing as she clutched her robe with her bony fingertips and stepped toward him. “They are waiting for you,” he said, pointing north to the little group of run-down houses and shacks that looked as though it had been a successful village once. She smiled at him slightly, a dreamy and somewhat disturbingly distant expression appearing on her face as she looked up at him, “Ah… Doornails.”

As she started heading down the path, curious as to what awaited her, the Undertaker shook his head in ridicule. In the town chapel, Dark Cleric Duesten was talking in a hushed voice with Shadow Priest Sarvis. “So, about this… new priestess,” the Shadow Priest began. “What is her name?” At the moment he asked, she came through the door of the chapel, her eyes bright as she tilted her head curiously. Duesten and Sarvis both looked at her and beckoned her to come in, watching as she tripped over her feet, even as she stepped lightly into the building. When she recovered from her slight tumble, she made her way to Duesten, looking at him with the same expression she had given Mordo. Despite her vacant appearance, he smiled back at her and placed a skeletal hand on her shoulder, not even questioning her seemingly missing sanity. The Dark Cleric looked to Sarvis with a grin, “Her name is Whimsi…”