Rounding another corner, Mishikah found herself standing before two disgusting abominations who looked her over thoroughly. Years before, she would have turned away, running in fear. Not now. Such beings were common in Tirisifal Glades. They were common in all of what was formerly the Kingdom of Lordaeron. Sadly, they were not much different from her now. The flesh golems looked at one another, grunting, seeking approval for the young woman from each other. Though stupid, yes, they knew their own. They knew Undead from Scourge. Mishikah had “Forsaken” written all over her. The two stepped aside and the heavy door opened. Stepping into the elevator, there was no looking back. The Banshee Queen would need to approve of her, also. Should she find the slightest ounce of doubt within Mishikah’s eyes, Lady Sylvanas would see to it, herself, that the weary undead be taken out of this bleak life once and for all.
“I cannot say I wouldn’t welcome the release”, Mishikah uttered to herself through cracking lips. The elevator door lifted open. As she entered the Undercity, she gasped. The rumors were true! Deep within the lower depths of her former kingdom, there was sanctum. She could feel the first pulse of life within her body in years. The feeling of belonging running deep inside her cold, dry veins. The corners of Mishikah’s lips raised a little for the first time since she had stood her festering, decayed body up off the ground. These sewers, she knew, would be home.
“Pardon me, Miss.” She was def to the undead gentleman standing before her. Blind to anything except this dank, muggy place that would bring her peace of mind.
Miss…”, he repeated.
“Oh, goodness! My apologies, Sir.” Mishikah waved a thoughtless hand as if to shew away some irritant fly.
“I suppose you are here to meet The Dark Lady, yes? To find your place within these halls?”, the man’s forehead lifted where, surely, his eyebrow once had been. Not waiting for her response he continued, “Once you have shown your appreciation for our Queen, I would be obliged to show you to your quarters. Just tell me, where did you find your role in society before your first demise?”
Remembering, in disgust, her wasted efforts in that life she no longer clung to, “I, once, was a Priestess, Sir. Not that the Holy Light proved to be of much worth in my time of greatest need; to heal those who fought for us; to help the soldiers, the heroes and children; to save the ones I needed most… “, she drifted for a moment, before clearing her throat and snapping herself back into the conversation at hand. “I’m sure such wisdom will fall useless, now. Besides, I could not possibly look to those Gods, now, with anything other than disdain and contempt.”
A smirk appeared on his torn, rotting face. “Perhaps, Dear, you will find yourself a place here sooner than you think. If you would accompany me, I would much like to introduce you to someone. A Priest, himself. Are you familiar with the order of The Forgotten Shadow?”
Silently questioning him, she shook her head no. The man layed a hand on her shoulder and began to lead her down the stairs, into the direction of the Royal Quarter. “There is so much for you to learn. So much they never taught you.” They walked over a small bridge, crossing a flowing stream of thick green waste; skulls of the past citizens, who over stayed their welcome, floating by them. As they reached to entrance to the long corridor that would lead Mishikah to her new Queen, she paused for a moment, trying to find some courage within herself to move forward.
“No need to worry, Dear.”, the putrid man said, comforting her. “You will soon find all the strength you need, once kneeling before our Lady Sylvanas. You have found your place in this world, here. Be not afraid. You are home.”
He spoke the words she needed to hear. The speech he gave her was one-in-the-same the lecture she had been meekly giving herself since she began her journey to the Undercity. She found hope in his voice.
The once finely dressed gentleman began to turn away, then looked back to her once more. “I will be waiting for you here when you you return, Miss. Just look for a bright light,” he dryly joked as he lifted the dimply lit lantern he carried at his side. “The name is Balthazad. And you are…. “
Silence lingered on Mishika’s lips for a moment. Everything she had once known was gone or had fallen and crumbled to waste. The Holy Light, it seemed, had turned it’s back on her, only after the life of devotion she had offered them. Suddenly, even her name felt deceiving. Who was “Mishikah” now? That young woman had died in Caer Darrow. Lifting her head, she pulled her shoulders back in pride and answered him, “You may call me Nevaehon, Sir.” She bowed slightly and turned down the great hall, no looking back.
“Be not afraid”, she remembered him saying, “You are home.”
“I am home.”
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