You were a part of an Alliance squad on a scout mission in Western Plaguelands. Your squad was ambushed and slaughtered by a Forsaken Necromancer, who raises you as an undead. However, before she can command you, the necromancer is slain by a rampaging plagued bear. In your rage, your undead self attacks and kills the bear.

Now nobody can influence your decisions. What are your next actions?

Carefully make my way towards Hearthglen. Surely the Crusade could offer respite before my return to Stormwind? Surely the Light has not abandoned me, not yet.

And of course they'd offer me sanctuary in that darkness, refreshing my mind if not my ailing soul. I'd linger in the abbeys and halls, practicing my ailing faith as I waited for arrangements to return to Stormwind (which the Crusaders would condemn as folly).

It would be there, then, that I hear the tale of Crusader Bridenbraid. Touched by Plague, the Naaru came to his assistance. Great and righteous was this man, and so saved from the eternal voids and hells of this state. "The Light never abandons it's faithful," A'dal chimed.

What, then, was I?

Forsaken.

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Your answer has sure... evolved. I see what you did there.

I'm sorry if you meant to DM. That was the logical way of thinking for me, haha.

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I go into a cave and check for traps.

Nope, I want a "lore"-ish answer, and you delivered splendidly. I was simply surprised on your change of the answer.

You enter the Weeping Cave.

You see a number of blob beasts, decaying remains of plague technology. They should be no match for your superior skills.

Determine what, if any memories I have of my former life.

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You are well-preserved (for now), your brain was not damaged. After a short splash of angry haze during which you killed the bear, you seem to be returning to your senses, recollecting memories. With the necromancer dead, you do not feel the presence of a controlling force, but there's a different feeling, of a dark spell gnawing at your soul.

Worship banshee ass.

You kneel down in a moment of prayer. Trying to imagine a ghostly behing, you send your feelings of gratitude to it, in hopes of an answer.

None comes.

Take a moment to cry. You were just murdered and raised as a zombie. You should cope with the feeling of being undead. Decide that you are still Alliance, and that now's the chance to spy on Sylvanass.

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Find the nearest dead corpse to eat.

Befriend the creepier parts of the local wildlife, such as darkhounds, cockroaches, and bats.

DO note that everyone's portraying their own version of the character.

You try to cry, but there are no tears coming. You squeeze your eye, trying to stimulate what remains of your tear ducts.

You contemplate your miserable existence. Can you be called a "zombie" when there's no controller pulling your strings? If there was, you'd probably try to kill them. The idea of killing, of malice takes your thoughts. A part of you tries to redirect those feelings on something real, the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken. It is her fault that you suffer like that. Might as well make her pay, and do the honor for the Alliance.

Becoming a spy amongst the Forsaken is a nice idea. You can't wait to make it real. But should you notify your superiors among the Alliance military about it? Or should you just travel to the nearest Forsaken outpost?


You gnaw at the bear corpse laying inside you. You don't feel much taste but, supposedly, applying dead flesh to their own somehow helps the undead regenerate, so perhaps you may clean up your wounds.

You don't see any bats, and the darkhound only attacks you. You kill it and consume the corpse, only to find the scent of fel magic around it. A cockroach searches your body for pieces of food. You befriend it.

I languish in the halls of Hearthglenn, accepting the merest responsibility in hopes of easing my tortured mind. In that time, I see a vision of her: My darling Uccello. I find a porter or pawnbroker, hoping to trade my limited goods for passage to Stormwind...

The Light condemns me, yet, but my Uccello would not.

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Determine your skill sets and abilities, if you have any. You want to tell the Alliance of your situation, but realize that you may be killed on sight. Perhaps one day you can find a contact to relay info to, but for now, you are the hero that they need, but not the one they deserve. You make your way to the nearest outpost, stopping at a lamppost. You don't know why, but you feel frustrated over this.

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I shall name the cockroach Squeaky.

The pawnbroker looks you up with a hint of disdain in his eyes: "Some damaged Alliance-made armor and basic weapons aren't gonna make for much here in Crusader Holds. You're gonna need much more if you want to pay up a wizard strong enough to conjure a portal to Stormwind. And with fighting at Andorhal re-ignited, a gryphon is not a safe way of passage."

He sighs. "You could try the reclaimed city Stratholme, of course. The local port have been rebuilt recently. But that's a long way from here..."

You are no dragon-slaying hero, but your captain at Chillwind Offensive praised your skills not once. If not for an ambush that ended your life, you might have been promoted for your successful operation. [Possible Classes: Footman, Priest, Sorceress, Silverhand Paladin, Peasant]

Thinking of a "nearest undead outpost" you discard Andorhal for now. Best to keep yourself out of the conflicts for now. You set on a long walk down the road to Bulwark. Being undead, you don't feel much exhaustion and manage to arrive on foot by the end of the day.

The lamppost bears the royal crest of Lordaeron. You briefly wonder who have constructed it.

The undead troops at Bulwark prepare their weapons as soon as they see you. You realize - your old Alliance tabard is still on your undead body. An armored undead man, his body completely skeletal except for his head, points at you with the tip of his sword.


"I don't recognize you, soldier. Another Alliance dog, turned into a Scourge rotbrain?"

The yellow orbs in his eyesockets pierce you, searching for reaction. You feel as if you don't respond in some way, his accompanying deathstalkers will be upon you.

It squeaks in delight as it eats the remains of breadcrumbs inside your pocket. You wonder if a cockroach is supposed to squeak at all, but perhaps it is the effect of the plague.

Learn warlockry asap. Turn into a demon and enjoy being alive again.

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So you wish to join the unofficial SoL Discord? Say no more!

Might as well fall into darkness completely now.

The knowledge of witchcraft is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be... unnatural. Where will you learn this stuff? The Argent Crusade does not welcome warlocks much after that incident with the summoning of an Eredar Lord of the Burning Legion... And the Alliance warlocks are not in a much better position. To the Undercity we go?

You try to play off the tabard that for some reason you were dumb enough to keep on. A trophy perhaps? Mind games to disarm the Alliance before gnawing their faces off?

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"Well, you seem coherent at least, for a rotbrain. Perhaps too coherent for your own good. "Mind games", sure. So far, my money's on Scourge agent. Unless you care to share your name in the ranks of the Dark Lady's army that I can check? Last person I saw moving from Bulwark to the Plaguelands was that 'Necrolord Tathos' fellow"

Loot the necromancer.

Contemplate the current situation, then loot the bear.

You decide to enlist into the Forsaken. Do whatever it takes to prove yourself. Also deny any association with that Necrolord.

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Corpse bang the necromancer, then raise her up as undead. Once she is under control screw her some more. This is just for revenge though, not sexy time.

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http://www.formspring.me/TerrorhoofMayo

Contemplate your plans if you successfully enter the ranks. Sure you can be a spy, but is that enough? Do you consider sabotaging the Forsaken? How? Killing them all? Sodomizing them all? Both, though you're not sure on the order.

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