She stood slowly, her fist still clenched tightly around the hilt of her sword, its blade tip stuck into the ground as used it for leverage. She could feel everything in her body changing and shifting. It was almost as if her body was becoming infused with a bitter cold, threatening to shatter her apart at any moment.
Once on her feet, she stood, feeling her body still shifting slightly, muscles forming, tightening. She could almost hear the blood in her veins stop flowing as the sound of her own heart stopped.
Her eyes opened, everything around her blurry and out of focus. She blinked several times, shaking her head slightly as she tried to force her eyesight to return. Slowly, with some great effort, images began to form. Everything around her was lackluster in color. Nothing stood out. It was as if all the life of the world had been sucked out and replaced with a bland, cold artificiality.
Finally, she looked ahead, her eyes taking in the sight before her. Standing there, in his dead splendor was Arthas, the Lich King. His eyes glowed from beneath his helm as he studied her.
“Welcome, Deadian, Death Knight of Arthas,” he spoke, his hand extending out toward her.
Deadian stood for a moment, then walked forward, her hand instinctively falling into his. It was then that she knew, she would forever serve the Lich King. He’d ripped away the illusion of vitality and infused her with the simple truth of life…
Death consumes all.
