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Description
It was midaftermoon, the sun blazed warmly overhead. A low murmer of constant voices. A gentle breeze stirred the sheer curtains at the tall open window. Her large blue eyes flickered toward the spectacular view of the mountains outside, the trail leading to her near future destination.

She had spent all the previous day in meditaion, fasting, and prayer, as was the custom. This morning, she had spent in the clensing and preparing of her body. Having bathed in the scented oils reserved only for this event, their gentle smell sent a chill of fear through her mind, uncertainty. What if this choice is wrong? She dared not voice such doubts, but they remained, none the less.

The young women attending her, barely more than girls, really, murmered excitedly amongst themselves. With a deep breath, she turned her gaze back to the looking glass. Her long golden hair had been plaited into thin braids from her face, then half of it piled into curls at the back of her head, the remainder left to cascade down her back and hips in gentle waves. The gown she wore was quite revealing, leaving much of her torso exposed, but eligant, even so, with straps crossing her shoulders, and hips, stomach exposed, and a cutout upon each hip.

A hand fluttered to her throat as she heaved a deep breath. One of the girls noticed her hand shaking, and, taking it into both of hers, murmered soothingly to her. She smiled reassuringly to the girl, without ever hearing the words spoken to her. A glance back toward the window told her it was nearly time.

Gracefully she rose from her seat, the girls attending her backing away with sorrowful smiles. She glided to the doorway, pausing there, and looked a long time at the dagger resting upon its stand there. It seemed such a simple, nondescript weapon.. but she knew better. With silent dignity she took up the sheathed dagger, and holding it as a bride holds a boquet upon her wedding day, began descending the staircase outside her preparation chamber.

Stepping out of the shade of the building, she squinted into the late afternoon sun. The ceramony would begin when the sun touched the tops of the trees.. Soon.

Silence.. as if the world itself held its breath. She took a step forward, then another, and another. She was radient beauty, calm, serene.. on the outside. Her mind and emotions were turmoil.. She had been warned.. nay, begged.. not to go through with this task. But it was her duty. She walked on.

She reached the point that the trail curved out of sight from the window. Ahead, gathered the priests and priestesses of her order. She would have been amongst them, had she not been the one chosen. At their head, stood the wisened High Priestess. Behind her, was the altar. Andeliona walked with the measured strides, as she had been instructed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her fear did not show on her face.

With a deep breath, she reached the High Priestess, and, as gracefully as a doe, she knelt before her, presenting the dagger above her head. The Priestess was silent, looking down upon the head of the young woman before her. Silently, she extended one sinewy hand, and took the hilt in her fingers. Her other hand gently takes Andeliona's fingertips, and lifts, drawing the, to her, child to her full height.

Andeliona's ears rang. There was a buzzing in her head. She could see the priestess speaking, but could not make out what was said. She seemed in a daze, and realized she might swoon any moment. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Silence. She blinked her eyes open, and realized that the High Priestess was waiting for some responce from herself. Gravely she nodded, murmering a word of ascent. She saw the Priestess gesture toward the sacred altar.

She gathered her skirt in hands beginning to shake again, and stepped up next to the altar. A deep breath, and she slowly slipped onto it, and reclined back, stretching herself across its length. Her long hair draped over the back, she noticed, and her skirt over two sides, her feet over the end, heels resting against the edge. She took a deep breath, once again, gaze fixing upon the sky.

The bottom edge of the sun touched the slope of the mountains. The High Priestess stepped up beside Andeliona, and, drawing the dagger, began to carve into her flesh.. Runes, of their faith, traced over her stomach and hips. She bit back a cry at the sharp stinging, keeping her gazed fixed upon the fiery sky. She could hear, through the drumming in her ears, the chanting of the High Priestess, and those who bore witness.

Once more, there was silence. The High Priestess looked toward the sun, as it set. As the high rim of the setting sun fell behind the mountains, the downward, killing stroke fell. Andeliona's fiercly beating heart was pierced. She was sacrificed to her gods.

Darkness threatened, her eyelids fluttered. The last thing she felt, was the gentle, tender kiss farewell by the High Priestess, as a mother to a daughter. Andeliona died.

She straightened, brushing a strand of hair that had come loose from the young priestess' face, now stilled in death. She stepped down from the platform holding the Altar, and turning, passed the bloodied dagger to a priest who waited nearby for the task. They spoke quietely. The ceramony was finished. The aged human turned to look back toward the altar, and the dead girl upon it.

"Alert them to have the body prepaired for burial. Hers will be preserved." The graveyard was not far off, and within it, lay the peaceful restingplace of the previous sacrifial dead. Theirs, like Andelionas, was to be a place of honor. She prayed their rest would be undesturbed..

Her prayer would go unanswered.

Eyes blink. Llight, however faint, is blinding. Voices. Motion.

Her eyes slowly focus. She feels so stiff. She is confused, disoriented, dazed. Where is she? What happened?
A voice, "She wakes. This one is slave no more."

[This is a character from World of Warcraft, and the story of how she became undead.]

Description
It was midaftermoon, the sun blazed warmly overhead. A low murmer of constant voices. A gentle breeze stirred the sheer curtains at the tall open window. Her large blue eyes flickered toward the spectacular view of the mountains outside, the trail leading to her near future destination.

She had spent all the previous day in meditaion, fasting, and prayer, as was the custom. This morning, she had spent in the clensing and preparing of her body. Having bathed in the scented oils reserved only for this event, their gentle smell sent a chill of fear through her mind, uncertainty. What if this choice is wrong? She dared not voice such doubts, but they remained, none the less.

The young women attending her, barely more than girls, really, murmered excitedly amongst themselves. With a deep breath, she turned her gaze back to the looking glass. Her long golden hair had been plaited into thin braids from her face, then half of it piled into curls at the back of her head, the remainder left to cascade down her back and hips in gentle waves. The gown she wore was quite revealing, leaving much of her torso exposed, but eligant, even so, with straps crossing her shoulders, and hips, stomach exposed, and a cutout upon each hip.

A hand fluttered to her throat as she heaved a deep breath. One of the girls noticed her hand shaking, and, taking it into both of hers, murmered soothingly to her. She smiled reassuringly to the girl, without ever hearing the words spoken to her. A glance back toward the window told her it was nearly time.

Gracefully she rose from her seat, the girls attending her backing away with sorrowful smiles. She glided to the doorway, pausing there, and looked a long time at the dagger resting upon its stand there. It seemed such a simple, nondescript weapon.. but she knew better. With silent dignity she took up the sheathed dagger, and holding it as a bride holds a boquet upon her wedding day, began descending the staircase outside her preparation chamber.

Stepping out of the shade of the building, she squinted into the late afternoon sun. The ceramony would begin when the sun touched the tops of the trees.. Soon.

Silence.. as if the world itself held its breath. She took a step forward, then another, and another. She was radient beauty, calm, serene.. on the outside. Her mind and emotions were turmoil.. She had been warned.. nay, begged.. not to go through with this task. But it was her duty. She walked on.

She reached the point that the trail curved out of sight from the window. Ahead, gathered the priests and priestesses of her order. She would have been amongst them, had she not been the one chosen. At their head, stood the wisened High Priestess. Behind her, was the altar. Andeliona walked with the measured strides, as she had been instructed. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her fear did not show on her face.

With a deep breath, she reached the High Priestess, and, as gracefully as a doe, she knelt before her, presenting the dagger above her head. The Priestess was silent, looking down upon the head of the young woman before her. Silently, she extended one sinewy hand, and took the hilt in her fingers. Her other hand gently takes Andeliona's fingertips, and lifts, drawing the, to her, child to her full height.

Andeliona's ears rang. There was a buzzing in her head. She could see the priestess speaking, but could not make out what was said. She seemed in a daze, and realized she might swoon any moment. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Silence. She blinked her eyes open, and realized that the High Priestess was waiting for some responce from herself. Gravely she nodded, murmering a word of ascent. She saw the Priestess gesture toward the sacred altar.

She gathered her skirt in hands beginning to shake again, and stepped up next to the altar. A deep breath, and she slowly slipped onto it, and reclined back, stretching herself across its length. Her long hair draped over the back, she noticed, and her skirt over two sides, her feet over the end, heels resting against the edge. She took a deep breath, once again, gaze fixing upon the sky.

The bottom edge of the sun touched the slope of the mountains. The High Priestess stepped up beside Andeliona, and, drawing the dagger, began to carve into her flesh.. Runes, of their faith, traced over her stomach and hips. She bit back a cry at the sharp stinging, keeping her gazed fixed upon the fiery sky. She could hear, through the drumming in her ears, the chanting of the High Priestess, and those who bore witness.

Once more, there was silence. The High Priestess looked toward the sun, as it set. As the high rim of the setting sun fell behind the mountains, the downward, killing stroke fell. Andeliona's fiercly beating heart was pierced. She was sacrificed to her gods.

Darkness threatened, her eyelids fluttered. The last thing she felt, was the gentle, tender kiss farewell by the High Priestess, as a mother to a daughter. Andeliona died.

She straightened, brushing a strand of hair that had come loose from the young priestess' face, now stilled in death. She stepped down from the platform holding the Altar, and turning, passed the bloodied dagger to a priest who waited nearby for the task. They spoke quietely. The ceramony was finished. The aged human turned to look back toward the altar, and the dead girl upon it.

"Alert them to have the body prepaired for burial. Hers will be preserved." The graveyard was not far off, and within it, lay the peaceful restingplace of the previous sacrifial dead. Theirs, like Andelionas, was to be a place of honor. She prayed their rest would be undesturbed..

Her prayer would go unanswered.

Eyes blink. Llight, however faint, is blinding. Voices. Motion.

Her eyes slowly focus. She feels so stiff. She is confused, disoriented, dazed. Where is she? What happened?
A voice, "She wakes. This one is slave no more."

[This is a character from World of Warcraft, and the story of how she became undead.]