Warcraft 1. Prologue Death of a Hero

**WoW belongs to Blizzard.. read and enjoy**

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A light snow fell from the grey cloudy sky. It was cold and unforgiving chilling the scouting group to the bone. This was how Northrend was, cold as the heart of the Litch King. Rosk Silverfang sat on the frozen earth his back pressed against the warmth of his night saber Sa'Lari. She purred deeply as he ruffled her thick silver coat. She had night elf style armor on just like her master.

Rosk scanned the land with his amber eyes, once the mark of greatness in his youth. That was before his queen's treachery though. He had never been the same since the War of the Ancients. He was a sorcerer than serving under the moon guard but after the war he hated anything to do with the arcane arts. He had actually gone on and became a Night Saber breeder. His night sabers would go on to serve the Sentinels. For him that was as good as serving them himself.

That all changed when the Burning Legion returned. He took up his glaives and joined his people in the fight. He was already a warrior but now he was more. He was angry at the moment. Here he was on a scouting mission with a bunch of humans in the middle of Northrend in the middle of the day.

Daytime was meant for sleeping. Night Elves were nocturnal creatures as their racial name implies. Rosk sighed, at least the clouds covered up the blaring sun and the days were shorter in the high northern areas.

He looked at the humans around him. They were children, not even living a fraction of a fraction of the life he had. He had been sent on this mission because of his skills in tracking. He had had millennia to hone his skills while they had barley scratched the surface. It was their job to scout out the area and find where the scourge was hiding.

The night elf had had a bad feeling since their arrival to this particular spot. First was the fact that several of the horses had suddenly got sick and died within a couple of hours. His anxiety had groan even more when the humans started getting sick as well. Even Sa'Lari had sneezed some.

He glared at the snow dunes blaming all his problems on them and the scourge. Here he was a night elf surrounded by humans and this could be where he dies. Away from Kalimdor, from his homeland, and people, all alone with only his saber by his side. It was cruel. To think he had survived ten thousand years and two wars with the Burning Legion to die at the hands of an illness or the undead. It made him angry. And it wasn't even night time. Elune the Mother Moon was not there to watch over him.

He felt abandoned; he could hear the approach of bare feet of corpses heading their way. And not just in front of him. They were surrounded, with no way of escape. He stood and grabbed his glaives. He tightened his hands around the grips turning his knuckles a pale blue. The humans looked at him curiously. They couldn't hear them coming. Figures since they weren't as attuned to their senses as an ancient night elf.

"Prepare yourselves the scourge has surrounded us. We will have to fight to survive." Rosk's brisk voice rang out his tone commanding.  
The humans quickly pulled out their weapons and readied themselves. It wasn't long before they, too, heard the ghastly footsteps all around them. Rosk squinted his eyes as the first undead clambered into his sight.

Their skin hung off them like dried out rags. Bones were exposed and all sorts of carrion bugs like maggots crawled around inside what little skin they had left. Some of the corpses were dead soldiers of both Alliance and Horde. The sight was sickening. He had seen this once before the rise of the scourge. It was during the War of the Ancients when the demons had raised the dead in Suramar.  
A shiver ran up his spine when he saw the plate armored Death Knight ride over a dune on his Death Charger. He was a human from the looks of it. Rosk growled and mounted Sa'Lari. If he was going to die here he was going to take that Death Knight with him and pray to Elune that he would not be taken from her in death.

"Take out as many as you can! Those of you with live and healthy horses try to get out of here and get the information we have gained so far to HQ." Rosk yelled to his followers then rushed forward. He let out a massive roar as he charged the Death Knight. He and Sa'Lari cut down any undead that tried to stop him. He could here the fight ensuing behind him. The screams of the men and woman who got caught and ripped apart by the hungry dead.

He stood in the saddle of his saber and jumped off allowing her to move freely and defend him while he took care of their enemy. Keeping a firm grip on his double glaives he engaged his foe. The expertly crafted elven weapons clanged against the plague infused blade of the Death Knight. They snarled at each other and sprang apart.

They stared each other down sizing the other up. This battle didn't matter much for the Death Knight after all he had already died once. But it was everything for Rosk. He knew he would die eventually since his people had lost their immortality. This battle would only mean a sooner death.

Each step was carful and agile. Rosk moved as a lethal killer like the Saber that was so loyal to him. He dodged and parried the DK's attacks even managing to disarm him. Quite latterly to. The DK glared at him and stabbed his blade into the ground. From the point of impact came a foul stench as the snow melted and the earth began to decay. Rosk's amber eyes widened and he hopped back.  
He stumbled into an undead human who grabbed at him. Quickly spinning he cut off the undead's head. He started choking and coughing. In his distraction the DK had cast his death grip and proceeded to crush the life out of the lone night elf.

The DK lifted him into the air and turned him to face him. A dark smile crept across his pale face. He tightened the grip and gloried in the veterans struggles. His gasps were music to his ears.

Sa'Lari jumped on the Death Knight biting into his decaying flesh and thrashing around. With a pained yell the DK let Rosk go and kicked the Saber in her stomach. She jumped back momentarily and snarled at him. He grabbed his blade and sent a thick wave of plague at her. She halted for a moment as it infected her. He rushed forward.

Rosk tackled him to the ground before he could reach his long time friend and loyal companion. "You will not touch my Saber you undead bastard!" he pulled the sword from the DK grasp and decapitated him in one swift movement.

He stabbed him again for good measure. Sa'Lari limped to his side allowing her weakened master to lean on her. He could feel the plague ravishing his veins. It was painful. The disease boiled his blood making his heart race beyond the natural boundaries. He coughed and blood dribbled from his chin. He collapsed to his knees and grabbed at Sa'Lari's soft fur.

The world spun around him before he fell to the ground and choked on his own blood. He could vaguely hear his trusty Saber whimper in despair as he took his last breath.

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Arthas Menethil the Litch King walked out of the shadow of a snow dune. An evil and sick smile stretched across his face. He approached the fallen night elf. The Saber growled and guarded his dead body. The master of the scourge raised his fabled sword and brought it down.

The large cat hit the ground with a thump. She curled in around her master and died. Arthas laughed. "What a loyal beast. Rosk Silverfang, Sa'Lari the Night Saber you will both serve me well. Rosk I look forward to making you one of my knights." His sick laugh rang through the snow dunes as he ordered his minions to carry their bodies to his fortress.

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**(AN: so what do you think? Rosk is my OC from the game and he is an awesome lvl 90 that kicks all kinds of buts especially the Horde! Sa'Lari is also my favorite Night Saber. **


	2. Chapter 1 Awakening

**AN: so tell me what you think of this chap. its a little weird but i thought it was fitting. more will come! enjoy the creepiness! :3**

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Pain, unimaginable pain. That was what he felt. On top of that it was cold. Oddly enough the cold did not bother him as it should have. It felt natural as though he had been born in ice. He didn't dwell on it long, because he felt the overwhelming desire to cause pain and destruction. To shed blood, to kill whatever got in his way. He opened his eyes slowly only for his sight to be impaired. He stared above his but all he saw was hazy tendrils of blue air. They floated in his sight like silky wisps.  
Eerily slow his sight fixed itself as he blinked several of times. He was able to see past the flowing blue spectral and saw the stone ceiling. He couldn't move his head; his body was stiff and reluctant to obey him. He was confused his mind clouded and depressingly blank.

He didn't even know who he was. Nothing came to mind, only the dripping wet stone above him. Dripping… he could hear it now. he felt his ears twitch at the sound. One by one his senses retuned to him. The next was scent. There was a thick and ghastly smell of decay and rotting flesh. He scrunched his noise in disgust, his mind working ferociously to find out where the smell was coming from.  
He let it go when his finger twitched ever so slightly. He worked on moving it again and eventually succeeded. He felt the ground on which he laid on. Wet and cold, he had a feeling that the stone would have been even colder, even to the point of frozen, had he had any heat in his body. He found that odd. If his general knowledge told him anything it was that living creatures should have some amount of heat in their bodies. But he had none.

His foot moved next. He stretched his toes and moved his arms. He shifted trying to get his body to warm up even if he didn't know why. After what felt like an eternity, and it very well could have been for all he knew, he shifted his head to the side. The wall to his left was mossy and wet, the stone slowly eroding away. It glistened slightly as if ice was forming. He moved his eyes down more and saw hair, turquoise blue hair?

He tested his muscles again felling some more strength return. He moved his head again casting his eyes towards the ceiling. That's when he realized he wasn't breathing. As if in panic he sucked in a sharp breath. He felt his chest rise as his lungs filled with unnecessary air. He realized that only a moment after. His face crinkled as he thought about it. He didn't need air?  
He breathed in again to test it. No need, he felt no satisfaction from the deep breath. He focused and realized his heart was not beating. He thought long and hard for an explanation but nothing came to mind. It was still hazy after all. He sucked in another breath, nothing only dead lungs inflating then deflating.

Rosk Silverfang… a single thought entered his head uninvited. Rosk, he knew that name. he let it pass as another thought entered his mind. Basic knowledge on the best way to breed Night Sabers. Odd why would he know that? He knew what a Night Saber was. A mostly nocturnal species of feline that were mush larger than any of their cousins. Large enough for a seven to eight foot tall being to ride comfortably on. He shifted through the information trying to peace it together and figure out why he knew of it.  
He pushed the thoughts back and continued moving his frozen limbs. In the middle of his testing he felt something move beneath his cold skin. He froze and waited. There was another slide then another. There was something crawling around inside of him. He bit back his disgust and forced his body into a sitting position. He looked down at himself. Pale blue to sickly purple skin greeted him. He was also naked.

It hit him like a brick wall. The smell of decay was him. Splotched of skin were missing and maggots crawled in and out of holes. Although it didn't hurt. Then he realized he was dead. Alive but dead in an odd and unnerving kind of way. He grabbed hold of one of the maggots crawling out of a hole in his skin. He raised it up to his face to eye level. He squeezed it and watched it pop with a crunch and ooze over his fingers.

A thin smile stretched across his unholy face. He picked up another and administered the same torment he had given the other carrion worm. He chuckled. He sound intrigued him, it was like echoing wind. If that was possible. He forgot about it and continued with his amusement. Pulling out more bugs and crushing them. Their pain amused him, he enjoyed their death, and he wanted more, bigger targets, more blood.

Rosk Silverfang… once again the name invaded his mind. This time he let the name slip off his tongue. He marveled at his ghostly voice and the sound of the name. It was familiar intimately so. He furrowed his brow in concentration. Where had he heard that name before? He shook his head letting his long hair glide along his thick shoulders.

He reached up one hand as a few strands got caught on something ling. It was his ear… long ears, Night Saber, blue purplish skin… he was a Night Elf. "Rosk Silverfang," he uttered aloud after a moment. "That's my name."  
Yes it was his name, the name of a dead man. He let out a huff of air and plucked up a maggot. This time he brought it to his mouth and bit its head off. He could taste the juices and it didn't disturb him in the slightest.

"If my name is Rosk Silverfang then who is Sa'Lari, I wonder?" he spoke aloud even if nobody was there to listen. "Huh, how strange. I have no recollection of who I am but I know my name. Sa'Lari…" he found the name was intimate to him. A lover maybe? No, that didn't seem right to him.

He dropped it as the sound of a heavy metal door grating open assailed his ears. He looked behind him as an amore clade man strolled in. "Good you have finally awoken. Stand and follow me. It is time for you to meet your master."


	3. Chapter 2 The Ring

AN: yo this chapter may be rushed sorry :p anyway i just felt like getting it updated tonight. hope you enjoy. there will be more later. peace!

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Rosk trailed behind the armored human. He observed the way the man walked. Rigged and guarded with a slight limp. He could tell this man was also dead. They were nothing more than walking corpses. "Where are we going?" Rosk's ghostly voice rang out in the silent hallway.

"First to get you dressed. Then I will take you to meet the Master. You are one of the new initiates. I'm sure he has some test for you." The human replied. Rosk nodded his head his jumbled mind trying to figure out what kind of test he was in store for. And hopefully more information.

They eventually entered an Amory like room. It was a medium sized room with weapons and armor stashed away. There was no particular order to the room. Most of the weapons were thrown about in an uncaring manner. They were spoils of war most likely.  
"Get dressed," the human commanded. Rosk grunted in reply and found armor that somewhat suited him. Most of the items were far too small for his imposing form. Being a Night Elf gave him superior height and stature to most of Azeroth's creatures.

He felt foolish being in less than adequate armor. It bothered him to no end. He glared at the amused corpses face as he led him out of the room and up to a larger corridor. Their trek through the icy fortress felt like it took an eternity. Finally they reached the throne room.  
The Litch King sat on his frozen throne in all his glory. His fabled sword resting loyally by his side. He wore no helm so his new subordinate could see his foul smirking visage. His head rested against his right hand in a lazy yet commanding manner. He was death incarnate as all Death Knights are, although his presence was overwhelming.

A involuntary shiver ran up Rosk's spine. He was captivated and unable to turn his eyes away from his new master. Arthas stood from his throne and approached his new pet. Rosk stood stoically refusing to move or look away whether from fear or curiosity he was not sure. The Litch King walked around him, eyeing him from head to toe. He nodded a few times in between.

"Death suits you well Rosk Silverfang." He had the same ghostly echo to his voice. Commanding and ruthless as it was. "Ten thousand years of life has sure made you perfect for death. I look forward towards your future as one of my Knights. You were once a hero of the living, a warrior lost to the ages. I was wise to chose you. Being as old as you are you have a lot of experience on your hands, so much so that I can't even dream of it. You lost your immortality once but now you have it back." He paused and came to stand in front of Rosk.

"I can feel your blood lust… yes you will become a fine Death Knight. First you must pass my test. Kill one of the other initiates and I will grant you a place among my ranks. Fail and you will remain dead this time. Ghoul, take him to the ring."

The ghoul grabbed his arm and turned him around before Rosk could even reply. "Come, come the master will watch." The human lead him out of the throne room and down several flights of stairs.

Nearly half an hour later the reached the ring. Several initiates were there standing in the center of the ring waiting for orders. Rosk smiled. He would have some good competition. There were two humans, an orc, a gnome, and a troll. The orc and troll would probably tougher but he was confident that he could take them out as well. His blood lust practically radiated off of him as they waited for the Litch King to show.

Arthas arrived not to long after. All the initiates stood patiently for him. His soulless eyes swept over them. Out of all of them Rosk's blood lust was the most potent. He chuckled; this would be a good show. He had come to know that not all rising Death Knights had strong feeling for causing pain and destruction. Some resented it even and those ones died again. But some had an overwhelming desire to shed blood, to kill without remorse. Rosk was one of the latter. His azure eyes sparking with the desire to kill. He eyed his opponents like a predator would his prey.

The Litch King decided to make a tournament. Only one survivor and he would serve as a true Death Knight. Just for his amusement Arthas paired the gnome with the Orc. It was over in a matter of minutes. The orc had squashed the gnome in the same manner that Rosk had the first maggot he had pulled from his skin.

The next battle was also quick. The troll may have had the advantage of height and strength but the human out smarted him and used his strength against him. He parried the attack and let the momentum stagger the troll before decapitating him.

Next was Rosk against the other human. Rosk gave the human a toothy grin from across the ring. A simple tactic to unnerve his opponent. He was giving himself an air of ruthlessness. he lowered himself and held his sword firm in his hands. It felt slightly out of place but he couldn't tell why. The human gazed at him and took an offensive stance. His muscles coiled and he charged Rosk his sword pointed at his chest.

Rosk stood his ground letting the human get close although as soon as he was in range Rosk moved his own blade. He knocked the humans up then shouldered him in the face successfully pushing him back. Rosk wasted no time, stepping forward he brought his sword down in an arc cutting into the human's armor. Without missing a beat he brought it up in the same manner forcing the human back more. The human stumbled and ran into the rings wall. Rosk rushed forward and stabbed his blade into the man. Steel hit rock and imbedded itself.

With a vicious sneer Rosk grabbed the man's head with his large hands. He squeezed roughly and looked into himself to find his given powers. He pulled the plague sustaining him out and pumped the toxic matter into the human. He pumped in ice as well freezing the man where he was pined. Eventually the man slumped from the exposure of foreign plague. Rosk laughed manically at his first kill completely unaware of the Litch King's approving nod.

The three survivors eyed each other after Rosk's battle. One human, one orc, one night elf. The human got the short end of the stick and was put against the orc. The orc went berserk the moment the fight began. He gave the human no time to think up a strategy and pummeled him into the grounds. In the end the human was only a bloody pulp of a spot on the ground.

Rosk had watched the exchange with anticipation. He wanted more of a challenge and was hoping for the orc to win. He started freezing his blood before he stepped into the ring. His skin hardened and made him more durable. He knew his armor would not protect him much from this orc. After all the armor was not made for him.

He eyed the pale green skinned orc. He knew their kind were strong and tough. He also harbored a hatred for the orc. It was an old hatred; this race had done something to his. He could not remember what exactly they had done. None the less they were enemies even before the ring and Rosk would not let this behemoth get the better of him.

Rosk laced his weapon with jagged ice allowing it to rise up his arms and beyond. In the end he had covered his body in thick ice armor. The orc stared at him in a state of awe as did the Litch King. Not many initiates could manipulate the plague and ice when they were first Awakened.

The night elf glared at his opponent, slowly leaking out his plague. He let it infuse with the ice surrounding him and his blade. The ice armor was sharp and dangerous. Even without the plague if the orc got to close he would suffer damaged; but with the plague the risk was increased. Rosk used this to his advantage. Without a doubt the orc would let his rage get the better of him and abandon his reason.

Rosk smiled at his foe and pointed his sword at him. "Come on scum, try to touch me. Although I highly doubt you can you mindless grunt!"

The orc's nostrils flared and he snorted. His eyes, the same icy matter as Rosk's, stared at him with contempt. "Stupid night elf I'll squash you like a bug!" He roared and charged, banking on the fact that Rosk's new armor was undoubtedly heavier and it would be hard for him to move. He was also planning on Rosk to stand his ground and parry his blow like he did the humans.

Rosk charged forward as well, catching the orc of guard. He took advantage of the large brute's temporary surprise and twisted around him. He gave a quick strike to his thick skin and broke off a piece of ice in his skin. The plague would slowly leak into the orc's body. Step one done.

Rosk hopped back to avoid a blow when the orc swung at him. "Didn't even touch me," he taunted.

The orc roared and charged again, Rosk dodged and spun around the orc once again. Step two complete.

There was a grunt of pain then a cough. Blood slowly dripped from the orc's thick lips. "Damn you, you little elf!"

"Heh, how intimidating," Rosk commented sarcasm dripping from his ghostly voice. The orc huffed and charged. This time Rosk stood his ground and ducked the blade. He thrust his up impaling the orc in the chest. Step three complete. Step four commence.

He pushed up using the ice in his blood to increase his strength. He forced the orc off the ground and tossed him backward towards his step two. The Death and Decay caught the orc burning his skin and forcing him to rot. The slow leak of plague had already weakened the brute and now all Rosk needed to do was boil his blood. With a deadly smirk he cast his will and watched as the orc convulsed on the ground as his blood boiled and his plague rushed through his veins.

Rosk laughed at the slow and painful death.

Arthas watched with pride. How he loved when he got such brutal subordinates.

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AN: well tell me what you think :)


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