In life, Vel’rosh had often gotten lost in forests, convoluted passageways, and large temples. As he concentrated on retracing his steps in the caverns, he realized undeath had not improved his sense of direction.

 

Damn it, he growled, I have to find them.

 

It had been several weeks since his transformation into a death knight. Vel’rosh, in the absence of the others, had used that time to become acclimated to his new, or rather, altered, body and powers. His thirst for water and hunger for food had been replaced by a seemingly insatiable thirst for blood and a hunger for the kill. The former paladin, ever striving to be peaceful despite his innate bloodlust, had attempted to resist this desire at first. It had almost been in vain, however, as he had found himself on the brink of insanity.

 

You need that creature dead right now, something inside the orc told him, end its life. In the blink of an eye, he struck out with his corrupted greatsword and felled the creature in one swift strike. Vel’rosh relished the kill like a glass of water to a parched throat, and let the calming sensation come over him.

 

But what would he do with a dead rabbit? “I must not let this kill go to waste,” the orc grunted in thought. A few moments later, he came to a realization.

 

“The inhabitants of this land eat this creature for sustenance,” Vel’rosh spoke aloud, “I shall make the most of this slaughter, and find a family in need to whom I can gift the animal.” The orc picked up the dead rabbit and set off to find the nearest village.

 

Along the way, he came by a pandaren crouched behind a rock. The man appeared to be lost in focus, and Vel’rosh followed his gaze to a small sheep sitting at the base of a willow tree. The orc stepped on a small twig with a snap, which prompted a response from the pandaren.

 

“Hush, trespasser,” he spoke quietly, “or you shall scare the animal away.”

 

“My apologies,” the orc replied, but it was too late. With a small bleat of alarm, the sheep ran off into the darkness of the forest. The pandaren squinted after the animal and threw his hunting bow down to the grass in frustration. “What do I do now,” he moaned to himself, “my cubs haven’t eaten healthy meat for a week.”

 

Vel’rosh’s blue eyes glowed brightly at the opportunity. Of course, he realized, he could give this man the rabbit!

 

“Excuse me, sir,” Vel’rosh spoke at normal volume, “I believe I have a spare kill from the hunt I could give to you. Your family would feast quite well—”

 

The pandaren turned around to respond but stopped in his tracks as he stood face to face with the horrifying orc death knight. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips trembled while he looked back and forth between the bloodied rabbit and the orc that resembled a ghost. With a cry, the pandaren hunter started back, tripped on his foot, and quickly got up and ran away. In his shock, the pandaren left behind his hunting bow and a stunned Vel’rosh.

 

“I suppose I will place this rabbit next to the man’s weapon,” the orc mused, “he is sure to come back and retrieve it when he thinks I am gone.” Vel’rosh placed the rabbit gently next to the bow and resumed his search for the nearest town.

 

The hunter’s response had been a rude awakening for the orc. In life, he had worn the golden and blue colors of the paladins, and his presence had often been welcomed and treated warmly by random passersby and villagers. Now, his clothing bore skulls instead of wings and appeared to be a literal shadow of its former hue, replaced by a blue-black tone. Vel’rosh wondered if Sahtra had left his tabard unchanged as a form of mockery, to show that even those who claimed to have the Light’s protection could fall to the Shadow. The orc had come to embrace it, however; to him, the tabard symbolized understanding and growth, that he had become a better person through his combined experiences as a paladin and now a death knight.

 

For the time being, however, he had to find his former traveling companions and make amends.

 

“I suppose this is goodbye, friend fox?” Halvor’s voice in the distance was unmistakable.

 

“Yeah,” Meechi replied, “I miss my crewmates. I believe my place is with them. With the Captain gone, we’ll have to brainstorm how to get by, but we’ll figure that out as we go along.”

 

Vel’rosh listened from the shadows as the vrykul and vulpera exchanged a few more words of farewell and heard her small steps fade away. Carefully, he walked over to Halvor, his dark armor creaking.

 

“Halvor, friend, I must speak with you—”

 

“Monster!” the vrykul roared, raising his sword and brining it down to strike the death knight, but it met the corrupted greatsword before it could land on his body, “Who are you?”

 

“It is I, Vel’rosh!” the orc pleaded, “Do you not remember me?”

 

“You are not friend orc,” Halvor lowered his sword, taking a good look at his new body and new armor, “you are foul undead creature. Your voice all wrong, too.”

 

“Halvor, please, I understand now. Sahtra did nothing wrong; I was the aggressor. I’m here to apologize—”

 

“Enough!” Halvor cut Vel’rosh off with a wave of his hand. “Death man brainwash you, it is obvious.”

 

“He did not, I swear this on my—”

 

But the vrykul had already left. He found Sahtra and Mori waiting outside and marched up to the human death knight.

 

“I know what you did, rotten creature,” Halvor pointed a thick finger at the human death knight’s helmed face. “You lie to orc just like you lie to small child. No, orc is not orc anymore. Orc is monster. Orc is monster, just like you.”

 

Mori looked up at the human, confused. “Sahtra, what’s he talking about—” The death knight placed his gloved hand on her shoulder, and she fell quiet.

 

“Mark my words, death man,” Halvor’s brown eyes were fiercely locked onto Sahtra’s glowing blue ones, “Stay out of my way. Next time we meet, I will kill you.”

 

The vrykul warrior sheathed his longsword and walked away, furious. Mori wasn’t sure where he was going, but she never saw him again. The death knight had remained silent the entire time, unwilling to grant Halvor the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him.

 

“Sahtra,” Mori tried to start again, “can you please explain—"

 

“So, this is where you are. I have been looking for you.”

 

The young blood elf found herself looking at an orc making his way to Sahtra and her. He snorted, and a green-colored vapor escaped from his nose.

 

“Who are…” Mori’s voice trailed off as she studied the orc’s appearance closely. He wore blue-black armor lined with fur at his shoulders, wrists, thighs, and knees, and spikes adorned his pauldrons. Mori recognized this orc to be a death knight, the same way she had recognized Sahtra when they had first met, yet the familiar tabard of the Argent Crusade struck her as oddly misplaced. What kind of death knight would wear the insignia so famous for being wielded by paladins and other holy warriors? Unless—

 

“Vel’rosh, is that you?!” The child ran up to the orc and studied his face closely. His eyes glowed blue and his skin was now a paler shade of green, but she recognized his wide jaw, the frown wrinkles above his brow, and the small patch of hair on his head tied up in a ponytail. This had to be him!

 

The orc smirked. “Now you may be thinking, ‘The paladin fell to the darkness, where have I heard that before?’” He strolled triumphantly around the young necromancer. “I assure you, however, I will crush my foes to protect the future of Azeroth and receive the recognition I was never given under my former masters.”

 

It was him, all right, Mori was now certain. He spoke with the same confidence he had while alive, though now his voice carried an echo similar to that of Sahtra.

 

“Wait,” she paused in thought, “how did you become a death knight?”

 

Vel’rosh stood still and motioned at his human counterpart with a gauntleted hand. Mori suddenly realized what Halvor had been referring to just moments earlier, and her jaw dropped to the floor.

 

“I didn’t know you could make death knights!” she ran up to Sahtra and clenched his hands with her small fingers, “You’re so cool!”

 

“There are a great number of things I can do that you don’t know about.” The human death knight chuckled as he knelt in front of her and winked. “I told you my creations are much more powerful than yours, didn’t I? I only wish you could have seen it for yourself.” Mori now felt the same way; what a spectacle it would have been!

 

“Sahtra has gifted me with powers that I never thought possible,” the orc spoke in a somber tone, “I have let go of my failures of the past, and I will strive to make amends for them using my newfound abilities!”

 

Vel’rosh slowly walked up to Mori and peered down at her, his brows furrowed with regret. “I wish to apologize to you, child. Under the so-called guidance of the Light, I treated others whose views differed from mine with hatred and injustice.” The orc clenched his thick hand into a fist. “Now, however, I will use that hatred to crush those who would harm the good people of this world!”

 

The young blood elf eyed the orc with suspicion. He had certainly declared a change of heart upon his entrance into undeath, but she didn’t feel it excused him of the weight of his actions in life. She placed her hands on her hips and thought hard for a few moments.

 

“I’ll give you a chance,” she decided, “but don’t think that I will forgive you so easily! Especially after what you did to him!” She pointed a small finger at Sahtra. “He could have died!”

 

Vel’rosh saddened slightly and nodded. “I understand, Mori. I know what I did was wrong.”

 

“The orc has changed, little one,” Sahtra placed a hand on her back, “and I think he has learned his lesson. And I am still alive, right? We can move on.” Mori nodded and the human death knight stood back up. “What’s next for you, orc?”

 

“I have found new meaning in undeath as an adventurer of sorts,” replied Vel’rosh, “I have been picking up requests from citizens here and there who need tasks accomplished by a strong body so that I may win their trust in time.” The orc paused, reflecting on his own words, “At least, I hope that I may gain their trust. I have already experienced some of the very same prejudice I harbored against you myself.”

 

“Very well,” Sahtra spoke, “best of luck to you.”

 

“And to you, friend,” Vel’rosh returned. “And to you, young one,” he crouched to look at Mori eye-to-eye, “someday you will be proud of me, I promise you.”

 

With those parting words, Vel’rosh of the Warsong Clan, death knight formerly of the service of the Argent Crusade, left to start his own journey.