Most times, the Ruins of Lordaeron were quiet and empty. Not a soul – save for the lost wisps – would wander the grounds of the old castle, but tonight they were swarming with the Forsaken. The dwellers of the Undercity had emerged from the sewers they called home and set up rows of carved pumpkins and a giant straw effigy. From atop Sahtra’s mount, Mori watched one of the Forsaken approach the wickerman, as it was called, and set it ablaze.

 

“Hallow’s End is a holiday that commemorates the day the undead of Lordaeron broke free from the Lich King’s control,” the death knight explained, “Prior to the Scourge, the wickerman was burned at the end of the harvest season to celebrate those who had passed and the purging of sorrows and fears.”

 

“If they broke free, then…you must be their enemy.”

 

“We were once living countrymen,” Sahtra motioned at the crowd of undead that had formed around the burning effigy, “these people were my neighbors, my friends, those I fought to protect. But the conflict consumed all; those with weaker minds were easily corrupted by the magic of domination and used for the greater purpose.”

 

Mori turned her head and looked up at Sahtra. “Isn’t being here dangerous for you, then?”

 

The death knight tapped his helm. “What they do not know cannot hurt them. Or me.” She nodded and looked back at the effigy below. “Would you like to throw a branch into the fire?”

 

“Yes,” she answered, “very much.”

 

Sahtra guided his mount to land near one of the towers at the outskirts of the Ruins. After securing it to the remains of a ruined archway, he and Mori walked the remaining distance to the line in front of the giant wickerman. Most of the celebration attendees were, in fact, Forsaken, but there were several small clusters of blood elves who had made the journey from Quel'Thalas - as it was conveniently just to the north - to join their Horde allies in Lordaeron. The young blood elf noted, upon hearing her kin converse with one another, that they weren’t all too pleased with the “scenery”.

 

“Did you see that man? Or whatever it was. His spine was sticking clean out his back!”

 

“I saw a lady whose jaw had fallen off entirely. If I were her, I wouldn’t last one second! I’d rather die pretty than live in that wretched state.”

 

“Really? You seem to be living just fine!”

 

“Oh! How rude!”

 

Mori heard a jarringly high-pitched nasal laugh as one blood elf slapped the other.

 

“Drop that branch on the fire already! Then we can leave this horrible place!” The visitors muttered to themselves after performing the ceremonial task and proceeded to exit the central area.

 

“Welcome, elven child,” a Forsaken woman in a hooded purple robe approached the young necromancer, “is this your first Hallow’s End?” Mori looked up at her rotting face and nodded. She was not repulsed by the sight as her kin were, having grown accustomed to the appearances of her minions. “Very well. First, take this branch and place it on the bonfire. Then, apply the ashes scattered at the base of the fire to your face. And finally, remember what this fire represents – that we will never yield to our enemies! That the Forsaken will endure forever and ever!” The woman let out a raspy cackle before handing Mori the branch and attending to other holiday affairs.

 

Mori tossed the small limb into the flames and picked up some ash with her thumb, rubbing it in two circles across both cheeks. Sahtra approached her from behind and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. “What are you sending into the other world tonight, little one?”

 

“Hmm,” Mori thought, “I’d like to—"

 

A chilling laugh interrupted her answer as an armored figure on a flying horse descended upon the crowd. His helm and sword glowed a sickly green, as did the horse’s eyes, nostrils, and hooves. Both rider and mount were clad in black-grey with streaks of orange.

 

“Prepare yourselves, the bells have tolled!

Shelter your weak, your young and your old!”

 

“Look! In the sky!”

 

“He’s here!”

 

“It’s the Headless Horseman!”

 

Mori stared in awe at the creature the others were calling the “Headless Horseman.” The specter aimed his sword at plants and structures alike, setting them ablaze and retreating into the darkness, only to reappear and spread more of his green flames.

 

“Each of you shall pay the final sum.

Cry for mercy, the reckoning has come!”

 

“Sahtra, who is that man, that Headless Horseman? And why is he setting everything on fire?”

 

“He was once a paladin,” the death knight answered, “upon death, he was cursed to believe that everyone else was his enemy, so he travels the world and metes out what he believes is justice.” Another laugh sent chills down Mori's spine, and she shivered despite the warmth of the wickerman against her back. “The Headless Horseman can never truly be defeated,” he continued, “but he has taken many of the lives of those who have tried to put an end to his foul deeds.”

 

With his fiery blade, the Horseman pointed at an empty patch of ground in front of the crowd of guests.

 

“Soldiers arise, stand and fight!

Bring victory at last to this fallen knight!”

 

Soldiers? Mori wondered, was he to raise an undead army of his own? She stared intently at the patches of dark green forming on the ground and was strangely delighted to see that they were not corpses but—

 

“Pumpkins! With angry faces and leaves for arms! They’re adorable!”

 

The flower-like pumpkins scattered across the Ruins, reaching out with their leaves at any nearby celebration attendees. “Ouch, it stings!” squealed one blood elf woman, “Get it off me!” As her companions attempted to remove the sentient plant off of her, another one slithered up to Mori and wiggled its leaves up and down.

 

“Look, Sahtra,” Mori pointed at the pumpkin, “I think it’s saying hello!”

 

“Be careful, little one,” the death knight cautioned, and he drew his sword. The strange flower jumped in surprise and retracted its leaves as the orange oddity sat on the ground like a regular carved pumpkin.

 

“Return to me, my shining knights!

We have more to burn tonight,

To cleanse the world of this spell,

So I bid you all farewell!”

 

Its master’s call awakened the little flower, and it immediately sprang up, beckoning Mori to follow as it rapidly slid away. “It’s…it’s talking to me,” she exclaimed, “wait, little pumpkin!”

 

“Mori, stop!” Sahtra called out, “It’s not safe—”

 

“I’ll be back, don’t worry!”

 

But between the crowd of Hallow’s End attendees and the piles of stones scattered from the Ruins, Mori had disappeared. The death knight ran up to the edge of the ruins and scanned the horizon. She had gotten away. The laughter of the Headless Horseman echoed across the sky, and Sahtra swore as he sheathed his runeblade and ran into the black forest.

 

* * * * *

 

Mori was lost in the forest. That much she knew. Upon chasing the pumpkin-flower into the dense thicket, it had collapsed and shriveled away. She had wanted to turn around and run back to Sahtra, but the dark and winding path had made it unable to retrace her steps. In attempts to walk towards the sound of revelry, the young blood elf listened to her surroundings, but she was met with nothing but silence. Only the owl’s hoot and the cricket’s chirp kept her company, their quiet strums magnifying by the minute.

 

An hour, perhaps it was two hours, or maybe it was only half an hour, had passed – Mori did not know – when she heard the distant clacking of hooves and the neighing of a horse. Finally, he had come to her rescue! Mori grabbed a small branch and set its tip ablaze, waving the dead limb like a torch.

 

“Sahtra!” she called out, “Sahtra, I’m here! Can you see me?” But Sahtra did not answer. Instead, she heard the hooves and neighing approaching more quickly, followed by the ghastly laugh of-

 

“The Headless Horseman!” Mori shrieked, “Oh no!”

 

Sure enough, the terrifying specter with the burning green helm rode into view, his horse rearing and raising flamed hooves of his own.

 

“I have found you, little one,

Your celebration’s just begun!

Too far alone you have strayed,

Now, you’ll taste death by my blade!”

 

“NOOO!” the young necromancer screamed and threw her torch at the horse’s feet, immediately turning on her heels and running as quickly as she could in the opposite direction, bobbing and weaving between the trees. Not once did she stop to turn around and check if the Horseman was on the pursuit; she needed as much of a head start as she could get. Her efforts were in vain, however, for once the mount had stomped out the flames, its master chased her once again, passing through the trees as easily as one would walk through air.

 

“In vain you try to flee,

This haunted night, you ride with me!”

 

As he gained on Mori, the Horseman reached down with his strong gloved hand and gripped the cloth on her back, lifting her above the moving grass.

 

“Let me go! Ahh! Let me go!” The young necromancer shot out quick bolts of shadow from her fingertips in hopes of causing him to fumble his grip, but they bounced off the rider’s armor and hands like flies to a window.

 

“Where are you taking me?!”

 

The Horseman did not respond. The rider let out a chilling laugh and called out to the horse that served him so faithfully.

 

“Fly, my valiant steed,

Fly, and make haste with due speed!”

 

The mount with burning green hooves took a giant leap into the sky and entered wingless flight. Mori felt her stomach rise and sink with the steep increase in elevation, and she couldn’t help but let out a frightened squeal as the sensation proved to be too much to handle. The trees below turned into bushes, and the bushes into little green specs. She thought she would fall at any moment, dangling from the Horseman's grip high in the sky, but he held her tightly. The specter sprinkled some dust over Mori’s head, and after breathing in a strange sweet scent, she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion and went limp.

 

* * * * *

 

Mori awoke on the cold, stone floor of a small round chamber adorned with pumpkins. She had had a nightmare, one that had seemed all too real, where she had run off into the forest and been captured by the Headless Horseman.

 

“At last, child, you are awake,

Your life will soon be mine to take!”

 

The young necromancer sat up with a loud gasp. The horrible experience had been no nightmare; she really had been captured by the Horseman, and now the frightening specter stood over her, peering down at her through his burning green helm. Mori’s heart began to beat rapidly. How would she ever get out of this one?

 

“Sahtra!” she cried out, “Sahtra, where are you!”

 

“No sound can leave this room,

All who’ve entered here have met their doom!”

 

Mori ignored him and continued calling her guardian’s name.

 

“Cease these efforts, little child,

You should have known better than to get lost in the wild.”

 

The Horseman’s words stung; she could find no words to refute them. “I know h-he’ll come s-save me,” she spoke to him, “He always d-does!” The young blood elf began to sob as she wondered whether he would really find her. Her captor appeared to consider her words as he studied her from head to toe. He unsheathed his burning green sword and pointed it at her.

 

“Let us make a bet, you and I,

To this man named Sahtra you cry,

If in one hour's time he fails to set you free,

Your soul shall then belong to me!”

 

One hour! It wasn’t much, but even if Sahtra could not find her until then, Mori would use all the time she could to devise a plan to escape. She glanced at the curved walls, searching for an opening or crack to exploit. There it was – a window! It was small, but she could probably fit through it.

 

“A means of escape you seek!”

 

“Um, n-no, I just, I was—”

 

“You’re easy to read, your mind is weak!”

 

What a fool she had been! Mori scolded herself for prematurely revealing her plans. With a sinister laugh, the Horseman pointed his burning blade at the window and traced a pattern of green flame around it.

 

“And so I take my leave,

Soon you’ll pay the price for being naïve!”

 

The Headless Horseman disappeared through the wall, reminding the young blood elf of a certain someone who had the same ability. Were all spectral beings capable of passing through normally impenetrable barriers?

 

She did not have the time to think about that for long. Now was her chance! Mori ran to the window and climbed up onto the stone sill. The Horseman’s green flame still burned along the perimeter, and it bit at her cloth sleeves as she tried to reach through it. It was no use, she realized, she would have to find a way to put it out before she would be able to pass through. She searched the room for anything that could help, but it was nearly barren save for some wooden chairs. Perhaps if she used the seat to snuff out the flames…yes, that was worth a try! Mori climbed down the sill and grabbed the smallest of the chairs, climbing back onto the platform and holding the chair out by the legs.

 

“Yes! It’s working!” the young blood elf exclaimed as she struck the wooden seat against the flames and watched them die down, “Just a few more times and I’ll be—AHHH!” Mori screamed as the burning helm of the Horseman appeared out of thin air in the window. She dropped the chair and was about to fall backwards onto the stone ground when her captor reached through the window and grabbed her arm. The young necromancer had no time to think about why the Horseman would perform such an act – perhaps preserving her for amusement later – when his chilling laugh filled her ears once more.

 

“At long last, I have returned,

I’m glad to see you’ve not been burned!”

 

The metal skull with the gaping jaw stared at her, the continuous streak of green flame filling the empty space in the toothless mouth and eyeless sockets. How Mori desperately wished, at this very moment, that another skull-helmed man had been here to greet her instead, but she had tangled herself into this mess. This was a nightmare from which she would not wake.

 

“Th-That wasn’t one hour!” Mori protested, glancing at the armored hand that grasped her arm so tightly, “Y-You’re back early!” His expedient return had all but foiled her escape plans. The Horseman floated through the window and into the room, releasing her arm and unsheathing his burning green sword.

 

“Little child, my patience grows thin,

Your savior is not here, and thus I win!”

 

The young necromancer gasped and took slow steps backwards as her captor approached her. Where was Sahtra?! Was he still searching for her? Had he given up? Had the death knight finally decided that she had earned her grim fate? The thoughts rapidly flew through her mind as her eyes welled up with tears. She did not blame him, she decided in her last moments, she had run out of chances to be saved.

 

The grim specter grabbed Mori’s collar with his right hand and lifted her off the floor. The green flames shone off his orange and grey armor and made it difficult for her to breathe, the stifling heat beating at her nose and cheeks. The Horseman directed his sword to her throat and spoke in a sinister voice:

 

“The hour of your death is nigh,

It is time for you to say goodbye.”

 

The tip of the sharp blade at her neck, Mori finally realized she was about to die. Her eyes went wide with horror as she stared at the Horseman's burning face, and the tears began to flow from her eyes, regretting that she would meet her end in such a manner and due to her own foolishness.

 

“I sh-should never h-have run off!” the young necromancer wept, “I should h-have stayed with S-Sahtra, wh-where it was s-safe! I’m g-going to d-die and it’s all m-my f-fault! I’m s-so sorry!” Each second lasted an eternity as Mori waited for the blade to pierce her throat. But it did not happen.

 

The Horseman abruptly sheathed his burning blade and released his tight grasp on her collar as he lowered her to the ground. “I will not always be around to protect you.” His voice was different—no, it had been different before; this voice was one with which Mori was all too familiar.

 

“Wait—Sahtra? Sahtra, is it really you?!” This sudden revelation sent her head spinning.

 

The costumed death knight peered down at her for a short moment before removing the burning green helm. His cold facial features were twisted into a frown as he glared at Mori.

 

“You could have been killed,” Sahtra threw the helm aside and leaned into her, “do you understand? Killed! What would you have done if I were not around to safeguard your phylactery?” His blue eyes burned angrily, and a cloud of frost began to form around him, swelling in chilling power as the seconds silently passed by.

 

Mori could not bear to look back at him. The tears that had all but dried up upon the discovery that the specter who had captured her was only her guardian in disguise had once again formed in her eyes. He was right. She had been too careless. She was always too careless; and her recklessness kept him on edge at all times.

 

“I’ve been terrible to you, Sahtra," Mori answered, "I always run off without thinking because I get really excited and forget to be careful…and then you come running after me because I don’t know what’s good for myself! All I do is cause trouble for you!" The little droplets began to trickle down her blackened cheeks. "I don’t deserve you, Sahtra! You should have just let me die! Then you wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore!” Mori broke down into violent tears, wiping her swollen eyes on her already dampened sleeves.

 

Sahtra watched her silently as a pained look washed over his cold face. “Do you really mean that?”

 

Mori looked up at him, the flowing tears having left streaks of clean skin where there was once ash. “I…um…well…”

 

“Do you really think that you deserve to die? Do you really think that if you were gone, I would be happier?” The death knight’s face was twisted into a hard frown as his blue eyes glowed with a mixture of anger and sorrow. The young necromancer opened her mouth to speak, but the jumble of thoughts in her mind left her unable to respond in a coherent manner.

 

“Yes or no, Mori?”

 

“N-No.”

 

“Then do not say such horrible things, little one.”

 

“I’m s-sorry, Sahtra,” she apologized quietly, “n-none of this sh-should have happened.” Mori clasped her upper arms as she shivered, her body finally registering the cold temperatures after the stressful episode she had just experienced. Her guardian knelt in front of her and took off his cloak, wrapping it around her snugly.

 

“Is that better?” The young blood elf nodded. “I would not wish to strike such terror into your heart, or ever see again your eyes widened with the utmost horror. Know that it caused me as much pain as it did you.”

 

“I thought I was going to die,” Mori’s lips quivered, “I thought the Horseman—I mean, you, were going to…to take that sword and, and…” She lifted her head and pointed to the spot on her neck where she had felt the sharp tip of the blade.

 

“Hush, my child,” Sahtra pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, “I would never hurt you. It’s going to be okay, you’re safe with me.”

 

* * * * *

 

Sahtra had replaced his Headless Horseman’s armor – he revealed he had obtained it from a local costume vendor – with his own blue-black saronite, and had dispelled the magical barrier on the stone room, allowing him and Mori to leave the enclosure normally. They returned to the giant bonfire at her request for a fresh start.

 

“Let's try this again,” The death knight began, “is there something you’d like to wish away?”

 

The young necromancer nodded solemnly. “I want to make all the things that make you worry about me go away.”

 

“That would be impossible—”

 

“No! I’ll fix my behavior, I promise! I won’t run off anymore and I won’t touch things without knowing what they are and I won’t make fun of the enemy and…and what else? Tell me, please!”

 

“Don’t do all those things for me, do them for yourself. Nothing can prevent me from worrying about you, little one,” Sahtra replied gently, kneeling down and placing his arm around her back, “a parent is always worried for his child, no matter how safe and sound she may be.”

 

“Huh?! Isn’t worrying bad, though?”

 

“No, worrying is not bad,” he chuckled, “it is a sign of love.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Mori blushed, “you don’t have to stop worrying then!” She placed her arm around his back in return as she leaned her head against his helm. Together they tossed their branches into the fire and watched the giant wickerman burn as its flames ascended into the night.