Her cold steps trudged a quiet rustle through the fallen leaves that cover the grounds that lie just before the main gate to the Sentinels’ stronghold.

She uttered a little chant, summoning upon her druidic magic to blind the owl scouts of her being. She slipped into an ethereal form, transforming herself into a white mist and began to make her move. She shifted along the ground, as she moved through the shadows and slipped past the gatekeepers unnoticed, even though they are the most alert to even the slightest disturbance.

The mist continued to creep the walls under the moonlight before finally seeping through a tiny crevice into a large room. Inside it was a chamber, dimly lit with a crystal star on a desk in front of high chair that faced away from it.

“I already sensed your presence when you blinded my owls, stranger. Have no fear in you, for I will cause you no harm, and show your true form before me,” said a voice that came behind the chair.

“Priestess Tyrande, it’s been a while,” said the mist, as it reformed itself.

The tall chair turned around, and The High Priestess of the Moon, Tyrande Whisperwind, leader of the Night Elf Sentinels arose from her seat and stepped forth to greet her stealthy visitor.

“By your voice… Erin? Could that possibly be you?” asked a surprised Priestess.

“Yes, Priestess. Indeed it is I.” replied the mist that has taken its original form of a humanoid female, but still rebuilding its features.

“But you were captured by Fearoth, as well as the rest of the Gladehunters under your command! How could you even be-”

Her transformation was complete, and Tyrande was left speechless.

“Alive? I am not, Priestess.”

Standing before the Priestess was a form that was once a Night Elf female. Only then, it appeared lifeless. A pale white skin, laced with scales at the hands, chest and back covering a body drained of blood, animated only by dark demonic magic. Silken threads that once graced her elven scalp are now a coarse covering of rotting hair.

“Erin Shadowleaf, former captain of the Gladehunters. Now, an animated corpse? Those foul creatures have defiled the sanctity of this realm!” thought the Priestess to herself.

Erin lifted her head slowly, to reveal a pair of jet black eyes, like glossy dark opaque marbles socketed within a smooth pearly white and beautiful dead face.

“Fearoth will pay for what he has done to you, child.” Said Tyrande, stepping closer. She stopped in her tracks as she realized that this visit may well be that cunning Dreadlord’s doing.

“I have come to talk, Priestess,” said Erin. “Just with you. Please come with me. There is a favor I wish to ask of you.”

“And what favor could an undead servant ask of me? Fearoth might have robbed you of your former spirit and made you into his puppet.”

Erin was the least surprised. Almost anyone who fell before the wrath of the Undead Scourge would ultimately lose their mind and soul to be consumed, leaving behind their empty husk and animated corpses to do the Lich King’s bidding.

Her thoughts flew back to the day when the Moonglades were besieged by the Scourge. Wave after wave of death-bringing corpses had attacked their final stand relentlessly. Despite continuous reinforcements from the Sentinels at Nordrassil, they were still hard pressed to a point where the only Gladehunters left were down to a 3-man squad…