(Somewhere in the Western Plaguelands)
A waning gibbous moon slowly rose over the peaceful meadows, and the spring night was alive with the sounds of spring peepers, crickets, and the occasional hoot of a lonely owl. The land formerly known as the Eastweald was still a beautiful place, especially in the eventide…
But the night’s tranquility was a thin mask over the once-ravaged terrain, and darker things stirred in the deep corners and woods. A few ancient crypts scattered throughout the region still remained from long before Arthas’s reign, and the local folk avoided those areas at night. It was from one of these tombs, moss covered and almost hidden from sight, that a strange and muffled explosion could have been heard from deep within, as if a spell had been broken. And indeed it had.
The skeletal figure that had been curled up within one of the upper chambers of the crypt slowly rolled over to her back, spiders scattering from where they had rested beneath her body. She stared up at the cobweb-laced ceiling of the tomb for a moment, listening to the sounds of rats gnawing and skittering here and there deeper underground. The chamber was barely lit from cracks in the ceiling that allowed tiny shafts of moonlight in here and there. Her ragged breathing gave way to a fit of wracking coughs, and she knew she must feed.
Slowly, laboriously, the figure crawled her way towards the entrance of the tomb, stopping frequently to rest as more insects continued to emerge from the folds of her rotten clothing and scurry away. She pushed away the matted vines and moss that had obscured the entrance and collapsed onto the ground outside the crypt. The pale spring moonlight revealed an emaciated figure, her skin stretched over her bones so tightly that she looked like little more than an animated skeleton. She looked at the moon and cursed softly. Her sleeping enchantment had been wrong and had not broken on a full moon as she had intended. Nevertheless, she laid still for a few moments and allowed it’s soft light to heal her. It would just take longer to regain her strength now.
Not far away a few farmers had dared to rebuild their homes in the valley after the terrible events of the Plague, and their flocks of sheep could be heard occasionally bleating as they grazed the pastures. The skeleton turned her head in their direction, listening intently. They would be easy prey. She pushed herself off the ground unsteadily, but with more strength than before. The moonlight had given her newfound energy, and she stumbled down the hill towards the flock, taking care not to expose herself in the open. She dropped to her bony hands and knees again at the edge of the pasture, singling out a fat young ewe that grazed a distance from her companions. The figure pulled the tattered remains of her hood over her head and crept forward with remarkable speed to snatch the ewe and tackle it to the ground. In times past she had preferred to feed on her victims while they were yet alive, but she was weakened and famished, and did not want the cries of her struggling prey attracting unwanted attention from the nearby cottages. She killed the ewe quickly and dragged it back towards the edge of the pasture silently before tearing into its flesh ravenously. She had been quiet enough that even the nearby flock had not yet noticed her presence.
She finally had eaten her fill for the time being, and laid back to stare up at the starry sky. The stretched skin of her face was covered in the gore of her prey and dripping down her throat onto her sunken rib cage, but she did not care. Her thirst had been sated for the moment…but it would not be enough. She plucked a three leafed clover stem from a clump nearby and laid it on the ravaged corpse of the sheep, pausing a moment longer. But she knew she mustn’t stay - the nearby flock had already grown restless, as if they sensed her presence. The vampire mustered herself one last time and crawled slowly back up the hill towards the crypt again, hoarsely whispering a curse to prevent the hounds which were almost certain to be sent after her from picking up her trail. She must rest again, gather her strength. She pulled the vines back to their position over the entrance to the tomb behind her, and slunk back to the chamber where she had spent those many years in an enchanted sleep. She noticed a single torch that sat in its bracket on the wall, covered in spiderwebs and dusty from long years of disuse. The vampire limped across the small room to it, whispering a strange enchant under her breath, and suddenly a tiny purple flame sprung to life upon the torch. Satisfied, she turned back to the large flat stone that had served as her bed, tracing a curious rune upon it with one long fingernail before collapsing in exhaustion onto it once more. She would sleep for a time again.