Conquest of the Horde

His eyes flutter open. The first thing he takes account of? He's in an uncomfortable ass position. Tied up, in fact. Numerous articles of cloth adorned his person. Someone had obviously been trying to cover him up and keep him hidden. He remembered… the Undead, that punk ass Dwarf running off, and then… blackness. They must've knocked him out and hog-tied him. He next listened hard for any sign of movement or conversation, and found none. That being his cue, he vigorously shook all of the annoying silks off his person and assessed his surroundings.

He was lying flat on his back, in a way that would undoubtedly leave him sore in the morning. Indeed, he was already substantially sore and in no mood to do what he was about to do. He nevertheless heaved himself forward, in a way that would make him look as though he were having a Heart Attack, and wiggled over to his dropped sword (did he mention he had been stripped?) Noises of battle raged outside, as well as the dulcet tones of undead musing about it. He had to move quickly…

He was torn free from his bonds just as the Undead shuffled back into the room, grotesque as a… well… Undead. There's really nothing more disgusting. He stood up shakily, still weak from the fight before that resulted in his being knocked out. But you know what? He was ready to go down fighting for escape. He charged viciously, barreling past two of them before the third clawed into his arm with its bony little claws. He swayed, tripping to the ground a moment after. Rising again, slower this time, he attempted to thrash his way through their grabbing bones, but a sharp pain tore through his leg, and he crumpled.

He would hazard a guess that his leg had been completely bent out of shape, bones protruding and making a mess everywhere. They stood over him triumphantly. But suddenly, they looked fearfully at the door. One of them pulled out a long, wicked looking knife. He tried to open his mouth and speak, most likely to curse them for being bony little fuckers, but only blood spurted out. Then he smiled, blood dribbling dramatically down his fuzzy beard. This was just like that one time in Northr-

The knife came down, and then nothing.

Blackness, cold, and perhaps a little emptiness, he stood there. Was his life flashing before his eyes? No. And yet every second seemed as long as the longest experience one has ever endured, as long as an entire life on Azeroth. But it was not the end. Warmth suffused him, and life entered his form.

His eyes flutter open… Then they immediately shut. Everything was so bright, irritatingly so; bright and blurry, as well. Two figures were standing over him. They were mere shadows at first, imprints or outlines otherwise unimportant except they were the only definable shapes. Soon everything became right in the world, and the once obscure shapes became defined as Annabelle and Berem. He was alive, or was he? He looked at his hand, flexing it as a test, then looked back at them.

”Am I dreaming?”

Anna shook her head and smiled. ”No.”

He looked back at his hand again. "I thought not. If I were I'd be motherless and dancing.”

And that, Dear Ladies and Gentlemen, is how Gregg Anders returned to this world.

Killer: Darthes (With contributions from the rest of Desolate Twilight.)

Rezzers: Annabelle and Berem

Effects

Temporary Drawbacks:
-Typically, as most suffer when resurrected, any excruciating strain will send him into a fit of bloody coughs the likes of which have never been seen.
-The Light will have temporarily left him, and he will not be able to produce even the slightest of beneficial magical effects.
-He will have an extremely low tolerance for alcohol. Any who know him will be greatly amused by this, but it's no laughing matter! Honest!

Permanent Drawbacks:
-As he fought in Northrend, and has now met his end at their bony hands, he will harbor extreme racism for Undead, to the point of not being able to tolerate their presence by any means. And I mean any means, even if they came to him with Arthas's head (which, now that he's dead, is very likely.)
-Some wounds never fully heal. Gregg's leg was so horribly bent out of shape that even when given the best healing magic of the world, he will always never be able to move as fast as others and will always have a small limp to his step.

Darthes approves of this.
*Seal of Darthes-Teaparty-approve*

...Punk ass dwarf? *glare*

I don't remember if we have to say we actually rezzed a person. But I am!

Also, a Guinness for Gregg. He needs it.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yh4pKRdrBw[/youtube]