Walls... We build them for all sorts of reasons. Mostly for safety and security, for shelter, to keep out all the bad in the world. We build our whole lives around the concept of safety and security behind our walls, and even when torn down by enemies we will always rebuild them. But walls are also used to contain. Store rooms for food and water, containers for goods, store houses of knowledge. Then of course there are the times where they contain the worst of us.
This was the deciding factor in the undead's arrival in the small town of Kris, walls. She had arrived escorting quite a large shipment of raw lumber weeks ago, accompanied by a small construction crew she had hired to oversee the job. The crew had been tasked with simple but defensible fortifications around the town, upgrading what was there, rebuilding what had been lost, adding some choke points past the gates incase they were broken down.
The foreman led a tight crew, careful on the instructions, working as fast as possible with the help from the native townspeople when they offered. With a Deathknight around, the township was obviously weary of the offered help, only a few souls offering in the first few days, more had offered to help as time went on and stories circulated.
Zana had been in such a state that she didn't speak, didn't fake breath, not even a blink. The air around her was colder than usual, though she was terribly calm. Her actions never stopped, never ceased, hammering nails, moving timber, acting on the foreman's orders without pause or complaint, even the more demeaning jobs of washing laundry and sharpening tools. She was a walking corpse, dead to the world and to herself, merely carrying on with jobs.
As time went on, more and more people started to volunteer. Zana, along with the volunteered townsfolk, would listen and take orders from the loyal foreman, building sections of wall around the town, down the main lanes for choke points, for gates to close and shutter, for defense. The townsfolk emboldened by the undeads calm, often giving her tasks of washing clothes, digging ditches, moving things here and there only to move them again... degrading tasks yet she did not complain or even falter. Whatever was tasked by eve would be completed by dawn, for all three weeks.
âHey Foreman... been meaning to ask... whats up with the deader?â One man asked the person in charge. âDunno, know she works for the Sunguard... and she's screwed up in the head. Hasn't said a word, even when tasking us... wrote it all on paper. Damned fine soldier though, killed more than a few bandits to get here... wouldn't want to cross her blade.â The local blinked and then looked over at the undead as she hammered nails where she had been told to, âSo she's been working solid for three weeks? Guess she's... a smidge better than the guy drowning people across town...â
âOy! Zana!â The knight looked up from her duty, distant eyes gazing over the foreman as he continued, âClean out the latrine, get all the bins refilled with supplies, oh and prep the rope and tools for the next length of the wall... dig out the preparatory trench too! Some of the boys left laundry as well!â The man simply turned and looked at the local, âHate them deaders... feels good giving this one shit for jobs... up for some drinks?â Idly muttering as the crew and locals started to filter out.
Without a word or even a blink the undead went to task. It did not matter that the sun was setting, that the weather was getting cold she simply kept on task.
âWhat... did you honestly think you deserved better than the rest of us? That you were special? Different?â
âNo. I know what I deserve. What I am.â
Clothes were being cleaned. She scrubbed soap over them along a nearby river as the insects of the evening chirped and buzzed. The water of the steam was cool, perfect for washing tarnished clothes of their stains and odor.
âYou are not but a broken doll, begging for the end of your own pain and suffering.... I could give you that.â
âI know what you can give. I do not want it.â
Clothes were hung along lines just inside the town. She clipped every garment in order to ensure they were collected easily enough.
âIs this the girl I raised... someone so weak as to do laundry?â
âI am not weak, work is not weak.â
âIt is beneath you... so much of this life is beneath you.â
âAs is the earth, as are the worms and the carrion that I should have joined... anything I can give now is but a blessing.â
She went to restock the bins. The owls hooted, the rabbits thumped against the ground, the insects spread as night thickened. Refilling nails, resharpening dulled tools, re-dulling deformed hammers, the undead proceeded without pause.
âWhat do you plan to do when this is over... you know that you can never be happy... you had happiness once and let it slip through your fingers like a dullard.â
âTsk tsk.. princess doesn't know what to do next... I know what I would do.â
The Latrine was next. Shoveling shit here and there would be most degrading to anyone yet she did not complain. She did not blink, did not hesitate, did not shirk the duties... making sure the next shit hole would be as clean as the last.
âI raised you to be great... to be extraordinary... to rise above petty little things that tie up ones heart so you can achieve true greatness... where did you go wrong....â
âI am a failure... but I strive for success.. I strive to be better... I follow orders... I do my job... I protect...â
âThe ones you love? Can you even love?â
âI think I can... Regardless, I will protect them.â
âEven at the cost of your own life? What foolishness... No wonder you can't live anymore.â
The night was no longer young... the undead digging a trench for where the first long would lie, more than half buried to start the foundation of the next wall. Tossing stone and dirt aside, digging exactly the depth she needed before continuing the trench along.
âI can help you sweet child, just let me.â
âYou speak false words... only meaning to hurt.â
âHonestly can I hurt you anymore than you hurt yourself?â
âNo... you've hurt me plenty. Hope is what you granted me... the greatest delusion and the greatest pain.â
âMmm if I hurt you so... why do you carry on? Why defend such things.â
âI... follow orders... its all I have left now... I must... or else I'd let this pain wash over me... wash over my soul and leave me more hollow then Arthas did...â
Dawn was rapidly approaching, the undead starting to work on axes, knives, hammers. She wasn't the most competent smith, but she knew enough. The Axes were sharpened, as were the knifes. The hammers were worked in the forges fire and then hammered to have a blunt but solid edge.
âI had happiness... and I let it slip through my fingers... Maybe this is what I deserve...â
âOr you could let me take the pain away... grant you your final death.â
âMy daughter was not raised to be such a pathetic thing...â
âOh you don't know what you want sweetie? Let me take it all away...â
âI did not raise you to be so weak...â
âI'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you...â
âWhy am I so pathetic...?â
The roosters started to crow, signaling the dawn of a new morning. Like every other before the undead finally cried out as loud as she could on the barest edge of the town. She screamed out as a single tear  spilled from her eyes, frozen and brushed away by the morning wind.
After a moment she collected herself, walking back into town towards the current build sight. The foreman and his workers approached, along with whatever townsfolk applied themselves only to find the undead sitting simply upon a stool. All of the tasks given were completed, all the tools ready, the bins of parts waiting. She simply waited for the next day to be finished, waited for the next order to follow.
