Maybe a Prequel?

A farm in the Plaguelands, overrun by the Scourge

With a thud, Nikolas Tien crashed to the floor, helped by the two hulking figures who threw him there. They were shrouded in dark robes, their faces mostly covered. It was so dark in this room that their faces would have been hard to see even without the hoods. The figures moved to the doorway into the cell, taking up position on either side of the entrance. After a few minutes, in which Nikolas continued to lie on the ground in pain, a third person moved from the dimly lit corridor, between the two guards, and into the dark cell. Nikolas didn't have to look up to know who his visitor was.
"Your resilience continues to astound me," the newcomer said, giving off a hint of false admiration. "Men I would have deemed stronger than you didn't last nearly as long before the madness took them."
Nikolas, still in a considerable amount of physical and mental anguish, didn't look up, but continued to lie face-down, blowing small clouds of dust with each breath. He closed his eyes, though in his mind's eye he could clearly see his tormentor's face, punctuated as it often was with a cruel and sadistic smile.
"What, no comments? No curses or insults?" Falt Greyhaft clucked his tongue. "Were you any other man, you could be the most boring person I'd ever worked on here."
'Here,' in this case, meant a small, abandoned garrison south of Hearthglen, tucked back into the mountains separating the Tirisfal Glades from the region now known as the Plaguelands. It had been called such ever since the Scourge infected the land with its evil, poisonous taint. The soldiers stationed at this garrison had fled before the Undead, though the latter had never bothered to claim it. Greyhaft had discovered it some months ago, and began using it as his own personal laboratory, where he could carry out his "experiments" in relative quiet.
Nikolas slowly, painfully pushed himself to his hands and knees, moving to a sitting position against the wall farthest from the cell's entrance. He finally looked up at Greyhaft, his eyes boring into the other man's.
"Sorry to ruin your fun, Falt," Nikolas said with no attempt to hide the loathing in his voice. "Maybe I'll try to smile more as you fill my head with your demons."
Greyhaft crouched down, bringing his face level with Nikolas. "Three weeks you've been here, and yet you still fail to grasp the importance of my work. I will be the first to admit that my methods are less than desirable, but the potential ends more than justify what I do."
"Ah, so it's justifiable to make a deal with devils, all for the sake of the Light." Nikolas' remark was thick with sarcasm and contempt.
"You mock, Nikolas, but that is exactly what I have to do. You've fought the Scourge, you know of their evil. One must sometimes surround himself with such evil if he is to understand it, to fight it more effectively."
Nikolas scoffed. "I know plenty of places you could go to surround yourself in the Scourge's rot and decay. Somewhere like the Writhing Haunt comes to mind."
He barely had time to flinch before the back of Greyhaft's fist caught him full on his cheek. The blow threw Nikolas to the ground; he immediately tasted warm blood in his mouth, which he spat onto the dirt. He had fully expected such a reaction; though his failed attempt to defend the farmlands now known as the Writhing Haunt had taken place months ago, Greyhaft still carried the sting of that defeat. He gave Nikolas a look full of venom.
"You'll regret that remark, you insolent worm." Greyhaft stood and looked down at his prisoner. "You go back on the table first thing tomorrow."
Turning on his heel, Greyhaft left the cell and disappeared around a corner. Behind him, the guards locked the door and took up their usual positions on the other side of the room. Nikolas wiped the remaining blood onto his hand, then laid back down on the straw mat in one corner of the cell. Not for the first time, he thought about the strange fact that he was physically exhausted from the day's torture, though his body had itself been free from actual torment. No, Greyhaft's punishment was far more sinister, attacking the very mind and soul with dark images and shadowy impressions, and it had taken a terrible toll on Nikolas. Every night his exhausted body practically screamed for rest and relief, but the mental torment through which he went every night denied him all but the most broken sleep.
Tonight, Nikolas knew, would be no different. No sooner would he close his eyes than the terrible imaged would return, burning their terrible fear into his mind and shaking him to his very core. He always tried praying to the Light for relief, but with each tormented day he wondered more if it hadn't forsaken this wretched place. As he turned on his side, Nikolas thoughts turned, as they always did, to his family: to his sister, locked safely behind the doors of the Monastery to the north; to his mother, living far to the south, away from the Undead; and finally to his father, now dead almost a year. Nikolas wondered what they would think if they knew his plight. Turning over on his side, he tried to keep his parents and sister in his mind, knowing they'd quickly be replaced by the horror.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.