Post by Braccia on Nov 17, 2009 20:23:16 GMT -5
Listen to my story… hear my voice and know how I came to posses these powers and this cursed body before you judge me. I did not choose to be this, I was tortured, slain, my soul torn from its resting place and forced into the service of the lich king. I’ve done many things wrong since I died. But before… before my death my only sin was compassion.
Once upon a time I was a child like any other. My family lived in northern Kalimdore in a village long ago claimed again by nature. In a village of druids and priestesses very few ever thought about, fewer still knew how to fight. My mother was one of those few and from the moment I could walk she trained me in the arts of war, honing my body and mind until I could act without thought my body moving purely off a warrior’s instinct. As I reached my hundredth birthday I grew tired of the simple life I lead and left for adventure, if I’d known I would never see my family again I would have left more than a note and my wooden practice sword.
I gained renown quickly in the wars with the trolls. I was a fierce young warrior, honorable to a fault, and as deadly as Black Mamba. I was never famous per say but all who fought alongside me in battles remembered me years later when we met again during the battles shortly before the destruction of the well of eternity. During those days I would have never guessed that my fierce honor was not matched by all fighters, and it would take losing my right arm to find out…
It was during a raid against Ashenvale six years ago. I fought as fiercely as any to protect the town I’d come to call home and the battle was going in our favor. A troll came at me from behind and acting on reflex I kicked backwards knocking the breath from it and sending it to the ground. I turned for a death blow only to see that the troll was not only female but a child at that, yet to reach her coming of age to womanhood if I’d have had to guess. I told her in trollish to run away that I had no desire to slay a youngling. She immediately did as I said but in watching her flee I let down my guard and felt the bite of an axe as my arm was cleaved off just above the elbow my blade dropping to the ground from now lifeless fingers. Had I not been ambidextrous I most likely would have died then but I somehow managed to retrieve my blade with my left hand and kill my assailant.
My life as a warrior ended that day, but not my life in general. I found a job as a delivery man for a tailoring shop in Stormwind, renting the spare bedroom above the shop for housing and using any extra money I managed to gather to looking for a way to restore my lost limb. It was a fairly good life, but then Arthas had to invade the newly built harbor and screw it up.
I was helping unload a boat at the time, even with one arm I was still as strong as or stronger than most humans and managed to make a little extra silver moving heavy things no one else wanted to. At this time I had a very crude prosthetic limb which helped me balance the things I lifted. The invasion came suddenly, without warning, and I saw many good men and women die within the first few seconds. Unable to watch and do nothing I took a sword off the cadaver of a fallen guard and fought with all my might.
I was one of the very unlucky to be captured alive by one of the flying gargoyle like creatures and taken to a floating necropolis where I was tortured for I’m not sure how long. I refused to give my captors any information they wanted, and finally realizing I would never be broken I was slain. Only to be given new life as a servant of the lich king.
They grafted the arm of some poor soul onto my missing one but soon the arm began to rot and I tore it off. The rest of me never started rotting; I don’t even have scars from the battle of my past or my time of torture. All I have that won’t go away is this skull tattoo on my left arm. A mark one of living who serves Arthas, one of my torturers, believed would be ironic on an honorable fighter. It’s the tattoo a murderer would receive in prison, the mark of a cold blooded killer. Something I spent several months actually being and will never be again.
And now I stand before you with a magnetic arm, which I hired an engineer to make for me not long after I was released form Arthas' control. A sword inscribed with runes that keeps me living, and a desire for revenge on the monster who stole away my life. Now pass your judgment, am I man or monster?
Once upon a time I was a child like any other. My family lived in northern Kalimdore in a village long ago claimed again by nature. In a village of druids and priestesses very few ever thought about, fewer still knew how to fight. My mother was one of those few and from the moment I could walk she trained me in the arts of war, honing my body and mind until I could act without thought my body moving purely off a warrior’s instinct. As I reached my hundredth birthday I grew tired of the simple life I lead and left for adventure, if I’d known I would never see my family again I would have left more than a note and my wooden practice sword.
I gained renown quickly in the wars with the trolls. I was a fierce young warrior, honorable to a fault, and as deadly as Black Mamba. I was never famous per say but all who fought alongside me in battles remembered me years later when we met again during the battles shortly before the destruction of the well of eternity. During those days I would have never guessed that my fierce honor was not matched by all fighters, and it would take losing my right arm to find out…
It was during a raid against Ashenvale six years ago. I fought as fiercely as any to protect the town I’d come to call home and the battle was going in our favor. A troll came at me from behind and acting on reflex I kicked backwards knocking the breath from it and sending it to the ground. I turned for a death blow only to see that the troll was not only female but a child at that, yet to reach her coming of age to womanhood if I’d have had to guess. I told her in trollish to run away that I had no desire to slay a youngling. She immediately did as I said but in watching her flee I let down my guard and felt the bite of an axe as my arm was cleaved off just above the elbow my blade dropping to the ground from now lifeless fingers. Had I not been ambidextrous I most likely would have died then but I somehow managed to retrieve my blade with my left hand and kill my assailant.
My life as a warrior ended that day, but not my life in general. I found a job as a delivery man for a tailoring shop in Stormwind, renting the spare bedroom above the shop for housing and using any extra money I managed to gather to looking for a way to restore my lost limb. It was a fairly good life, but then Arthas had to invade the newly built harbor and screw it up.
I was helping unload a boat at the time, even with one arm I was still as strong as or stronger than most humans and managed to make a little extra silver moving heavy things no one else wanted to. At this time I had a very crude prosthetic limb which helped me balance the things I lifted. The invasion came suddenly, without warning, and I saw many good men and women die within the first few seconds. Unable to watch and do nothing I took a sword off the cadaver of a fallen guard and fought with all my might.
I was one of the very unlucky to be captured alive by one of the flying gargoyle like creatures and taken to a floating necropolis where I was tortured for I’m not sure how long. I refused to give my captors any information they wanted, and finally realizing I would never be broken I was slain. Only to be given new life as a servant of the lich king.
They grafted the arm of some poor soul onto my missing one but soon the arm began to rot and I tore it off. The rest of me never started rotting; I don’t even have scars from the battle of my past or my time of torture. All I have that won’t go away is this skull tattoo on my left arm. A mark one of living who serves Arthas, one of my torturers, believed would be ironic on an honorable fighter. It’s the tattoo a murderer would receive in prison, the mark of a cold blooded killer. Something I spent several months actually being and will never be again.
And now I stand before you with a magnetic arm, which I hired an engineer to make for me not long after I was released form Arthas' control. A sword inscribed with runes that keeps me living, and a desire for revenge on the monster who stole away my life. Now pass your judgment, am I man or monster?
Founded April 26, 2005