AndyJP
07-31-2011, 05:35 AM
This is the story of Nathanos Blightcaller in his own words, and narration of the events he witnessed as a member of the Forsaken. I wrote this last year but never completed it. The rest of the story would have been about training new soldiers and fighting off SI:7 agents in the plaguelands. I'd like some opinions as to whether I should complete it or not.
I remember the day she came for me. I was delirious. I was not free from the Lich King but something had happened and I could feel that the noose had loosened. I could remember who I was, how I died, and what I had done in the name of the Scourge. I saw her, and for the first time... I felt hope. Still, my body ignored my own commands and sought to kill the intruders. They were like me, but the mark of the Lich King was no longer with them. Can it be...?
They tried to surround me, two free scourge attempting to attack me at the same time. I could tell by their postures that they were not trained soldiers. They swing their crude blades like wild monkeys, they would become an easy meal for my loyal hounds. A third stumbles his way onto my blade, his blood, or what substitutes for blood in our bodies coats my hand in its essence. My teacher stands before me, she likes what she sees. A test of my skills in undeath, no doubt. These men were expected to be slaughtered, and I do not care.
A dreadlord approaches. He fixates on me, ignoring the presence of Sylvanas Windrunner and her freed bunch. I am gripped by demonic magic and stricken with paralysis. My mentor moves in and gazes deeply into my eyes. I know it is her, Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner of Silvermoon, but I can barely recognize her. She has become someone else. Maybe I have, too. I feel her presence inside my own mind, the banshee loosens the chains that has my mind bound to the Lich King.
"Give in to your anger. Surrender to the hate you feel deep within! Do you feel his bond over you crumbling? Remember what he has done to you! Break the shackles that bind your will to the Scourge, Nathanos Marris, and gain your vengeance as a member of the Forsaken!"
The dreadlord releases me and I look upon these free "Forsaken" with my own eyes. I hunger for revenge and I shout uncontrollably, "Arthas.. by these hands you will be delivered straight into the darkest pits of the Nether!" My mentor smiles with pleasure upon her lips, and the dreadlord nods his own approval.
Sylvanas bends down to pet my hounds. They warm to her quickly, and I become curious about their state of mind. Through death they remained at my side, paying no mind to my allegiance, showing only unquestionable loyalty to myself. Their bond with me has proven to be something greater than even the Lich King could command.
She levels herself out to meet me in the eyes. They are hypnotic. As I would learn that with other banshees, her voice echoes inside my head. "The day of reckoning will come, but it is not yet time. Our numbers grow everyday, but so too does the Scourge army. Beneath the capitol I have Lordaeron's greatest alchemists at work on a way to use the Scourge's own blight against them. However, we are under constant attack from fanatical self-righteous paladins and as you can see, we have few capable soldiers." She places a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is ice cold, but somehow it fills me with warmth. "I need you to be my champion and prepare them for the coming war."
A man moves forward with something to say. Like me, he wears armor that has been ripped and muddied. I suspect that he fell in battle as I did. I wonder if he took down as many Scourge with him as I had. "Lady Sylvanas, I implore you to reconsider this strategy. The Scourge can only be destroyed through the Light, we cannot use their own twisted magics against them! Those alchemists should be researching a cure!" I recognize his voice as a famous general of Lordaeron, but my memory in undeath fails me quite often, and I cannot place a name to the voice.
The dreadlord, Varimathras, expresses disdain with his face at the very notion of the Holy Light. I too felt something stir inside me when those words were spoken, as though my instincts suspected danger. Before the demon could speak, he is interrupted by Sylvanas. It is clear that she wishes to project her dominance over her "pet". "Uther the Lightbringer is dead. The Order is no more. The Scourge has effectively burnt out the Holy Light. In our time of need it failed to protect us, and now it has entirely abandoned us. Not only has the Light forsaken us, but so too has the Alliance. The Lich King robbed us of our lives, and then he robbed us of our deaths, but he made us something greater than we were in life. Arthas has unknowingly given us the tools to destroy him, embrace it, Leonid Barthalomew, for there is no going back!"
Others nod in approval, and Leonid backs away, defeated and alone. Her words match my own sentiments. The warrior is a fool who was brainwashed by the Chuch of the Holy Light into thinking it's power is infallible. We have seen otherwise. I would later learn that he fled from the Undercity one night still holding on to the notion that the Light will return to him, followed by a mage named Castillian. They will only find themselves in the hands of the Lich King once more.
That night we returned to the capital. What was once a beautiful city now lay in ruins and covered in the blood of betrayal. We have made our new home in the underground, as the pain of the memories above are too painful to bear for some, although many of us have since lost these memories. The majority of Undercity's military is comprised of sorcerors or dark rangers like myself, while inept abominations remain on guard. Many of the residents here were not soldiers. They were peasants, farmers, blacksmiths, tailors or carpenters. However, in undeath they want only to bring death upon those responsible. Most have become apprentices to the mage Bethor Iceshard, while others have embraced darker magic. What few who seek to get their hands dirty in battle will come to me.
For several months we continued to suffer losses at the hands of the Scarlet Crusade. It made no difference to them that we were free from the Scourge. To be honest, it made no difference to us that they were once our friends and neighbors. We have no regrets in killing them, as they represented the kind of fanaticism of the Light that we grew to despise. Perhaps if we had not been so blinded by the church, we wouldn't have been fooled into believing the Light would always protect us. To us, they represented the foolishness that doomed us all. They deserve their death. Our continued losses put us on constant defense, and it became apparent that we could not achieve our goals with our small army. The Alliance had abandoned us, and these were desperate times.
It soon came to be that we were members of the Horde. It is true that we had no respect for our new allies, but nor did they have any for us. We met with an ambassador of the Warchief. He called himself a shaman, but he looked down on us in the same contempt as any paladin zealot. After making it past the throne room, the toxic aroma of our abode so offended him that he decided his work here was complete. Most guests to the Undercity would be Orcs or Trolls seeking an asylum for practicing dark magics.
I remember the day she came for me. I was delirious. I was not free from the Lich King but something had happened and I could feel that the noose had loosened. I could remember who I was, how I died, and what I had done in the name of the Scourge. I saw her, and for the first time... I felt hope. Still, my body ignored my own commands and sought to kill the intruders. They were like me, but the mark of the Lich King was no longer with them. Can it be...?
They tried to surround me, two free scourge attempting to attack me at the same time. I could tell by their postures that they were not trained soldiers. They swing their crude blades like wild monkeys, they would become an easy meal for my loyal hounds. A third stumbles his way onto my blade, his blood, or what substitutes for blood in our bodies coats my hand in its essence. My teacher stands before me, she likes what she sees. A test of my skills in undeath, no doubt. These men were expected to be slaughtered, and I do not care.
A dreadlord approaches. He fixates on me, ignoring the presence of Sylvanas Windrunner and her freed bunch. I am gripped by demonic magic and stricken with paralysis. My mentor moves in and gazes deeply into my eyes. I know it is her, Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner of Silvermoon, but I can barely recognize her. She has become someone else. Maybe I have, too. I feel her presence inside my own mind, the banshee loosens the chains that has my mind bound to the Lich King.
"Give in to your anger. Surrender to the hate you feel deep within! Do you feel his bond over you crumbling? Remember what he has done to you! Break the shackles that bind your will to the Scourge, Nathanos Marris, and gain your vengeance as a member of the Forsaken!"
The dreadlord releases me and I look upon these free "Forsaken" with my own eyes. I hunger for revenge and I shout uncontrollably, "Arthas.. by these hands you will be delivered straight into the darkest pits of the Nether!" My mentor smiles with pleasure upon her lips, and the dreadlord nods his own approval.
Sylvanas bends down to pet my hounds. They warm to her quickly, and I become curious about their state of mind. Through death they remained at my side, paying no mind to my allegiance, showing only unquestionable loyalty to myself. Their bond with me has proven to be something greater than even the Lich King could command.
She levels herself out to meet me in the eyes. They are hypnotic. As I would learn that with other banshees, her voice echoes inside my head. "The day of reckoning will come, but it is not yet time. Our numbers grow everyday, but so too does the Scourge army. Beneath the capitol I have Lordaeron's greatest alchemists at work on a way to use the Scourge's own blight against them. However, we are under constant attack from fanatical self-righteous paladins and as you can see, we have few capable soldiers." She places a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is ice cold, but somehow it fills me with warmth. "I need you to be my champion and prepare them for the coming war."
A man moves forward with something to say. Like me, he wears armor that has been ripped and muddied. I suspect that he fell in battle as I did. I wonder if he took down as many Scourge with him as I had. "Lady Sylvanas, I implore you to reconsider this strategy. The Scourge can only be destroyed through the Light, we cannot use their own twisted magics against them! Those alchemists should be researching a cure!" I recognize his voice as a famous general of Lordaeron, but my memory in undeath fails me quite often, and I cannot place a name to the voice.
The dreadlord, Varimathras, expresses disdain with his face at the very notion of the Holy Light. I too felt something stir inside me when those words were spoken, as though my instincts suspected danger. Before the demon could speak, he is interrupted by Sylvanas. It is clear that she wishes to project her dominance over her "pet". "Uther the Lightbringer is dead. The Order is no more. The Scourge has effectively burnt out the Holy Light. In our time of need it failed to protect us, and now it has entirely abandoned us. Not only has the Light forsaken us, but so too has the Alliance. The Lich King robbed us of our lives, and then he robbed us of our deaths, but he made us something greater than we were in life. Arthas has unknowingly given us the tools to destroy him, embrace it, Leonid Barthalomew, for there is no going back!"
Others nod in approval, and Leonid backs away, defeated and alone. Her words match my own sentiments. The warrior is a fool who was brainwashed by the Chuch of the Holy Light into thinking it's power is infallible. We have seen otherwise. I would later learn that he fled from the Undercity one night still holding on to the notion that the Light will return to him, followed by a mage named Castillian. They will only find themselves in the hands of the Lich King once more.
That night we returned to the capital. What was once a beautiful city now lay in ruins and covered in the blood of betrayal. We have made our new home in the underground, as the pain of the memories above are too painful to bear for some, although many of us have since lost these memories. The majority of Undercity's military is comprised of sorcerors or dark rangers like myself, while inept abominations remain on guard. Many of the residents here were not soldiers. They were peasants, farmers, blacksmiths, tailors or carpenters. However, in undeath they want only to bring death upon those responsible. Most have become apprentices to the mage Bethor Iceshard, while others have embraced darker magic. What few who seek to get their hands dirty in battle will come to me.
For several months we continued to suffer losses at the hands of the Scarlet Crusade. It made no difference to them that we were free from the Scourge. To be honest, it made no difference to us that they were once our friends and neighbors. We have no regrets in killing them, as they represented the kind of fanaticism of the Light that we grew to despise. Perhaps if we had not been so blinded by the church, we wouldn't have been fooled into believing the Light would always protect us. To us, they represented the foolishness that doomed us all. They deserve their death. Our continued losses put us on constant defense, and it became apparent that we could not achieve our goals with our small army. The Alliance had abandoned us, and these were desperate times.
It soon came to be that we were members of the Horde. It is true that we had no respect for our new allies, but nor did they have any for us. We met with an ambassador of the Warchief. He called himself a shaman, but he looked down on us in the same contempt as any paladin zealot. After making it past the throne room, the toxic aroma of our abode so offended him that he decided his work here was complete. Most guests to the Undercity would be Orcs or Trolls seeking an asylum for practicing dark magics.