In the course of my life and my death, I have been a soldier and a protector. I have been weak and foolish. I have been strong and wise. I have been a master craftsman. I have destroyed in mere moments what has taken lifetimes to build. I have assisted in and directed genocide- the killing of thousands of helpless people at the hands of the Scourge. I have done so willingly. Also willingly have I turned from His service to protect those I once loved.
For my continued existence, I have nothing to offer the rest of the world but my trade, which is war. And we must always have something to offer, for when we do not, the world either turns upon us and destroys us, or leaves us to rot. For whomever reads this, I pray to the Light that you are of a generation that understands war is a necessary evil, that it is nothing but organized, carefully planned murder on a massive scale. I pray that your race, whomever they may be, has studied it well and thoroughly, and understands that the best way to prevent war is by preparing for it as thoroughly as possible, then doing your best to make peace with your neighbors.
My name is Daeyn Skysong, though I am now known as Xynrael. They call me The Frostbane, a titlte I have taken as a surname in place of my own. I was once a Paladin of the Silver Hand, but now serve my people, the Sin'dorei, and our brothers in arms, the Horde, as a member of a sect of the Undead Scourge called Death Knights. If our people have forgotten us, so much the better. It means either that the races we once represented are extinct, or the world has settled into such a place as to have forgotten wars as long-standing and bloody as our own, but either way, the worst of our troubles is passed.
But, if they have forgotten us, I should first tell you in whole what I am. A Death Knight is someone who has died, whether physically, or by having their soul removed, and been made animate by necromantic magics. We are subject to the same rot as corpses- realistically, the same rot as the living, but these magics can be used to sustain us, and we can clean it off as the living do. We do not breathe, we do not eat, we do not sleep, though we can.
Most of us were once champions in our world. Protectors. We were turned into what we are by the traitor Arthas Menethil, known as The Lich King. His Undead army once washed over the eastern and northern continents of our world, destroying everything in their path. Our service in attempting to stop them cost us our lives, though ultimately, we have escaped it, along with many other of his former minions.
We are empowered by three schools of magic: That of Frost, that of the Unholy, and that of Blood. I follow primarily the third, though most of us have at least passing familiarity with all three. I have, thus far, sustained myself in the face of every onslaught using the control over flesh that Blood magic provides.
It is ironic; we have been given the ability to serve for all eternity as protectors and guardians, and all we had to trade for it was our own lives. Perfect value in terms of our work, for ultimate cost.
The stories following are my own, lessons in what it is like to be eternally damned to be good at your chosen profession.
As eternal damnation goes, it isn't so bad.
~Preface from the journal of Xynrael the Frostbane
For my continued existence, I have nothing to offer the rest of the world but my trade, which is war. And we must always have something to offer, for when we do not, the world either turns upon us and destroys us, or leaves us to rot. For whomever reads this, I pray to the Light that you are of a generation that understands war is a necessary evil, that it is nothing but organized, carefully planned murder on a massive scale. I pray that your race, whomever they may be, has studied it well and thoroughly, and understands that the best way to prevent war is by preparing for it as thoroughly as possible, then doing your best to make peace with your neighbors.
My name is Daeyn Skysong, though I am now known as Xynrael. They call me The Frostbane, a titlte I have taken as a surname in place of my own. I was once a Paladin of the Silver Hand, but now serve my people, the Sin'dorei, and our brothers in arms, the Horde, as a member of a sect of the Undead Scourge called Death Knights. If our people have forgotten us, so much the better. It means either that the races we once represented are extinct, or the world has settled into such a place as to have forgotten wars as long-standing and bloody as our own, but either way, the worst of our troubles is passed.
But, if they have forgotten us, I should first tell you in whole what I am. A Death Knight is someone who has died, whether physically, or by having their soul removed, and been made animate by necromantic magics. We are subject to the same rot as corpses- realistically, the same rot as the living, but these magics can be used to sustain us, and we can clean it off as the living do. We do not breathe, we do not eat, we do not sleep, though we can.
Most of us were once champions in our world. Protectors. We were turned into what we are by the traitor Arthas Menethil, known as The Lich King. His Undead army once washed over the eastern and northern continents of our world, destroying everything in their path. Our service in attempting to stop them cost us our lives, though ultimately, we have escaped it, along with many other of his former minions.
We are empowered by three schools of magic: That of Frost, that of the Unholy, and that of Blood. I follow primarily the third, though most of us have at least passing familiarity with all three. I have, thus far, sustained myself in the face of every onslaught using the control over flesh that Blood magic provides.
It is ironic; we have been given the ability to serve for all eternity as protectors and guardians, and all we had to trade for it was our own lives. Perfect value in terms of our work, for ultimate cost.
The stories following are my own, lessons in what it is like to be eternally damned to be good at your chosen profession.
As eternal damnation goes, it isn't so bad.
~Preface from the journal of Xynrael the Frostbane
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