A Draenei Death Knight (2)

I spent the first days as a silent rebel. I needed the secrecy of my true purposes to be kept aside so I could get answers and freedom to research the madness that fell upon the orcs. While my days were spent among the scholars or doing their field work, my nights I spent outside our hidden city in Zangamarsh. I found a cave where I could practice my skills with weapons. It was not common for a young Anchorite like me to do that. So I hid it so no suspicions could arise.

After some time I finally learned that what caused the orcs’ sudden bloodlust was our enemy of old, Kil’jaeden. He had corrupted the orcs through one of their own, Gul’dan was his name. I now had someone to look for.

The Death Knight raised his eyes as if looking for some lost memory. I could finally glance his skin under the plate mail he wore. It was dark, pale as if he was dead. Perhaps he is. But then again, I do not know what sort of dark magic works within them. I’m no magic expert.

It is strange to look back in the past now. Everything seems so clear as if those first steps I took were already leading me to the Lich King, but I doubt it. My path was a path that many walked before. The hunger for power above all things. And as far as I have heard the stories, the one thing we all have in common is that hunger. The voice that drives us mad, that rids us of our humanity, of our values. The very same cold voice that pierced my dreams and hopes years before, day after day, night after night…

But enough with the babbling. I had to reach Gul’dan and so I started observing the orcs. I no longer had duties as a researcher. I quited it after I found what I wanted and now I needed time to learn how to reach the orc chief. I spent my time with traders that worked their way among his race before the bloodthirsty that befell them. And I learned that Gul’dan was always searching for more power. I was right to seek for him. But I wanted his source of power, not his leadership.

I do not recall how many nights I spent watching the orcs, planning a way to approach them. I know many years passed and I was called mad by my kinsmen. I wondered around watching the orcs that now looked like demons. I recognized the work of Kil’jaeden among them. And I desired that Velen had not had his damn vision. I cursed my ancestors; I vowed to revenge, I delivered myself to my deepest desire of murder. But I never cried. I twisted my feelings so I had a use for all that was burning inside me.

So long I waited, I wondered around Draenor, hiding from the orcs just enough so I could watch them. I learned a little of their language, enough to hear the whereabouts of Gul’dan. And to my surprise, I heard the word, “death”. Gul’dan was dead!? All those long years waiting for the right time were wasted. Anger, fear, madness, despair, all at once ran wild in my head, and I put my sword skill to use for the first time. I must admit I got those three orcs by surprise so only one of them had time to reach his axe. The other two were slain before they realized where I came from. The third one was scared. I could see his fear and it fed me. I liked it. “Death” they said…

I went back to Zangamarsh defeated. But somehow I had found joy again. That short burst of death that invaded me kept me going. I did not pray anymore. I was a lost soul among the Draenei, even though the High Anchorites tried to guide me back to the their path of light. However, I knew my path, if any, would have to be different. So the days dragged long and lonely, cold and bitter, where I could only hear despair, revenge, and death.

And so it came the day of our escape from Draenor for Ner’zhul opened the portal to Azeroth again and Draenor collapsed and became what is now known as Outland. I was brought to Exodar even though I didn’t care. I did not care if the world was been torn apart. But I went on that ship and when I woke up, I was alone. Laying on a beach where rocks lay all around and in front of me a dark, thick forest raised from a few steps after the bright sand. And as I sat there for the first time I heard an answer to my deepest desire.

It sounded like two voices speaking at the same time. One filled with the same hunger as mine, the other was deep, cold, powerful. I felt power in those voices. And for some reason it gave me hope to finally have the revenge I craved for. The voices seem to know about my pledge, and it encouraged me: “Find me, Raskkar, and you will have your revenge. For your enemy is my enemy. Your revenge will bring glory to us both. Deliver to me your wishes and all shall be yours!”

I walked north. I didn’t felt cold as I thought I should in that icy hell. I felt warm. More and more I felt my burning desires growing with the proximity of my King. I felt like I would overcome any orc with my bare hands and an army of them with a sword. It felt great for once again and my when I finally reached the Frozen Throne, I collapsed to the Lich King’s will. And there was no more Raskkar.

***
Obs: Today there are 2 stories for I couldn't help developing this one further with the today's release of World of Warcraft's next expansion, Wrath of the Lich King.

A Draenei Death Knight (1)

My brothers and sisters... There is no understanding from what I’m going to tell you. You won’t like to hear it. But I do not seek your approval, your compassion, or any of the weak feelings you might have from my story.

I was there. Perhaps the darkest day in our history, when our beloved temple of Karebor was invaded and the holiest among our people were slain by the vicious orcs of the Burning Legion. My spirit is old now. It felt tortures worse than most of you can imagine. But those days are craved into what’s left of my humanity, if there is any.

I was a holy Draenei myself. I was young back then, following the steps of the Naaru, of our leaders and their beautiful words about light, life and peace. All but gone in what seems to me like a few moments, like a heartbeat. Yet I can’t forget the stench of blood coloring red the land and the waters of what once was the beautiful Shadowmoon Valley. I saw the orcs slash, cut, stab, chop and crush with mace, sword, and axe. Their bloodlust was unstoppable. And at each of their swings I saw one our own fall. I was hiding. I couldn’t move. I cowardly stood there, watching the blood run down the stairs of our Temple…

He lowered his voice and his head as he couldn’t hold that thought any longer. It crossed my mind that he was indeed mourning his kin’s death.

Have you ever watched your beloved ones die? Helplessly die in front of you while there is nothing you can do to stop? Have you ever felt your heart being stabbed not once, but over and over again by a cold, dark, merciless blade? There is no way to explain that. Pain is a mere word. Oh no… that was not pain. This feeling is way beyond pain…

He stopped and looked straight into my eyes and with his gaze I felt my spine freeze. His glowing blue eyes were smiling at me. A grim smile. And then I understood that pleasure drove his words.

I was there the first time our leaders renamed our temple to how its now called as I was told. The Black Temple. So that was how our beloved holy light was rewarded? It turned into a shadow, a dark monument to our defeat. I couldn’t sleep. In my head it was a permanent nightmare of flesh, blood, screams and despair. I tried counsel from my superiors, blessings from the Naaru… I prayed. I remember praying for hours, days, months! I prayed a lot back then, asking for forgiveness first. Then I asked for peace. In the end I was praying for a selfish night of sleep. And then one day I prayed for revenge.

The simple fought of revenge woke me from my endless, and foolish, hope of forgiven. I would never be forgiven because I would not forgive myself. Not until I had my revenge. But for that I would need power. More than I had ever seen among my kin. No. I would need more. I would need the kind of power that could turn the Temple of Light into The Black Temple…