08-08-2013, 12:26 PM
Introduction
We have journeyed far already, and still have much further to go on our journey. I have decided to write down the events I have experienced, so that they will not be forgotten again. More, though, I will write them down so that the story of one that I have grown more fond of than life itself will be recorded, so he will be remembered as more than a killer with metal fist. I write this for him.
However, I must first introduce myself. I am Balgarn Bloodscribe, son of Kortok Anvilmourn, one of the last sons of the annihilated Thunderlord clan. I was a warrior once. My memories of my past are fragmented, but that I can remember with clarity. I was a grunt, raised in the camps and then trained to fight for the Horde. Following the Third War, I met another of the Thunderlords that was trying to collect together the scattered warriors. More, this man, Kretol Earthshaker, held to the pact made at Hyjal. We fought against the enemies of the world, against demons and undead. I was brash and arrogant at the time, but I thought it was cause worth fighting for. I thought it was a cause worth dying for. In the end, that is exactly what happened.
To this day, I still don't know what was in that message that we were carrying. All I know is that we were ambushed by undead in the Plaguelands while on our way to Light's Hope. I shouted at my companion to flee, and then I charged forth. I didn't see his fate. What I felt was my own demise. For all of the memories that were stolen from me, my own death was one that was never removed. What happened when I was raised as a death knight I do not wish to record or recall. I only hope that the spirits will eventually forgive me.
Following the battle that set me free, I wandered the land for a long while. Perhaps I lost my taste for bloodshed, even though now my very existence depended on it. I could have been a soldier again, and in a way I did continue that path. However, it was my writing, my drawing, and my cartography that I buried myself in. Once a hobby, now it was a reminder that I was, and prayed could still be, more than just a murderer. Though I had returned to the man that had once given me purpose, I soon found myself leaving again. Something felt missing, and if I was hoping for absolution, it would not be found there.
So, I wandered. I looked for purpose. I looked for a reason to live. I looked for a way so that I could be forgiven by others, and even myself. I had despaired for a long time. I still fought, now against the undead that had defiled me, and again against the enemies of the Horde. Yet, I found no relief from that. I felt unwanted. I was a protector without anyone to protect. So instead I took to correcting maps following the Shattering, to keep myself busy and give myself some shred of meaning or purpose.
Then, I met him.
I can only imagine what he thought of me when he saw me for that first time, seeing a corpse in blood-stained armor.