Tiragarde Keep: A vengeful man of Lordaeron
From Create Your Own Story
Back in Lordaeron you were the son of a simple farmer, and it seemed certain that you would follow in your father's footsteps; despite your curiosity about the outside world, you were bound by tradition and family pride. Your farm was isolated enough that the rumors of a terrible plague sweeping through the land seemed far removed, but you still remember the harried faces of refugees from destroyed settlements and the horrifying tales of undead monsters they told. You remember the day your older brother Garrick left to serve in the army under Prince Arthas, sailing far to the north on some unknown mission intended to stop the kingdom's fall.
Garrick never came back, but Prince Arthas did, though not the way anyone remembered him. He had become a slave of the undead menace, and immediately slew his father and set about directing the transformation of Lordaeron into a kingdom of the dead. You remember hastily packing all your belongings into a wagon and fleeing across the countryside, just ahead of your fallen leader's terrible army. Sometimes, when you dream, you can still smell the putrid scent that proceeded them, the scent that drove you before them; to you, it is the smell of fear. You see your mother's body pierced by terrible arrows, and your father impaled on pikes held by skeletons, their jaws clacking as though in laughter.
But what you remember most of all is the day you saw Arthas himself, astride a skeletal horse and wielding a terrible sword covered in runes and frozen blood. His hair and skin had been bleached to a grey-white somewhere between corpse and snow, and his eyes burned with an unholy blue light. With casual ease he had cut down the brave guards holding the bridge behind you, and his army had closed around the rest of the refugee caravan. He had raised one first, as though pulling some invisible thing from the ground, and tendrils of shadow had burst through the bridge, leaving the stones to sink to the bottom. Then he looked up at you, the only survivor; there are no words to describe the malevolence you saw in his eyes.
It was a long, hard journey to the coast, but you never looked back; to do so was to invite not only death, but undeath. When a ship from Kul Tiras arrived to pick up survivors, you were one of only five they found; you're almost sure no more than a hundred of your people got away by sea, and you don't know of any other way they could have managed to escape, so it's likely you're one of the last survivors of Lordaeron. When you arrived on the islands that comprise Kul Tiras, your only thoughts were of revenge. You joined the marines at once and trained for years, ready to strike back at the Scourge. But when you were finally mobilized, it wasn't to Lordaeron; instead, you're sailing to the far side of the world.
You're not sure whether to be bitter or relieved; you've been denied your one goal, but logic tells you that you would probably do something foolish and get yourself killed if you went back home. Still, it sounds like this assignment will provide plenty of opportunities to get killed, as well. You finally finish filling out your forms, doing your best to shut out the memories they summon up, and blow the ink dry. You ought to take them to your superior, the overbearing Sergeant Willins, but you feel a strong urge to find a sparring partner and let out some aggression. You could always go to sleep, too; perhaps this time you won't be plagued by nightmares.
Do you:
