>>Warning: Some Death Knight spoilers throughout this story.<<
In her own words:
“So many memories. Horrible ones that jump into my mind and won’t go away. Those are the ones that remind me why I still live and what I am fighting. And why. Those are the clearest. And the ones that keep my heart shredded with guilt and grief.
The other memories, the good ones from…before…they are not so clear. Nor complete. So many are lost to me…even my second name. But the memories I do retain help remind me of who I truly am…not what he forced me to be. And they also remind me of why I am fighting…what I am fighting for.
I remember clearest his words…”Your will is not your own”…his sick purpose forcing my spirit…my soul…away. The torment he inflicted on me…endless hunger, pain immeasurable, hunger that he decreed must be sated by killing. “Kill and the pain will cease,” his minions said. I remember his smothering foulness overwhelming me. Pushing me aside. Locking me away to slowly disappear into the darkness.
I tried to fight. I tried! All that my efforts gained me was a chance to know what I was doing under his control. I could see things through my own eyes…the things my body did, the murders, the tortures…how many I know not. I struggled to stop myself…my arms followed his will. I heard the cries…the screams. I struggled to make myself leave, to turn away…my legs followed his will. I heard my voice saying horrible things, echoing his words. I couldn’t stop it! I was bound by the will of the Lich King. He controlled my actions and locked my soul in a prison from which I could not break free.
I despaired. I was no longer me…but rather a completely controlled slave to his will. I hated myself for not fighting him off. For not dying rather than become this thing. I tried to will myself to die. Again. Completely, so they could not bring me back. I couldn’t do that, either.
Then, in the darkness, a voice came to me. A voice that I knew, that meant warmth, and caring, and safety. A voice of light, strength, and love to help me. Her name was Yazmina Oakenthorn. Her voice reminded me that I was a night elf, not this thing that he had made me. The prison that he had made around my soul trembled…a little. I could hear Yazmina’s words…feel them having some effect inside me. She told me that when I was a child, she cared for me while my mother served at the Temple of the Moon…she held me and fed me honey and sheep’s milk to calm me until my mother returned. Glimpses of this life came to me. Warmth began to filter into my soul again. Yazmina said “You were my little angel…remember the splendor of life…remember Teldrassil our beloved home…this world is worth saving…” I could feel the soul prison falter a little. But, alas, not enough! In horror, I watched as my arms swung the sword and took from the world the light that was Yazmina.
Despair and guilt engulfed me. Why couldn’t I break free?! I truly should just die…the world would be that much better off, I thought. Darkness again closed over my soul…
Some time later…I know not how long…faint light again penetrated the foul darkness. A haze seemed to clear from my vision. I saw a man, a paladin, who seemed surrounded in light. His name came to me: Highlord Tirion Fordring. His actions sent cracks through the prison of my soul: he helped release Highlord Darion Mograine from his domination. His words tore holes in the prison of my soul: “The Lich King must not be allowed to cause further destruction in our world.” And Highlord Mograine’s words broke away whole chunks of the prison of my soul: “We will fight to bring an end to the Lich King. The haze has been lifted. I can see as clearly now as the day I plunged the Ashbringer into my own heart to free my father’s cursed soul: my last memory as a free man.”
The words of these leaders carried me with the Knights of the Ebon Blade through the fight to gain freedom for Ebon Hold from the Lich King. These word carried me through my journey to Stormwind, past the just accusations of the people there, to the king to deliver a letter from Highlord Fordring. And the words of Highlord Fordring in that letter placed me firmly back on my true life path and my new path of working for redemption. His words I carry with me always now, in my soul:
“…she has the soul of a champion. A soul that has only recently been reunited with the body. …Knights of the Ebon Blade…seek the end of the Scourge…I ask not that you accept the Knights of the Ebon Blade into the Alliance, but only that you show tolerance. Remember sire, by blood and honor we all serve.”
I now know that dying will not right the wrong I have done. It would only render my victims’ deaths meaningless. Only by living and working for the good can I follow a path toward redemption. Only this way can I try to become worthy of their sacrifices for this world and those they cared for. I don’t know that I can ever get there. But the struggle toward it is a worthy pursuit, and along the way I vow, by blood and honor, to help those I can, those within my sight, in some small way to atone for the evil I did previously in his cause.”
“I have made a start. In the Eastern and Western Plaguelands, I have been lending my sword to the efforts against the Scourge. I believe that I have been some small help against the hated enemy. And this all seems familiar. Perhaps I was here before, perhaps I was fighting this fight before I was taken. I would like to think that I have returned to my former purpose; I suppose only time will tell for certain.
One memory has somewhat returned to me. I had met Highlord Fordring sometime before his actions that helped free me from the Lich King’s dominion. I think that I was some small help to him in the Plaguelands some time ago. If only the mists would lift further and let me see the memory clearly…
In my recent battles in the Plaguelands, I was able to help fulfill a dying druid’s wishes to release the local wildlife from their suffering from the plague. This seemed familiar to me, also. Perhaps in my former life, I worked with animals somehow, cared for them? The druid’s name was Mulgris Deepriver, a tauren. I was unable to do anything to save this druid’s life, but at least I could fulfill his purpose. Then I delivered his Glyphed Oaken Branch to the Cenarion Circle in Darnassus…
With much trepidation, I entered the city. Would I see someone I remembered? Would someone who knew me see me? Neither of these things happened. I did not have the courage to go to the temple to see if my mother might be there. I do not even know if she lives still, but I cannot face her yet. I delivered the Branch to the Cenarion Circle. They were very welcoming to me. Mathrengyl Bearwalker received the Branch and thanked me quite kindly. I left quickly, returning to my efforts against the Scourge.”
“I feel a first glimmer of hope that I can truly show that I have completely broken free of the Lich King’s dominion…the Argent Dawn has graciously granted me the status of honored ally in our joint efforts against the Scourge. I am confident enough in their judgment that I feel they would not so regard someone who they considered to still be under the Lich King’s influence. I hope there are others in the Alliance who also value their judgment so and will view me and my efforts in a kindly light.”
Keshiniri perused the guild notices posted on the wall. They were unchanged since the last time she had read them, in another city. No matter what city she was in at the time, they all read the same. And none offered what she was looking for.
But what was she looking for, anyway? A place to belong, she wondered. She almost smiled at that. Remembering the reception she had met the first time in Stormwind after her return, remembering the coldness that greeted her all too often even now, how could she imagine that she could find a place to belong? And she honestly couldn’t blame them. If she were in their shoes, she would, at best, be very uneasy around anyone who had once been one of the Lich King’s minions, willingly or no. And with her past still mostly a blank, she couldn’t even return to her former place in the world, whatever that had been. She wasn’t ready to even try, anyway. How could she face anyone from before? After the things she had done?
Disconsolate, she leaned against the wall and fought back tears. Wouldn’t do for the fearsomely armored death knight to be seen crying on a street corner now, would it?! She hated herself for that thought.
A glimmer of memory came to her then, in her gloom. Someone she trusted once told her about a group of explorers that delved into many dangerous places seeking knowledge. Now what was the guild’s name? She closed her eyes to try to force the memory into focus. But it slipped away. And who had the someone been?
Sighing, she hefted her runed sword and prepared to retreat yet again into the uncivilized areas where her enemies were clear and she need worry about only a few, isolated encounters with those who should be allies but often acted otherwise.
Zangarmarsh. She felt that she had done some good there, but Keshiniri was heartily glad to be gone from there. Time to clear some room in her bags again; a visit to a bank was next, Stormwind again…after one side trip.
Keshiniri walked slowly through the ruins of Havenshire and New Avalon, lifeless communities, populated by horrific memories. The cries filled her ears as she looked around, cries of terror and pain, death cries. The smell of blood and death everywhere, not now, but then. She had been here, she remembered. Helping with the slaughter, all in the Lich King’s name. Now, there were just empty shells of buildings, many broken beyond repair, should anyone even want to try. No signs of anything living, save herself. No signs of the multitudes who had been murdered here. She guessed they now served the Lich king in some form or another. Maybe they could be saved as she had been…she would have to explore that possibility.
Wandering through the fallow fields, she found a broken doll lying forlornly on the ground. Next to it lay a necklace and a pipe. She stared at the abandoned remnants of lost lives until her vision blurred. She sank to her knees on the barren ground, clutched the doll tightly, and wept.