Ocsic
02-18-2007, 07:02 PM
Ocsic died the same day as his king though he did not know it. He was amongst the first of the footmen to fall as they tried to defend
Lordaeron from the sudden scourge attack. Like many of his former comrades he was raised by the Lich King’s necromancers and sent into battle against men he had fought alongside for many years. He watched as Lordaeron fell to the mass, killed women and children in the streets and felt nothing, no remorse, no pity, nothing. It was a terrible thing to be undead and perhaps it was the anguish he felt for his own soul over what he had done that kept a small part of his sanity and self control in the months leading up to the rise of the Forsaken. He hurried to the call of Sylvanas Windrunner and swore to serve her as long as he might strike back at the very beast that had created him and destroyed his world.
The siege of Lordaeron was a personal triumph for Ocsic for two reasons. First and foremost was the retaking of his beloved home even if it lay in ruin and would forever be tainted but most of all was the discovery, in his old home, of a letter addressed to him. His rotting fingers had gingerly opened the letter, now several years old, and pulled out the wasted parchment. It was faded and nearly gone but he understood the few words. His wife and children had escaped the plague and made it to Stormwind Keep shortly after the death of the king. They had left a letter in the hopes that he might survive and come to them. No longer capable of crying he could still feel rage and sorrow and he howled it to the sky.
Since finding that letter he keeps it tucked into his shirt at all times and reads it often, yearning for the day he might search for his family, the thought of how they might take his transformation never crossing his mind. He has found an ally in his quest, an undead warlock named Rikter who is convinced his is still alive and a mage, a constant source of amusement to Ocsic but also a sad reality to many of the Forsaken.
Lordaeron from the sudden scourge attack. Like many of his former comrades he was raised by the Lich King’s necromancers and sent into battle against men he had fought alongside for many years. He watched as Lordaeron fell to the mass, killed women and children in the streets and felt nothing, no remorse, no pity, nothing. It was a terrible thing to be undead and perhaps it was the anguish he felt for his own soul over what he had done that kept a small part of his sanity and self control in the months leading up to the rise of the Forsaken. He hurried to the call of Sylvanas Windrunner and swore to serve her as long as he might strike back at the very beast that had created him and destroyed his world.
The siege of Lordaeron was a personal triumph for Ocsic for two reasons. First and foremost was the retaking of his beloved home even if it lay in ruin and would forever be tainted but most of all was the discovery, in his old home, of a letter addressed to him. His rotting fingers had gingerly opened the letter, now several years old, and pulled out the wasted parchment. It was faded and nearly gone but he understood the few words. His wife and children had escaped the plague and made it to Stormwind Keep shortly after the death of the king. They had left a letter in the hopes that he might survive and come to them. No longer capable of crying he could still feel rage and sorrow and he howled it to the sky.
Since finding that letter he keeps it tucked into his shirt at all times and reads it often, yearning for the day he might search for his family, the thought of how they might take his transformation never crossing his mind. He has found an ally in his quest, an undead warlock named Rikter who is convinced his is still alive and a mage, a constant source of amusement to Ocsic but also a sad reality to many of the Forsaken.