Agnarr

The Fallen Protector

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I find myself with some time on may hands, as corrupt and rotten as they are, so I may as well jot down what I have been experiencing. Perhaps, in time, this will make a useful reference for me. Or, should disaster befall, then shall these be my last words.

I have taken the surname of "Bloodmourne." While true, it is not the name of my family, that family is HOPEFULLY dead and gone. I would not wish this existence upon any of them. What I can remember of my past is hazy anyway.

I remember my duty. My King. One of the palace guards, I was entrusted with his safety. I kept him safe, until that day. The bastard prince returned from the North. He took us all unaware and before my eyes slew the very liege I had sworn to protect. The rest is a blur until I awoke in that crypt in Deathknell.

What else - I remember my family. My son, so strong and proud. Oh, I do not know what fate befell him when he first marched out with Arthas, but I did not see him when Arthas returned. I pray that if he died, he stayed dead. And that if dead, it was noble. To die with purpose. Not even I was granted that.

My wife, I can only hope that she was able to flee from Lordaeron. I can not hope that she was. She didn't want to live there anyway, but as an aging warrior, my choices of duty were limited. Hah, and now I don't have to worry about that any more. Can the dead age? I suppose I will find out in time.

Life, if you can call it that, as a Forsaken, is a whole new experience for me. I think that we call ourselves that to perhaps hide it to ourselves that we're dead. Undead. Whatever. Forsaken, though, sounds nicer than zombies.

We have our wills. The undead Scourge don't have that, and from what I have seen that is the one thing that separates us and them. OUR ways are not much more humane.

And on HUMANE, my own people now consider ME the enemy. Men and women, survivors of the Scourge, and simply because that damnable plague changed me, I am now their enemy. So I fight. I fight to survive.

My King, the King of Lordaeron, is dead. In his place, though, is our Queen. It is through her that the Forsaken have our wills, or consciousness, or whatever it is that separates us from the mindless Scourge. So again I have my duty.

I failed my King, but I shall NOT fail my Queen.

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My time in Brill was fairly short. It was there I discovered first-hand just what "humanity" felt about their plagued brothers. So be it. The Forsaken's hold on Tirisfal Glades was tenuous at best, with those Crimson Order humans stationed through the area, and the Scourge infestation in the old mill. Still, I did what I could to defend our borders from the interlopers.

I was soon sent on to what appears to have previously been naught but a graveyard in the middle of Silverpine Forest. Calling it "The Sepulcher," the Forsaken here waged another fight to keep our lands from those who would try and take it. Again the humans put up a fight. Can they just not simply leave us be?

But to the point of this entry. The damnedest thing happened when I was tasked to retrieve some pendants from the invaders from Dalaran in the town of Ambermill. I was in one of the buildings and had just dispatched a particularly powerful mage. I heard a slight creature noise as I rifled through the corpse (who knows what strange mages may carry). I turned my gaze to the side of the room, and nestled in a corner was a small blackish cat. The creature walked over to me actually rubbed on my leg! I shooed it away, but as I was leaving the building I noticed it was following me. The little furball would not be dissuaded.

What does one feed a cat, anyway? I suppose I should give the beast a name, since it appears adamant in following me.

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I do not like The Barrens.

At all.

The name of the area is quite appropriate. As an envoy of the Forsaken to that BARREN land, I was simply tasked with helping out where needed.

The Horde there seem to be particularly lazy. I was tasked with many menial things, all of which required traveling back and forth across that huge expanse of...nothing. THANK THE LADY that the Tauren have Camp Taurajo, to at least cut down on much of the foot travel from the Northern Barrens around the Crossroads to the Southern Barrens.

Between Durotar and now the Barrens, Kalimdor is quite the oppressive land. I am eager to be able to return to the Eastern Kingdoms.

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I have finally finished my tour in the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale. I am writing this from the city of Thunder Bluff as I prepare to move out, this time most likely to the desert of Tanaris.

I can't say as I am actually excited about going to the desert. At least the jungle had trees. Some manner of greenery is appreciated, and helps to remind me of the old days, before all this mess we find ourselves in. It reminds me of my family.

Perhaps the desert WILL be a good change.

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Damnable gnomes!

I thought I would be doing that Gnome in Booty Bay a favor by escorting his various "homing chickens" to safety as I discovered them across the world. Instead, he sent one to home on me.

It scared away that small black cat which had been following me since that day in Ambermill, though I do still see it around corners from time to time, so it obviously hasn't gone far. But this chicken just keeps following me.

It is standing there and staring at me with its blank expression as I write this. I think I need a drink.

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Still no response from the one trying to organize the Cult of Forgotten Shadow. Looks like they're going to stay unorganized. Typical.

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I was summoned to speak with Warchief Thrall today. At first I was pensive, as I thought I was in trouble for something. So many of the Horde individuals seem to be pursuing their own goals, and I thought perhaps I had helped the wrong person. Regardless, he brought me there to thank me for all that I had done.

I'm sure he says that to many of the more experienced soldiers of the Horde, though.

Then I was confronted by a mysterious Forsaken claiming to be sent on behalf of the demon-thrall, Varimathras. I don't know if it was a warning or a reminder, but I was told to remember my allegiances. Like I could forget that. The Horde may accept me, but my Queen is the one that freed me from the Scourge, and it is to her that I owe my humble existence.

On a possibly related note, I have finally heard from the contact in the Cult of Forgotten Shadow. I need to arrange a time to speak with this person.

For my service to the Dark Lady, I have been allowed to purchase a warhorse from the stables of Brill. This beast is a much more powerful one than the old skeletal horse I was riding, and also the wolf that I rode for some time.

I actually begin to feel like I am finally succeeding.

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Good help is so hard to find.

I do not understand how the Horde has grown to be so strong and powerful when it seems to be filled with such riff-raff.

I try to do what is asked of me, but many things now take me to places that I simply cannot go alone, and trying to find competent companions is an effort in futility.

Perhaps a change of scenery will do me good. I have heard Winterspring is nice this time of year.

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It was a long and arduous task, but Thrall himself has labeled me a hero of the Horde for my work with the Timbermaw Furlbog. They also graciously gifted me with an interesting trinket which allows me to call forth an ancestor of their tribe to assist me in battle. So far, I am finding its help invaluable.

My tenure in Winterspring is done. My duties are pulling me to two fronts now, the Scourge-ridden "Plaguelands" and the desert area called Silithus. The threats of both areas sound dire.

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I thought I was done with dry sandy deserts after leaving the Goblins of Gadgetzan behind. Silithus is just as bad, only instead of fighting off the local wildlife looking for any sort of meal, now I must fight off insects! The size of the bugs here is unbelievable.

Like the Plaguelands, this area is the front line of another battle. The city of Ahn'Qiraj South of the scarab wall houses who knows what sorts of evil, just as the forces of the Scourge are strongest in the Eastern Plaguelands. I have been doing some traveling back and forth between the two areas, going where the need is greatest at the time. After I finish up a few more tasks here in Silithus, I will likely be heading into the walled city of Stratholme.

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A father should not have to bury his son. A statement as old as humanity.

A father should not have to kill his own son, and leave the corpse to rot on the streets of a burning city. Hákon, may you rest well now. Your fight is over.

And my cursed existence will continue. Every day I see your face, looking back at me with surprise. Pain.

Betrayal.

My failure is complete. I failed my King. I have now failed my son.

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