User:Nephalm/The Life, Death and Undeath of Faldoin Blackwood

A story that is from finished, having my warlock, Faldoin Blackwood, as its main character. The story will unfold around events set in motion close before (flash backs) and close after Faldoin's death. Whether or not the story holds 100% true to lore I am not sure about. I made an attempt to follow the lore as much as possible, but my knowledge is far from absolute.

I – Leaving Home
Flash Back The moon was bright and sweet was the scent of night. Faldoin Blackwood rode through the open grasslands of Trisfal, and as he did so, little did he know of the dangers that waited on the path before him.
 * Approximately three weeks before the orcish attack on Strahnbrad

“A beautiful night innit my lord?” the guardsman said with a smile. “Indeed it is my friend,” the mage answered, looking at the moon.

Even though Faldoin was a blessed man, having no financial problems, power within Dalaran and a beautiful wife and children, he was not happy. He longed for something more. And this longing had given him the idea – he was going to travel far away to distant lands. It was a foolish idea – a childish idea - but one he nonetheless felt he had to pursue.

“I had thought we were going to Durnholde, my lord?” the guardsman said. “No, not today Jarel,” Faldoin answered, “today we will be going north. Or rather I will be going north.” The guardsman stopped his horse with a surprised look on his face. He was just about to open his mouth when Faldoin stopped him: “Yes Jarel, I am leaving,” Faldoin said. He knew he seemed a bit too enthusiastic about leaving his family and everything he loved behind, and how it might make him seem. He could not ask Jarel to understand. “But my lord,” Jarel shouted out, “how can you leave us?” “The crops are set for this year, perhaps even the next too, and Elia has both of the children to look after. The Alliance has everything in check on the borderlands with the orcs in internment camps. What better time is there old friend?” Faldoin looked at Jarel with a calmed look. He was no longer smiling. He had in his heart hoped that all the goodbyes would have been easier, but they had not. They had been much worse. “But sir-” Jarel tried again. “No buts,” Faldoin interrupted him, “you and I have seen many winters together. You know me better than any man walking this plane, and still you are trying to convince me to stay?” Jarel looked down on the ground. “Right you are master Faldoin,” Jarel looked up again with a little smile, “there really is no point in doing this. We should part as the best of friends and not like this, arguing.” “That is what I had hoped,” Faldoin replied with a little smile on his lips.

The two men now both stared upon the moon. One was looking forward to leaving; one was looking forward to the other returning. Faldoin made a gesture with his hand, and Jarel returned it. Faldoin then rode away, and didn’t look back.

II – The Monster
Present Soaked in a green, seemingly living fluid, Faldoin awoke. In the first few moments of undeath, he thought he was dreaming. Then he thought he was having a nightmare. Then he realised he was neither.
 * 6 years after the Battle of Mount Hyjal

“My body… what is this?” Faldoin shouted out in horror, and jumped out of the coffin-like contraption in which he had awoken. “Ahh another one is up over here!” he heard a voice yelling. Faldoin looked around him. He found himself being in a tomb, surrounded by skeletons, rotting corpses and rats. He desperately tried to recall his last moments before he had woken up in the tomb. But there was nothing. His head was empty.

“Welcome to unlife gnat!” a deep voice cried out behind him. Faldoin turned around and was horrified. Before him stood what at first glance would seem to be a simple man wearing simple, peasant like clothes. But that was not all there was to know about him – or rather it. Yellow, hollow looking eyes it had, the hair was full of moss and dirt. A few bones were sticking out from under the skin. Faldoin thought his eyes and the dark were playing tricks on him, but then he remembered: The Scourge. The undead hordes that had swept through the human lands and had murdered or enthralled everything that stood in their way. Faldoin had never seen an undead, but this would be a good guess as to how one looked. He panicked. “You will never have me monstrosity! I would rather die!” Faldoin cried out at it, pulling his hands to a defensive position. The undead looked puzzled, and then replied with a smile: “Take a look at those hands of yours before you judge me a monster.” Faldoin did as he said, and his eyes grew large with fear. His fingers were bones without skin, and what flesh there were, was rotting. “What, what have you done to me?!” Faldoin, angered, charged against the undead. Without much effort, the undead dodged Faldoin’s attack and hit him hard in the back, throwing him to the ground. He then proceeded to pull Faldoin up, and put him up against the walls, making a cracking sound as his Faldoin’s backbone hit a coffin. “I did nothing. Do not judge me for my appearance just yet.” The undead said in a calmed, steady voice. “Listen closely to what I tell you now, for it will explain everything.” Faldoin considered another attack, but he was too afraid. As he had ran towards the undead, he could not recognize his own body. What little reason remained in his mind told him to stay calm. “The monster is too strong,” Faldoin thought to himself, “far too strong.” He decided to listen. And what a gruesome tale it was.

III – The Promise
Present Faldoin was starting to adapt to his new body. In fact, he came to know several improvements that undeath had brought him. The increased stamina and lack of pain almost amused him. Contrary to his old former life, Faldoin didn’t seek exploration anymore. It was a lust for vengeance that ran through his veins now, as with any other Forsaken. He had been lucky. Faldoin had not fallen to the plague, or by the hand of any undead for that matter. He had been ambushed by Syndicate bandits a few days after his departure from the village, and so his body was not exposed to the plague until after his death, leaving Faldoin uncorrupted by the will of the Lich King. Faldoin had awaked a Forsaken.
 * A week after Faldoin’s awakening

“My lord Faldoin,” a bypassing soldier mumbled to Faldoin before rushing on to the barricade surrounding the city. Faldoin being one of the few Lordaeron nobles that had not pledged loyalty to the Lich King, he had gained some reverence amongst the Forsaken. He wanted none of his former privileges, but did not care to have his title removed. Even though his former life meant little to Faldoin, his title was but all that was left of it. He had spent days desperately searching for his family through the Census in the Undercity, and had at last found them buried in a graveyard in the town of Brill. As he had walked up to their gravestones, he was surprised to find that he felt nothing. He placed a hand on his heart, searching for any sign of his pulse. But his heart was not beating.

Faldoin had left the graveyard shortly thereafter knowing that he could never be the same. He realized that undeath had ruined his life more than just physically. The vengeance and anger was all he could feel now. Faldoin walked into the town of Brill. On the outside the city was a ruin. On the inside, it was even worse. The wood on the houses was rotten and slightly burnt, the grass was tainted and the villagers were no more human than him. He knew it was in horrible condition, but little did he care. No one seemed to. All that remained in the rotting, broken undead was their hunger for vengeance and power. And he found that he had no pity for these monsters – for he was one of them.

That day he took a promise upon himself. He swore that he would not rest before vengeance was his. No matter the cost, vengeance would be his. But Faldoin was no fool; he knew that he would need power to accomplish this task. And so, he set out to find this power…