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Drauthlin's Memory.
Each night as I rest my wearied bones, whether by the flickering flames of a campfire or resting on a soft bed in an inn, a single memory fills my mind. It is potent and powerful, yet does little to slake my thirst for remembrance. It teases portions of my mind that have been wiped clean by death and the resurrection to un-life. The memory is at once both a welcomed friend and, at the same time, a hated reminder of what I once was.


I can see them, my family, in my memory. Not their faces, no; Fate or the Lich-King saw fit to strip me of my most precious of precious memories. Still, I see them. I know it is them. I hear their laughter as they play. I hear my wife singing gently to them as they fall asleep before the fireplace. I hear the crickets chirping outside as a breeze rustles the simple linen drapes. The home I was in, while small and austere, seems a mansion in retrospect; now, even the grand halls of Orgrimmar seem confined, cramped and lonely. Perhaps I am just bitter.

Still, these memories would not be so bad were it not for their conclusion, for the memory never ends there. Though I will it to end, to stop and let me rest my wearied limbs, eyes and mind it does not. The scene continues. The children, asleep. My wife and I, curled before the crackling fireplace. Snow swirls outside, dimly visible from my position on the floor. My mind wanders and for a moment, I can almost see the face of my wife, calm and unlined in slumber. I begin to doze, then wake as I hear the screams.

The fire is everywhere. It consumes the house with an unnatural heat, the stones themselves melting into slag. Of my wife there is no sign, but I hear the screams of my children from their rooms. Creatures of nightmare race ahead of me, immune to the flames and the falling timbers, and throw aside the oaken door as though it were parchment. The screams end, shrilly and suddenly. I fall to my knees as two shadows loom over me. Bony hands reach for my throat and I do not even care to resist.

The memory ends, releasing me from it's agonizing hold. Yet it has reawakened the pain and the tears. Sleep eludes me yet again and the dawn comes to find me laying awake, my hatred for my position mingling with my impotence at tracking down those who slaughtered my family.

I remember little, if anything, aside from that single memory. My name? I am unsure. My family? Birthplace? Home? None of it. I exist now only as Drauthlin; nothing more, nothing less.

((Not sure if there are any special rules about posting here, ie formats, etc. If so, please feel free to notify me or remove/edit post! Thanks.))
Death comes to all - our only choice is how we meet it.

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