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Myrithian
#1
With several rolling pops of his spine as he stands at full attention, his arm draped over his shriveled torso, his mouth hangs open and eventually speaks warmly. "My name is Myrithian. Former member of the Kirin'Tor, and member of the Cult of the damned... in my past life of course." His bright glowing eyes drift from side to side lazily, slumping back to his natural position.

"As for vocation, I am a mage of the frost, there's nothing more satisfying then the frigid look of terror on someones face...." he lifts his chin gently, proud and superior.

"My history eh?" Myrithian shifts a little, trailing the tip of one icey finger over his boned chin. "During my life I was a young member of the Kirin'Tor as I have said before. I was no one amazing or noticeable, but I did my duties and I did them with the best of my abilities. And then he came.... ripping threw our defenses, the shield did nothing to stop him. I found myself a new person that day, I stripped the robes of the order from my chest and threw myself onto my knees before the greatness that was this being." His voice became more supple and velvety, the rough trill of his voice replaced with reverence and respect.
"I was found and given a place in the Cult of the Damned, they taught me the ways of necromancy. I must admit to you now, the power.... it felt damn good. Twisting pure nether in my hand and driving it into a corpse, watching it raise and choke a breath of air into itself. Can you imagine, a boy being given such strength. But of course, that was not where my life ended. My place in the Cult was shorter then I liked. I was struck down in a battle near Lordearon. When I fell I remember the cold the most, how good it felt. Suffice to say I soon rose again, to my horror I could further hear it, the voice that was so faint, the will that once guided now enforced, I could not resist. I didn't want to resist. Time passed and I was raised to the mighty rank of lichling! My unholy body consumed in the frost of Northrend itself! I found power where I had none, my spells more devastating, and skills I could never dream of presented themselves to me! Even now I feel down right gitty at the thought of all that wonderful power coursing threw me."
His tone shifts back to rotten and guttural, the warmth gone almost immediately. "It didn't last though.... when the third war came to a close, our Master lost much of his control over the vastness that was his armies. I being one who was severed from his ties. I will say no more then I followed the Dark Lady after that. And here I am now."

"Professions? Ahh, yes. In my human days I was an amateur alchemist and herbalist. Now that I think of it, I suppose I still am."
The faint remaining muscles in his face stretch and tighten, his hand returning to his face as he gives serious thought to his former abilities in Alchemy.

Myrithian gives a short grunt, the corners of his mouth twisting into a sneer. "No guilds or tribes. For the most part I have found my own way. Not by choice mind you, I think the rotting tends to put people off."

"So many questions.... I wish to join this tribe for my own selfish reasoning. I shall not hide that fact. I find in the days of Forsaken I still crave power, and any who wish to assist me will be welcome. That being said, I am not so inwardly turned that I would not return the favor." The frozen bones of his arms cross tightly over his chest, the faint blue of frost peeking beneath his robes. "And also... I tire of traveling this world alone. Death does not stay the hand of loneliness. Not even in this world."

"My father was an elder in the Kirin'Tor. He always thought that I should follow in his foot steps, even when I was a child playing with a wooden sword, he would slap it from my hands and give me a broken branch, telling me 'Real mages do not play with swords!' and so on. He would beat me mercilessly when I would try to do anything different then the path he chose for me. All his talk of discipline and control, just a hypocrit telling himself what he needed to hear. In my eyes he was a monster, who I've always hated. One night he decided me mother was as weak as I was. I killed him, choked the life from his body, without his voice he could conjure no spell. And as I stare down at him, his swollen pink face looking desperate, I laughed and asked him if he wanted a sword in this moment." The sneer now gone, replaced with a grin most wicked. He was shaking slightly, some form of excitement sweeping over him as his mouth watered at the thought of the murder. "He deserved it of course. And think not that I relished the kill, who could ever love killing there father? No, this was justice. As much as Arthas is a monster, so was he. When my mother came to and saw what I had done, she just stared down at him." Myrithian blinks gently, lips pursed slightly. "She cleaned up the remains and told everyone he had a stroke. I wonder now why she did that..." Myrithian shifts from side to side, uncomfortable. "All I can say, I suppose.... is that I know he would of killed me in time."

"I wish to return to Northrend. To scale the walls of Icecrown once more, to open my mouth and inhale its bleakness. I want to stare down at the armies of the Lich King and smile. And to crush all the mindless undead I find there. Again I shall say no more."
His chin once again turns upward, his arms tightening over his chest, becoming defensive.

"I have found that in my travels, there is always some being who holds more power then you do. A man or woman who surrounds herself in some fortress with many guards, thinking that they are untouchable. I like to be the one to touch them." the veiling mist of cold permeating from his body swirls some, a light evocation spell filling him with pure energy. "That is the most fun, for sure."

"Hmmm? Oh yes, yes I glanced over it. It is within reason and so I agree." Myrithian gives a small wave of his hand, dismissing the question as quickly as it was asked.


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