Malaki

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Information

Player: Magus

Character Full Name: Malaki Salviatus Slade

Character In-Game Name: Malaki

Nickname(s): Mal

Association(s):

Race: Formerly Human, now Forsaken

Class: Priest

Age: Early twenties (at death)

Sex: Male

Hair: Raven Black, wore a small beard in life (still does but forsaken don't have the option on the model)

Eyes: dark brown, now white(glowing)

Weight: 200

Height: 6 ft

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Appearance

Wrapped in linen bandages and stuffed with herbs, spices and salt. He was anointed in oils and resins which combined with the other materials used to mummify him forms a distinct scent not unlike that of a spice cabinet. He clothes himself at all times in flowing robes, his face often concealed by the deep shadows of his hood.

Other: He wears nondescript robes and keeps himself fully concealed in public (but hostile) conditions.

Personality

He laments his fate, but as time progresses he learns to accept his new state and tries to use it to his advantage. The light failed to protect or save him and so now he embraces the shadow. While he is not outright evil he has darkened with his rebirth and now seeks to serve his own ends and the ends of his allies. Having lost faith in the Light of Creation he has since embraced the Forgotten Shadow. He still seeks to change the world for good or ill but he is not lost in the delusion that bad things don't happen to good people. He is a neutral person, he is slow to judge but quick to react if the situation calls for it. Patience, awareness, and understanding are his personal virtues. His flaws may be defined as embittered, dejected, and sometimes malicious.

History

On a particularly dismal day, a dark figure moves like a shadow given fleshy substance along the old weathered stones of one of many graveyards above the Undercity in what was once the majestic city of Lordaeron. Thunder rumbles in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning. The wind blows steadily against his robes and bandages, the musty odor of his embalmed body hung in the air around him like a spice cabinet. Two points of some dire radiance serve this creature for eyes as he scans the ruins. The decayed banners once bright blue and silver white rustle in the bitter gusts of wind as leaves from the withered trees spin about in small vortexes.

"My world is dead... like myself... yet still it lingers... much as I do..." he sighs and shakes his head. "This was once the shining bastion of humankind. Now it is a heap of stone moaning its fate and longing for former days... I still remember them..." the robed figure sits upon the remnants of a stone tomb and leans upon his staff. His face was largely obscured by a hood that never leaved his head no matter how the wind should blow.

"Surely it cannot have been all that bad....You and the humans are still here. My people are still here and we have all suffered greatly at Arthas' betrayal." The figure of a young elf emerges from one of the larger tombs nearby, holding in his hand some dusty tome that has seen better days. He wears the bright red robes of a warlock training in the fine arcane schools of Silvermoon, capital city of the High Elves, known now largely as blood elves as his shining green eyes would alert the wary.

The priest turns his head to gaze at the sylvan creature and he offers a nod. "You found it then? It looks well preserved for being in such conditions for half a decade."

To this the young elf smiles and nods as he pulls out a cloth and carefully cleans the bindings with a delicate touch. "So much trouble for a scrap of lore... we must be mad, or so the sword swingers would like to tell us" says the elf with a half-hearted chuckle. "Tell me about your life... I could use the insight if I am to finish my book on the events leading up to the attack upon the Sunwell." The elf looks expectantly at the forsaken before him. Unlike most this one had clearly been mummified before his turning and that made him far more easy on the senses to be around than most of the putrid shambling undead that scurried around the Undercity.

Unseen by the elf, the Forsaken's brow furrows as his glowing gaze lands intently upon the arcanist. "Surely you have all the lore you need, countless people walk these ruins who lived through the same events albeit in a different facet... Why do you want my story specifically?"

The elf lifts a graceful brow, the long whisker-like tendril of hair streaming from his face dancing with the motion granting a sense of the feral and majestic, the same otherworldly nature all sylvans seem to exhibit. "We have known each other for some time now... You found me in the dead scar attempting to drive back the scourge as many sin'dorei do when they want to test themselves... I did well at first but wound up outnumbered... Thankfully you stepped in when you did. It was these events that inspired me to write this thing in the first place. As such it seems only appropriate that you be directly involved given the circumstances..."

"You argue a good point... Very well... Where to begin..." The priest looks to the sky in thought, the dark clouds roll by in their ominous fashion as the occasional bolt of lightning streaks to the earth. The dim glow of the sun filters through the cloud cover falling to earth as a vaguely green luminescence which casts the area in a sort of surreal twilight. "I was born the third son of a noble Lord, Lord Raziel Slade, and his wife the Lady Monica Slade, both devout servants of the light in their own fashion... He a paladin, the militant arm of the church while she was a pious priestess. Together they had three boys and one girl. the two eldest were accomplished paladins by the age of twenty and it was obvious our parents were very proud indeed... I took after our mother and apparently had aptitude to call upon the light as a priest. Our sister, she was groomed from a young age to be a devoted, proper and elegant lady that she may make a suitable wife to some nobleman... of which many were interested if I recall. I and my sister spent a great deal of time together naturally, both being the youngest generation and both being schooled by our mother directly. I was only parted in their company when the time came for me to follow my father and learn the ways of conflict in the event I was called to it. In my case it was more a crash course in avoidance and military strategy, as a priest my role would be supportive on the battlefield primarily." The priest pauses a moment as he casts his gaze to the ground. "A lot of good that did me... still it was expected as I was a noble born male and expectations were placed upon me despite my choice to follow the church."

The elf looked inquisitive as he scribbles notes hastily on his crisp sheet of parchment paper, delicate hands scribing elegant characters with smooth strokes only the elves seem capable of. "do go on please..."

The forsaken stands and walks about a bit, leaning upon his staff as he speaks. "Times were good in Lordaeron then... we had driven back the fury of the orcs and their masters and won our prosperity, but it would not last. On the horizon a dark cloud creeps closer and with it was the stuff of nightmares, pure terror... Our family made our home in a garrison outpost to the north of Andorhal. The region was quiet and tranquil most of the time. Only the din of the forge and the saws of the mill broke the song of nature. All that changed one fateful day. We received word that the city of Andorhal was showing signs of a plague outbreak, a plague in one of the major farming communities of the kingdom. It was terrible news and my father sent a patrol further south to investigate." The forsaken paused a moment to stroke his face or perhaps a beard but one couldn't penetrate the darkness of his shrouding hood to know for sure."They returned a few days later with a report that would turn men's hair white. Our region was under attack, not by orcs but by demons and some sort of strange cult. Vermin were spreading disease and surly famine would soon follow as the people could not eat the contaminated grain. The crowned prince, Arthas Menethil arrived and investigated. He uncovered what was going on and quickly set out to seek the source of this cult. Time would pass and things only got worse, the fires from Andorhal sent foul smelling smoke into the air and the whole region seemed to be transforming into a sickly faded version of itself." There is a brief pause as the priest appears to be digging deep into a clouded memory.

The elf continues to scribble his note, taking advantage of the breaks in the story to carefully clean the tome he just aquired from a long dead mage.

"Finally a message arrived by Falcon and we were requested to attend a meeting at Lordaeron with his majesty King Terenas Menethil II and his returning son. We packed light and left after dinner that evening taking advantage of the cool night. We traveled many miles and we were planning to make a short stop in Andorhal for supplies if it was safe. The closer we got to Andorhal the darker it seemed despite roaring corpse pyres dotting the fields burning bodies and grain alike. I was not sure if I was dreaming by this point.The entire city was barricaded off and in the chill air we heard the moans... dreadful sounds that sent chills down my spine. Their were screams and scratching, it was as if there were ravenous beasts behind the barriers that would consume us all if they got out. Father had decided we would detour Andorhal and proceed along the main road to Lordaeron. My heart was heavy, my spirit felt dim as my body ached in the chill night air." The forsaken pauses and looks around them in silence.

The elf seems to shiver despite himself, memories of the siege of Quel'thalas flooding his mind and making him relive that terror. He sets the pen down and rubs his arms vigorously.

"Are you quite all right? Shall we go inside? I have forgotten that being dead I no longer concern myself with such things..." The forsaken's glowing eyes settle on the small elf who quiveres at their weight.

The elf composes himself and shakes his head. "No.... please continue?" The thought of going down into that cesspit of a city was even less appealing than freezing to death in these ruins to the young elf.

"Very well... Where was I? ...ah yes... We rode for hours... It seemed like day but the dawn rising in the east reminded me it was one night and proved to be little comfort as the hellish events of the night previous had chilled us all to the spirit. The smell of death seemed to linger behind us always no matter how much distance we put between Andorhal and our rear flank. I grew uneasy, I could sense we were being followed. It was about midday when we arrived in the Tirisfall glades and approached the grand gates of the jewel of human civilization. Lordaeron was aglow in celebration. There was singing and dancing and all manner of merriment at the prince's return. Just shy of entering the gates we paused outside and dismounted. The four of us siblings joined in a circle with our mother and father and together we offered a prayer of thanks to the light for delivering us safely to the walls of Lordaeron and we prayed that the city would be spared the fate of Andorhal... It would be the last time I would feel whole in my life." The forsaken looks about him in thought.

"A lot of good that did us it seems... but I digress...."

The elf nods as he pulls his cloak tighter about himself and shifts position upon the stone bench he had sat upon.

"We had agreed to stay outside the front gates, but mother and Rasha were sent inside. Before we parted I kissed both and passed Rasha one of my most prized possessions, my personal signet ring. Each son of Raziel received one upon becoming an adult as a rite of passage. I told them I would love them always... I think perhaps I was the most pessimistic of the lot of us. I seemed to know that my own doom was upon me. And so we waited, we knew the people had no idea what hell was coming for their doorstep. I think the tragedy was magnified by the state of the people and their spirits just before the attack. Heavenly bliss rang from the great bells as rose petals rained from the sky and cheering filled the air..."

The priest pauses again and scans the ruins once more before continuing. "I still remember the warm glow of the golden sun and the sweet fragrance of roses upon the air... How bitter the world would be in such a short time from this moment I thought. I savored it as I steeled myself for what was to come. Come, it did. The stench of sickness and decay drifted in upon the wind, the groans and growls filled the air like a low rumble washing over the stones. The ground began to shake under the pounding feet of the many approaching. I began calling upon the light to fortify my brothers and father and his knights. I called upon their own strength to shield them from harm and together we charged the first wave of the decaying mass flooded the streets. We fought them back with such zeal I had never seen before or since. We were men fighting for what we believed in and we would die to protect those we loved."

The priest seems to become ill at ease as he continues his tale, it is clearly a painful memory. After a moment he continues. "Suddenly... I sensed a chill wind at my back and I turned to look at the city... something wasn't right... I had no idea that at that very moment prince Arthas had murdered his father and condemned the entire kingdom to damnation and death. I cried out and turned to get my father's attention, what a fool I was! I didn't see the projectile and I turned straight into it. It sank into my heart and I fell to the ground. It burned like molten metal in my veins, some vile poison, it burned and I could do not but scream and writhe on the ground. Soon the fire passed and was replaced by a numbing cold that wracked my body and paralyzed me. The light began to fade from my eyes as my mother barged through the door in a fury... she dragged me back into the city with the help of the guard. I watched her men my body with her spells but I still felt the numbness... I died in her arms as my sister was wiping my face with a towel."

The elf's calm cast began to shift as he is emotionally moved, his superior exterior slowly melts away and for a moment he is awash with compassion for the poor soul before him.

The forsaken waved his hand dismissively. "My mother must have had me preserved in this manner... A sacred rite intended to prevent me from rising as the undead and would allow my body to be a spiritual relic for the people as many holy men had been before... I cannot say what exactly for I was dead at this point... I woke up some years later at the crypt in Deathknell down the road from here."

A bandaged hand points with authority off into the west. "I awoke in absolute horror, I was one of them now, dead but my conciousness had not moved on. I ran straight for the church and found to my own despair that there were others like me, some who had been priests as well. The Light had abandoned us... We were creatures of shadow now. Dark Priest Sarvis took me under his wing and educated me on the happening since the days I took breath as a living man and taught me of the Lights dark twin, the Forgotten Shadow."

At this the elf becomes very curious and leans in closer, his interest was obviously snared. "What is this "Forgotten Shadow"?"

The forsaken priest turns and walks over to the seated elf and crouches down to his eye level. "The Light teaches to the self is connected to the universe, thus doing good for both yourself and others will change the universe and reflect the goodness back upon you. The Forgotten Shadow teaches a similar principle save the focus is more on what the individual can do to change the universe by their own will, changing the will of others will collectively strengthen your impact on reality and thus reshape the universe to your design. It is the same function the difference is intent and point of view."

The elf nods and stands as he dusts off his robes. "The Forgotten Shadow sounds most interesting... please tell me more..."

The priest rises and looks to the sky and smiles. "Very well... but we are going inside... the hail and the rain will not do your new tome any good and nor will it help your notes... Let us go." The priest turns and walks off without another word in the direction of the lifts that lower visitors into the Undercity.

The elf groans in protest but gathers his things and rushs to catch up to his host who seems to move with good speed for a mummified dead man the elf thought...