#taeriix

Taeriix is a traditional Lich King death knight with a very different mindset. Taeriix in life was a trainer at Karabor where he both worked and played, fell in love got married, all the ‘normal’ stuff. He was one of the people helping direct the defenders and the troops when the orcs came bearing down on Karabor. He called for the defenders to form lines and hold walls against the orcish invaders, in the end his and the men serving with him’s only goals were to allow more time for others to escape. He fell at Karabor, a long time and a long way from Icecrown.With the temple under the rule of orcs and finally demons there was no rest for the draenei spirits who even in death continued to fight on against unending waves of spiritual orc, they would all fall in turn then rise again to fight once more. That is until the orcish visages began to contort and change into the forms of demons and overtime began to devour the spirits of each fallen draenei. He watched each fall in turn until it was his turn yet again, but before they took him, before they tore his soul to shreds a voice rang out. “Mine.” He was told “You need to come with me, it’s time to stop fighting.”He walked through the bone gates of death and up the long winding stairs to a body made of flesh and bone like the one he had known in life. The bones were his own, then flesh was his returned from the ages.

Though there is no way she should be able to support the weight of the materials her spell has gathered, she picks it up easily and moves it to her clay cradle, water and motes of dust trailing after her like a bridal train.  Dust settles, water settles, completely filling the clay hollow, surrounding the crystal-glinting bones.  She leans forward and fits one stone into each empty eye socket: amber in the left, lodestone in the right.Then she covers the clay form, digging a mound up and over it, until her helper, her friend, her brother is tucked in securely.  She curls up on top of him.  He will need her now, while the magic builds and his flesh reforms.  He will need her, and so she will stay with him, and whisper him stories through cracked and bleeding lips while the magic drains through her, each moment stripping away a mortal breath, each moment leaching life from her and gifting it to him.

There is more life in her eyes then there was before, even though her flesh is thin and haggard now.  The man fingers the knife at his belt and comes to a decision.  No one will miss her.  “You have failed.  Disobeyed.”“I’m trying.  I…” she tries to pull away as he grabs her arm, but her flesh is still cold and stiff and where would she run?  The man pulls free his blade and it is all she can see: the crescent of steel.He has eyes, though they are closed.  He has flesh - sensation - limbs and bone - though the flesh is strangely still, undisturbed by lungs, by the beat of blood.  There is weight above him.  Weight and the smell of soil.  Through the muffling substance he can hear a woman’s voice, high-pitched, frightened.And he must protect her. He struggles at first finding moving like that of waking from a long slumber when your arms and legs don’t quite obey. He shifts against the dirt, the soil, he does not question its presence. It is thin, not too deep and he forces a break in the hard frozen clay. He doesn’t even think to breath, he had fighting for so long he had forgotten he needed to long ago. He twists in his earthen womb using his free hand to push himself up, breaking through more of the clay that cradled his body into new life.The world is bright, even as dim as the light in the room was after such a long time in darkness it made him squint. Lanky pink-skinned orcs, some demon creature, he did not know these sights. Many things he did not know, did not recall, but the tiny woman was the one who had drawn im from battle, told him he could stop fighting the demons, gave him a rest and reprieve from the onslaught he had fought so long he had lost time. In truth if he were told how long it had been he would not have believed.He does not speak, he does not make a noise, he grabs the arm of the man towering over the woman. grasps his frail wrist in his hand and squeezes. His thumb pressed against the base of the man’s palm and he can feel the tension, the bone under flesh. He snaps it.“Stop!” it is not a commanded, but a frightened plea, “Stop.”  If the man dies, someone will find out.  Someone will come.  Then there will be more death.  “Stop,” she says.He didn’t know why he should stop, but he did. He stopped because while he didn’t know why he should stop he also didn’t know why he should continue, that and he was asked to stop. He slowly released the hand and stood to his full height.

He was born a knight in Naxxramas, and had no knowledge of what he was. His eyes were mismatched, one a golden amber color the other a pale grey, amber and lodestone the materials set into his skull as the spells original catalyst. He had not seen the fel-knights Gul’dan had created by forcing the souls of orcs into the bodies of paladins. The only understanding he had of life after death was stories he’d heard of Auchindoun. She had asked him to come with her and after the man had left she had asked him to stay, she would send him on into death if he wanted, not keep him alive against his will. He decided to stay, because she had asked him to, and he remembered the stories and soft words she spoke to his bones as, though they were a subconscious memory, as she had called him back. She had called him brother and so he called her sister. To his knowledge the spirit guardians of the Auchenai, which he assumed he must be, were only called back for protection, and it was obvious she did need that. He had been dead for many many years and his memories were fuzzy at best, the sharpest being the final moments of his life though others would come to him over time.He remembered but had little understanding of the way the priests at Auchindoun worked, he remembered something called bloodwine, and so when the hunger pains came on him that’s how he chose to sate it. In life he had been a very disciplined man when he was ‘on duty’ in Naxx he was constantly on duty. He had been made and called in such a way that he did not here the calls and whispers of the Lich King himself, but at the request of his Sister he still acted as though he did, otherwise there would be no keeping her safe. This went on for a while, there were ups and downs and times he could not protect her. The pair were eventually separated when Taeriix murdered the male necromancer that had tried to kill his Sister when he first re-awoke in this world. His memories were locked away and more control forced over him. He became an instructor of Knights in Naxx the same as he had been an instructor of Vindicators at Karabor. At some point he was transferred to the Shadow Vaults before the Kings fall. After that he decided to stay there. He was missing something, but didn’t know what. He stayed on at the Vaults and looked when he had time until he felt a pull, a tug, a familiar call.He eventually found his sister again and she untethered the locks the necromancers had put on his memories. He’s still more dead than alive. He takes good care of his body but he doesnt breath, or pretend to breath to make those around him ‘feel better’. He sees it as unnecessary. Most of the things he does are based on necessity. Rarely has he thought of his condition as forced or horrible. He has given ample opportunities to move on, but until he has finished the duty he agreed to, staying with and protecting his Sister, he has no reason to go to rest.She told him very close to his rebirth:

His fingers curl as she speaks, not closing around her hands but moving against them. It was in that instant, her mention of the Light he realized he could not feel it. “I don’t feel it.” He said and looked at her, his mind was an even slope of steady thought. “The Light,” he did not sound terribly upset, surprised. “That will come with dying though, it isn’t until I reach the end I will be with it again, is that right?” Still his voice was steady.She strokes his palm.  “Yes.  It will burn you now - it will try to heal you, but it doesn’t understand that the poison is what is holding you together, and so it will hurt you while trying to heal.  But… it loves you no less.  Nothing I can do could ever touch it’s love.”“I was not afraid that it had left me. I have left it in this journey, and eventually when I am finished I will go back, but not until my promise is fulfilled, little Sister.” He watches her brush her hand along his, the size difference is almost startling.“You weren’t afraid?” she frowns.  “Why not?  They all… they are all afraid.  I am afraid.”“How can I be afraid? It is, a little painful, a little hollow, like I am missing something, but I died, I am missing much. It is not gone, I do not disbelieve, do not think it has turned it’s back on me, this is just a road. The one between life and final rest where it does not shine. To question that would bring into question my faith and everything I remember to be true. The Light loves you no less.” He said or repeated to her.