Knight of Argus

I am Drayknight, servant of Velen, guardian of the Kurenai and Knight of the Ebon Blade. I was born before the corruption of the noble Eredar race, and grew into a pillar of my kindred.

At eighty I became a vindicator of The Hand of Argus, our main leading body. Then, at one hundred I became the youngest Exarch in our history.

My life was travelling along the path it had always travelled and should travel; it was always a constant routine of training, hunting and duelling. It carried on for near three hundred years in that manner; until Sargeras, the fallen titan entered our lives.

I stood in a screened alcove as he spoke of the power he would grant our race. Later I was among the first to support Velen in his flight from the pleasurable doom that Sargeras carried like a bladed Ravager inside a glove made from the hide of a Talbuck fawn. Power was ours already. We did not need the greater power our foolish cousins the Eredar took upon themselves at the cost of their souls.

We had the Naaru and their light. We were now the Draenei: the exiled ones. In preparation I gathered my blades and my armour along with a supply pouch of belongings and keepsakes, my water bottle and my tamed Ravager, Arguthorn and set out upon our great journey. My life and will were still my own, my soul was still pure, but I had lost so many of my possessions, such as my Elekk breeding stables and my chest of Ereas crystals that I felt defeated. I had salvaged just one of those gems. It was the only rainbow Ereas crystal that I possessed and one of only five hundred on Argus. I nearly fell into a deep depression during that first flight.

If I had not had my crystal and my Ravager I would doubtless have suffered the fate that befell others during each flight from both our brothers and the Burning Legion of Sargeras.

I was the ipso facto leader of our forces. Half a dozen vindicators and thirty Servants of the hand of Argus made up our entire force at arms. We also had eight attack Ravagers and their handlers and five Talbuck Lancers. If the servants of Sargeras had found their way aboard the rebellion would have finished with our people slaughtered like lambs, with Velen slain or carried back to Argus in chains, there only to be slain by Kil'jaeden and his demonic allies.

I might well have joined him in that march, for I knew that my commander would wish to take every ounce of his vengeance upon me that he could. I had not just fled Argus; I had done so in direct disobedience of and written and spoken order not to join Velen.

But then after twenty-five millennia of flight from our demonic pursuers, I was on board the Exodar as we left our adopted homeland, Draenor. I had commanded our forces as the Prophet's hand. It was a good rank and I always acted to ensure I deserved it. I led my kinsmen and children into the maelstrom of the battle for Shattrath, in the assault upon tempest keep and again against Kil'jaeden at the Sunwell.

Then I fell. I was engaged with the mopping up operation after the battle of the Sunwell, where I drove my long blade into Kil'jaeden, having slashed down my former commander after a frankly savage swordfight where only my comparative youth and my noble pet's sacrifice allowed me to prevail. I had been sixteen hundred years his junior in age and that extra vigour had allowed me to prevail. Even then Arguthorn lost his life to my former C.O. as he sought to protect me. His carapace trapped my foes blade, demon-cursed as it was for the second it took my blade to drive home through his chestplate and pierce his heart.

Before the fight I had poured the last of the contents of my water bottle upon that blade having used the blessed water within it for banishing a score of legion commanders and warlords during previous engagements across the surface of Draenor. I had spent a day and a night both in the homes of the Nauru and in the forges of the keep crafting both runes of light and banishing and a vial of the most holy water I could find. I drilled into the hilt of my Eredaren flax and then counter drilled a small seepage hole covered with a rune of light on a shard of my crystal.

I inserted the vial into the hole, before cutting a thread and inserting a plug, cut to fit within. The purpose of that vial was finishing off powerful demons by purifying them. The plug carried at the outer tip the remainder of my crystal carved with four runes: light, honour, purity and strength. Those were the four pillars of my life and I wished to have them in such a place as to bind my blade to those principles.

That blade was torn from my hand by a massive undead beast as my body was rent nearly in half by its huge blade. My recollections of where I went after are somewhat hazy but I remember hunting talbuck across the plains of Draenor, while co-existing peacefully with a tribe of millions of Orcs. Then I awoke from that land on a cold stone floor, in a vast circular cavern to a deep, resonating bass voice pronouncing the words "arise, Death Knight".