One for whom fel magics leap to obey,
One for whom death is not a true possibility,
One for whom the deepest depths of Azeroth and more are known.
They look and see a Warlock:
Shadowbinder, Destroyer, Demon Master,
One nearly as much a demon as those I control.
They look and see a Forsaken:
Life without Life, Death without Death,
As flawed as the Humans, but not as nice to look at.
They look and see an Adventurer:
Bearing weapons and armor of his fallen foes,
One who sees the average person and feels only derision
They could not be more wrong,
Not if they tried for an Elf's long life to do so.
As I stand and swear my service, I can only see my past:
The pain of rebirth,
The agony of finding oneself,
The regret of remeniscence,
The knowledge of my own lack of knowledge.
Perhaps if I serve for a million years, they will not grant me my wish,
But time is one thing that both they and I have in ample supply.
Until that day when they let me see myself as I once lived.
Perhaps for aeons after, as well.
I exist to serve the Keepers of Time.