There once was a chance I didn't take - the chance to personally end the life of the one who gave me the curse of undeath. So why didn't I take it? Well that's a long story, a story that would be best started at the beginning.
I was a young gnome mage by the name Penguina. That gnome mage was sarcastic and had not a care in the world. I lived in the dwarf city of Ironforge, taking up residence in the mystic quarters. The Burning Legion had been defeated, life was great, and everything was just peachy. Then he came along. Said he was Arthas Menethil, better known as the Lich King. He had retreated to Northrend a while ago, leaving us to only worry about his minions still in the Eastern Kingdoms, until recently.
He was revealed to be in the Eastern Plaguelands, raising fallen heroes known as death knights. Alliance soldiers were sent to make sure that Arthas was dealt with. I was one of those lucky soldiers. I had died in that battle, and was quite content with my fate. I died fighting for the Alliance, and that was more than could be said about my parents. But apparently Arthas wasn't content with the amount I had suffered. He raised me from the grave, but not as a mindless ghoul. No, it would be too good for me to be unaware of my misdeeds. Instead I was raised as a death knight.
My appearance was only slightly altered, which I suppose I should be thankful for. My rosy skin was slightly paler, and my eyes were now a solid glowing cyan. Could be worse, but such details are superficial. The main thing was that I was raised from the dead, to do the enemy's bidding. Thankfully, I was not forced to face my former comrades. I was unprepared for that. Instead I had to go through with a training of sorts.
I was given an axe and taught how to use it. Along with a new body I received a runic power, which I used to infuse my axe with unholy might. Once my training was complete, I was faced with a test. I was to kill a fellow gnome. Much to my dismay, I knew the fellow I was about to slay. He fought for Gnomergan alongside my parents while I had taken refuge in Ironforge. What hurt most were his insults. I couldn't help the fact that my body moved for the kill without my consent. I did not wish to be a traitor. If only I could have at least apologized. Mayhap then I would feel less guilty. But the deed was done, and all I could do was walk away. This was only the beginning though.
More killings followed. At first it was only the Scarlet Crusade, a group of religious zealots accusing everyone who wasn't among their ranks of being a blasphemous heathen. Their deaths weren't so terrible, but it got worse. Soon enough we were forced to face the Argent Crusade, Highlord Tirion Fordring being their leader. I prepared myself for the horror of being a part of his murder, when I made a discovery. Somewhere along the line my will became my own! I wasn't the only one though; it seemed that for whatever reason all us death knights regained control of our bodies. Some stayed loyal to the Lich King, but I was one of the people who rebelled. Together with the Argent Crusade, we forced the Lich King to return to his frozen throne in Northrend. All the death knights that didn't follow formed a faction known as the Ebon Blade.
From there I was ordered to take a portal to Stormwind. At first all the residents were wary, throwing rotten food products my way. I dodged them to my best ability, making my way to the throne room. There I talked to the king, Varian Wrynn. I gave him a synopsis of what I just told you, and he felt the need to make an announcement. He told the city my tale, the short version of course. He said that I was no monster, but in fact a hero.
While I was in Stormwind, I visited the Guilded Rose for a place to rest. There, I met a mage by the name of Amythest. We talked for a bit, and became fast friends. She introduced me to her paladin friend, Casaoiry. The three of us did quests together. I meleed the enemies down with my newly found death knight abilities, while Amythest pelted them with shards of ice from afar. Casaoiry healed us should we get injured. We became a team of sorts, an army of three loyal to the king. The more we got to know each other, the less we acted like a group of heroes and the more we acted like a family. Amythest was the mother I barely ever knew, and Casaoiry was the older sister I never had or wanted.
Now by this point you are probably wondering about the chance I didn't take. Well I'm getting to that, don't worry. You see, almost a year had passed, and the king of Stormwind was gathering all of the Alliance's greatest heroes. The mission was to infiltrate the frozen throne and defeat the lich king once and for all. Casaoiry and Amythest wanted me to go with them, so I could exact revenge, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. I'm unsure of what drove me to not wish for the Lich King's death. Whether it was the fear of being imprisoned or the fact that he was once human too, I am not sure. So my comrades left to end the unlife of Arthas Menethil, while I stayed behind.
I spent most of that time thinking, thinking about what it would be like to forget everything. How wonderful it would be if I could return to a state of childlike innocence, not bearing the burden of what I had become. Sure it might have been healthier to pretend the whole ordeal didn't happen, or assist my friends in exacting revenge, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Instead, I merely… forgot. Mayhap one day I will remember again, in a worse state than I was in previously. However, that is in the future. For now, I can honestly say I regret nothing. I just hope that Amythest and Casaoiry can forgive me…