The Persuasion of Sir Zeliek

This is a short story type dealie I’ve had saved forever and just found. I reworked it a bit and am putting it on the internet for all to see!

The Persuasion of Sir Zeliek

The difference between the others and myself is that I remember everything.  Some were forced to forget, or others never bothered to care in the first place.  They don’t recall what it’s like to taste things, a ripe apple…to smell that but rotting flesh…to feel…warmth.  I alone kept all of those horrible memories and I would give them away in a heartbeat, not that I have one to give, if only to find peace.

He delights in that misery.  The misery only I endure.  Of all His witless creations, His terrible aberrations…I am the only one who is fully of aware of my actions, my horrible deeds, but unable to control myself. I am the only one who wishes to stop.  It is a fine punishment He has wrought upon me and for these years I’ve hoped someone will put an end to it.

They come more frequently now, the adventurers…the heroes, more so than ever before. When the necropolis floated above the plagued land of Lordaeron few made it to our military quarter.   Most that did were quickly slaughtered and reborn into His army, still I scream…someone must. I yell and plead with these foolish mortals to leave our realm and never return. I shout until my voice grows hoarse.  The others find it amusing.  They are so lost now, but I’m afraid if they are lost than I must be as well.

There was a time when it wasn’t like this.  I was free of His grasp.  His hand weighing heavy on my shoulder, this burden of undeath.  This numb feeling I have now, this feeling of emptiness…I am but a husk of my former self.  I was once the son of a granary worker in the village of Corin’s Crossing.  I didn’t have a spectacular childhood, I wasn’t reckless or adventurous.  I lived the simple life of a farmhand’s son.

My father wasn’t a religious man, he believed in the Light but most virtues were lost on him. My mother was that influence. She made sure I read everything she could find about it.  She hoped I would be among the smartest in all of Lordaeron.  I think of her now and where her influence may have lead me, to this place, but I cannot fault her, I am as much to blame. The philosophies and doctrines at that age were so fascinating to me. This was my dream as much as hers and so I began studying at the chapel just outside the town.

The priests there told me of the heroes of the light, men like Leonid Barthalomew and Uther Lightbringer. They were my heroes.  I focused all of my time to the three virtues and eventually found that not only could I see the Light, I could feel it as well.  The priests made me a patron of the chapel at the age of sixteen and I lived a life of relative happiness, bringing the warmth of the Light to as many as I could.

At first the signs of the plague were not apparent…to say we didn’t notice the illness wasn’t completely the case…we saw as it took the land like a fire, but we believed the Light would prevail as it always had. We did not expect a plague.  If only we hadn’t been so arrogant.  We “healed” those we could and sent them as if they had sprained an ankle  back to their families with a smile…and thus condemned them all to death.  I still remember the first to pass on.

A young girl succumbed to the plague in the Redpath farmhouse not far from the Crossing.  She was so calm, but her parents were terrified.  I knew we had to burn the corpse, by now we realized it was more than a simple infection, but I was still in disbelief.  My fellow priests and I laid her small body amongst some golden leaves, said a prayer, and basked her in holy fire.  It was the first time I smelled that horrible aroma. The first time I heard the wails of mourning parents. It was the first time I used the Light to sear flesh, and as I continue to do so I never forget.  I can never forget.

The plague spread quickly after that.  Half of the town went ill, the rest were terrified.  Even the priests weren’t immune.  I prayed to the Light for help, for guidance.  I thought it had come when I heard of the prince’s return.  He brought with Him Uther the Lightbringer, my idol, a man who’s example I based all of my study. We believed they were there to help us, to cure those in need.  When the town of Stratholme caught fire we knew within minutes.  The entire sky was black, covered in the soot of a city.  I never saw either man again, and at the time we knew not why the city burned but the panic was palpable.  We took those that were able to the chapel and held them there, praying for salvation. I do that often now as well, but just as it was then, my prayers remain unanswered. We held out there for nearly two days before they tore the doors off the hinges.

I recognized most of them, held in the agonizing grip of undeath. They were my loved ones, my friends and family.  I didn’t understand what had happened exactly, we just knew they were crazed.  I had to use the holy fire, invoking the Light once more to burn those that were my friends just days before.  We held the chapel for a week before our defense collapsed.  They stormed in and slaughtered anyone in their path, the weakest and youngest were their first targets.  They had no honor, these were mindless killers and fiends…my friends and family.  I could not understand how the Light had allowed this. I called out as they struck me down, I screamed for the Light to help us.

What had we done to deserve this?

I demanded the Light assist me. To make them pay. My life of devotion and respect.  The compassion I based everything on. I didn’t deserve this. We didn’t deserve this. I offered it all just to avenge those that had fallen here, and to my shock, the Light conceded.  A chain of holy energy tore through the monsters, ripping them apart in a bright warmth  I collapsed to my knees, dragging my last breath into my chest.  The hordes filled the room as my legs buckled, the last living man to stand within the Chapel of Light’s Hope.  My eyes closed but I heard a voice, a voice that cracked like broken glass. “Interesting.” it whispered.

I’ve been this way ever since.  I don’t know how they did this to me, or even why. They have managed to trap my body in the state of undeath, the same as the victims of the plague, but have kept me completely cognizant of my situation.  I know exactly what I am.  The others don’t carry this curse. They were brought here in their own ways, the Lady Blaumeux believes she joined willingly, as though someone could actually desire this.  I wonder if that may be her torture.  Could she have been a good person before, who believed herself unwavering in her own life?  Full of confidence that she knows she always made the best decision?  I cannot tell. She keeps her motives to herself, only talking to berate me with her snide comments.

Thane Korth’azz is a different tale completely.  His insatiable lust of battle is something I will never understand.  In my studies of Uther I learned of the dwarf, he was one of the Lightbringer’s strongest and most loyal friends.  After Uther fell, the Thane fell himself or was persuaded to the Scourge on his own accord.  He will not tell me which it is.

I’m under the impression that he may have joined because he no longer had hope. To lose one of his best friends may have sent him into a great depression, and sensing the dwarf’s weakness, He probably took advantage.  The Thane has a bloodlust now that had he it in life he would surely be dead.  He taunts everyone, even the Instructor…which in itself seems suicidal.  I am unsure if he wishes to find someone who can finally kill him, or just to simply continue his battle eternally.

The last member of our cabal was originally a man named Alexandros Mograine. I was there when the pact was made for Mograine’s valorous soul. Alexandros was to be killed by his beloved son’s treachery, with his own sword Ashbringer, which had obliterated thousands of scourge minions. It was a demon of the Burning Crusade who corrupted the boy, but it is my understanding that Renault Mograine was already a weak spirited fool whom only needed a nudge in the wrong direction. Renault murdered his father at the gate of Stratholme leaving the body to Him as was the agreement made between the Lich and the demon.

I know not the specifics of what happened to the son after that, other than his newfound leadership position in the Scarlet Crusade, his father however I do know the sad tale of. I witnessed the Lich torture Alexandros’ soul for days until the righteous paladin finally submitted. His once great sword Ashbringer was corrupted as well and he became the greatest knight in His ranks. Morgaine was made a horseman and joined us in the madness and violence we propagated, however unlike Thane and the Lady, he never showed emotion. Where they showed happiness or excitement his expression remained stoic. It was at times worse to see him massacre as the rage in his eyes was the only hint of any thoughts he may have had.

We ‘lived’, if you can call it that, as this for quite some time keeping a tight grasp on the north of Lordaeron biding our time while He grew an army. There were occasional uprisings and revolts from the mortals but they were easily quelled by the combined might of the Four Horsemen. It was not until He began to make plans to move onto the uncorrupted lands to the south that the adventurers started showing up. So many died to the horrors within the necropolis, few made it to our menagerie and none made it out alive. None minus Mograine’s second son, Darion.

The boy came upon our ranks with the help of an assault force known as the Argent Dawn. We had seen their colors on many that we had murdered and knew they were trying to strike back at us for His war. Darion Mograine’s small group managed to hold us back as he tried to convince his father to stop “this madness” It’s very odd that I understood the boy completely and as much as I wanted to I could not agree with him, I only wish his words had had the effect they had on his father on me as well.

After the Lady and Thane murdered the remainder of the Argent Dawn group, I watched as the elder Mograine hesitated to kill Darion. I yelled for the boy to flee but he stood in defiance of his father, unlike the other child of Alexandros, he was no coward. I expected Mograine to cleave his boy in two and closed my eyes as his blade curved towards his youngest son. I heard no scream and opened them. Alexandros had given Darion the Ashbringer.

“Run boy, run…” Alexandros whispered and Darion turned and fled. He ran unknowingly right into the Masters lair, had the portals been open he may have escaped, but it was not to be. Darion was confronted by the Lich and in another unbelievable act of defiance he split his own chest with his  fathers blade. Immediately, Alexandros screamed, a roar so strong it felt as though the entirety of Naxxramas shook, the first emotion I had seen on his face since he had fallen into undeath. Mograine left us then without a word, turning his back on Him, something I had never before witnessed.

Darion, like Alexandros, was brought into our ranks but instead of becoming a horseman he was deemed a field leader and instructor to newly turned knights of His ranks, a front line general for the coming war. Darion shared the blood of his father, and like his father was able to become the second man to escape Him.

Darion broke free with a group he calls The Knights of Ebon Blade a contingent of death knights who were betrayed by Him and were able to resist His sway and join the mortals war on us. It is not surprising to me that he would find a way to be free, he is a Mograine after all, but it leaves me with dismay to think there are those who have escaped His grasp and yet I have found no way. Am I so far gone that there is nothing left for me but this damnation? Do I not deserve the same freedom?

Darion’s triumph does still give me hope that one day I may escape myself, but to hope now seems so pitiful. I’ve done so much wrong in these years as His knight I do not think there can be redemption in my future.

Alexandros was replaced in our cabal by a man named Rivendare, a former baron of the burned city of Stratholme. He held a station there defending it from fortune seekers and adventurers while we murdered the innocents throughout the countryside. He has informed me on numerous occasions that he was always jealous of our work, all the while smiling at me. I cannot stand that man.

Like the Baron, there are many among the ranks of the floating necropolis I try to avoid. Most of them are unaware of my situation but those that are believe it is important to stress what I’ve become. Beyond Lady Blaumeux, who finds it everyday to remind me of the terrors of my undeath, there is Heigan the Unclean, a horrible man who uses alchemy to build abominations. I do not know what happened to make him like this but in his most recent experiment, a flesh giant powered by electricity, he formed it’s body from the murdered corpses of women and children. I can hear it sometimes wailing for someone to kill it or simply sobbing. I wish that it was within my power to put it out of its misery. Heigan thinks that all suffering is amusing, and wishes it to befall each of his miserable creations.

Heigan knows of my situation and torments me the most because of it, more so than even the Lady. He gains much enjoyment from the pain of others but it’s doubly so to watch me have sympathy for them. He often calls me to his parlor where I must watch his terrible experiments and try not to show the horror in my heart so that he might go easy on them. He never does. If he sees my dismay he tortures them harder and gleefully informs me that he’s got plenty of ideas and an endless amount of innocent souls to test. I can only hope someone stops this fiend before more people get hurt, but I’m afraid I may be past hope.

Hope is why I write these thoughts down. I’m beginning to think that, like the Thane before he was corrupted, I have lost all hope. If I cannot escape His will on my own then I’ve come to realize I must escape it through death. Assuming I can still be killed I ask, no I pray…as ironic as that sounds…that you will send someone to kill me. I have come close, so close to being free of His grasp but He always tightens harder crushing everything I have left. I do not know why he chose me for this torture but I do know that soon I will no longer be able to take it. It may be His hope, odd choice of words I’m aware, that I go insane like the Lady and forget about my previous life, like most of his servants.

I fell smiting my undead loved ones and yet still continue to smite innocents as an undead. Is there no escape for me? Am I fated to remember the smell of the burned flesh of the innocent forever? I tried so hard to be a pious man, a righteous man, is this what I deserve?

No. It cannot be.

It must not be.

This letter contains a pendant with the holy shielding required to survive entry to Naxxramas and the last of my hope, a hope that you can find someone to kill me. Someone strong enough to take on the entirety of the necropolis, all of Naxxramas and finish it forever. He probably knows I have written these thoughts, it probably amuses Him, but they have taken all of my will to find this paper and I feel it is the least I can do. Maybe this can help you defeat us…I can only hope.

A letter to Tirion Fordring, High Commander of the Argent Crusade