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The Haunting

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She remembered her home, and the beautiful people that had been the Eredar before their downfall as if it was a fond dream; she could smell the markets of the cities and villages across Argus, and the wondrous trinkets the merchants would sell that seemed to capture the essence of the Light itself; she felt awe when overlooking the fields of flowers that stretched on for hundreds of miles, a sea entirely in its own right, with the rising wave that was the expansive mountain range cutting into the plains.

Rohinii, most of all, remembered that she didn’t remember her own part to play in these memories – she just felt like an outsider looking in, leaving the hole that was her existence painful and oozing when she called her own life into question.

Though she woke up knowing all of these things, the death knight couldn’t call any other world home other than Azeroth: it was the one planet she felt like she could make herself stick. Unfortunately, this sleeping Titan’s world did not hold even a fraction of the opportunity that Draenor had for the exiled eredar, leaving many of her kind lost in the crashing waves of war after bloody war.

She could only imagine how she was brought to Azeroth, and it gave her some hope, despite the undeath she existed in: the draenei imagined herself in the beautiful armor of a vindicator, swinging her hammer alongside the legendary Maraad while she called forth a holy ray to smite the Legion’s forces, making a difference in the war against the demons.

As amazing as that fantasy was, there was one fate she couldn’t avoid: undeath. Though she didn’t like thinking about it, Rohinii had one of two options: she either fell in battle against the Lich King, or the Light forsook her and allowed the maddened king to take her soul from paradise. (Despite her many prayers to the Naaru, they continued to ignore her pleas for answers.)

In his sick twisted sense of justice, the Lich King had twisted creatures of the Light into being his hunters, purposed only to cull more Light-blessed mortals and add their corpses into their ranks.

The draenei often wondered if that was her fate. Seeing as how she belonged to the Light in more ways than one, Rohinii couldn’t think of a more damning fate than that.

Though she hardly remembered those days as a thrall for Arthas – as someone who ravaged innocent people’s lives for a demented paladin – when his control failed, it created a tsunami of devastation within the death knight order that drew many of them into madness after him.

She knew she had 60,000 years to catch up on, the memories slowly returning to her each day. Rohinii often felt sick as she looked back on the few memories she had from before her death, knowing that the draenei these memories belonged to would not hesitate in rebuking Rohinii and the other freed death knights as the current Azerothian draeneic society had.

If circumstances were different, a champion of the Light would not have hesitated in killing this unnatural creature she had become.

How could Rohinii live happily knowing she had been ripped from the Light to become this twisted fiend? How could she ever hope for the Light to forgive her for the atrocities she’d committed?