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Myriad Reality

Death knight lore.

-Death knights, following full conversion, possess supernatural durability, speed, strength, and agility, being able to punch through reinforced stone walls with ease, dodge volleys of arrows like they were nothing, and tank direct shots from a catapult. Furthermore, thanks to their unique existence, the stores of sorrow an grief they've built up within themselves via ambient leeching can be felt and seen by mortal beings as an aura of blue flame, which often invokes feelings of fear and hopelessness in their hearts. Additionally death knights, like most undead, can survive crossing bodies of water, see in the dark, and sense living beings that might be nearby. Also their mere presence in an area can raise the dead, recent or otherwise.

-Despite their status as immortal killing machines, death knights are far from invincible. They are, like most undead, extremely susceptible to holy or blessed weaponry, unable to cross into consecrated ground, unable to enter areas protected by strong rituals of warding unless said ritual is undone, and, last but not least, easily banished by an experienced practitioner. Of course Osvin managed to circumvent this last tactic via the use of defensive counterspells, but knowledge of the ones he used specifically has been lost to time.

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*I make my way through the storm scarred wastes of the Iron Heights, an army of undead at my back*

Five villages down, one capitol to go...

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Christopher the Vigilant: *Stares off into the distance, to the far peaks of the Iron Heights, their grey tops reaching up to assail the heavens themselves. All is not well however, for in those very same heavens a storm front gathers. An ominous portent of things yet to come* This is a bad omen, Gyffard. The sky is dark, angry, as though something beneath offends it. Something... unnatural.

Gyffard the Wild: *Scoffs* Nonsense! It's just a storm, they happen all the time in the mountains.

Christopher the Vigilant: *Shakes head* No, that is no simple storm. Can't you feel it? That charge in the air? It's not right Gyffard.

Gyffard the Wild: *Laughs, then hurls a lob of spit over the castle wall* You're too superstitious boy. I'm telling you it's nothing to be concerned about.

Christopher the Vigilant: *Turns to meet the gaze of the older man* Have you heard what the legends say about Osvin and his generals? How that storms of darkness and death proceeded them?

Gyffard the Wild: *Grumbles* Legends say many things boy, that doesn't make them true.

Christopher the Vigilant: But that doesn't make them false either.

Gyffard the Wild: *Sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose* Just get back to your route will you? We don't have time to waste debating the validity of old wives tales.

Christopher the Vigilant: *Turns to leave before pausing mid-stride* Fine. But I'm telling you Gyffard...

*His eyes narrow into slits as he turns his gaze back to the mountains*

There's dark forces at work here.

Gyffard the Wild: *Rolls his eyes as the younger man leaves, though once he is gone the old soldiers gaze gradually finds its way back to the Iron Heights, its peaks obscured by foreboding clouds*

Nonsense...

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*I exit the small cottage, my home turned testament to heartbreak and ruin, as my form shifts once more. Looking down, I find myself completely different than before.

An entirely new being*

The man I once was is gone. I am Helain no longer, but Menos…

*I clench my spectral fists*

Death.

*Hoisting my blade onto my shoulder, I glide off into the long dark*

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*I come to a door, night having fallen over the area like a shroud. Balling my hand into a fist, I slam it into the barrier, causing the wood to buckle and splinter.

I step inside and meet the gazes of its frightened inhabitants. A man and a woman*

Jesper...

*Turns my gaze upon the woman*

Isabell...

*My wife and my betrayer, the objects of my hate. I raise my blade as their screams pierce the night...*

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My plot point on necromancers, and why they are hunted.

-The world was almost taken over by a necromancer once before. A powerful mage by the name of Osvin who lead an army of corpses overseen by thirteen dread generals, or death knights as they would come to be known. Beings who fed off of sorrow and grief, each being emotionally broken in their own ways to create their own loops, but unlike the main character here were completely subservient to Osvin's will. He was eventually defeated, however, though it took the combined efforts of the entire world to accomplish. This near loss on the part of humanity is the main reason why necromancers are as feared and hunted as they are.

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*Stares down at the emaciated corpse, tarlike blood pooling beneath it*

One down, two more to go.

*Returns my blade to its sheathe as more of my body begins to warp and twist, the armor changing subtly alongside it. Turning my gaze towards a valley on the horizon, I set off, step after determined step*

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*I lift my nonexistent eyes up to the sky. How many days has it been since my initial transformation, how many days of pain and suffering hollowing out my form? I growl and look down at my skeletal fingers*

May the gods damn you Jesper, you and your cowardice...

Vaumon: *Glares*

*I return the sentiment, though the expression comes off as a look of confusion more than anything else. I hold my stare for a bit before shifting to gaze at something in the distance*

He doesn't know it yet, but his ritual failed. While my resurrection was a success, the binding of my will to his was not, and all due to a clerical error in his texts. A bit of misinterpretation on behalf of whoever wrote down Osvin's original techniques, though that is a small comfort given what I've become...

Vaumon: *Grumbles before turning away from the farmhouse, its walls blackened and charred* Come along slave, we're leaving.

*I nod slowly, methodically, and trudge along after him, hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of my blade*

But what I do next, that will be comforting indeed...

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My posts make me cringe.

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*I awaken to my body and mind awash in a sea of pain, one that ravishes my soul like an unquenchable flame*

H... how...

*I lift my head to meet Vaumon's icy gaze*

Vaumon: *Smirks* The dark arts, that's how. You would not believe my luck. Do you know how hard it is to capture a specimen like yourself, hmm? Someone whose scars are still fresh, heart raw, and emotions troubled?

*He steps back and throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion*

Vaumon: Damn near impossible! Yet here you are at long last, and all thanks to that friend of yours!

*He smirks, scratching his scab covered chin thoughtfully*

Vaumon: Although maybe that isn't the best term. After all a man who leads you to your death over something as trivial as lust doesn't sound very friendly to me!

*He cackles*

Vaumon: But what do I know eh?

*He leans in closer, his pustule laden face inches from mine*

I'm just a madman in a crypt.

*He moves away, clasping his hands behind his back as he stalks over to a nearby table, on which lay a variety of tomes*

Vaumon: Or at least I used to be. Thanks to the aid of your friend Jesper, I will finally succeed where Osvin failed. And you-

*He whirls round, spindly finger pointed at me*

-you are but the first step in that glorious plan...

*I scream and kick, to no avail, for my skeletal remains are bound in place by invisible chains*

Vaumon: My death knight...