[RP] Samoras' Story

I. Surrounded by Shadows

I remember grabbing my Arathi medallion while my limbs turned colder and the night overwhelmed me with his dark presence…
As my fingers bent around the amulet and I pulled it off my neck, I went through the evening in my mind…

The evening was young and I promised the medic to pay a visit in 3 days. Dragging my leg along the road as I approached her house I could already see the lights shining through the window, inviting me to knock on the door.
She opened the door, a bright blue dress and her mysterious but friendly face invited me in.

She made me comfortable and refreshed the bandages around my upper body, arms and left leg, while desperately trying to get the reason for my wounds out of me. I only realized at this moment how stubborn and stupid I must have looked to her, getting treated every time, but returning with worse wounds the day after! The days were not as simple and dull to me anymore since I joined the Militia. Why did she want the reason for my wounds? Besides being the commander’s companion there was no reason for her to do this for me, but still she did her best to cure me… A stubborn soldier who wasn’t even willing to share any details about the cause of these worsening wounds.

I wondered what such a helpful person did to deserve what was about to happen. Then again these were the same beings that wounded me like this without any real reason besides having the lion on my chest.
They blocked the doorway as she finished applying the last bandages to my arm.

I don’t remember the whole conversation, but a short duel took place accompanied by her dark voice…

You are no match for us Militant; you’re still suffering from the wounds caused at our last meeting…

Sadly she was right; the dwarven cultist clearly was no match in his full plate armor with a heavy two handed sword, opposing me, a mere footman of Stormwind wielding a dagger and no armor at all. As I got tossed on the floor by the small but strong fellow I felt something which was starting to get to familiar to my likings… A cold slash across my back followed by a warm stinging feeling spreading across my back. I didn’t even scratch the dwarf as I desperately grabbed onto the chain which the cruel mistress swung around Dessy’s neck.
Maybe I should have followed her advice and ran away at that point, but plate boots beating onto me a second later made her sentences disappear from my mind.

They took Dessy away and close after that Commander Malbridge came rushing into the building, questioning the two remaining cultists. While I was struggling to point the Commander towards his beloved but captured woman, they told him lies… The little gnome and dwarf cultists which remained behind clearly didn’t possess a conscience matching their size. Posing as innocent people saying I raped the just captured woman… my knife missed the dwarf there once again, while his words struck me almost as hard as his blade did before. Making a name in the Militia was not going how I imagined.
Luckily the Commanders trust in his men was stronger then any of the lies they fed him. More men arrived as the cultists sneaked away and the Commander rode off to find Dessy. Others staying behind to take care off me I send away to look for her as well. Ignoring wounds was becoming a daily activity for me, but they were no medics, they weren’t aiding anyone by sitting next to me.

So I was laying there, the only item I had with me when my life started, now in my weak blood-covered fingers. Holding the Arathi necklace I realized I never even knew if I was really one of the Arathor, the proud warriors which roamed the highlands long ago… I now realize I would’ve never been able to become one of those proud warriors in my whole life.

As the night grew older I tossed the symbol aside and embraced the overwhelming darkness of the night... The shadows surrounding me at that moment would never really disappear.


II. Switching sides and symbols

They kneeled around me, blue tabards, but I could not remember the faces, I knew the Commander was there, he had to be... I think.

They checked my body, my heartbeat and my wounds. Tried to read the condition of my body and failed to read the condition of my mind, failed to read my thoughts and views.

I don’t know if I was awake or asleep, alive or dead, possibly somewhere in between all of that, my body was shaking a little and exhausted. It was a broken useless corpse. I couldn’t move my hands through the grass; it was only burdened by morning dew… I wish it remained that simple for me…
I got carried to other places; I can’t name nor remember them.

They were discussing, hopelessly bandaging my wounds while words flew all around.
I was the subject, but it didn’t seem they were talking about how to heal a militia.
Angry voices, Disappointed voices, sad voices and eventually even emotionless voices.
It’s the only way… a sentence spoken on any of those tones and repeated more then anyone wished for, accompanied by sinister laughs, screams or something in between.

It must have been the dark mistress or some of her evil minions, but even voices which seemed to fit militia I had known were discussing how to fix me.
Not like a medic treats wounds, no… like a gnome talk about solving their tools and machines.

They wanted to turn me into a tool; it was either that or not turning me into anything at all…
Did they have the right to chose for me?
Did they have any other choices…?

They seemed to be in a hurry, I’m sure there would have been more options if time allowed it, but again the days weren’t kind to me.

I got dragged into dark places, dark deals were made and darkness became the thing saving me… wait… no, not me… just my body was saved… In my mind I was doomed.

I was made into one of the creatures I feared, one of those I fought and one of those I would’ve never wished to become… I changed my blue for black, my wounds for immortality and my life for death.

I kept my own mind and body; ironically others like me call me lucky… My skin is not rotten as theirs, my muscles and flesh not completely digested by whatever touched theirs after being buried or left to rot for a long time and I have gained the “honor” of serving Xariandra, the cruel mistress one of those which the lich king had great plans with… one of those I hated most at life.
I even believe she might’ve been the one personally doing this to me, from the clouded memories I got left I believe the militia chose this way of death for me above the one involving being buried or burned…
I believe their pact included the way I kept my own will and memory mostly; I was never yet forced to oppose Militia, not yet at least. Is this a way of respect they showed to my past life?
Is this a deal they made when they decided upon my fate? Or will I simply be saved for later use…


What I believe however is not worth much… These happenings are clouded by shadows for me.
I believe those things happened like that though, but who am I to believe now? My mind is not clear and I won’t ever return to the cathedral the same way as I used too… I lost my belief.

All that reminded of my past before I got raised at the cathedral was the medallion I carried when someone decided to put me on the cathedral stairs. Someone decided my life back then.
Now once again people decided on the way my life would go, I might’ve kept my own mind and thoughts… but was I ever really in control? Will I ever really be in control?

Now this medallion, this symbol will be the only item left reminding people off my past in the Militia, the one part of my life I chose myself!
I failed to find it when I later returned there, the house was empty at the time, the symbol of my former life gone. All I can do is hope that at least that small part remaining of me, is in hands which embrace it, as mine did before I embraced the darkness and woke up as a part of it…




((What exactly happened is up to the people (militia I hope?) who found me and up to Xariandra to decide if she made sure I got turned into a death knight personally or if the militia decided it would be the only way to sort off “save” me in time and some cruel fate or whatever got me pointed towards the cult.

I believe their pact included the way I kept my own will and memory mostly; I was never yet forced to oppose Militia, not yet at least. Is this a way of respect they showed to my past life?
Is this a deal they made when they decided upon my fate? Or will I simply be saved for later use…

Is also a thing that would need to be decided on by Xariandra/Pilus I guess, if they chose to keep me alive at this cost, I’m sure some deal was made or whatever discussion took place, it could give a lot of fun RP and allows me to switch between liking and disliking certain factions like the cult and the SWM.

Cause yes I would like to stay with the cult.
I’m re-rolling death knight and as you know my main is in the cult, I would at least like to keep that part of the Stormwind RP intact and will probably make a small alt in the militia to keep in touch. It’s up to you people who determines what happens/happened to me and who found my amulet and who keeps it now, etc.

Thanks for reading either way, hope you like it; I will decide on others opinions whether I will really use this as my story but even if your feedback is not positive FEEDBACK PLX

P.S. Originally posted on the SWMilitia forums, hence the point of view in the OOC-part))