The wind roars as I hold my staff to keep me grounded. Things are different since I have risen. Where a hardy strong leg was is nothing but bone and old sinew. Tendons dried and parts I am sure important long decayed and fallen. It’s the life of the dead, or the undead if you will. My fortitude keeps me afloat well enough, being able to use the light may be hypocritical for my kind but when death gives you Moonberry, you make Moonberry juice.
Lately I’ve heard whispers of mourns and scourge as well as lich as I pass through the Undercity. Northrend sounds inciting enough. After all, with my last adventure in the Outlands being well and done, a tale fair enough for the collections inside of the Scarlet Monastery along with other sonnets, stories and legends of yesteryear. Not much else to do once returned from the grave I suppose.
This old staff that doubles as a walking stick has served me very well. My bones creak as I stand and make way towards my next journey though the front gates of the city of the Forsaken. I make way to the tower that houses the old Zeppelins that have escorted me many times before. Goblin ran of course, they keep it going as well as their pockets are full. As I enter I am awaited by a long line of other adventurers that must have heard the whispers. The crowd looks as if the the great sea appeared outside my quite city. If I guessed I’d have to say about ten to thirteen thousand of them.
I grip my staff and sigh. I’ll be here awhile.