My Blood Elf DK:

My name was Lorien Alluvenna. I lived on the Sunstrider Isle and had just reached my maturity before the Scourge came. Despite the pleas of my mother, who wished for my beauty as great as it was, to be used in gaining a husband and those of my father, who sought to raise my career as a singer for my voice was like birdsong; I wished for the path of the warrior. I, whose two elder brothers, were paladin and ranger, desired nothing more than following in their noble footsteps. I secretly enrolled, and it was then that I took up arms against the Scourge invasion. I stood ground as one of the last few on the isle, then nothing.

When I awoke to the voice of the Lich King, I was already dead. Time had come and gone, and the lives of those I had known were mere whispers on the wind. Breaking free of his control, my senses came back to me. In the mirror I saw myself for the first time in years, and felt so little. My face, once a crowning glory of high elven beauty, was scarred, stitched and sewn back together, curling my lip and cutting my eye, a thick grin of a knife under my chin, where the deathblow must have come. This death too had robbed me of the wonder that had been song, my voice echoing, cold and dead, hollow perhaps. I wasn’t Lorien any longer, she had died bravely despite the wishes of her family. Instead, I was Bhryn, I decided. Bhryn. It sounded like the grave. It was good enough.

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