I don't believe in fate.

This world and this very instant is a composition of all the creatures and their action; whether it occurred in the past or is happening now is not important. It all ties to this instant. For every person, it's also the same story.

What we did, what we do is what we are.

When I learned my family had erased me from their memories and their minds, I knew it was becouse of my choice. They had already argued me on my previous actions, telling I would break apart from them, that I would have to lose my blood-bound family eventually. Trying to explain them that it was my only life mattered little. They would not understand. Even before I started anything, my family had brought it to a point where it was a matter of choosing between them or my plans.
I chose to follow my plans. I took my decision, they took theirs.

I remember how happy I was when I started training in magic. And I do remember how unhappy they were. I remember how proud I was when I learned my mentors had high hopes of me. And I do remember how my family disagreed my path.

Not long after, that night came to be. Most would call it a fateful night, but I don't believe in fate. It was my last night at home. I was going to leave to Dalaran for proper arcana training and my family was trying to put me down. They were worried that they wouldn't be able to see me for years. I wasn't. I had already seen them long enough and after my training ended, there would be more time to come. My mother then blew me the news. I was going to have a little sister. First, it didn't affect me much. But my family used the love of family and my pride against me. They talked me out to stay, so my sister doesn't grow a stranger to me and make sure she doesn't grow among some short-sighted fools alone. When I think of it, I find it hard to believe how I let them talk it out of me. It seems so unlikely, that most people would call it fate indeed. But I don't believe in fate. It was my decision, albeit affected by others.

Dalaran sent letter after letter for a few weeks and even sent a missionaire to recruit me and I refused every time. I didn't give up my dream so easily of course. I started practicing as a hedge wizard. But it was very hard to tap the arcane energies for sophisticated spells. I did my best, through the pregnancy of my mother, secretly but to no avail. I could've given up, I could've claimed it wasn't my fate. But I told you, I don't believe in fate. I decided not to give up, I decided not to break myself down becouse of difficulties. I kept on, trying to get the most out of the little I had.

One day, just the day my little sister was born, I succeeded in casting a summoning spell. As the power was unleashed smoke filled my room. I hoped I hadn't summoned anything noisy. I had no idea, you see, becouse I had made up most of the spell by assumptions and deriving from the few similar spells I was trained on. When the smoke cleared, I remember reaching my own mouth so that my gasp wouldn't be heard. I hadn't summoned a small elemental spirit, nor it was some animal from one of the planes. It was a demon. An imp, to be exact. When it started talking with me, I knew this was an opportunity. The imp presented me a dark griomire. A book of evil, a vile book of darkness. I knew my family would not approve. I knew noone would. But I also knew, it was now my only chance. I accepted. I started to train myself as a warlock.
Most would surely call it fate that, out of all possible summoning spells, I had summoned an imp looking for a master to itself and an apprentice to dark arts. As you already know, I don't believe in fate. It was becouse of what I learned before, that my assumption led me to summoning an imp and it was my lack of resources that I decided to accept its offer. Decisions and actions. Nothing else.

When my sister turned six, my secret was discovered. Everyone had been suspecting something for the last two years. I had found power much easier to unlock through the ways of demons and destruction. As I grew more powerful, I became reckless and careless. I let out clues that made people frown and ponder about what I had been doing in my room or what that noise they had heard was. My final mistake was proof of my arrogant ego: I had left a demon in my room without dismissing it. The demon wouldn't hurt anyone, it was a voidwalker's aspect in material world with no power to affect it, as long as I wanted else; but it was enough to cause ruckus and utter chaos in the house. My father was the one to discover it, thankfully, for he had seen the days of second war and remained rather calm. He let others know, I don't know how exactly he told them. But my family were so ashamed; they never let anyone in the town know of the situation. I tried to explain them how it was, I tried to explain them it was a result of what I had gone through, I tried to explain them I was in charge of my life. They wouldn't listen. They wouldn't understand.

Except for my little sister.

She would understand me. She was sent to bed during this inappropriate topic but she got out of her bed and told my family to support me. I remember her looking at me and smile. She knew I was chasing my dreams. Her experience so far was eating more candy than she's allowed to, but she knew it when she looked at me in the eyes. She wouldn't understand what it was actually about, but she knew what it meant to me. My family didn't change their mind of course. This time, they directly threatened me of banishment from the family. They thought I had no choice, nowhere to go. How could they know about the invitation of Gandling, who had found out about my hedge demonology through magical means? I calmly went to my room, packed up and went out. I felt the need of looking strong. My family needed to see how decisive I was. I didn't even say farewell to my sister. I didn't say anything at all. A part of me inside wanted for them to call me back. Tell me to end all of it and keep living together as if none of this happened. But there was just a deep silence that told more than any word that could be uttered.

When I arrived in Caer Darrow, I realized it wasn't a school for warlocks or out-of-place mages. It was a school of necromancy and I sensed there was more to know about it. I politely refused studying in there before even stepping in it. The Necromancer I talked wasn't happy about it but the succubus that I managed to summon took care of the job by her charms. I started wandering. Then the Third War came to happen. When I heard and saw people heading to my town to defend it, I just turned my face. They wanted me not, they had banished me. Why should I have to help them? I walked away. It was a hard time during the war, but my demons kept me safe. I had little time to study more grimoires. However, I had real combat experience, which came to be tasteful to my senses. I managed to survive.

After the War I made it to Stormwind where I found the warlocks hiding, but active. I started working for the Alliance. Southshore, Refuge Point, Menethil... The burning steppes, the blasted lands and Sillithus. And finally.. Outlands. Fighting for alliance gave me a purpose. I even had a lover, a pyromancer and it was a good, maybe the best part of my life, although with danger of death roaming around us everyday. We sought riches in the halls of Karazhan and found what we sought for. Then we helped the Shattered Sun's efforts. When the demon Kil'jaeden was defeated, we realized we had enough gold to settle and have a comfortable life for our future children. Our adventuring spirit, however, thought different. My partner decided to check out some crates we found right out of the inn we stayed. There was some grain in it and we didn't really understand what went on. Later that afternoon, my partner became sick. He was crawling with pain, sweating like a pig in the fiery pits of nether and crying and muttering senselessly in the bed. I decided it was time to find a priest rather than my treatment. It was then when my partner arose in the bed. Before my very eyes, his skin started to rot and drop off. His teeth grew without any proportion, some of them falling down and other growing too large. His hand and nails grew sharp like claws and his eyes, his beatiful eyes were now just two orbs hanging in and out of his eyeslots. I realized it was too late to do anything. I had no choice. Hm. This thing must be getting to me. Who am I kidding, I did have a choice. I could've somehow restrained him... I could've found a priest earlier. He could've not touched that box. It was choices and results and that was all it was about. I -don't- believe in fate.

After my partners demise, I was worried I had the plague myself and did start to feel awkward, feeling an abnormal heat and something crawling in me. I couldn't find the courage to go to a priest of light or a paladin. I knew what happened at Stratholme. I went out of city not to harm anyone and started to wander like a headless chicken. Maybe it was my demonic steed or my sub councious but I found myself in the doors of Scholomance. The lich was defeated and the Darkmaster slain some time ago. But it appeared that the Evil Academy was active once again. I was found in the state of crawling in pain by a Death Knight guardian. I barely remember them offering me "salvation", but I didn't care what they actually say. I accepted. I accepted their presence with my whole heart. I had noone to turn to and if the plague was back, surely the Scourge would be winners. I wanted to live the best of my life and losing my only life becouse of some ideals would be a great waste.

The plague had fused with the fel energies revolving in me. The necromancers saw me as a good investment and too valuable to raise just as a ghoul. When the dark acolytes removed the plague from me, I felt the loss of power. I could still cast my spells but being a caster in the Scourge would mean to be a necromancer and that looked like an inferior picking to me. I found the leader of guards, a Death Knight of power and offered myself to her, if she would find me worthy.

She did. Thus, I was born once again, as a Death Knight.

Many people know what happened to us after that. The Scarlets, Arthas, Tirion, the Ashbringer, betrayal and new loyalties...

Then came a day when I passed by my town. I never had the courage or the will to visit it before.  As a Death Knight, I felt little within. It had become a ghost town without ghosts. I walked among the houses. I barely felt the presence of spirits, but they wouldn't show themselves.

Except for my little sister.

There she was, my little sister Pamela, the only ghost of my hometown, Darrowshire. At that very moment I realized all my mistakes. My arrogant behaviour or my reactions against those who opposed me had caused me to abandon my town, abandon my little sister, my dear Pamela. I had forsaken the very person that understood me just to prove a point to those who hadn't. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking how she had died. Every single thought was worse than the others, but it mattered little in the end. She was dead. She had died alone. And now, she, her spirit, was lonely and scared. I wanted to believe in fate, wished to name this as inevitable. But I couldn't. Becouse I don't believe in fate. If I would be in town, I could've made a difference. Actions and results. My actions had cost me the life of my little sister. First time in my undeath presence I had felt something. I felt I died inside. I blamed myself for what happened.

I tried to talk to her but she wouldn't even recognize me. I tried to help her with the best I could. I went through a chain of deeds and disturbing memories to try and find a way to somehow repair the damage I had caused. I ended up in re-living the fight in my homeland, Darrowshire. None of the spirits recognized me, very likely that most didn't even feel my presence. But in the end, I managed to free my father's spirit from his unrest, by accepting his forgiveness. He and Pamela met again, as spirits, and as the deceased father and daughter found each other, they found peace. For a moment, I thought my dear sisters spirit smiled at me and looked at me in the eyes, as she had done years ago; as if she understood and accepted me. For a moment I thought my father nodded me with respect.

When they vanished without a sound, I was left there alone. How much of this has been real, I did not know. All I knew was I had done something very wrong but had means to repair at least some of the damage I had caused. How I swiftly changed into these thoughts after seeing the spirits of my family was disturbing; however, feeling -something- was more than enough for me to give me motivation and reason to fight.

Now I wander the land, fight the enemy and support my allies. I now have absolutely no one. No family, no lover, no friends. Peace will I never have but vengeance will be mine.