My name is Ironsoul and if you couldn't already tell I am a Myrmidon of the Cath Bruig race. My body has long since decayed and my mind is ravaged by the plague of the undead. I still retain my free will, although boughts of uncontrollable rage may overcome me from time to time.
I wear a large full-length black cloak over my entire body and tend to keep to myself since I cannot communicate well with others. I speak only the Bruig language and can therefore only communicate with veterans of the Heron Guard or the learned and educated scholars of the land.
I still carry a pair of gridaksma blades under my robe for protection. Since I do not need to sleep or eat I can go just about anywhere I please, even the harshest of environments. I travel mainly under the cover of night, lest I be discovered and hunted by the people who fear my appearance.
I have befriended many in my long life, but few still survive today. I knew the Ghôl leader Fang-Grinder during the war, and have heard the bards tell stories of his demise. I even came across a wandering Heron Guard in the time after I regained my control. He tried to assist me as best he could, but even his rejuvenating powers were of no assitance. I wish I knew what became of my friend, for I am almost certain that he would be alive now. But I dare not seek him out, for entering the gates of Muirthemne would only bring back too many painful memories about the war and almost certainly get me destroyed.
Oh the memories, they are the only thing I can still recall with great accuracy. I guess that is the curse of our bargin, to wander the earth with only those evil thoughts filling our minds, all the time while our bodies decay and we become less of a man and more of an undead abomination. But from what I can piece together my story begins like this...
I was born in Stöng in the year 2154 A.E. At the age of 18 I joined the ranks of the Myrmidons and soon learned the ways and code of the warrior. When I was in my mid-late 20's an evil force began to consume our land. At the head of this darkness was a figure who called himself Ashfear, which translates into Balor in the modern tongue. He was a worthy opponent and offered us a truce on rather generous terms. In return for allowing him to move freely through our lands he would grant us with eternal life, or so he said. Of course our leaders were skeptical and volunteers were selected to receive this gift.
As it turned out the effects were truly amazing. Not only could we regenerate our wounds within seconds, but also our bodies would obey our commands in every way. We could hold our breath for hours at a time, and go for days without eating or sleeping. Little did we know that these effects were only temporary. Our entire clan of warriors soon underwent the treatment just as the others had done, until we all produced similar results. With such an astounding gift and at the beckoning of such a powerful sorcerer, visions of grandeur clouded through our minds and we soon joined him and began to venture into the Western lands.
There were others with him, his generals if you would call them that. And in return for our service our leader Bonespliter was appointed to such a position. We gathered our power and saw such dark magic that even we could not believe it. The dead walked among us again and soon after there were many types of undead as well, some with such destructive power that anything within the direct vicinity would be obliterated by its destructive force.
As our army of fallen soon amassed, we came upon the seat of the Cath Bruig Empire, Muirthemne. We were sent ahead to try and secure the southern pass of Bagrada through the Cloudspine Mountains. This is where we faced off against the Heron Guard and were defeated for the first time in as long as we could remember. But we had managed to provide Balor with enough time and in 2431 A.E. the city of Muirthemne was sacked, burned and destroyed. Soon the entire Cath Bruig Empire fell to pieces and our conquest had begun.
In our vanity we had not seen the truth about ourselves. We had become the most wretched of creatures. We became the very undead that we despised so much. But our minds were too far-gone to help us now. Rage had consumed us and we pushed forward with the strongest of wills. It wasn't until the fall of Balor at Rhi'anon that the strength of the spell was broken and we regained our control.
We soon ventured back to our homelands, only to find them completely ruined. In our absence one of Balor's generals had destroyed our villages and killed all of their inhabitants. So we wandered the earth with no place to call our own. I learned to control my mind and prevent further decay, although what was already lost I could never regain. I have scattered memories of my life before the war, foremost of my son, Jarvis. He was just a boy back when I left and I wonder what ever became of him in my absence. I only hope he was able to escape before the village was utterly devastated by the darkness I helped to create. I guess I will never know the truth...
