Azeroth’s Death Track

I often ask myself, what is the point of death?

You see, I've been dead for too long, and I still don't have an answer to this simple question that will satisfy everyone.

At the beginning, I thought death was the end, the end of all things, representing despair, pain, coldness, and death.

However, I soon discovered that my understanding of death was too ordinary, no different from those of mortals, which hindered me from continuing to explore the deeper power of death, so I began to concentrate on research...

Tyrion sat cross-legged on the ground of the Seat of Naaru in Shatar City. In this dark scene, he was like a teacher who preached and dispelled doubts, teaching a newcomer who had just learned about death. His own precious knowledge, and in front of his eyes, the prophet Velen was holding the body of his son, and he knelt on the ground, letting his blood-stained robes be stained with ashes and stains.

The seal of the Draenei leader filled with holy light on the prophet's forehead has long been broken. Now he seems to be very old, a dying person who has reached the end of his life, and seems to be crushed by some painful thing. Witnessing the original blood being strangled by his own hands, witnessing the most important person in his life die by his own sword... This is a real human tragedy.

His eyes are no longer shining, they are no longer filled with the brilliance of the stars like before, no longer like the wise man who has mastered all the mysteries of the stars, his eyes are cloudy, filled with dullness and pain, making him It looks like a statue of a crucifixion.

This is perhaps the most substantive interpretation of suffering...

A story about family love, hatred and killing, and the only witness to this story is the agent of death sitting beside him chattering, who likes to appreciate all tragedies and comedies, Tyrion Dawnblade.

Hey guy!

Tyrion stretched out his fingers and snapped them in front of the sluggish Velen. He tried to attract the prophet's attention in this way. He asked softly:

You know, after I stepped into death at a deeper level, what kind of truth did I realize?

The Prophet didn't answer, he didn't want to answer, he didn't want to pay attention to anything, he just wanted to just hold his son, stay here so quietly, just so quietly...die.

In fact, he wished now that Tyrion would swing his sword and give him a good blow so that he could meet his son in Hell.

At this moment, Velen felt like a monster without a heart. Maybe what his son said to him before he died was true. He was a monster... a monster shaped by the Holy Light. !

It was a choice. Everything Lakish did was torture. If Velen calmed down and thought about it, he would discover the deep disappointment behind Lakish's questioning.

It's a pity that Velen finally chose faith between his family and faith. He didn't even spend a little more time to investigate Lakish's identity, just because this demon was about to destroy a naaru, an old friend.

Faith, at that moment, blinded his eyes.

Made him do things he could never forgive himself for.

Oops.

The great lord looked at him without saying a word, as if he had completely sealed himself off as a prophet, he shrugged, and in the darkness, he took out two of the best cigars from the cigar box he carried with him, and appeared in the black fire After lighting it, he put one of them into the Prophet's hand and enjoyed the other himself, and while he was breathing, he said to the Prophet:

Put aside all the advice about health, you see, doing bad things is obviously more harmful to health than these enjoyments... Come on, this thing can make you tense Let me relax for a moment, my discussion with you is not over yet.

Do you know what I saw and what I learned after you stepped into death?

Tyrion's voice floated and flowed in the darkness, like a poisonous snake winding forward in the deep light curtain, spitting out vicious letters, winding around the body of the prophet bit by bit. The lingering voice said in the prophet's ear:

I was wrong, death is not cold, it is not heartless, it is not ugly...it is beautiful, passionate, just, it is a blessing! An ultimate interpretation of freedom and order, you Look, in this world, not everyone can live in the way they imagined, but anyone can arrange their own death at will...

That is the last struggle of the incompetent against the indifference of the world! But unfortunately, death will not forgive anyone... Whether you are a powerful man or a humble farmer, whether you are an evil person who has thrown himself into darkness, still...

Tyrion's voice stopped, and he let out a short laugh:

It's still a...prophet who claims to be able to predict the future!

It is punishing you! Velen...for the deaths you bore, for the innocent souls of Draenor who died because of you, for those screams of pain that echoed in the Black Temple, for the desperate cries of Shattrath, Ty Those that never rest in the ruins of the Moor...do you see that?

The great lord patted the prophet on the shoulder, and he lowered his voice:

Look, they're right behind you...they beg death to punish you, that's their last hope, and death never disappoints them! Your son told you he's atoning for you, and he said Really...he died in your place, and you, you are still alive, but a meaningless shell, your heart is dead long ago...before you got too caught up in your beliefs and neglected The moment reality hits, your heart dies.

Of course, you can continue to pray for the Holy Light, the omnipotent Holy Light...Maybe, it can bring back your son?

Tyrion's sarcasm was like a heavy hammer, beating between the fragmented mind of Prophet Velen, causing his already bad state to slide rapidly into a worse scene, echoing in that body Under the impact of despair and pain, a trace of seeping blood emerged from the prophet's chapped lips, and an abnormal blush also appeared on his blue face.

You...what the hell are you trying to say...

The Prophet raised his sleeve and wiped the blood stains from the corner of his mouth. He glanced at the burning cigar in his hand. This broken old man held his son's body in one hand, and with the other hand, he put the never-contaminated enjoyment in the holy place. Putting the addictive temptations in the teachings of light on his lips, he took a deep breath of smoke, and between low coughs, the prophet said in an inaudible voice:

If you can help me, then speak...

If you laugh at me then go away! I need quiet and so does my Nouri... I want to be with him, I haven't been with him for too long, I'm not in the mood... and I don't have time to listen You say this!

There was an undisguised disgust in that hoarse voice, it was obvious that Old Velen no longer planned to make any further acquaintances with Tyrian.

The High Lord wasn't offended by the Prophet's bad attitude, and he wasn't a villain! please! The poor old man in front of him just died of his son, can't he let him vent his distress?

I am Lord of the Dead, Velen, my friend.

The great lord put his hands on his knees sitting cross-legged, and he said plausibly in the dark:

Perhaps in life, you people either worshiped the holy light, or worshiped evil energy, or believed in those strange things of nature, but after death... you all belong to me!

I came here to generously provide you with a useful means, a means to replace powerless pain and meaningless self-blame! A means to regain dignity in the face of death!

As he spoke, he took out an exquisite small bottle from the lining pocket of the swordsman's robe. It was made of crystal and looked like a potion made by alchemists. , the rippling liquid in the small bottle exudes a colorful and gentle halo in the darkness, as if shrouded in a layer of moon veil.

This is the means I will offer you, my friend.

Let me introduce it to you. This is a treasure that my lovely daughters accidentally found during an expedition. Oh, it may not be called a treasure. In short, on the continent of Pandaria, the treasure that has been passed down for thousands of years , the legend about the Fountain of Youth...It is said that as long as you drink a sip of the spring water, you can get real immortality without any side effects. It is a treasure bestowed by the gods to the luckiest people...Hearing this, you may ask , does this thing really exist?

There was a strange smile on Tyrion's face:

Of course it exists! It's here!

However, there is no perfect thing in this world, and this spring water can't make you live forever. Ordinary people like to add their own imaginations to such legends, and then between word of mouth, it will become It's getting more and more outrageous, but in fact, it only has one effect...a very simple, but very, very important effect for you now.

Life Transformation!

The high lord handed the crystal bottle filled with the fountain of youth to Velen, and he said:

Give your dead son a drink, and then drink another sip yourself, your immortal life will flow like a fountain, pouring into your son's dead body, and he will be resurrected... even He'll be healthier than ever! He'll be immortal like you, he'll be your successor, and you...

Tyrion's voice became extremely indifferent at this moment:

you will die!

boom

The crystal bottle was grabbed by Velen in a rude way. Without the slightest hesitation, he was about to unscrew the bottle and pour the spring water into his son's mouth. But at this moment, Tyrion's faint voice came. Come:

Is it really so urgent? The evil energy is infecting little Nuri's body and soul like the poison of the tarsus. Is it really wise to resurrect him without any treatment? Or, Velen, do you want your resurrection? son, continue to be Kil'jaeden or Sargeras' lackey? Let him continue to be the destroyer of all things... Is it really okay to do this?

Velen's movements froze in mid-air. The next moment, the high lord placed his cold hand on Velen's shoulder, and he said:

As hardworking fathers like you and me, you always hope to create a perfect and bright future for your children. I know what you think in your heart, Velen, you hope that your son can become the savior of the Draenei , to be the liberator of Argus...you want him to become a legend, I know that, and I also hope that my daughter can do something great...

Remember Velhari?

Tyrion uttered a name that made Velen clench his fists:

Velhari didn't escape from the Legion, she experienced the redemption of death, of course, she is mine, I believe you already know this, don't be angry... What I want to tell you is, My subordinates perfectly dealt with the evil energy in Velhari's body, turning her back into a healthy and beautiful Draenei girl, I can save her, I can also save Nuri, and save your son.

The great lord said that at this moment, he stopped talking, but Velen had a premonition from Tyrion's silence... After a while, the prophet stood up tremblingly, and he looked at the sitting cross-legged in front of him. The great lord on the ground, he asked in an obscure voice:

What do you want me to do?

Awesome!

Tyrion clapped his hands and said like a happy child:

It's great that everyone understands the Dark Blade's style now. As for what I want you to do...let me think.

The great lord stretched out his fingers and rubbed his forehead. After a moment of thinking, he tilted his head and looked at the prophet in front of him. He whispered:

I want you to be a... Avenger!

There is no kindness, there is no bottom line, those evil things that Kil'jaeden did to you and your family, I hope you will multiply it by ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times! Don't be soft-hearted! Don't give up halfway!

I hope you will cruelly tear away every piece of flesh and blood of the fraudster and break every bone of him in front of me! Let him kneel like an old dog with a broken spine in the most painful wailing In front of me, weeping and begging me to give him a merciful death...

And I...I will reject him! His skull will become my favorite collection, and his blood-stained bones will be the starting point of your dark journey...

The eternal despair and torment of Kil'jaeden, will be Velen the Avenger, will be your wildest proof of the dark power of the stars! And you... you will be the first knight with the Darkblade Kill the death lord of Argus, and you will plant the banner of death, the hunting sound of Dark Blade, on the top of the burning throne of Argus with your own hands!

In that cold and dead way, declare Dark Blade's absolute control over Argus! There, that world... will become Dark Blade's new fortress, it will become the dawn of the age of death, and I will also harvest a treasure worthy of collection. The... Death Titan!

Tyrion narrowed his eyes, looked at the prophet in front of him, and said softly:

How is it? What is your answer to this request you cannot refuse?