It felt good to no longer feel. I was free, no longer bidden to move this flesh. There had been so much loss, and my heart could take no more. I closed and sealed the crypt from within, settled down at my desk and opened my favorite book. I could not tell you when the candles burnt out, nor when I stopped turning the pages. Nor when the first spiders began to spin their webs along my hands, nor when my eyes dried out and the fire within extinguished.
It was a good death. Far better than the ones I had experienced before. It allowed me to dream.
In my dreams, I was reborn a warrior. Rictus musculature gripping pitted steel and fighting twisted beasts is what I recall of them. There were others there, and we fought for honor and some for glory, but we fought. I learned the ways of the dead beyond what I could learn on Azeroth. Still, the secrets of necromancy paled in the visceral cradling of the blade and axe. The world was alive, welcoming. I had almost forgotten my past. My sense of self. My identity.
Something happened. The dream became a nightmare and the betrayal of my paradise has sent me back. I am here again. Whole. My flame grows. It is weak, but soon I will revive in full. I do not know what has happened, but I must seek out my old allies and see what has befell them. Do they even exist? Will I even exist or am I just a mere memory of a corpse?
I am Insein L’Mort, Magus of the Tears of Draenor. Emissary to the Templars of the Rose.
How long have I been dreaming?