The gauntlet clad hand gripping the goblet of fel wine was emitting a creaking sound as it was raised to the pale, cracked lips of the man it belonged to. Wilfred Ravenscar was not pleased to see the gathering before him. The Death Knight renegade was never pleased to see Bordren. �You vex me again, Paladin. And this time you bring -friends-.� The gutteral churning of the Knight�s voice was almost melodic if it didn�t also come maligned with cruelty and anger. Clipped words and an almost disinterested pause in the middle, but not to be outmatched by the venom that came with the final word. He stood, all seven feet of him creaking with the armor he bore. The man�s face was pale, framed by well kept bone white hair. Riathan stood uneasily with his friends, in the old dilapidated mansion that once belonged to the Bordren family. Jaclynia backed up the group, the Priestess�s staff lined with light and warding back some of the darkness. Riathan held Lion�s Claw out in front of him, the curved family greatsword shuddering with constrained light. His vengeance was screaming to be let loose, the light almost burning within him. �I seem to live to vex you, Wilfred. It�s been too long, I�m sure you�ll agree.� A large form stepped up beside him, a Draenei warrior, Falovar, heavy axe resting on his shoulder. A dwarven Shaman was off to the side, twin hammers arcing off bolts of lightning as he swept them at a few of the undead ghouls that wandered too close. �Ah don�t like it lad, the spirits are giving me all sorts a� warnings!� Tilgrim was always uneasy, it was in the dwarf�s nature. He was wise, and a fierce fighter, but when it was his friends, he was always overly cautious. The Death Knight stood there, sizing up the group, his gaze cold and calculating. He lifted a hand and motioned towards them, which was followed by the sound of a large, lumbering behemoth stampeding out of the nearly hidden alcove beside the Death Knight�s throne. The group scattered quickly, bolts of light coming from Jaclynia�s staff, Riathan�s blade flashing out, and arcs of thunder and bursts of magma and earthy coming from Tilgrim. Falovar charged past all of them, the Draenei yelling out in mid-leap. �Falovar, no!� Riathan shouted out, watching in horror amidst his combat with the behemoth. He watched in almost slow motion as the Death Knight, let out a curdling laugh. He was turning and thrusting out his enchanted rune blade, puncturing through the warrior�s breastplate and out through his back. Riathan�s scream carried back into the waking world, shooting upright in his cot, drenched in sweat. He paused, looking around at the few other people passing by him in the barracks. A few calmed immediately when they saw his expression. War was hell, was probably the thought going through their heads. Reaching down to the floor, Riathan grabbed his libram and held it to his chest, resting his forehead on the engraved metal frame of the cover. �What is happening to me?� He sat for a long moment, searching for that memory, and it slowly became certain that this was one of his many �lost memories�. A memory from his time during the cataclysm, before his return to the Templar�s fold. He pulled himself from his cot, pulling on his clothes and going to find someone to talk to.