The Story of Hallow
My name is Simon Hallow. I was human once but now I am forsaken, an undead monster. I can tell you this without self pity, for I was a monster long before the plague took me. I feel no guilt over my crimes now, and never did while I lived. My name is Simon Hallow, and this is my story.
I was born in a town of little consequence, and grew up much as any human boy grows up. I only dimly remember my parents now, and what I do remember is my father beating me, but I remember killing him when I was twelve years old. You're suprised? Don't be. He was passed out drunk on his bed, and it took little effort even for a boy to overcome him. Things weren't the same after that and my mother could never quite look me in the eye again, perhaps she became a little disturbed when I made her watch me dismember her husband. We told our few aquaintences in town that he had run away with a prostitute.
So yes, things were different after that, and my mother seemed to deteriorate. She turned to drink as my father had, and would wake screaming from her alcohol induced sleep convinced that I was trying to kill her. It was at this point I realised that I was different from other people, my mind did not work in quite the same way, my thinking was always clearer. I reflected constantly on my father's death, my own mortality, and my purpose in this world. These things seemed linked, but it was not until I killed my mother that the threads that would form my great vision finally came together into a glorious tapestry.
I cut as much skin from her body as I could manage with my unskilled hands, and as I watched her die I suddenly felt great joy, as if awakening into the world for the first time. My purpose was suddenly so clear that I could hardly believe it had eluded me for so long. It was to maintain this feeling of life that I was experiencing for the first time, already fading as I cut down my mother's corpse from the hook on which I had impaled her for convenient skinning. From that day onwards I lived to kill, to confirm my existence by ending the existence of others.
No longer having any reason to remain in the town of my birth, I left and travelled to the city of Stormwind. Here I will pass over the many unimportant details and events that shaped my path, and simply say that when I was fourteen, I found work in the household of a noble lord, Duke Graven Van Holdt. Van Holdt was a cruel man, and it amused him to strike his servants with the long sliver handled cane he always carried. As I was serving him at his table one evening, he brought the cane down upon my arm when I set a plate in front of him. I moved down the table and grabbed a knife, intending in my fury to cut his throat, however I was foiled by one of his ever present and alert bodyguards, who immediately grabbed me by the neck and threw me to the floor. The duke was suprised at my foolishness, and gestured to the guard to kill me. I remember the guard's grin as he drew his sword and advanced on me, and how quickly it turned to shock as I leapt at him without fear, and then horror as my wildly stabbing knife slid upwards off his leather armour, and buried itself in his throat.
Intrigued by my show of bravery and by my thirst for blood, Duke Van Holdt had me immediately placed under the supervision of the head of his household guard, a man named Kurt Darkblade. As I grew and trained under his iron fist, I learned that he was not only the captain of Duke's guards, but also his spymaster. After finding my personal calling years before, I had finally found my profession.
The Duke turned a blind eye to the gruesome murders that took place on his large estate, blaming some of the deaths on attacks by wild animals, having his spymaster cover up others, and blaming yet more on his many enemies. It was clear to him however that my rapidly growing talents had to be turned against those enemies before he lost too many of his servants and soldiers. And so my apprenticeship to Darkblade ended, and I was set loose as the Duke's agent, bringing fear to his rival lords as I satisfied my need to kill, as well as gathering information and sowing false rumors from deep within his enemies ranks.
I served him for many years as his agent, and for many more as his spymaster once my skills had surpassed those of Kurt Darkblade, and my mentor's corpse lay missing it's skin on the floor of his chamber. I still do not know why, but I felt a strange loyalty to Van Holdt that prevented me from killing him as was my instinct. Perhaps because he provided the means for me to find so many other victims.
So I served him for most of my human life until I was entering middle age, and had long since lost count of the lives I had ended and the skins I had taken. Then the Scourge came.
I was sent to investigate this new threat, but both the Duke and I had vastly underestimated its insidious power. I was captured as I infiltrated a scourge stronghold on the borders of human lands, and suffered all the tortures I had inflicted upon my countless victims. My flesh was cut and burned, hot spikes driven under my fingernails and when I still screamed defiance at my captors, my tongue was cut from my head. Eventually, as the life began to leave my body after many weeks of suffering, an unfamiliar being entered my cell. I raised my head from the blood soaked stone floor, and saw my fate in the dead, hollow eyes of a liche. I was turned, infected, and as I finally died I felt the presence of the Liche King in my mind, commanding me to serve him.
I served in the scourge army as a mindless zombie, and in an ironic twist of fate was present in the horde that overran Van Holdt's lands. It was only later, however, that I could take pleasure in the memory the man who had sent me to my death being torn apart by ghouls.
Some weeks later, I was by some chance separated from the Liche King's control and became one of the Forsaken. My memories returned, but the familiar need to kill seemed to have somehow been dulled by my own death. But my skills as a spymaster were as sharp as ever, and I could work around the disability of my missing tongue by simply writing letters to those with whom I would have spoken. I began to assemble a new network of spies amongst the undead, and to seek a new employer.