It's hard to say where things truly started, as coming back from the land of the dead tends to leave quite a few holes in one's memories. Not to mention one's natural body parts and functions. The question of origin remains nonetheless and requires some sort of intelligent line of questioning to discover a plausible source. The best intuitive response, due to size of his skeletal form would suggest one of two possible intelligent races currently residing in the lands of Azeroth. Human, or Blood Elf. Now due to the simple fact, his expertise lay in the field of close quarters melee and heavy armor toting craziness, it could be reasoned that a blood elf frame would just be too frail to accept the constant abuse and punishment he receives, not to mention who would want to have the frilly little girly-man physique to call one's own? Yes, it would be better to assume one came from human ancestry for a beginning of sorts.
The one thing that is true no matter which way you look at coming back from the dead, is that indeed you had to die to get there. So, somewhere along the line Dekoven found himself dead, and most likely not in a pleasant sort of way.
Death comes to all living creatures, large or small, rich or poor, etc. etc. Regardless of which Dekoven was dead then became less dead, and then not dead at all, but still dead. You understand what I'm saying, right? Good, moving right along. So he found himself in the limbo, that is a place where the dead hang out, even though in all actuality he wasn't completely dead, or wasn't completely so, just yet. Traveling through the nether realms found him not much in the way of fun, sport, women, or anything really worth thinking or mentioning about anyways, but it did find him face to face with a very scary looking person who was also dead, well not dead, but close to dead, though not dead, yet. The Lady herself, Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen. After a couple hellos, pleasantries and small talk, after all, what is there really to do in the nether realm, he found himself in the land of the living again, however he wasn't living, so it made it all the more interesting.
And so the years passed and things grew stranger still. Memories forgotten, the feelings and emotions that came with the living flesh slowly faded and eventually nothing remained but the skeletal remains controlled like a marionette by the strings of a trapped soul. Years went by, the world grew gray and Dekoven became what he now was in all aspects. Eating from corpses, a mind so fleeting from it's earthly form that not even the most powerful of seductions could entice him for but more than a fleeting moment. He was Forsaken and he loved it.
Magic did not come with his new form, nor did a gross amount of intelligence, however a cunning, unlike any other had sprung forth within him. Mastery of all weapons was his forte, his small form, with barely attached tendons, was fast, agile, and capable of much punishment as he soon learned. Bones aged, dried, but became far from brittle. They toughened, whatever dark socery held his spirit to the world was indeed making sure his cage of rotten flesh and bone was one that would not be easily broken.
His mastery with weapons of all kinds became a religion. He studied them day and night, slaying everything he came across in passionless glee. He killed for pleasure, though a smile never touched his lifeless lips. Any remnants of humanity slowly faded to the dust with his old life and a killing machine was spawned from the ashes. He grew to hate the world only for the simple reason that the world hated him.
Until something changed. Or should I say, someone changed him.
His enemies grew numerous, though they died just as swiftly, his inexorable rampage of destruction came to an end one day when he was summoned by the undying prince located deep within the libraries of Dire Maul.
His first audience with the specter left him seeking what remained of his tattered husk and tattered pride to find recluse in a solitary lifestyle.
That brush with an undying death changed something within him, it sparked a memory of a time long past, something that was missing in his combat, a style long since buried, had pulled itself to the surface through his suffering.
His blood encrusted axe fell from his hand as he pulled forth a large round object from the darkness.
A shield became an extension to his left arm, fusing to the bone after countless new trials. Denizens could no longer crush him. Attacks against him met the impenetrable wall that he had become. He pushed down the challengers, one by one, but the Prince was always on his mind. He would slay the bastard for what he had started, but thanks would be given as well.
He was reborn, for a third time and the new processes that worked through him made him only stronger.
Outsiders, came to him, invited him within their fold. These things were new to him, but they felt right, in a way. Other Forsaken understood him and their wailing souls found a strange sort of comfort in the shared bondage. With their aid he once again sought an audience with the Prince.
That day was short, and the audience was over quicker than was necessary, but Dekoven had learned a few things that day. With a nod in thanks to the corpse that slowly leached the remaining warmth from it's husk through the pooling blood that grew beneath it, Dekoven smiled.
With the aid and allies he had gained, even the greatest forces of the world took pause, something had changed. A small grain of sand had bumped a slightly larger piece. In turn they both set a few larger pebbles rolling and as the pebbles grew in size to boulders and beyond it became clear that a new force was beginning to take hold in the world. A solitary wanderer fell in line with others, soon the nomadic tribe joined ranks with other tribes and their numbers grew. They began pillaging even the darkest places of the world filling their coffers with the goods like vagabonds in the night.
Then the world shifted, the black portal crackled with energy, and reopened to the worlds beyond. They set out, pathfinders on a mission of discovery and conquest.
It was good to be an Outcast.
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