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This article is a player character biography page The contents herein are entirely player made and in no way represent official World of Warcraft history or occurrences which are accurate for all realms. The characters and events listed are of an independent nature and applied for roleplaying, fictional, speculative, or opinions from a limited playerbase only. |
Lord Aivoe Darkhallow
| Aivoe Darkhallow | |
|---|---|
| Faction | [[Alliance/Scourge]] |
| Gender | Male |
| Level | 62 |
| Race | Human |
| Class | Death Knight |
| Talent Spec | Frost/Unholy |
| Professions |
 [Runeforging], Archaeology, First Aid. |
| Realm | Shadow Council |
| Guild | Campaign of Darkhallow |
Aivoe Darkhallow was born in Gilneas to a wealthy family, he cared little for his family's profits and buisnesses and chose instead to live in the City with his sister, and with time inherited his family's estates. He eventually moved to Lordaeron, trying to get away from his surname's history and looking for a purpose. The chance arose during the second war, but his enlistment was denied because of his age. After the war he upped for another enlistment, and was granted the rank of 
[Corporal] and acted as a footman. He progressed throught the few short years into a hardy knight and was sent out to quell the rebellious orcs in the internment camps under Uther the Lightbringer and later Arthas Menethil. Under Arthas's command at Andorhal, Darkhallow was supposedlly killed by a random Necromancer. It was later revealed to him that he never actually died. He was recrafted into a Death Knight as a contingency if Arthas failed. He did not appreciate this position, and insteasted decided to claim the Kingdom of Azeroth as his own where he would wage war against his former Prince. He based his outpost in duskwood and traveled through Elwynn Forest into Stormwind itself, his first campaign failed, thwarted by refugees of Lordaeron and Gauldrin of the Silver Hand. He was captured and imprisoned in the Cathedral of Light as Wrynn decided what to do with a man who would only benifit form death. He recently escaped due to efforts of Bazil Thredd sneaking off in the armor of a Stormwind Guard. His current whereabouts are unknown, although some believe he's scouting Kingdom of Azeroth as an adventurer, looking for a new way to crown himself in the ancient keep.
References
"Lord Darkhallow" was a random Death Knight Hero in Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos and Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne
Titles and Nicknames
Lord Aivoe Darkhallow: Recived the title Lord in his home kingdom of Gilneas, keeping it after his move to Lordaeron.
Knight: Was trained as a Knight prior to the outbreak of the Plague of Undeath. Served under Arthas Menethil as a knight until Andorhal.
The Tyrannous King, The Rabid Lord, etc. : Reference to him as the second Scourge King
The Rogue Prince: Referenced by Arthas's advisors, The Lich King greatly dislikes the fact that the Burning Legion had a back-up plan for his failures.
Life's bane: Granted by his combat prowess, baneing opponents quickly and with ease. Also a double reference to the blight occasionally trailed in his wake.
The Contingency: Used by the Burning Legion, obvious.
Blood in the Snow: Used by the Paladin Gauldrin in a conversation with a footman left in Northrend when trying to conceal the conversation's details.
Frostgaze: Used by survivors of the assault on Stormwind Keep during the third war, who witnessed the blue haze eminating from his corneas.
Darkheart, Stillheart: A reference to his unfeeling, little actually know of his condition. Darkheart is also a reference to his runeblade Bloodreaver. Stillheart was coined by the blue wyrm Sargetha when she couldn't hear his heartbeat.
Vampire and related slurs: Most think that Darkhallow acctually siphons the blood out of his opponents, while in truth it is his Runeblade.
The Option: Forsaken, Knights of the Ebon Blade, and Loyalists to the Scourge but not under the control of the Lich King all employ this when discussing loyalties.
Weapon
Darkhallow carries the runeblade Bloodreaver, a vampiric two-handed sword crafted by the Burning Legion.
Mount
Darkhallow rides atop Argos, his warhorse from when he was a knight. He carries a special bond with his hooved friend.
Pages from Aivoe's Autobiography
I was in Androhal, in autumn. Serving under Uther the Lightbringer and Prince Arthas Menethil, quelling an orc rebellion and investigating the scourge. We were destroying an infected grainary, a plague was washing over Lorderan, turning the populace into the nightmares we had as children. Easy enough to kill. But there were worse, and we were about to reunite with them. There were dark things from the bowels of hell that made up the scourge, the least were Necromancers, mages of death. They retained thier humanity in the armies of un-life. There where real ghouls, living disfigured corpses with only the need to feed and the want of bloodshed. Abominations, giant creatures crudley sewn together many with pieces falling from thier ireggular form. Statues that would come alive and terrorize our skies. We were sure there was more undiscovered horrors that plagued other lands, or that the Cultists were raising into thier armies. This day, we had just touched a torch to the grainary filled with the unholy disease when they came upon us. One of the corrupt mages charged with cannibalistic monstrosities and the great bound beasts toward our line.... I remember my death..... The necromancer immolated five of us, called a rain of fire down upon Arthas and the men around him, and I lost my breath as a green glow emitted from his hands . My steed was comsumed by the flames as I was strangled by the very air I breathed. My vision blurred, I witnessed great butchers carving our troops, others being consumed alive by the dark creatures of the grave...then the abyss consumed me.
I awoke on an altar of blood, snow falling upon my visage. My murderer stood before me, offering me a weapon to his demise. I accepted, hesitating to take his life. "Where have you taken me?" I barked. "I have not taken you anywhere, you have travelled. You, knight."His withered voice was unfitting to his stable stance. "Where are my Brothers?" "Some stand before you.." It was then I noticed, the footmen and dwarven rifleman of our expedition were now disfigured living corpses. Barely recognizable nightmares. Mindless. Feeding on old rotten hues near an ancient crypt. "...others spreading the plague, still more mere bones at the site of our meeting." He seemed full of himself. "And what of me? What have I become?" I could hear whispers all around, haunting screams from within my skull, my flesh cold, my heart still. "You have been reborn, able to fufil your destiny. To cripple your enemies in ways you've never even imagined. You no longer need the feeble neccesities of life. Your bindings have been torn from you. Your ties to Lordaeron are broken, you are a knight of Death. This is your new home, your new legion. These are your new brethren, joyous to die by your side." His voice trembled with his age. "If I am to be free, I am free to choose what I serve." "Aye, The Choice is yours." "Agreed..." clenching my teeth I plunged the tip blade through his left kidney, he screamed in agony. "My destiny is my own." "We can only match, move by move, the machinations of fate..." I tore the runed blade from him, and reintroduced it to his heart. He laughed, joyously, while he fell to the ground. Blood gurgled into his jaunt, overflowing at his mandible. I looked across the blighted war camp. This is to be my new empire. These nightmares, my new subjects. "I, am your new king..." The crowd roared.
I walked down the stone stair to the dying earth below me, the place seemed familiar, Brill. The Silver Hand shall make an attempt to purge this place...Let them come. I gathered a small guard to explore my new home, taking note to have one of the big ones with us. The old town rotted away in an undeath, new structures raised in an unorderly fashion about town. I noticed a few living beings here humans of the Cult of the Damned, gathered about a pool sacrificing themselves... chanting. I ordered the butcher to dispose of them declaring "There shall be no religions during my rule." The abomination made short work of them, bugling imbecilic remarks and returning as he finished each batch we came across. Toward the outskirts of town I found a Temple of the Damned, curious, I headed inside paying no heed to the wizards who bowed before me as I entered. One beckoned me to a new altar, clean, stone. I reluctantly abliged, tighting my grip on my murderous sword. "This is your new Adornment my Sovereign, cast by elves, reinforced by dwarves, the mail hand crafted by Mekgineers in Gnomeragon, and the cloth hand weaved by the magi of Dalaran." "And of this?" I held my new sword aloft, still ready to seperate his neck from his torso. "It is the Bloodreaver, A sword specifically designed for you. Forged in the fires of Blackrock, it is thorium, inscribed with runes allow the flow of magics. It is designed to enhance you in combat." I surveyed the room, dark preists, acolytes chanting nonsense into pools of darkness, practices of dark magics. I sat and began to undress, "This place is foul, it reeks of the daemons of our histories." "We call to them to serve you, mi'lord." "I have enough...creatues, at my side." To my cadre, "Purge them." I finished donning the new armor while they sacked it, making sure to keep a few necromancers alive. I planned on turning this twisted place into a school of elven magi. Once we were finished, we strolled out of the Temple and continued our travels west, away from my former Kingdom. They were not my problem, not yet anyway. We stumbled upon a band of thieves that were plagueing my old home, and after executing them we took thier spoils. We traveled for days, my servants dined on forest troll, worgen, elf, dwarf, dog, and bear flesh. Our party continued up a hill, discovering a dragon roost at the brim. The dragons tirred and awoke from her psuedo slumber. A grin shone on my face. "And so, you have come. What agenda has carried you to this place?" Her voice was as a summer rain. "I am grasping at my bearings, understanding my new life and exploring my newfound abilities." "Your presence has bore horrid news upon my roost, Stillheart!" "I mean no harm, I do not bind myself to the dark cults of this place, I seek to found a new city where I can be free from the persecution of my old kingdom. That is all." "You mean no harm, I have seen the fate of our meeting dark one, this land will be as yours, all of this land will be as yours. And you shall not be at the crown." "Honestly, I haven't given much thought of staying here, but I suppose it's a decent idea.." The mighty blue dragon roared, and broke toward the sky barking fand icey death upon us. My blade wrethed with a dark flame, as I thrust it toward her to order my phalanx into assault, the hellish fire tearing off and propelling itself into heart of the dragon, suffocating her much in the same way I had although her flesh seemed to rot away, the membrane between her wings fell onto us, enthralling our unit. The great butcher hurled his cleaver at the beast, rending her winged limb from her bones. I prepared as she fell, and as she impacted, I cut her heart while she yet lived, giving her a quick death. I left her rotting body to my carrion brothers. I wondered if I could raise her into my armies? I'd have to inquire with the necromancers. Pondering, A smoke caught my eye, I dropped my gaze to meet the source. The blood covering my armor seared away, leaving dark splatter across me. I placed the tip of the reaver into the cold hearth and looked to the sky, mulling over the encounter. The dragon's corpse steamed behind me, biting into the winter air. She didn't need to die.
Back at the temple, the humans cowered as I entered, "Where are you fleeing to? What have you done?" I gave suit, grabbing the first cultist I could, and threw his weak body into the bone walls. "We have heard word of Lord Tichondrius's presence in these lands, we....were preparing....agh." "My gripped tightened, I knew they had summoned one of thier Daemons into our realm, at the feet of my old king. This would bring the full might of the Silver Hand upon us. The prince would lead the charge. I ordered him to be held here until I found a suiting death. I was still new to this, I had to learn what my minions were capable of, much less me. I stole into the libraries, and sat for hours researching my new heritage, learning of the old death knights of the second war, necromantic arts, how to command the horrors, the twisting nether, the Burning Legion, but nothing of the skills I possesed. I rose to return a tome on giving life to mangled pieces of different creatures into one being, and stumbled across an ancient book with no title, and no markings on the black burplap covering. Opening the decaying thing, I discovered it was knowledge on the Bloodreaver by it's former owner. I stopped after one line; To bind life to the great obsidian blade, and in turn, bind it eternally to the user as a true extension of themselves, One must introduce it into the hearts of three beings: It's first kill which awakens the thirst, The aspect of Dragon of which will focus the blade's magics into a mirror weapon, and one who unflichinly adheres to it's nemesis which awakens the blade in anger." "The Reaver's ire stems from the Light, it is the enemy of all religion." A portion of the scholar's face plummetted to the pages."And the practices of man are more devout." "Uther..." I spoke without glancing at the skeletal horror at my side. "Monster, rally the horde, we have a raiding party to assemble." On my way out of the temple, I found my trophy hanging from the gallows, the Butcher dragging the other half of the chain to the Necropolis. "Halt." "Ung?" I debated the different aspects, Red of Fire, Bronze of Earth, Green of Nature, Black of Death, Blue of Frost. It seemed suiting, My heart was still, frozen, my blade shall be my twin. "Bring me my spoils." "Yes..." The butcher dropped the chain heavily on the ground, and lumbered over to the Gallows, it hesitated, gauging the distance it had to reach. It continued after sufficent pondering, strecthing to the sky it's stiches upon it's bare gut burst intestine and coagulated blood flopping into the snow, none of it melted away. "Here master." Dragging the mismatched organs, it presented the great heart in one hand. I assigned my weapon a cold soul, p[iercing the muscle the blood left in it's bowels seeping through the blade into it's depths. the Bloodreaver glowed dully with a blue haze. "I am finished, re-hang it." I turned to find a gathering of acolytes approaching me, "Your gift awaits." "I want no part of your unholy magics." "All Empires need thier King on a steed, It allows him to be raised above his battlefields, and thus oversee his warrings." They parted, and one brought Argos to me, he was of bone, but his eyes still glowed the same icey blue that was granted to him in Dalaran. "Argos...that warlock could never burn your soul away." He let out a sharp breath, fire billowing from his nostrils. It was him. "Worry not, they could never take mine." I placed a foot into his stirrups, and climbed onto my old friend. I enjoyed a small moment patting at the exposed neck of my outspoken ally. The moment was short lived however as a ghoul crawled toward Argos's hooves, "They's coming..." it hissed. "Who?" "Foods..." I smiled, Lorderan had discovered us. "Gather everyone." I took a small following of my guard into the foothils, back to the bandit camp I armed some of my men with their armors and leathers. Perhaps they had snatched a footman sheild that could disguise us. My luck was unsavory. I hurried to the Troll camp, hunting for something to lead them into a trap while the rest of the remains searched for armaments. In a tent I found a group of tattered standards trampled into the dirt, this was an old outpost the Trolls had holed up on. "Set these up around camp." The thin figure lumbered of into the wilderness. I quickly followed him, detouring at the west-most entrance to our stronghold. A mage of bone slowed at my side, "They come. The ones of Light." "Call the armies, rally them to our cause." Hearing the slow crank of wooden wheels eagered my anticipation, and brought a ball into my throat. My old brothers crested the hill, I rose to meet them, my legions stirred. "Order them to hold, I will let them feast when I am done..." "They hunger for war my leige, they hunger for conflict. "Then tell them I will lure them to us when we are fully assembled." I galloped away on Argos. All was not right, I had not made the preperations neccisary to allow them into my base. An arrow flew through the air, and pierced the hull of my breastplate. Still I rode, the whispers filling me with hate. I heard the dull roar of footmen charging at orders to remove the plague. I drove Argos past former his limits, he cared not, he was faster than ever. I glimsed at a single paladin cresting the hill, He was clad in blue, his hammer bright and new. His followers bore the mark of Azeroth, not Lorderan. "Stormwind..." He turned to meet my icey gaze. He then raised his hammer to the sky, and pointed at me with his free hand, incanting something I could not hear. The wall of men collapsed upon me, And in my suprise They were clashing behind me with my new brothers. The mage must've disobeyed, letting my forces feed. Treason would not be tolerated. My anger surpassed my senses, hate filled me. These were not my allies, they had abandoned us in our plight to purge the plague from our lands. I took fifty four lives before I reached the Paladin. He swept Argos to the ground, and before I recovered, he struck me over my skull. I felt no pain, It hadn't even broke my motion. I rose, and he struck me again, breaking the arrow shaft protruding from my chest. I still had no reaction to it. "You, will do fine."I held his shoulder, and drove the Bloodreaver into his chest to the hilt. I heard the breath take from him, his essence siphoning into the sword. "Perhaps I should've had more fun with it." and with that, I rent it from his dying husk, the ground around me bubbled, and rotted away, consuming all living things in it, even former living things. Sub zero temperatures emmited from my arm's extension. And a blue haze twined up from the tip of the blade surrounding my arm. I felt it's iceyness enter my hands, and fill me with a new cold. It felt as if all the ice of Northrend had consumed me. It felt strong.
Months passed, my campaign moved from the northern kingdoms, We attacked Azeroth, raiding monuments of the first war. Our headquarters were in Duskwood, we pressed through Elwynn, slaughtering civilians in Goldshire and Northshire Abbey. I amassed my forces for a final push to Stormwind Keep. This symbol of human triumph would be fitting for the new empire of Darkness, I at the crown. We broke through thier lines ripping apart thousands. We fought into Old Town, and the enemy put pressure back on us. It was here my stand was made. They outnumbered us, but we were stronger. Sixty men to one Abomination, fifteen for a mere Ghoul. My failure was that thier sorcerors had taken out my armada of Gargoyles, thier Magi and Rangers, my Frost Wyrms. I sent in my weapon of destruction, Sargetha, the blue dragon queen. She tore apart the troops behind the line, perching herself atop the keep itself. She was magnificent, crushing her foes with her claws, her boney fingers piercing thier finest armors as she gripped them with rage. Thousands of men tossed into the air, her breath freezing and throwing them into others. She fought valiantly for an hour, thier strength waning. I witnessed reinforcements from Lorderan amassing for an assault on our flanks. "Fall back, leave the rest to Sargetha." We re-alligned to defend against the new intrusion.I glanced back to Sargetha, her cries were filling with ire, she snapped off a tower and a man dove toward her throwing his great maul behind him. My eyes widened as he broke her horn, driving it into her brain. She screamed, and thrashed about trying to kill her assailant, but he stood astride her neck, balancing himself for his kill. Sliding down one of her ribs, he was momentarilyimpeeded by her wing slamming into the keep. He tore around it and called a blessing on her heart. I saw her spirit dissipate her body collapsing into the streets. My attention focused on the reinforcements, they blocked our escape, and we could no longer obtain victory with two fronts. We fought the rest of the day, loosing ground until late after sunset. It was here I was to make my final stand and feel the release of death yet again. I was allowed no such reward. The same Paladin who executed my faithful weapon stood before me, releaving the rest of the alliance infantry of thier new task. I gritted my teeth, ravenous at anyone who dared step close to me. I drove into the line, hacking away at the killzones of the feeble men, Argos in turn trampling and snorting flame into faces of atleast a score. My still heart apparently still felt pain, I collapsed gripping at it. Argos loosing balance and a knight bleeding out his soul with his lance. I reached for my sword, quickly retreating to clutch my heart. The paladin stepped forward, "I know your evil, your betrayal." "Then finish me, human." "Your evil will only be ressurected in some dark place. No, I think I have a better Idea..."
A notebook left in Goldshire
There is a small piece of leather binding tucked behind an etching of the Gilneas Herald.
Noticed a man in dark garb by the fire. I generally disapprove of the actions in this place, and this man's demanor coupled with the evils that undertake here just pushed me over the precipice. I engaged him in heated tongues, and he just sat and listened. Exhausting all of my feelings in the matter, he stood. And said something along the lines of his disapproval of the watered down ale, and then began rambiling about his tankard, twisting into the infections and diseases probably hidden in the unwashed mug, and further, into killing me with it in a rather violent way. Having been a veteran of the second war, I met his tensions, and we faced eachother in silence for a long while. He broke it with a laugh, stating he was not here for what I had implied, and he assumed at my visable age, I was not either, and at this shareing, he was content with my presence. I told him my name upon inquisition, and reflected his curiosity to which he responed The Wanderer. We sat, drank, and shared stories long after sunset. He asked alot of questions, and answered few, late at night I admitted my excessive use of alcohol and that I needed to rest until morning. Something urged me to ask if he had a room when reaching the peak of the stair. His only reply, "Goodnight." and with a smile he opened a door to a room I thought I could hear indecentries flowing from. The door shut, and I could hear no more. Morning rose, and I intended to find him but the innkeep had a slip of mind as to who he was. I went to release my horse, and found two naked bodies lacerated and cleaved in ways I could not bear to describe on parchment. They had been tossed out of the second story with all thier belongings, from equipment, to cookware, to paper. Some of the bloodpools had stained the ground, but were missing. I could only think of the wanderer, and our final pleasantries.