Templar

Fleshtone

<Offensive>

(US) Dalaran

Blood Elf Retribution Paladin

Templar

Fleshtone was once a boy with dreams and ambitions, born in the poverty of the kingdom; the outskirts where everyone lived in peril. He was a lone kid with no siblings, early on in life he found an obsession with the unliving of the land; bringing in animals that had recently passed and showing his parents, fascinated by it. His parents yelled and screamed each night at him, wondering how their kid could be so different than them, wrong and as he grew older? He had only felt astray from everyone around him, in the village that merely harbored those who met death often; every person and thing.

The land around him barren as they were quite far off from the kingdom, wilted trees all around him that he enjoyed strolling through and touching, feeling the textures of the wilted and dying branches. He came inside as his parents were older now after his nightly stroll on one foggy night, telling his parents that he wished to work with the dead. That night his mother and father started yelling, a humongous fight broke out and back in these times.. Whereas murder was shamed upon it was expected in his village, dimming down the responsibilities of families as death was one less mouth to feed. He hadn’t been previously interested in jobs and always turned down finding something to do, after all he enjoyed death.

Fleshtone didn’t know that soon death would wash over him in an unexpected way, that night his father snapped and took the knife off the table where they had eaten. Anger soaring through his eyes before making a quick motion ultimately making a gash across the young man’s face.. He cried out in pain as his mother merely watched, begging her to help but to no avail; he lay there bleeding out on the floor as his father realized what he’d done.. They’d then attempt after he faded to cover it up, burying him but soon he awoke confused; buried into the ground as panic washed over him.. He was covered by dirt, unknowing of what happened, so he made his way home; as he got there and quietly went up to the mirror; he grabbed yarn that his mother had laid out and a needle.. Stitching his face up in the process, feeling no pain but pure confusion as his skin was now a soft gray; he must have made too much noise because his father rushed out with a loud scream as he saw his son.

Fleshtone reached out for his father, but as his fingers made contact with his arm that’s when his father decayed right before his eyes, rushing out and running away as blood and chunks of dead flesh dropped to the ground; he began his search to find a place called home.. He had hoped when he stumbled upon this kingdom that it would be his home and he’d finally be accepted after failed attempts at villages and kingdoms for over 200 years.