As The Butcher of Blavikin, I'd seen my fair share of death and war. I had ended the lives of those who had once claimed to be amongst the most powerful on the face of the earth.
I was the darkest, innermost fears personified by man, watching, waiting. The storm that crushed ships upon the craggy rocks of the coast, laughing at the fearful eyes of drowning men.

I was death given form. Man, But no mere man. Nay, I was the end to many, A savior to most.

Let me tell you now of the War of the Roses, How the Butcher of Blavikin had fallen from grace.

Fresh from the victory of the battle of Mortimer's Cross and ripe in the knowledge that I had single handedly slain Battle-Mage Baron Mauger of Stormhind, My fair Queen had yet another need for my services. I, The Butcher of Blavikin, Was to take a contingent force of five thousand strong to Bamburg Castle, and hold off the ever advancing and powerful force of the House of Seasons, said thusly, "The Rose", in fear of it getting ever closer to the ultimate Power of Ages. Suffice to say, entire realms were in danger if we were to fail. If they could not be stopped, then all was lost.

In a desperate attempt to stop the fabled Rose of the House of Seasons, I had already absorbed all of Baron Stormhind's Blood-magic after I had executed him. Combined with my already formidble prowess of battle, Lowley men of lesser fortitude and even entire armies would have been laid waste by my hand.

During the battle, many enemies were overcome simply by the magic alone, without ever having to engage in the fight. Things were looking up, But it was not to be.

It, The Rose, was sent by its masters, the Seasons, to end our lives. The small remaing contingent force that remained could do little to stop it, a being of such power, with well over fifty-thousand in its ranks and such skill that entire worlds had been lain in waste before them.
Lesser men would have ran, knowing such atrocities had taken place. We were no such men, for we knew that if we were to fail, All was lost.

After a day of constant fighting, I had finally, dreadfully, met the Rose in battle. A storm had began falling, seemingly out of nowhere with the sky grey as ash.

It looked at me, then attacked. Such skill I had never seen before, A skill that out-matched my own. It bent back with agility and speed with a smirk on its twisted face. It went left, then feinted the right and kicked hard into my ribcage. I went on the offensive, Swinging my sword in a wide arc. The foe stepped back the tiniest bit, eluding the blade and smiled.

In fear, I parried the weaker blows to my right and evaded the the stronger blows to my left. Suddenly, pain. My left arm was useless... I dropped the sword to ready a spell, but not fast enough.

His sword raised in triumph.