The southern sun of Stranglethorn jungle was on his pinnacle when the undead arrived the arena, alone. Clad in plate armor, he dismounted his skeletal steed and greeted Short John Mithril with a silent nod. The arena was apparently empty, but the undead knew better.
Slowly but steadily, the Gurubashi contenders began to arrive. A troll hunter with his fierce ravager. A night elf druid shifted into a giant owl. A human rogue hiding in the shadows. The undead raised his axe high, aknowledging them and the sun shined on his Seal of the Gurubashi Berserker, won and earned with blood and cunning.
The goblin yelled his cry of treasures and began his march to the center of the arena. The present began to move aswell and a thick static could be felt in the air. The bloodshed was about to begin. The undead warrior stood against the ledge of the arena and shouted fiercely in his mothertongue, freezing everyone in their steps:
" All whom enters this arena today will know and bow to the name of one of it's greatest champions! One with the Shadow, sharp as the sharpest of daggers, and deadly as death itself.
Tremble, frail prey, for the Deceiver's heritage falls upon you!!"
Allowing the bloodrage to take over him, the undead charged towards the arena, set on imortalising his mentor the way he knew best.
