Ratshag suggested that I spend some time in Outland, learning how to be an independent mercenary, instead of a spearhead with the weight of Acherus behind me. I wasn't sure about that at first; Outland seemed like a dead, forgotten place. But I found there was still work to do there. Small bands of orcs and demons still wandered Hellfire Peninsula, survivors of when the great guilds smashed the Hellfire Citadel and the Throne of Kil'Jaeden. In Nagrand, tribes of ogres still battled each other and the Kurenai. And a strange dwarf was hiring people to slaughter wild animals. I avoided becoming entangled in the never-ending squabbles between the Aldor and the Scryers; with the Shattered Sun Offensive over, those two factions were back to sniping at each other, fighting over the crumbs left behind by the raiding guilds. I thought they were pathetic.
Ratshag was right. Here, in this alien wasteland, I have learned to support myself, to operate independently, to choose my own path. The screams in my head have been fairly quiet, satisfied by the death and carnage I have created for, as Ratshag would put it, "thems what pay me."
I have replaced almost all of my gear here in Outland. From reading Kinnavieve's posts (yes, I have been checking up on her) I know she hated how this plate armor looks, how revealing it is. Obviously, it is immature. But I feel very comfortable, not wearing the signature saronite armor that we death knights all had at Light's Hope. Now, unless people look at my eyes, they cannot immediately recognize me as a death knight, and hurl insults or hide their children. And in this outfit, my eyes are the last thing most people look at. It will be good, however, when I go to Northrend in another season, that I am not bothered by cold weather, the way the living are.