Entry One - of what I think might be many to come.

Let us be fair and up front from the beginning, as I suspect you may be my only companion. Honesty, I was told, was one of my race's great traits, one that we doled out whether it was kind or not. Truth can wound and heal. It is also the only thing more precious than life. Why else would so many give their lives for it?
I am a monster.
Prior to this current incarnation I might have been seen as an aberration, a quirk, or by some certain rage-blinded zealous sects as an abomination. And while each is right according to their views on what I was at the time, I was not then as I am now. That is to say, a horrid, unnatural thing.
Given that I was one of the Forsaken prior to this, that should provide you with ample understanding as to the regard I hold for myself in this moment, formed as I am. You see, there are very few vestiges of mortality left to me, and of those the emotions are hazy and thin. Only anger and rage, disgust, crack through like lightning and set my dry teeth clenching. My stomach, or what has become of it, knots and twists like a drowing snake. And when I look at my reflection, there is nothing now. Not even horror at my own visage, which I sense is somehow sharper, more gnarled than the first time I awoke from the grave. But these things, it turns out, are gauged by emotion, and I have none. Apathy wraps around me like a blanket. That and that freezing hunger deep within that lives for the song of axe through the air.
For now, this is enough. While I am within the walls of Acherus Hold, my thoughts are never entirely my own. Shadowed creatures flit from my mind, peering, tearing apart what remains of my memory, and moving on. Looking for weakness, looking for signs of what was. There is nothing left for them to scavenge, so they slide away to others to do their damaging work. I am the blank slate upon which this army writes.
Why they can't see that I have stashed this ragged journal within the halter of my breastplate is uncertain, but such items are promptly removed from any who display them. I shall forget of it shortly, I suspect, for what is amassing now distracts my hungry mind. My cracked tongue is rasping at my lips. Mayhem calls.
As the master whispers often in my mind and at my back, even on the winds as we are called to battle, my will is not my own. And now he beckons me join him on the bloodied grounds below. My frozen maw sings to know it will be fed shortly. I go to kill. This makes me happy. It is not happiness as I have ever known it.

#1

Testing testing... this is only a test....