Pride.

Yes.

Pride was the cause of my fall.

There was a time, when I stood thick with muscle, and fair of feature. I was young, full of vigor, and eager to prove myself against any and all challengers. As the first son of House Landris, I was expected to uphold our title as the Sword of Stratham. I trained day and night to be the best knight in the land. No easy feat for a land full of young noblemen looking to make a name for themselves.

I chased down every roving monster I could. Saved even the most lowborn damsel from the clutches of some horror beyond comprehension. I fought in every tourney to be announced, no matter how far away it was being held. I answered every challenge to my honor with a duel, no matter how petty the insult. If there was even a minor border skirmish, or squabble between nobles, I was petitioning my father for the honor of serving in the vanguard. And for a time, it was good. I had a reputation as one of the strongest knights in all the land. So set upon battle was I that nothing could dissuade me from my foe once I chose to engage them. That earned me the name The Black Bull. Honor was heaped upon my name. Nobles fought each other for my attentions with ever more extravagant feasts. Great artisans from all over the kingdom showered me with fine gifts and finer works. I had my pick of any of the daughters of the Great Houses. I will admit, maintaining their virtue was the last thought on my mind as I wooed them back in those days.

But such a life was not to last.

One eve as I rode through the dark forests of the Easthallow, beaming with pride at my latest victories at a tourney, I beheld three strange lights flitting between the trees off the side of the path. Not one to shirk any challenge, I drew my sword and plunged into that accursed wood. It seems now to me that I must have chased those elusive lights for hours, though at the time it felt like mere moments as the thrill of the chase thundered through me. Eventually I found myself in a place with no light, and no sound. The air was thick with a cloying mist, and I found myself shivering against a sudden chill in the air. And I was not alone.

There were people of such loveliness all around me in the shadows. A cold, terrible beauty that took my breath away with its dark majesty. They bid me welcome to the Unseelie Court, and that they had sought me out personally so that I might take part in a grand contest to honor their Queen. The Fey had their own champions, but they claimed they wished to test themselves against a powerful warrior of the Human realms. I was flattered. If my deeds could pierce the veil between worlds, I must truly be the greatest knight of all time. They promised me adventure, glory, and a great prize should I win. Like a fool, I accepted.

So fight I did. And by Dol Arrah, those dread Fey are supreme fighters. Peerless grace. Matchless speed. Disarming allure. How I managed fight through this bizarre tourney, still eludes me. At the time, I believed my victories to be the result of my own martial prowess and greater strength. But now...I believe they were drawing me into a trap. There was this one Fey girl...I could not keep my eyes off her. Like the brash young man I was, I dedicated my battles to her, and swore that I would be the victor in her name. To be young, and feel the passions of the flesh again...

In the end, I stood before the Queen of Air and Darkness. I have seen horrors in my time. I have been a horror beyond most mortal ken. And yet I still will not describe what She looks like. Words cannot capture the sheer evil, the sheer soul-shattering allure of Her. And when she spoke...my ears seared with freezing pleasure. She congratulated me, and said that I had won the games in her honor. She would grant me the gift of immortality if I but asked it of Her. Flush with victory, and unable to focus on anything but those blood-black eyes, I accepted without thinking.

She granted me my immortality. And that was the day I fell to damnation.

The Queen of Air and Darkness keeps her word. I cannot die, though I long for the final embrace of the grave. Her foul will keeps my spirit anchored to this wretched form. My flesh rotted away centuries ago. I am not but bones clad in my old armor. I have no eyes, yet I see. I have no tongue, yet I speak. I have no heart, and yet I live. I lost everything. My fame, my life, my family, the affections of women, the camaraderie of my Order, my very honor. I could not set a single step inside the smallest peasant village before a terrified mob drove me out. I do not blame them. I am a monster. I am fit only to be destroyed.

And so now I wander, from battlefield to battlefield, looking for some warrior or mighty Wizard that can finally end my suffering. I may suffer this curse, but I will not give in meekly like an honorless coward. Chivalry is all that is left to me. I will fight with all my strength, all my cunning, and all my cursed power, until a worthy end finds me.

That was over two centuries ago. I have walked every dark corner of the world, and found no respite from my torment. However, as of late I have met a colorful band of outcasts and found them to be of strangely kindred spirit. Perhaps I will walk with them for a time. Perhaps together, we can right wrongs that I could not accomplish alone...

-Excerpt from Memoirs of a Damned Knight