(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSJXRL5baRs ))
As the days rolled on Ivery found the same familiar monotony in un-death that he had found in life. As he strolled through the streets of Orgrimmar and Silvermoon he noticed a sense of familiarity, civilians that in life he would have considered easy targets he now saw for what they were, simple folk who wanted to be left alone but were swept up in conflict just as the members of the alliance had been. Whilst the horde were far more militarized than the alliance forces (a simple walk around the massive training fields outside the Orgrimmar gates had put to rest and notions to the contrary) there was still a sizable population who just wanted to get on with their lives as usual. He found that a comforting thought, perhaps the two opposing factions were more alike than he had first thought?
What did not change, however, were the battles. The same brutality and battle lust he had seen in the eyes of countless members of the horde was reflected in they eyes of their alliance counterparts. People he had fought for only a week ago now attempted to end him whenever he saw them, whist he felt a pang of guilt very time he drew his blade across the throat of some unsuspecting guard. Some had even come close to ending his new life before it had even began, and for once Ivery was thankful for whatever magics that had raised him. After one particularly hard fought skirmish in Arathi he had been scouting the Alliance positions when a paladins hammer had smashed into his head, sending his jaw flying off his mouth with a thunderous crack and sent his body sprawling into a heap. He had blacked out but when he came to he found himself in the Undercity with a apothecary standing over him. "You will find your new form far more resilient, after all we cannot have the Blades of Sylvanas weak can we?" the forsaken had said with a crooked grin, sending Ivery on his way (minus the missing jawbone, which for some reason didn't seem to affect his ability to speak).
The Thorns were somewhat of an enigma to him as well. What he had at first took for a band of murderers and assassins had turned out to be a remarkably professional and close knit unit. The loyalty magic that had been placed on him at the time of his raising was subtle, implanting suggestions of camaraderie and shared experience in his mind. He had to fight with every ounce of his will to reel his thoughts back to what he had become, a walking corpse serving his former enemies.
There was one place in all this that he found solace, an area far to the west of the Undercity known as the Whispering Forrest. Unspoiled by war it was hidden high in the mountains of Tirisfal glades, a large hilltop lake surrounded by pine trees and odd glowing mushrooms. Secluded whilst still being close enough to civilization it was a perfect place for Ivery to sit and collect his thoughts. Thought of his former home in Westfall, Thought of the Knights and, of course, thoughts of her.
He had come to a realization, perhaps it had come too late but it had hit him one night as he sat atop one of the larger hills in the secluded forest. Jealously was what had driven him to do these things, all his training and all his experience had meant nothing in the face of that most basic of human emotions, and he had paid the price for it.
Never again he thought, peering at the sun as it rose above the mist covered mountains.