I will come to you. Though you may yet regret this. For as I walked the bloody path from my victory at rantayouiné a sword pierced me from below. Someone without honour who had only pretended to be among the dead.
My blade chopped down on his neck ending his sorry life. The damage was done however.
The healers tended me day and night. Till at last one came to me and said.
My lord, the blade was poisoned, you have yet mere days before the bitter end.
At this he was so overcome at the iniquity of the world he pulled a short dagger from his robe and plunged it into his own breast crying for the gods to take him and not me.
They took him, and in the days that followed they came for me too
I had yet one more trick left in this life. A trick that allows me to communicate thus to you.
But it has left me marked. Neither of the living or the dead. My blood is cold and my lungs no longer rise in time to my heart. Yet still I walk the earth. The sunlight burns me. Yet still I walk the earth. Though it be night, I will come to you.