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🌑 From the quill of Liora, sole survivor of the Glimmerfall Skirmish:

The horizon darkened unnaturally that fateful evening. Where once the golden hues of sunset kissed the plains, a chilling shadow consumed everything, swallowing the warmth whole. An ominous figure approached our encampment, each step marked by the unmistakable rattle of plate armor. The ground seemed to mourn beneath his feet.

But it wasn’t just him.

As he raised his sword - a wicked blade that seemed to drink the remaining light around it - the dead stirred. From the very ground, blue flames erupted, forming warriors, their ghostly visages a grim reminder of battles long past. They were armed, relentless, and seemingly unending.

His helmet, crowned with three horns, revealed nothing of his intent or emotion, but the deep blue forge in the center of his chest plate pulsed menacingly. It felt as though it housed the very heart of despair, and with every beat, dread spread among us.

The spectral army seemed to respond to his every whim, moving in perfect, deadly harmony. Their spectral shortswords clashed with our defenses, each strike carrying a deadly chill and a dark energy that sapped the very life from our bravest.

The final memory seared into my mind was of his mantle – the embodiment of tormented souls, shifting like a blue flame in the wind. Before I turned to flee, the last image I saw was of him effortlessly transitioning into a shadowy form, phasing through obstacles, undeterred by barriers that would hinder any normal being.

The world should know of this encounter. Not as a tale of valor, but a stark warning. The Death Knight exists, and his presence heralds a doom unlike any other. 🌑

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