Lightslayer, the Lord of Acherus

The man that would come to be known as the Lord of Acherus remains a mystery to all but those he allows close to him. His true name he keeps to himself, his face he hides in the shadow of his cowl, and he never speaks of himself or his life before he was risen as a death knight for the Scourge. The truth of it all is that he was once a paladin, one of the most devout and righteous men that anyone could meet. His life was fairly normal for someone quite literally raised to join the Order of the Silver Hand, consisting of days in church studying the teachings of the Light, learning the art of combat, and then joining the Order itself and being trained to use the Light. When the second war came to northlands, he was still just an apprentice and was deemed not yet ready for the rigors of war. He had to stand by and watch the Horde storm across his homeland of Lordaeron before they were driven back.

The years went by and he eventually became a full member of the Order, a day which he said was the proudest of his life. For three years he performed his duties with no complaint and quite well, until war came again to his beloved homeland. Despite everything, he was unable to help save Lordaeron from the undead Scourge that ravaged it and robbed the land of it's king. With no choice, he led what survivors he could find south, towards safer lands in the hope that Lordaeron would survive in the hearts and minds of it's people. With this task mostly done, he was one of the first to join the efforts against the Scourge in what became known as the Plaguelands, lending his warhammer to the cause of the Argent Dawn.

It was a stalemate of the worst kind, for each undead that they destroyed, more took their places and for each man and woman they lost, they had none to take their place. Day after day, night after night the undead came to Light's Hope Chapel to tear it down and the defenders fought with all their strength even to their dying breaths. So it was that Andaroth Lightbearer fell in one of these attacks, simply overwhelmed and swarmed by the undead as though he was the primary target of the attack. By the time the other defenders had reached him, it was too late, he was already dead. Claws and teeth having torn out large chunks of flesh and armor, the fatal wounds already reeking of disease. He was given a hasty burial some distance away from the chapel for fear that the Light wouldn't protect him in death and that his body would rise as one of the monstrosities he fought against.

And rise he did, but not as one of the mindless dead. He was purposefully raised by the Lich King to serve him. Punishment for his continued defiance in life, enslavement to the monster he sought to destroy with so much fervor. His mind was his own, but his will was bound to the Lich King. Andaroth was fully aware of what was happening to him, but couldn't control his actions. The Lich King commanded, and he carried out each order unquestioningly. Torturing, murdering, burning, destroying, defiling. He did it all, and he did it gladly while his soul screamed out in agony at the atrocities he was committing, but was powerless to stop. Until the fateful day when the Lich King, in hopes that he would be destroyed with the rest of the fodder, simply released him from his domination.

But Andaroth would not be destroyed so easily, especially not by his newfound allies. His fellow Knights of the Ebon Blade and the newly formed Argent Crusade. No, he would not fall again, yet. He would endure and conceal his identity in the shroud of the ominous being Lightslayer, Lord of Acherus.