Oldmanfranks
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| Old Man Franks | |
| Knight of the Ebon Blade | |
| Game Name | |
| Race | Undead |
| Gender | Male |
| Class | Death Knight |
| Professions | Herbalism Alchemy |
| Guild | Alea Iacta Est |
Herbalism Alchemy
Old Man Franks is an Undead Death Knight, and Cohort of Alea Iacta Est
Character History
History: Long ago, in the days when undead were a mere nusiance created by the occasional rare insane wizard studying forbidden arts, in the lush countryside of Lordaeron, there lived a simple old farmer. This farmer lived alone, as his wife was long gone and his only son had died long ago in the war. This old man was mostly content with his lot in life, though. Farming came easy to him after many years, and most people left him alone, which is how he liked it.
His only irritation in life was the presence of the nereby village's children and their constant persistance in trespassing on his lands. These he chased mercilessly with all manner of farming tools, driving them off his land. Over time, his age, isolation, and legendary temper garnered much legend about him, and many parents warned their children never to go on his land, lest they meet some terrible fate. Which of course, as children are curious creatures, drove the brave and stupid to trespass on his land all the more often, and making the farmer all the more angry. In his old age, he really couldn't ever catch them, anyway.
This continued on for a number of years. Until one day, when he went outside to chase down what he thought was the same children he was always having to deal with...and found himself staring at their animated corpses instead. The zombies easily killed him, and their necromancer overseer soon raised him up to join the ranks of the dead.
Time passed. What activities the old farmer took part in are lost to all but the records of the Scourge, if such records even exist.
The next thing the old farmer recalled was waking up inside a crypt in Deathknell. He soon had to come to grips with the fact that he was a free-willed undead, a member of the Forsaken, and that he owed fealty to Queen Sylvanas now. He was expected to serve her and the best interests of the Forsaken and the Horde, so he did the only thing he knew: He tried his hand at farming again. His land, however, was tainted and useless for farming as a result of the Scourge. What farmlands were available were either overrun with human survivors or had been doled out by the Banshee Queen to other farmers of the Forsaken to supply their people.
Lost, confused, and very angry, the old farmer shambled around the Undercity, his new home, seeking employment, seeking some way to serve the Forsaken, and seeking some way to once again be left mostly alone.
He found mostly odd jobs in that time, never anything permanent. He was on the verge of losing everything when he was approached by a group of Horde adventurers: two trolls, a tauren, and a blood elf. One of the trolls asked him if he needed work, permanent work. The old farmer responded that he was just a simple farmer, and no one seemed to think he was good for much. The troll knew this, of course. He'd been observing the farmer for some time. His name was Dahkar, and he wanted to employ his services. The old man responded that he couldn't remember his given name, but his family name he still remembered: Franks. He also remembered that most folks just called him The Old Man. Dahkar then asked if Old Man Franks was interested in working for him and his companions. In the course of their journeys, they often came across useful or interesting items of various sorts that for whatever reason, they could not always afford to keep with them at all times, so they mailed them back to a central bank in the Horde's cities. Howver, many times they needed to retrieve these items when it was not practical to return to the city to do so.
It would be his job to serve as their collective banker: Store and catalog these items in the Horde's central bank for them when they sent them in from the field and send things back to them as they requested.
The Old Man known as Franks accepted.
For years everything went well for Franks in his new life. He had a simple job for which the archmage and his friends paid him well, his interaction with people was kept to a minimum, and as a member of the Forsaken, there were practically zero annoying children to deal with. His employers only rarely removed things from their collective bank without going through him, and even when they did that, left detailed lists of everything they removed for his records, including compliments on his organizational skills. Life seemed to be good for him in the Undercity.
Until the time of the Scourge Invasion.
During the undead's almost frequent rampages through the Undercity, Old Man Franks was finally caught off guard. A Scourge monster destroyed his body, ending his necromantic existance. Or so he thought.
His body was spirited away from the Undercity by a group of ghouls and carried far to the east...to a necropolis floating in the sky. There, the ghouls brought him before the master of the Hold. A man clad in full plate armor, riding a terrifying undead steed, and carrying a weapon so legendary almost anyone would recognize even it's corrupted form. Highlord Darion Mograine, Lord of Acherus, and general of the Scourge's new order of Death Knights.
Mograine took great pleasure in twisting the mind of the old man. Many years ago, Darion Mograine had been one of the boys that had frequently been chased off of Franks' old farm. Now he would turn that anger to a more useful purpose. "This entire world is the property of the Lich King" he spoke into Franks' mind, "and all of these living are trespassing on it. You will be the instrument of the Lich King's will. You will get these filthy living off of his lawn. And I will give you the power to do it."
With those words, Old Man Franks was brought back to unlife. His eyes glowed with the searing blue that marked him as a Death Knight.
His mind twisted and changed by the power of the Scourge, Old Man Franks gleefully served the Lich King, ruthlessly exterminating the Scarlet Crusade vermin and screaming for them to get off his lawn in the process. In time, he stood by Highlord Mograine's side as the Highlord led the brutal attack on Light's Hope Chapel. After their defeat, Old Man Franks watched as Arthas revealed his betrayal of them all to kill Tirion Fordring, and continued to watch as Mograine delivered the Ashbringer back into his hands.
The searing power of the Light as the Ashbringer was transformed to it's holy state snapped the delusion that Mograine had placed on him, and he suddenly remembered his life as a Forsaken and his former job.
Wanting little more than to return to that era, but knowing that it was impossible, Old Man Franks took the only path he felt was right: He vowed to fight. He swore loyalty to the now-free Highlord Mograine's new order of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and accepted his first mission: to give his aid, along with many of his fellow Death Knights, to the Horde.
As the Death Knights trudged into the city of Orgrimmar and endured the hate and the trash thrown at them, Old Man Franks spotted his former employers amongst the onlookers. Breaking away from the group, he approached them and said "Seems I won't be able to fulfill my duties anymore, Archmage." Dahkar looked among his friends, and then replied "We be goin' to Northrend, mon. Arthas gotta lot to answer for. Should we give em your regards?"
The Old Man's eyes blazed brighter for a moment and he hefted his runeblade. "No. No, I'm going to come with you. I'll be happy to give them myself"
Dahkar smiled behind his tusks, and extended his hand. "Welcome to da team, den, Death Knight. And welcome to da Horde."
Old Man Franks extended a bony hand and shook it back.
Dahkar, Grothi, Nihl, and Durnnit accompanied their friend to Thrall's chamber and stood by as Thrall confirmed the Death Knight's presence in the Horde. Old Man Franks now prepares and trains with his newfound friends and companions, awaiting the moment when the need and the call for them goes out.