Bellmont knelt in front of the tarnished sign of the Holy Light. Multiple slain Scarlet Crusade soldiers lyed dead or dieing on the floor near the Forsaken Rogue.
It was not forgiveness he prayed for, nor was it redemption or even life. It wasn't truely a prayer, more a remberance. The taste if food or drink, the cold biting at his skin or the heat beating down at it, the sting of a blade or the warm touch of a woman.
All these things, something that Bellmont and many other Undead took for granted everday where now taken from him. His family and friends, dead, Forsaken or worse. His faith, excomunicaion his people, despite their gaining of free will, just for existing. It was at these times Bellmont truely remembered the meaning of his people, Forsaken.
But what had he gained? A war band of a bunch of violent barbarians no less power-hungery then the nobles of Stormwind they so savagely fought against.
For a moment, Bellmont heard the voices of aged past and present, the voices of his future, but yet it wasn't his future. Another future, a better future, one perhaps never obtainable. Another life another Bellmont had strolled down in another reality, a better reality. One of life, love, battle more just then violent...
For a moment Bellmont heard these sounds of a better life that had slipped through his grasp, for a moment he heard it around him and within him with the volume of a orchestra, but it was only an echo...