Gnarts Trimeskalion

Immortality gets tedious after the first few hundred cycles. By then, you'll be a crotchety old man in a body far too young for you. _Fighting in a war you were unprepared for, against an enemy beyond your imagination. Dying from an impossible wound._ I fought in the first war against the Ninth, do you know that? I don't look it, though. It's amazing what a thousand cycles can do for your sanity. And your fur. I was dark grey. Now it's more like a pale beige. I don't look much like a revenant. No dark magic coiling in wisps of smoke from my mouth, just slightly phosphorescent eyes and a smell of must. _Waking up, standing up, seeing people scream. You look down to see the hole in your chest. You try to scream too, but just a wheeze escapes your tattered lungs._ I don't even eat people. _The warriors came to rid the world of your evil. They tried everything. Nothing worked, but you still felt the pain._ It's good I don't sleep. I can get more thinking done. You get a lot to think about if you live this long.