Philantees the Banshee

As I read the pages of Philantees's diary, I cannot help but

internally hear her wailing requiem. There is a desolateness and morbidity to it all, yet there is also an undeniable presence of peace and stillness. Little is known about the Spectral Hand of Death, but from these pages, one might begin to understand the life (or the unlife) that she led. While the mention of her name alone evokes a kind of trembling fear, few have come to know that her life was driven by inner-turmoil and an endless search for meaning.

The question of life or death was the first that plagued Philantees's mind. Was she dead? Was she alive? As she ethereally roamed the streets, she could not help but unleash the woeful cries of those that haunted her mind. It was as if through her, the dying or soon-to-be dead had found a way to voice their despair. Thus, she embarked on a journey that would prove to have no end. From the tombs beneath Falen Dara, she found the knowledge of her being; she was a Banshee. But she soon learned that answers only created more questions. Was this a curse? Was it a blessing?

As her search continued, she was incessantly tormented by the voices in her head. They were like mental beckons, calling out for someone to end their lives. She found that she could temporarily quell the cries by answering their calls; by bringing death to those that seemed to beg for it, subconsciously or otherwise. However, while one voice was silenced, another would take its place, and she did not have the strength to sustain this cycle. Thus, she set out on a search for power, a search that brought her to the threshold of the Nameless and its avatar, Anume. From their unholy powers, she became a vampire.

As she had accepted long ago, she knew that her new form would only bring about more questions. What was the purpose of her newfound strength? Would she ever have the power to completely silence her inner-torments? The hunt for answers led her through several avenues. The Nexus would use her to facilitate death in a chaotic fashion with no purpose other than chaos itself, but the Syndicate would provide a more meaningful purpose of spreading death. It was the hatred involved in the act of contracting another's demise that Philantees could relate to. She concluded that everyone had a hand in the strengthening of the pyre, whether by blade or thought, and the very foundations of the Syndicate's work supported this.

This is how Philantees is remembered today. She was a fierce stalker from the underworld; one whose name would forever be associated with the lament of fatality. The Dirge in the Night, Spectral Hand of Death. In the hour of your demise, she would make you consider (if not realize) that people brought death upon themselves, and that she was only its reaper. I was present on the day she decided to take to her coffin permanently. Before she did so, I could not help but feel her inner-turmoil, her longing for peace. Had she found the end to her seemingly endless quest? Perhaps, but perhaps not. If her life teaches us anything, it is that such a search might never be fulfilled; one will always want more.

Author: Morgael

Date: 35th of Chaos 1200 P.S.C. Source: The Diary of Philantees

Philantees, Dirge in the Night, Spectral Hand of Death

Unknown-1194 P.S.C.