When the voice of Horauthin called Akranak to Khandara, he did not falter. When the words of his God ring from his blade, Akranak listens. The ardent commands of Horauthin drove him across the snow-laden plains of Oldavor, bringing him to a forsaken and forlorn citadel of his ancestors, Khandara. Little else could Akranak remember, beyond standing upon the precipice of the icy pit, bored thousands of feet downwards into the earth. What followed was his awakening in a deserted cell, yet he was unbound and unplundered; his arsenal still dangled from his waist, and his sword was firmly clasped, steadfast in his hands.
Here the whispers of Horauthin grew verbose, yet with an authoritative cadence that held greater command over Akranak than ever before. So Akranak’s mind began to schism, and his fervent desire to serve his God grew stouter, unrelenting. Soon it would be faded, replaced entirely with a fractured person whose devotion had grown so zealous, his life before faded from memory. Khandara became a constant crucible of battle, and whenever Akranak fell, his body would be risen again and beset on his slayers in obdurate, heedless combat.
His foes were thrice his size, yet it bore no relent to Akranak, who would gladly die a thousand agonizing deaths against them, simply to slay them once. So became his charge in Khandara, and though many of its residents feared him, those who had been trapped there as long as him came to know him. In the citadel’s scarce moments of respite, Akranak would prove himself a stalwart ally to those in need, offering them aid for their wounds, or as an extra sword to fight alongside them. Occasions such as these are sporadic, however, and often Akranak is little more than a puppet of whatever entity holds sway over Khandara, with only fleeting glimpses of whatever person he was before he was entombed in the icy citadel.