Do you remember what happens at the beginning of The Wight King?
Imagine living through this with every death, imagine hearing the whispers of the Abyss between every breath. You can be cut to shreds, burnt, impaled, beheaded, feeling death take you over and over only to rise again. The agony of each death sewed to your corpse until you are completely destroyed.
You’re forced to obey a Wight King you’ve never met before, to protect them no matter what or lose all your power until you die again, only to be awakened once more with the next Wight King.
You’ll lose yourself more and more with every passing moment, your humanity, your soul, your will, until you are no more than a husk, nothing more than a slave. You’re fated to succumb to the undead madness, fated to be swallowed whole by the Abyss.
One of the wight lords is named The Flayed King. He doesn’t remember his name anymore, he doesn’t even remember where he came from. He can’t speak anymore. His tongue was torn out, his eyes gouged out, his heart replaced by a gaping hole going through his chest. Every inch of his skin was slowly cut off, exposing his withering, ashen muscles. His armour was melted, embedded into his flesh. His flesh is pierced with thousand of metallic shards. Every breath he takes is a rasping agony, the contact of the air onto his flesh burns like fire.
At least, the curse than animates a husk is merciful enough to make it so that you won’t feel pain anymore, or anything else for that matter.