Full Name: Drago 'Grimal' Shadecinder
Date of Birth: October 16th
Age: 32 ATOD [At Time of Death]
Race: Formerly Human
Eyes: Corrupted Fel Flame [Constantly wears engineering goggles to hide them. Will show them on occasion.]
Place of residence: Some say he spends time in an alcove in the Sewers of Undercity, but that could be just a rumor after all.
[> /join UCSewers < I may be in the mood to rp if someone should come a calling.]
Place of Birth: Northern Kingdoms
Known Relatives: None
Religion/Philosophy: 'Fire is the Beginning and End of all things.'
Group/Guild affiliation: Infection
Guild Rank: Plague Bearer
Favorite Foods: Roast Gnome, Scorched Gnome, Gnome Flambe, you get the idea.
Favorite Drinks: Volatile Rum, Any kind of Mead
Favorite Colors: Black, Crimson
Weapons of Choice: Scythe, and Fire
Dislikes: Cold places.
Hobbies: Burning things.
Physical Features: Nothing distinguishable really, other than the scar on his neck as well as one mostly hidden behind his goggles over his right eye, the upper portion that goes to his hairline and the lower portion that goes to his steel jaw.
Special Abilities: None.
Positive Personality Traits: Loyal, once you earn it. Has a grudging kindness at times when hes not in a foul mood.
Negative Personality Traits: Pessimistic, you all are wastes of space until you prove otherwise.
Misc. Quirks: Always carries around a Scythe, and often has his Succubus around.
Played by What Famous Person: Unknown
Theme Songs: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSvTAJiTUfE Sabaton: Into the Fire
Chapter: 1 Life and Death
Drago was born and raised in the Northern Kingdoms, his early life was as most children's was. At the tender age of twelve Mages of Dalaran came scouting for recruits and sensing in him Arcane Power they basically bought him from his family, gold worth more to them than their own son. The birthed within him a deep wound and a smoldering hatred. He struggled and tried running away several times those first couple years. But once they began teaching him magic at the age of fourteen it was found to be nearly a prodigy with Fire magics even though his skill with Frost and Arcane was barely passable. His masters forgave his shortcomings instead nurturing this affinity for fire even to exclusivity which Drago did not mind one bit, the other schools always felt disconnected from him.
His training went smoothly for several years, but as his powers grew he began to notice his magic changing slowly, his flames beginning to seem fundamentally different than other mage's, something he could never really explain. He kept this secret from all but a few of his closest friends and his single love interest at the time. This phenomena he studied with an unhealthy obsession at times, wanting to know exactly what was happening and why. Perhaps he could even teach it to others to strengthen their own flames.. However the farther he advanced he noticed the flames he summoned to feel alive almost.. Then came the voices calling to him in his sleep. Nightmares of watching the world burn, and he being the one whom started the fire, unable to control his own power anymore. This was shared with no one, but all who knew him closely noticed anyway, his sanity beginning to slip away but his closest friends could not go through with turning him in to the Archmage.
Before any of this could come to a head however a threat came from within the neighboring Lordaeron, Arthas had been revealed as a traitor, killing his own father in cold blood and unleashing the Scourge upon the Eastern Kingdoms. There was a massive outcry and panic within the magic city people wanting to go find their families that had been left behind when they joined. These requests were denied, all were needed in defense of the Violet Hold and all of Dalaran. Some ran away to try and find the families anyway, Drago was one whom stayed behind, he cared little for what were called his parents, they had attempted to make amends over the years and they were threatened with death and worse, a forgiving soul Drago was not. Once a traitor, always a traitor. His lover had been called away to her native Stormwind just before Arthas struck so he hoped she would at least be safe, the others that knew of his affliction had gone for their families. This left him with no shackles to restrain himself..
With a threat looming so close Drago went back to training himself to the point of psychosis, the voices getting worse with every spell he cast, louder and harder to block out, some times they even spoke in a tongue he could understand,Hott..er, bu..urn it all.. He powered his way through doing his best, but the voices grew overpowering at one point after what seemed like an eternity, he'd apparently locked himself up for nearly two days straight training. Collapsing in his room on to his bed when he could do no more. He slept for a day straight and awoke ravenous, feeding himself, but his headache would not abate.. The alarms sounded and shouting for everyone to get to defensive positions north of the city. With a groan he heeded the call, dawning his most well enchanted gear and marched his way to battle. When he arrived it was a scene out of a nightmare, in the distance marched an army of bones and ghouls. The rallying cry went through the ranks to steel them against the approaching menagerie of abominations. The voices would whisper to him though, drowning out all other sound, You.. will die.. Flee! His body tugged at him, trying to compel him to leave. This was resisted, one thing Drago was not was a coward, he'd fought every problem he'd ever had head on however in his soul he knew the voices were right, if the dead army worked how he feared, every fallen brother or sister would be raised to turn on their comrades..
After the army have finished casting their beneficial spells. They waited for the dead march to get in range and then group after group of mages began to rain spells upon them, the massive amount of magic lighting up the sky. He was assigned with a few others to defend a few of the groups who were combining magic to launch stronger spells at the dead. He was the front line, and he'd never seen such monstrosities in his life, uglier than yetis and smelled worse too. They burned all the same, the acrid stench of burning flesh in his nose, but the voices of the flames all but screamed at him now, trying to make him run away, tugging him south, away from the dead. We did not grant you these flames for you to waste them! Retreat mortal! We have only given you a taste of what your power could become! The dead had no end, no matter how many they killed it was as if trying to empty the ocean by flame striking the shallows. Screams came from behind their lines, Drago turned to see gargoyles swooping in from the west into the city and the spider lord creatures digging up into the streets.. Retreating would do no good now. He turned to the group of mages he'd been attempting to protect, "Give me a shield and keep these vermin off me I'll try and cut a path for us to escape into the mountains but I must prepare!" They all nodded and surrounded him all channeling a shield together, the dead swarming the barrier, but it held.
Drago sat and began to collect mana, pulling it from around them, the burn off from other mages' spells, the rookies who burned more mana than needed and wasted it. What are you doing?! FLEE! Drago had a plan, You say you gifted me these flames and what I have mastered now is paltry compared to what else you have in store? For what purpose did you give me them? You are to be servant to our master, for it was his wish that we find mortal champions to assist us. Then give me as much power as you can, and if I survive I will serve your master. If you do nothing I die anyway, these years of this curse you've made me endure will be for nothing. A hiss came into his mind. Fine, I will grant you even more powerful flames of Sulfuron, should you fall you will be stripped of your flames.. Drago grinned feeling the power surge within him, opening his eyes they burned with bright flames, he had no intention of serving anyone. "Get ready to blink, and follow me as fast as you can." The group was confused as what had happened to him but all nodded. "Drop the shield!"
The mages dropped the shield and blinked away as he cast a Flamestrike beneath where they had been standing and blinked, the undead that had crowded the shield trying to get at them being set aflame. Spell after spell, pyroblasts, scorches, dragon's breath, all his spells power were magnified ten fold from what he was used to, the field of the dead getting a swathe burned through it like a wildfire surging through a forest. He got his group to the edge of the fighting, others joining them as they fled, once the mountains were close enough and the dead behind them. "Keep going and don't turn back the Archmages will find you!" Drago turned around and started burning his way back through the army, he grinned like a savage, he was enjoying this. Though he felt the flames begin to fade, Abusing our gift and throwing yourself to the jaws of death, you arrogant worm! He had not been mindlessly fighting though he was after the general of this damned army, Arthas was so close! He threw himself at him in a series of blinks, but collapsed his mana nearly gone, though looking up from his position to see the traitor prince staring down at him with an unearthly blade in his hand. "Burn." He summoned a final Dragon's breath with every ounce of power he had left but just before it was to go off his flames faded, reclaimed by whatever creature had cursed him with them to begin with and Frostmourne came down to end him.
Chapter 2: Freedom and Pain
Something snapped, a deafening crack in the blackness, how long had he been asleep? It felt like he'd been trapped in that dark place an eternity. He was collapsed on the ground, he could feel and smell the grass beneath him. After laying there a few minutes he got reacquainted to the feeling of his body. It felt as though his body was asleep, half numb but didn't seem to be getting his feeling back. He laid there for another minute or two before he rolled over and sat up. "Bloody hells.. Feels like I drank a couple gallons of mead.. The hell?" His voice was strange, deeper and graveled than it used to be. Glancing down at his hands they were pale and the skin at the tips of his fingers was dry and cracked, a pale green hue to his skin. "What in the world happened to me? I must be extremely ill.. But I feel alright.. I guess.. Though my skull is pounding.. No worse than some of the hangovers I've had. Still should see a doctor or a priest."
Grimacing he forced himself to his feet to try and get his bearings, where was he? The grass looked yellow and sickly, the trees looked diseased.. But the landscape seemed familiar. East of his home town of Brill. He assumed he was near Hearthglen.. But he could not recall any memories as of late. How did he wind up over here? No matter the walk to Dalaran would only take a few hours if he kept a quick pace.
He ventured back towards his home, noting how everything seemed to have changed since last he saw it. "I suppose I should make an effort to come this way more often." Making his way through the pass he decided to head for Brightwater Lake to wash up a bit, sleeping on the ground tended to leave one dirty after all. However on his way past the Balnir place he noticed the fields overgrown and the home in shambles. He had never, ever, seen them let it get that bad. Had something happened to them? Surely Old Jorum would never have moved. This made Drago suspicious for some reason, deciding to check out the grounds for any hint as to what happened and why the land looked so terrible. Checking the broken home and then the once proud stables revealed little, only that something went wrong, and there seemed to have been a struggle.
Eventually he made to leave, but something caught his attention, heading around the corner of the house as he came back out of the stables after having checked the loft. "Someone there? Hey!" No response, cursing under his breath he followed. Unfortunately what awaited him was a shambling horror of a corpse, half its flesh gone and bright yellow eyes turning toward him when it heard him. For a moment he froze, unable to comprehend what he was looking at. It lunged at him and he stepped backwards avoiding the strike and attempted to cast a pyroblast to destroy the creature, however no fire came to him. Surprised by this he tried again, a fireball, nothing, "The hells is wrong with me?! Damn it all!" He turned on his heel and bolted into the stables and looked for anything he could use to kill the abomination. A scythe hung on the wall, oddly well polished, being in a near perfect spot to be out of the elements. With a grimace he snatched it from it's resting place and turned to face the attacker. After a few fumbling strikes with the weapon's weight he managed to strike home, driving the blade through where it's heart should have been. This of course did not stop the undead for long and with an insane grin Drago tore the scythe from it's chest and hacked away at it for longer than was necessary, the unlife torn from it in a bloody mess. He panted out of reflex and rested against the wall to try and figure out what had just happened. He could not think covered with gore.
He carried the scythe with him and headed to Brightwater Lake, thankful that the wildlife did not wish to bother him and he found no more dead that walked. Once at the shore he knelt and leaned over the water, but once he did, it was over. Staring back at him was a reflection he did not remember. He was thin and his cheeks hollowed slightly. Blood splashed across his face and a pair of glowing yellow eyes looked back at him. Shockwaves raced through his mind, all the memories of the month before he died and the day of his death flooding back. "Oh gods.. No, NO!" He dunked his hands into the water to wash the blood from his hands and scatter his reflection, the already rotten skin of his finger tips peeled away, revealing the bone beneath. Staring at the revealed bone he leaned back, collapsing away from the water and screamed in pure mental agony. Grasping at his head and closing his eyes finding solace in the darkness.
The moon rose to it's peak and he finally rose from his position, sitting Indian style. He had given everything thought, "I died, and Arthas brought me back. I no longer have my flames, for the moment at least. I do not know how long I've been in service of the dead.. I need to get to Dalaran, surely they have returned and reclaimed the city by now. Surely someone can help me figure this out. I cannot be alone in this. Though how I came to be free.. That is also a question.. For later."
He gently cleaned himself up, trying not to damage his apparently fragile body further as he'd done to his fingertips. Next order of business he raided a couple homes and got himself better clothing and gloves. Changing gave him the chance too see just how bad off he was. Thankfully since he'd probably been resurrected nearly instantly his body had actually decayed only a little. A little rot along his lower jaw and at it's hinge, some around his main joints, and he could feel his spine had decayed and pressed heavily against his back, barely any flesh left to cover it. Definitely not the lady killer he used to be, before his sanity started to wane anyway.
With new clothing and a hood to attempt to conceal his eyes he set out from Tirisfal, he felt something pulling at him as he passed Lordaeron's ruins but ignored it for now. He needed help and from what he could tell from the outside he did not think he would not find the kind of help he wanted there. Several hours passed and he finally should have been in sight of Dalaran, but he'd had to dodge around some foul creatures that walked like men but looked like wolves. Coming around a hill he saw the giant dome, shielding the City from everything and several mages patrolled the perimeter. He approached cautiously, hailing one of the Patrols.
"Magus, I need help, I was here when Arthas came for our fair city. I fought for as long as I could but... I think.. I believe I died fighting. Yet somehow I am still here. Can you aid me? My name is Drago, many knew me for my prowess in Fire magic, but I seem to have lost my abilities to command the flame. I awoke near Hearthglen earlier today."
The mage seed willing at first, listening, but as Drago proceeded with his story his face became more defensive and concerned. "You say you are Drago, and he indeed fell in defending Dalaran, but we never found his body, then again we didn't find many bodies at all, not in one piece anyway.." The man visibly shuddered at the thoughts. " He saved my brother that day and I remember his face well, I attempted to tutor him the school of Arcane on several occasions. Show me your face."
Drago frowned but reached up and pulled the hood from his face, keeping his eyes shut. "By the light you are ali-!" Drago had opened his eyes, hopeful that he had been a recognized. "Scourge abomination! Be purged from this world, you will not take Dalaran again by your damned trickery!" Drago did not have time to even open his mouth before the mage yelled for back up and started to fire Arcane missiles at him. Scrambling he turned and fled to the East turning South a bit later to travel to Stormwind, perhaps he could find his lover, surely she would help him.