I am Thoreac, Forsaken Mage. When I was among the Living, I was nothing more than the average farmer. Simply an Alliance commoner that was spat apon by "elite" warriors and spellcasters of the Alliance. I toiled for years to eek out my meager living, selling goods for whatever coin the upper classes chose to toss my way. I died at the hand of a rogue. Sneaking into my tent in the bazaar she slipped her blade between my ribs and robbed me of the one thing I could actually call my own without question: my life. All for the "honor" of making away with a few measly silvers.
As you can tell, I was an angry man alive, and cold in death.
When the Dark Lady awoke me, and roused me from the grip of Darkness and Mindlessness of the Scourge to serve her as one of the Forsaken, I wanted nothing more than to be put back to rest. For days ( or perhaps months, time means nothing to the Undead ) I wandered, wallowing in my hatred of the living and this Un-Life that I had been thrust back into.
Eventually I made my way to Undercity and found a thriving community of Forsaken. Brothers and Sisters struggling with the same "existance" as mine... struggling, and succeding, and thriving! No class-system... no "elite" to shun the "peasants". In this place, in this Un-Life I finally found a common ground. Trainers that would teach me ways to master the elements, to make my own clothes and armor, and to enchant them to make them stronger. Here was a place I could finally exist on level ground with others, even trapped in Undeath...
I was told to make my way to the Apothecarium, and search from there to the Royal Quarters. One there wanted to speak to me... the Dark Lady wanted to examine her work first hand. Fearing for what was left of my soul, I went as told and found Her. She smiled apon me, a dark and terrifying smile that draws the light from you and leaves even the Forsaken feeling cold... But a coldness that is shared, between all of us and Her... a coldness that binds us. In that moment, I knew I was home... and I knelt before She Who Leads the Forsaken, and pledged my allegiance to Sylvanas the Dark Lady.
She gifted me with control of the elements: Frost, Fire, and the Arcane, and sent me to a trainer. I learned quickly to use the new power, and journeyed out into the world to practice my skills.
Alone, he slaughtered his way through Un`Goro crater.
Surrounded by the beauty of the place, the tall towering trees, the huge green softly blowing ferns, the bright busrst of color in the crystal outcroppings around him, the very mists that rise from the ground around him creating almost a surreal look to the place... he notices none of it.
Again he turns, quickly this time, to his left. The slow dragging sound has alerted him to the approach of something heavy and slow. "Another of those damnable plants" he thinks to himself, and loosing the bolt of elemental frost from his hands as he was so meticulously tought, he slows the thing before it has a chance to reach him.
Having just finished dispatching his second gorilla, he's drianed and slowed from his exertions. If he could still sweat, he would no doubt be covered in it. Even his grip on the Arcane is slipping some, as he feels the pool of energy, his mana, begin to dwindle.
"This better be quick" he thinks to himself... as his brow knits tight again the protruding bone of his skull. Sinews of his face draw taught as he concentrates and sends bolt after bolt of arcane energy blasting into the slavoring plant as it continues it relentless advance.
The plants, although seemingly minor and uncaring, can be more dangerous than the jungle animals when they are angered. Thoreac knows this... and as he triggers a small nova of elemental ice around himself, freezing the thing in place, he considers his remaining resources. Moving a safe distance away, he begins again, volley after volley of arcane energy crashing into the thing, blasting pieces of it to the forrest floor with each strike.
"Thank the Dark Lady... I'll be fine and clear to rest after this" he thinks to himself as the plant begins to wither, obviously nearing death.
From behind him he hears a sound that sends a dark chill through his rotted frame. A small, quiet sound that signals his impending destruction. After all this, after getting this far, he knows: There will be no escape from this one. There will be no last minute resurgence of mana, no retreat that can be quick enough, and not nearly enough mana to create a shield that will be strong enough.
The sound that brings these thoughts of dread is a sigh. A quiet, distinctly alive, and undeniably human sigh.
As he predicted, the plant dies with his mana reserves almost depleted. What remains of the essence that holds his decaying form together almost gone... He takes long, heaving, ragged breaths ( a habit he's never dropped, from his living days ) that rattle through the ripped and torn holes in his torso... and he turns to face the Living.
The last thought to pass through his conciuosness before it is ripped from his and thrown to the winds is: "Not again..."
Sometime later the remnants of his spirit appear in a graveyeard not far from his broken body, the curse of the Forsaken holds true again: Forevermore, tho shalt not perish apon this earth. He begins the long, slow, unavaoidable trip back...
The dead of night finds him wandering the world... alone again as always. A self-imposed exile, of sorts.
Un`Goro will have to wait until tomorrow... this night he sets his sights on the Plaguelands.
A trip to Undercity earlier, for supplies and to speak to a friend ( yes, if he digs down far enough into memory he can still dredge up the meaning of that word... and feel it ), had reminded him of the Scourge infesting the Plaguelands. The many bounties posted for deeds done and information gathered there draw him to stay in his homeland awhile.
Mounting his steed, the dry bones of it rattling beneath his weight, he races off down the old barely used trails to the Plaguelands...
A distant part of his mind remembers something about a Rogue... a Human Rogue, rumored to be hunting Forsaken across the lands. "Last time I saw her, she was headed to Un`Goro"... the whispered words of one that he calls friend, one of the very very few. He had been asking about her... asking about a Human Rogue... asking because...
Shaking his old, dusty, battered head about with the lurching of the skeletal steed beneath him, he struggles to remember the details...
It comes to his lips before his mind fully registers it... the name he's searching for. Whispered in almost a gurgling slur... "Sevph...." and his decaying brain puts the pieces together again. To find her, speak to this Rogue as best he can, see if she holds as much skill and honor as she she is rumored... and to best her if needs be. Also, bring her into the fold of the Forsaken by means of the New Plague if possible.
These were the words from the Banshee Queen. "Find this Sevph", she spoke gently, her words ringing off the stone walls, tearing the flesh of his ears, impaling themselves slowly, meticulously into his thoughts. "Find her... Understand her... Know her strengths and weaknesses. Make her one of us, if you can"... the sweet pain of his Dark Mistress's voice burned the message into his mind so that now, when he focusses on the memory, it floods back and fills his mind, bright and clear as a flame in the dark. "When you know, Thoreac, bring Me that knowledge".
It was all he could do to bow to the floor before her, then bring himself upright and walk from the room. To grovel or crawl or show weakness in Her presence was to risk... well, something darker than the Unlife he's suffering now. So he forced himself e-rect, his broken body curved forward as always, bent around his decaying frame. Nodding his understanding, he leaves as quickly as he can.
And now, thinking back, he heads to the Plagelands. To build power, to learn from his destruction of the Scourge, to practice his Art. To ready himself... for her.
Some hours later, beaten, torn, burned and still bearing the scars of the Scourge's frost mages... he walks from the Plagelands slowly. Now a rank more powerful, new lessons learned, new skills trained... he's ready.
A short stop at Undercity for supplies again... and tomorrow he leaves. Following the trail laid down by his friend. Following the bits and pieces of stories. He goes searching...
For her.