My World of Warcraft Characters’ Lore: Volume 3

Moving on from the Night Elf Brothers and the Sisters of Light and Shadow, the following heroes of the Alliance are not related by blood, race, class, or even philosophy. They may have met over the years and formed friendships with one another, fought in separate groups on the same side of a battle, or never heard of one another at all. They share one thing in common: a desire to safeguard Azeroth and the citizens of the Alliance from the threats that seek to end them.

Also I created them, I guess.


Heroes of the Alliance

Grimslash, Worgen Fury Warrior

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Archibald Grimslash had spent his formative years watching his father become twisted by the hatreds which fuelled the Gilnean civil war. The gentle-natured father of his youth slowly began to fade away, replaced with a resentful and explosive man who opposed King Genn Greymane’s decision to isolate Gilneas from the Alliance. This opposition began as outrage, and escalated into militant extremism when others took up the cause. Although Archibald didn’t particularly disagree with his father’s cause, all he knew was that the man he had looked up to was gone, consumed by rage, and eventually he succumbed to a heart attack during a particularly violent argument he’d had with a prisoner. Shortly after this incident, Archibald visited his father’s prisoner – a man named Spencer Humphrey – and almost lost his own temper, blaming Spencer for his father’s death. Immediately noting the similarities between him and his father, however, Archibald managed to restrain himself, and vowed never to let rage drive him as it had his father. He later visited Spencer in an attempt to understand his way of thinking, and whilst the two of them disagreed on many political issues, they became unlikely friends.

When Gilneas fell under siege from the crazed worgen, Archibald’s first thought was of Spencer and the prisoners who were unable to escape from their manacles. Upon reaching his friend’s cell, Archibald found that he’d been attacked – and was already turning. Attempting to reason with the rabid prisoner failed, and for the first time, diplomacy was replaced with violence between them. Spencer broke free and struck Archibald hard across the chest, and he slammed into a wall, falling unconscious.

That was the last lucid moment Archibald would experience for a very long time.

Years later, Archibald felt himself struggling to wake, as if from a coma. As his vision swam into view, he found that he was crouched on the forest ground, blood pooling around his claws, a night elf twitching beneath him as the life left her body. Startled, he fell backwards, whimpering. He held his bloodstained paw in front of him, gaping in horror as the fur receded from it and it returned to the form of a human hand – albeit still stained with the blood of his victim.

The remaining night elves who had saved him told him that they had performed something called the Ritual of Balance on him, but he had broken from his restraints shortly before it could be completed, slaying one of his saviours moments before returning to his senses. They told him that he had been turned, along with many other Gilneans, during the fall of their homeland from an invasion of worgen, and that while most had been saved with this ritual, Archibald was one of the few that had evaded them in the years after. He had come to be known as a notorious feral beast of Duskwood, where he had eventually settled to roam and hunt. He had killed many in the region over the years.

The night elves told him that many Gilneans used their worgen abilities for the good of the Alliance, which they had re-joined, but Archibald was disgusted with himself. Vowing never to let his worgen form free again, he abandoned the night elves in the dead of night and headed north, with no real plans other than to try and outpace the unending rage that now flowed through his veins.

Eventually, Archibald entered the frigid dwarven land of Dun Morogh, and encountered a travelling band of pandaren monks who had arrived from across the sea to teach the dwarves and gnomes the way of the monk. Archibald told them his story, and whilst the pandaren had enjoyed little success in training worgen monks beforehand, they agreed to let Archibald join their sessions and try to soothe his raging spirit. Archibald trained with them for some weeks, but found himself feeling clumsy and isolated in lessons.

Eventually, a band of trolls that lived in the region launched a surprise attack on the band of monks, and seeing his tutor struck down before his eyes, Archibald Grimslash lost himself to rage. Before he could think twice he had transformed, and had snatched up a pair of axes from a fallen troll. Grimslash launched his attack; his was a dance of death as he used his enhanced lupine senses and strength to dart from troll and troll, dispatching them with ease. While the monks struck with pinpoint accuracy and careful agility, Grimslash merely cleaved through whatever troll stood before him. When the fight was over he stood victorious in the crimson snow, feeling more at one with himself than he had since Gilneas. The rage had not abated, but his bloodlust was sated. For now.

It became clear to him that he could never be the same person he was before the invasion of Gilneas. Never would he be able to keep his promise of keeping his temper; nor would he let his worgen self sit idly by while his killing edge could be used to save others. Looking at the carnage around him, he knew he should have felt horrified by what he had done, but  found that his view on the world had changed. Abandoning the ways of the monk, Grimslash thanked his remaining tutors and cleaned his axes, leaving to rejoin his people.

Writer’s comments: As World of Warcraft has progressed, Blizzard have given player characters of new races or hero classes more linear origin stories. Due to this, characters like Stalward, Virizard and Grimslash are difficult to come up with unique origins for. I’ve been mostly trying to add flair to their stories either before or after they underwent their respective changes, whilst respecting the game’s own lore for their origins.

Also, if the faction leader can be called ‘Genn Greymane’ despite not being a worgen for most of his life, I can definitely get away with ‘Archibald Grimslash’.

Adamant, Dwarf Retribution Paladin

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Adamant Stoutwhisker enjoyed a typical dwarven upbringing amongst a rowdy, tavern-going family. Many a long and raucous evening was spent drinking away in Kharanos in his adolescence, and when he grew older and yearned for independence, Adamant moved to Loch Modan and took up fishing in-between nights at the tavern. As time passed, many of Adamant’s friends grew troubled with world-shaking events such as the invasion of the Horde and the onslaught of the Scourge, and left to lend their aid to the Alliance. Adamant didn’t begrudge them this, but he preferred the peaceful life of fishing in the Loch and drinking with his friends, so he simply befriended whatever newcomers appeared, and continued as he was.

One night, a grizzled human veteran deigned to suggest that Adamant was too dismissive of the sacrifices made for his way of life, and the drunken dwarf was quick to anger, ending the evening in a bloody brawl with the man. Ashamed – and easily beaten – he tracked the human down the next day to apologise. The old warrior accepted his apology, but added that the Alliance always needed more heroes in an increasingly dangerous world. He extended a hand of friendship. Ashamed, Adamant skulked away.

The following months were a dark time for Adamant. His drinking became less an exercise of leisure and more of a compulsion, an attempt to drive away the nagging feeling that he was every bit the coward that the old man had accused of him. The dwarf found himself listening in on the news of the world – of how a young human Prince had fallen under the sway of the Scourge, how entire cities were falling to the plague of undeath – and the knot of unease in his stomach only grew. Yet still he remained at the Loch.

Eventually, news reached him that the grizzled veteran who Adamant had fought with many months ago had fallen in the fight against the Scourge. A service was to be held at the graveyard south of Andorhal, where Uther himself was buried. Adamant had heard of his friends dying in the line of duty before, but something about this human’s sacrifice affected something deep within him. Sobered, Adamant rose from his stool and abandoned his tankard. The next morning, he set off for the Plaguelands.

When Adamant reached the warrior’s grave to pay his respects, he was horrified by the state of the land around him. He’d heard the tales – heard reports in excruciating detail – but even as the other dwarves were moved into action, Adamant had remained content to drink with his friends, comforted by the notion that the Alliance existed to allow dwarves like him to live unaffected by the perils of the world.

The veteran was right, Adamant realised. He wasn’t just ambivalent. He was complacent, lethargic, and cowardly.

As Adamant rose to leave the grave, he was ambushed by a mindless undead that had ambled unnoticed into the area. With no time to think, Adamant reached for his mace – a family heirloom – and struck the creature down, his simple weapon gleaming with a golden, holy energy.

Astonished, Adamant surveyed his arms, and felt the same holy energy running through his veins, fortifying him and lending to him a vigour that purged the lethargy from his bones. His muscles brimmed with the anticipation of action, with a newfound might, and with the thirst for holy retribution.

The Light had chosen Adamant to be worthy of wielding its power upon sensing his newfound conviction to make amends. Wasting no time gawping, Adamant seized this opportunity and immediately headed north to Hearthglen, to pledge his allegiance to the Argent Crusade and seek tutoring in the ways of the paladin.

Writer’s notes: I’d like to mention that the veteran’s judgement of Adamant as a coward for living a regular life isn’t supposed to apply to situations outside of Warcraft. In Azeroth at this point in time, the entire world was in peril on a regular basis, and it stands to reason that a more militaristic way of thinking would be a popular mindset in this social context, especially among the valorous humans and dwarves towards young and able-bodied people of their race opting to live a peaceful life among the dire conflicts. This mightn’t even be the ruling mindset – simply an interaction between an ageing veteran who has seen his friends die in the field to a worthy cause, and a drunken dwarf who lives in open ingratitude towards the sacrifices of said friends.

On a lighter note, Adamant is the only character I’ve ever paid to change the name of. He spent his first hundred levels as… Smotencore. Ech.

Khallus, Human Assassination Rogue

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After retaking Stormwind during the Second War, King Varian Wrynn employed the Stonemason’s Guild to rebuild the sacked city. When the nobles of Stormwind refused to pay the workers for their labour, the Stonemasons rioted, and after Queen Tiffin was killed during the chaos they retreated to the outskirts of the kingdom, forming the Defias Brotherhood. Khallus was raised within the Brotherhood to believe that the kingdom of Stormwind was a tyrannous empire, and that the Alliance was a malignant and corrupt organisation. He was trained in the ways of assassination by his mother and father, poised to become a sharply honed weapon of the Brotherhood that would infiltrate the city and execute the nobility. Eventually, he grew into adulthood and completed his training, and was sent on his first mission – to execute a heinously corrupt lord currently lodging in the Trade District.

While skulking in the shadows and waiting for the right moment to strike, Khallus was privy to the discussions of lords and ladies, and though he was only in his target’s chambers for a few hours, he learned enough to know that the nobles of Stormwind were not as malicious as he was led to believe. A few conversations weren’t enough to undo years of indoctrination, but they were enough to give him pause, to withdraw and do his own research. Over the following weeks, Khallus discovered that Lady Katrina Prestor – the black dragon Onyxia in disguise – had influenced Stormwind’s nobles into refusing to pay the Stonemasons. It turned out that the lords and ladies weren’t to blame for the tragedy that formed the Defias Brotherhood.

Not entirely.

Returning home to Westfall, Khallus informed his parents of Onyxia’s now-forgotten plot to forge the Brotherhood as a weapon to destabilise the Alliance. To Khallus’ surprise, his parents already knew. Worse still, they didn’t care. They pointed to the ongoing famine in Westfall as one of many signs of Stormwind’s neglect. Khallus didn’t disagree, but he told them that surely it was in their best interests to stop hindering the Alliance so that they might get a better foothold in the region, that perhaps they could then help. But his argument fell on deaf ears. He was being idealistic. He was being ungrateful. If his parents hadn’t scooped him up during the riots, he’d be nothing more than a street urchin, begging for coppers in the streets of Old Town.

Khallus was stunned. He hadn’t known he was adopted – nay, stolen. After weeks of soul searching, he eventually made up his mind and escaped from the Brotherhood in the dead of night. But he would not go to Stormwind; his lack of faith in the Brotherhood did not absolve the human kingdom of its own crimes. Instead, he became a nomad, eavesdropping on rumours of local troubles and using his abilities to assassinate the cause of the issue, efficiently and ruthlessly. He worked not for the Alliance as a whole, but for the individuals who were being affected or sent to fight whatever evil was marked for death. His was a life of isolation, extermination, and a bloody quest for redemption.

Writer’s notes: Khallus is the character I made to level through the game without dungeons or heirlooms, to read the quest text and take note of the story. In light of this, his story is one that fits that of the player character questing through zones, eliminating threats and helping individual peoples in need.

Elismyr, Gnome Windwalker Monk

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Elismyr never found that she never possessed the mirth and bombasity that her race became known for. She was adopted into a family that paid little attention to her, and her shy nature removed her from many possible social groups. As she grew into adulthood she felt as if she were an outcast, and was preparing to leave Gnomeregan and trek for places unknown when an engineer named Fizzik noticed her dour, broken expression. Fizzik summoned up the courage to approach her and ask her why she was heading out of Gnomeregan at this time of night with what appeared to be all her worldly possessions. Having nurtured a growing resentment of her people and their extroverted ways, Elismyr responded harshly, and strode past him out into the frosty wilderness of Dun Morogh.

Fizzik was no lone spirit and was somewhat affronted by Elismyr’s hostility, and so didn’t immediately go after her. But as he continued to work on his mechanostrider by the entrance to Gnomeregan, unease began to settle in his mind, and he imaged the young gnome being assaulted by troggs, or wild boars, or frostmane trolls. Grumbling to himself, he mounted his mechanostrider – he’d only been making some minor modifications – and set out to find her. Not many gnomes left Gnomeregan, let alone at the dead of night. It was a big world for a small people such as they.

Fizzik followed her footsteps through the snow, and eventually found her struggling on through a growing snowstorm. She whirled as she heard his approach, and scowled at him with recognition. And yet, despite her extensive planning she had left with little experience of the outside world, and found that even through her furs, the snow contained an icy bite. Plus, the shadow of a large bear loomed through the fog. Elismyr decided that she’d return to Gnomeregan with the nosy engineer, just for the night. She’d leave in the morning.

But she never did. Despite rocky first impressions, Elismyr and Fizzik grew to be close friends, and eventually fell in love. Fizzik grew to appreciate Elismyr’s quiet persona, a rare trait indeed for a gnome. And in turn, Elismyr learned through Fizzik that despite the cheerfulness and outgoing nature of many gnomes, these traits often belied a more sincere understanding of the world, and an innate desire to invent new and wondrous technologies for the benefit of all. Elismyr no longer resented other gnomes. After a decade together, the two gnomes married in a well-attended ceremony.

They would enjoy their married life for a scant few years before tragedy struck. An ancient menace besieged Gnomeregan during the time of the Third War, and Fizzik and Elismyr decided to retreat to the young settlement of New Tinkertown while the warriors attempted to save Gnomeregan. Fizzik insisted that Elismyr go on ahead with some of his friends, as he believed that one of his devices may prove useful to the defenders. He promised he would join her in New Tinkertown the next day. Reluctantly, she let him go.

Fizzik never returned.

Elismyr was devastated with grief. She felt wronged and abandoned, though she knew Fizzik was not to blame. She felt isolated and bothered by those around her all at once, and began to regress into her former misanthropic ways. These tumultuous feelings did not heal with time, and Elismyr grew to be a bitter, solitary gnome on the edge of New Tinkertown, sometimes going weeks without talking to another soul.

Eventually, talk of a new race of people called the Pandaren came to Elismyr’s attention. The news was old, of course; Elismyr rarely engaged in idle gossip. These Pandaren lived by the way of the monk, an ideology as much as a way of fighting. They believed in a harmony of the soul, the importance of being at peace with oneself. A band of them had recently arrived in Dun Morogh, and were accepting trainees. A few years ago, when her grief was still raw, Elismyr wouldn’t have bothered. But after many years of struggling with her own mind, the idea grabbed hold of her. Without a word to anyone, Elismyr gathered up her meagre possessions and left. She would never turn back.

Writer’s notes: Elismyr is part of the reason why I took so damn long to write this third Volume. I am, historically, a hater of gnomes. They are small and crude and irritating. But monks are not any of these things, bar small, if you so choose. And so I created Elismyr, a gnome in race only. I wanted her to be more of an introvert, an outsider, as I feel any gnome who wishes to pursue the ways of the monk would be. Also, I thought it would be hilarious to kill giant Pit Lords as a tiny, zen-fuelled gnome with some powerful palms.

Coming next: Champions of the Horde, Allied Races and short stories from the perspectives of some of my characters, during the most important moments of their lives. My Druid Kritigri may have something to say about the Burning of Teldrassil.

 

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My World of Warcraft Characters’ Lore: Volume 1

Firstly, I’d like to apologise for the lack of blog posts from me lately! I’ve been concentrating my creative energies elsewhere. I can’t promise that this is going to change anytime soon, but in the meantime I do have quite a hefty creative post for you part one of many, and whether you enjoy World of Warcraft or not, I’m hoping it’ll be interesting to you.

I don’t RP much in World of Warcraft (although I’d like to), but I do like to give my characters a bit of backstory to motivate them through the game’s questing. All of this stuff is typically in my head though, except for a couple of times where I’ve tried to write short stories from their perspective. Turns out, writing inside someone else’s world is more difficult than creating your own. Anyway, without further ado:


The Night Elf Brothers

Kritigri, Night Elf Balance Druid

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Born shortly before the War of the Ancients, Kritigri had the unfortunate experience of watching the horrors of the war unfold during his adolescent years, ending with the Sundering of the world. Experiencing such devastation was not easy on Kritigri, and he spent many years after meditating in the wilds to try to come to terms with the amount of death and destruction that had torn apart his homeland. During the war, his younger brother Virizard had been captured by demons, and dragged back through one of their portals, never to be seen again – this had also taken its toll on Kritigri’s mental wellbeing. But after many years communing with nature and observing the regrowth of the wilds, Kritigri became inspired by the resilience of nature and pledged himself to the path of druidism. He sought out a mentor and spent many years learning to become a druid, and then worked with them for centuries in the Emerald Dream.

Shortly after the fall of the Lich King, the Emerald Nightmare grew alarmingly in strength, trapping the druids within it until they were freed by Tyrande. Kritigri awoke to a changed Azeroth. The Night Elves had formed a new civilisation named Darnassus in the boughs of a new world tree, Teldrassil, and had entered into an Alliance with a collection of younger races. Kritigri knew some of this from what his druidic peers had told him as they had entered and left the Emerald Dream, but this was the first time he had personally emerged from the dream in centuries. Oftentimes, he found it easier to work in the dream than to walk the imperfect waking world, but he could afford to dream no longer. A cataclysm was coming, one that would shatter the world anew and remind Kritigri afresh of the horrors he’d witnessed during his youth. During this troublesome time, he would vow to himself to never turn his back on the troubles of Azeroth again – as he had during the third war – and would, in time, become a venerated hero of the Alliance.

Writer’s notes: Kritigri is my main character in World of Warcraft, and therefore I’ve always considered his story to match that of the general player character quite closely. He’d save Mount Hyjal, stop Deathwing, fight the Horde on the beaches of Pandaria, etc. But writing this backstory up gave me an opportunity to give him a more unique personality to carry through those Blizzard-crafted storylines.

Tolidar, Night Elf Arcane Mage

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A mere child during the Sundering of the world, Tolidar’s early life saw much upheaval. His family were grieving over the loss of his older brother, Virizard, and his eldest brother Kritigri was growing more aloof by the day, wandering the forests of the newly broken world whenever he had the opportunity. Kritigri’s love for nature soured Tolidar’s own opinion of the wild lands, and almost spitefully he opted to remain indoors, spending most of his reclusive adolescent-hood in the family library. It was here that he discovered books relating the arcane magics and how to wield them, and before long he was experimenting with them, conjuring food for mealtimes, and generally showing off to his brothers.

It was around this time that Malfurion Stormrage outlawed the use of arcane magic.

A furious argument broke out between Tolidar and Kritigri. Tolidar argued that his use of the arcane was harmless, and that Kritigri’s amateur druidic powers were no different to his arcane ones. Kritigri tried to convince Tolidar to stop his errant ways, now punishable by death, as it was that kind of thinking that had drawn the Legion to Azeroth. In Tolidar’s eyes, however, Kritigri had become too much of a druid to see what this new law was doing to his younger brother – that it was taking away the only thing that gave him reason to be – and the argument ended with Tolidar storming from the household and going to live in recluse, where he would practice his arcane arts in private. He briefly considered joining the Highborne in Eldre’Thalas, but the betrayal of Queen Azshara was too abhorrent in his mind to be associated with even this other sect of Highborne. He had not forgotten the Legion’s assault of Azeroth, or the kidnapping of his brother.

Thousands of years later, Tolidar’s life changed wildly once again. The Cataclysm had erupted into Azeroth, and Malfurion had awoken from the Emerald Dream – along with Tolidar’s eldest brother, no less – and declared that the Highborne mages deserved another chance. For a time, Tolidar rebelled against this notion, but thousands of years in recluse had made him quite lonely, and after ages of trying to hide what he truly was, the prospect of being a part of something was too good to resist. Gingerly, Tolidar approached the mages and asked if he could join them in their sorcerous ways, but after a swift examination they declared that his magic was nowhere near refined enough, and that to temper his magic he must make better use of it. Years of stifling his arcane abilities had rendered them weak and rough, and should he wish to join them, he should help the Alliance in ridding the world of the cataclysmic threats and prove to them that the Highborne deserved this second chance, all the while honing his arcane talents. Reluctantly, he agreed. Over the coming years, he would find that he had a place among the races of the Alliance more than he ever had within his own people. Rather than returning to the Highborne, Tolidar opted to take up residence in Dalaran.

Writer’s notes: Tolidar required a bit more explanation as he’s a Night Elf Mage, but not a Highborne. Originally, he had no characteristics at all, and was simply a character I’d made to use my Warlords of Draenor pre-order boost on. But after making a Night Elf Mage named Tolidar on an RP realm who was struggling to enter an academy of magic, I realised that a similar story could be applied to my regular mage. This is my first time reconciling that RP character’s story with my boosted mage’s.

Jerrek, Night Elf Beastmaster Hunter

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The youngest child of four and born after the War of the Ancients, Jerrek did not suffer as his older siblings did. He did not witness the Sundering of the world and did not meet Virizard, the second eldest of his siblings who was abducted by the Burning Legion. Growing up in the aftermath of events he had never witnessed, he often felt like he didn’t have a part to play in shaping the world, like he didn’t fit in. As a result he was a quiet child, and while Kritigri was meditative and Tolidar was reclusive, both were at least talkatative when they were together, or argumentative later on. Jerrek simply observed.

One day, after a particularly explosive argument between Kritigri and Tolidar regarding the use of arcane magics, Tolidar stormed out of the house, claiming that he would never return. After some time, Kritigri left to meditate in the wilds, and Jerrek spoke up, asking if he could tag along. Seeing the opportunity to share his love for the wilds with his brother, Kritigri accepted. But while Kritigri rambled on and on about the types of plants and their roles within the ecosystem, Jerrek’s mind kept wandering. He enjoyed the atmosphere of the wilds, but didn’t find himself feeling any particular affinity with the flora around him. They were just… plants. What he did pay attention to, however, were the beasts that stalked the wilds around them. Jerrek had always had a way with animals, perhaps due to his quiet nature. Eventually, he began making his own expeditions into the wilds, where he would befriend the wildlife he found there.

Eventually Kritigri departed to learn the ways of druidism, and Tolidar didn’t seem to be returning either. Feeling isolated and a little abandoned, Jerrek turned to the Night Elven military to try and fill the gap his family had left in his life, hoping that as part of an army he might rise through the ranks and eventually make his mark on the world. Jerrek proved to have an innate talent for the bow, perhaps honed from his days hunting down food after Tolidar had departed. He also brought his prize falcon Wyllum with him to track and blind enemies in the field. Over the years, he would befriend many more animal companions that he could call upon in the field of battle.

Writer’s notes: Jerrek’s name in-game is actually Kritimal, a play on my username to include the word ‘animal’. This, of course, would not make sense in the lore, so I had to invent a new name for him. I believe Jerrek fits the bill. He is also my original PvP focused character, so I decided to include a military background for him.

Virizard, Night Elf Havoc Demon Hunter

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During the War of the Ancients, Virizard and his brothers came across a village that was beset by demons. Kritigri and Tolidar wanted to flee, run to the nearest band of Kaldorei troops and tell them that the villagers were being attacked. Virizard stood frozen, watching a young Night Elf child being eaten by a Felstalker while she was still alive. Her arms clawed feebly at the ground. No Night Elf regiment would be fast enough to save her, or her sister, who was frozen in horror some steps away.

Virizard told his brothers to run and get help, before turning to dash towards the village. He had no weapons or combat training. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He just had to try and help in any way that he could. On his way to save the frightened girl, however, a looming Felguard appeared, grinning down at him. It struck him over the back of the head, rendering him unconscious, before dragging him back to one of the Legion’s many conquered worlds through a dark green portal. It was the last his brothers ever saw of him.

Unfortunately, his story did not end there.

Virizard awoke in a cage barely large enough to contain him. When his eyes regained their focus and he cast his eyes around him, he initially feared that the fel-scarred world he was looking at was Azeroth. His fears were assuaged – and then replaced with larger ones – when he looked to the sky, only to see the Twisting Nether’s raging energies in place of Azeroth’s skies. The Legion had captured him, and many other elves, in order to fuel their soul machines. An eyeless Inquisitor gleefully informed them that they were being held on reserve until they were needed.

After some time, the attitude of the demons changed. They had lost the War of the Ancients, and failed to break through to Azeroth. They turned their rage on the prisoners, killing many, and torturing others. Virizard himself was tortured for many miserable years. Eventually his mind broke, and he became a gibbering mess along with many of the other Kaldorei prisoners. Finding no fun in torturing mindless husks, the demons turned their attentions elsewhere.

When a raid led by the Army of the Light appeared and emancipated Virizard and the other prisoners from their chains, Virizard’s broken mind believed it to be a trick. He fought against the Lightforged Draenei, who appeared to be a new breed of Eredar demon trying to abduct him. The Draenei subdued most of the prisoners, but Virizard managed to evade them, fleeing into the demonic wastes. He soon found a series of demon portals through which he hopped, from world to world, slowly regathering his senses until he regained his a portion of his sanity. How he evaded demonic discovery or capture during that time must be put down to pure chance.

There was no telling how much time had passed since he had been captured, nor how many years he spent hopping between worlds. When Virizard eventually realised what he’d done in fleeing the Army of the Light, he almost lost himself to madness once more. Instead, he turned to his dread into rage, and vowed to hunt the demons to extermination. Just how he’d do this remained to be seen. For now, he continued travelling between broken worlds, forging weapons out of whatever materials he could find, occasionally slaying some lesser demons or disrupting their forces.

Eventually, Virizard happened across a portal leading to Outland, and immediately he stopped. Throughout the years, he’d travelled across many scorched, dead lands. This one still had some life left in it, despite the fact that it existed in the Twisting Nether. For the first time in what may have been centuries, Virizard was able to feed himself on the meat of a living creature, as opposed to whatever fungal or lichen growth he could find left clinging to a fel-scarred rock. Furthermore, this realm harboured civilisations of people who weren’t demons. This was incredible.

Eventually, Virizard heard word of Illidan Stormrage, and his army of Demon Hunters at the Black Temple. Enamoured by the prospect of seeing his own people again – of seeing people who hunted demons with the same vengeance as he – Virizard made his way to Shadowmoon Valley, confronting the army and demanding to be given a chance of joining. The Demon Hunters accepted his request, but with a warning – each of them had a demon inside of them, and the process killed more than it transformed. Virizard wasn’t phased. He’d seen more than his fair share of torment in his life. This would be no worse.

He was wrong.

When at last he emerged from his agonising transformation, he accepted his warglaives with pride. Never again would he be helpless against the Legion’s cruelties. It mattered not to him that he would never lead a normal life on Azeroth again. After millennia of torture, he’d even forgotten his coward brothers’ names…

Writer’s note: Out of all my characters, this might be the one that feels the most like edgy fanfiction. But I feel like that’s all in the spirit of what a Demon Hunter is. Edgy felves coming to angst you up.

Stalward, Night Elf Frost Death Knight

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The druid Kritigri didn’t come out of the Emerald Dream until the encroachment of the Nightmare forced him to. These are the way events took place in our timeline. But in another, he was convinced to exit the dream to defend Mount Hyjal against Archimonde’s attacks, and from then onwards he remained outside the dream. Some years after defeating Archimonde and joining with the Alliance, Kritigri joined a Stormwind expedition into Northrend to end the Lich King’s necromantic horrors forever. Kritigri saw undeath as a plague upon nature, and stood side by side with other champions as they invaded Northrend.

Kritigri died on the shores of Borean Tundra.

Some time later, Kritigri felt himself stirring. Ice coursed through his veins, and he awoke in the belly of Acherus, one of the Lich King’s floating necropolis fortresses. The Lich King’s voice echoed in his mind, telling him to make himself useful, to grab a weapon and join the other Death Knights in an assault on the Scarlet Enclave. Eager to obey, Kritigri tested his attunement to nature, and found that he was no longer able to call upon the wilds as he once had. Some deep part of him stirred in unease, but he shrugged it off and instead picked up a pair of swords. These would work just as well.

Kritigri descended upon the Scarlet Enclave, slaughtering villagers and delivering the Lich King’s will to the fools who tried to wield the light against him. He rode alongside Darion Mograine as they assaulted Light’s Hope Chapel, and fought against the light-crazed forces inside. He slew…. he slew…

The Lich King’s will abandoned him and all at once, he felt stained by the blood on his hands.

Mograine declared that they would stand against the Lich King as Knights of the Ebon Blade, and Kritigri knew that this was the only way he could possibly begin to make amends for what he had done. But still, the call of nature eluded him. Still, he wielded his swords with a deathly, necromantic power. These were the powers with which he had to fight, and now when he touched a leaf, it withered before his eyes.

So be it. He was Kritigri no longer. Kritigri had died on the shores of Borean Tundra. He was a new entity, forever changed by his raising into undeath. Kritigri took on the name Stalward, and made sure to always wear heavy armour in public so as to never be recognised by his brothers. They would surely be devastated were they to ever learn what had become of him.

Writer’s note: I was originally going to try and find a way to bring Stalward into the main timeline using the Infinite Dragonflight or the Bronze Dragonflight or something, but found that I couldn’t do this without taking liberties with the lore and turning from roleplay into outright fanfiction, which isn’t something I wish to do. Therefore, the world Stalward exists in remains the same as the regular one except the druid Kritigri does not exist. I chose to make Stalward my druid’s alternate self because I couldn’t pass up the cool factor of having a what-if Death Knight version of my main. Also, the Alliance expedition into Northrend is not the one that takes place at the beginning of WOTLK (as the Ebon Blade plot had already happened by then) but is one that takes place beforehand.

Coming next: Sisters of Light and Shadow, and Miscellaneous Heroes of the Alliance