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#12830923 Nov 04, 2016 at 08:46 PM
44 Posts
Name: Legren Kerrel


Affiliations: Royal Apothecary Society (Associate, not a member), Council of the Black Harvest (Associate cooperating with the warlock coalition, not a member).


Skills: Skilled Warlock, knowledgeable magic scholar (specializing in fel magic), skilled scribe, skilled with crystal-based magitechnology.


Appearance: As with most Undead, is a rotted husk, with bones peeking through the skin in many places. Eyes
are hollow sockets. Usually wears specially-made armor, with a fairly distinctive purple coloration and cowl.


Who he is: A former pyromancer of Dalaran, who had scarcely graduated from his studies when the Third War began. He perished defending Dalaran, his corpse being hauled out of the city, raised, and sent right back in. His zombie had the "luck" to avoid dying throughout the ensuing battles, eventually awakening in Lordaeron along with the rest of the newly-minted Forsaken.

Finding his arcane magic didn't "flow right" with his undead form, he turned to darker arts. He took to them well, and aside from the odd mishap (such as summoning a felhunter before he was ready, and nearly dying as a result), he hasn't looked back since.

Legren could be said to have a high opinion of himself, but in reality, he simply has a low opinion of everyone else. He has a fairly solid understanding of his own capabilities, though he genuinely is abrasive at best.

Legren is generally selfishly-motivated, putting his own goals (namely the constant advancement of his studies) above all else, including his so-called "duties" to the Scythe and the Forsaken. He DOES have loyalty to said groups...it's merely secondary to his self-interest.


Misc. Details:

- His armor contains multiple magic crystals, which work together to form a "crystal nexus" capable of manifesting magic barriers upon taking damage, blunting enemy attacks. This drains (and tends to shatter) the crystals to fuel it, however, and only blunts blows. This armor is of his own design, a product of his ongoing magical studies. While interesting and useful, it...isn't actually any better than could be achieved with more "mundane" enchantments.

- Legren is an "old" Forsaken, having been around since the Forsaken were first founded. He often finds the "younger" Forsaken to be annoying. His age has also allowed him to gradually recover the memories of his first life, now more or less remembering his first life with clarity, unlike many Undead.

- Legren finds the fanatical devotion most Forsaken have to Sylvanas to be insulting. In his mind, the Forsaken escaped from mindless servitude to the Lich King, and so giving Sylvanas that same kind of thoughtless devotion is spitting on the struggles they went through. This doesn't mean he's disloyal - but he considers his own loyalty to the Dark Lady to be "genuine", since he's not a mere zealot.
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#13754518 Apr 26, 2018 at 09:29 PM · Edited 1 year ago
44 Posts
From the journal of Legren Kerrel...

Finally. It's been an unbearably long time in coming, but I'm finally ready to begin my grandest work. Before that, however, it feels appropriate to go through my struggles up to this point. To put to paper exactly what has brought me here.

My current avenue of research started...I believe shortly after the Cataclysm. I was so narrow-minded then...driven by some kind of contempt for engineering. "Anything they can do," I said to myself, "I can do better!"

So I sought out to copy the things those ridiculous tinkerers made. A crystal charged with explosive energy to replicate a grenade. A slowfall spell put to paper, to replicate those ridiculous kites.

Eventually, though, I noticed - my studies kept coming back to crystals. As much as it disgusted me to admit it, the Blood Elves had a point...they really do make wonderful receptables for magical energy.

Around that time I began to study fel infusion in more depth. It was the Sha that inspired me - seeing the way they twisted and possessed a creature...how much stronger it made them. Could that, I wondered, be replicated?

The short answer was 'sort of'. Everyone knows that now - after what we saw during the fight against the Legion. Fel infusion does make something stronger...it also induces terrible mutations. Most subjects die. Those who survive are often driven feral...mad from the pain of the fel.

So I gave up on that avenue, turning back to my crystals. A crystal doesn't go mad if filled with fel power...it doesn't mutate. It can break, certainly - but you only have to be careful. I believe it was during our ridiculous Draenor campaign that I debuted my...prototype, as I now see it.

The crystal network I've written about before. A set of armor with charged crystals interwoven, forming a nexus of power around the body. When the armor is struck by an impact, power is channeled to create an instant, low-grade barrier at the location, blunting the impact. Making cloth armor worth as much as mail.

The execution was flawed, of course. The crystals can't handle the strain of it; they tend to shatter after even light impacts. And replacing them takes as much as a week - charging a new crystal, integrating it into the network.

But I can do better. I see that now. Two things showed it to me: first was the Nightborne. Their own use of magic makes even the Blood Elves look amateurish...or perhaps they simply have more class. Regardless, they gave me a few ideas.

Second was those...swords. The Demon Hunter, Nharos, started wielding them one day. Inlaid with soulstones, but...different. Much more powerful, searing with hellfire and torment. 'If only I had those...' I had said to myself.

But slaying her and taking them was quite impossible, for a number of reasons. Besides...our enemy, Mel'korath, had made them. Surely he had more, I thought. Indeed he did...but they were lost, lost when his citadel collapsed. If he'd only lived just a moment longer...if he'd only told me where the sword was...

I remained behind, to pick over the ruins. Unfortunately, that <There's several scribbles here. Most appear to be crossed out expletives. Some are quite creative.> bumbling fool Izmennik appeared, and scoured the ruins itself. By the time the thing left, most things of value were gone...taken by it and its followers, or simply lost to the flames.

I did manage to find a few scraps, at least. Research notes left by Mel'korath...finding them was difficult. I nearly missed the Vindicaar's ride out.

Reading them was...enlightening. To be honest, I almost regret that Mel'korath was slain...I would've liked to speak with him, as one researcher to another. At least once, before he died.

That's unlike me. Perhaps I'm simply feeling sentimental, now that I'm on the cusp of my greatest work yet.

At any rate, I was able to take those notes back to Azeroth. From there, this business with the Nightborne began...and I was able to secure some of that mad researcher's most interesting notes.

All together...it should be enough. It won't be a quick process. Developing this...device...will be quite the endeavor. But I will see it done.

For so long, I was looking to my weaknesses. My lack of sight. I wanted to cure it, to rid myself of that vulnerability. But I see now that I was thinking too small. Why stop there? Why merely 'repair' if you can 'improve'?

These are beginning to look like the notes of a mad scientist. Best I stop here, and get to work.
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#13971732 Feb 24, 2019 at 09:14 AM
44 Posts
From a tattered, leather-bound journal kept close at hand...

I find myself, as of late, feeling a sense of understanding...perhaps even kinship...with the other races of the Horde.

Not all of them, of course. The Blood Elves can still choke to death on their own bile. And the Highmountain Tauren, the Nightborne...while I have no particular ill feelings for either, this 'kinship' isn't with them.

But the others? The Horde is, at its heart, characterized by loss. The loss of homes, above all else. The Orcs lost their entire world, then the valleys they dwelled in over in the Eastern Kingdoms. The Trolls lost their islands, which they retreated to after losing their original home. The Tauren...well, they were nomads, but being kept on the run by the centaur is a near enough thing. Even the goblins lost that stupid island of theirs...even if it was probably their own fault.

For the longest time, we Forsaken were the exception. We were those who stood firm...who refused to lose our home, even dying for it. Lordaeron was ours, and nothing would ever take it from us.

So we thought.

Lordaeron has not fallen, of course. The battle for Stromgarde continues...and despite the difficulties we've had elsewhere, the Forsaken endure. We've dug in, our operations continue. We refuse to lose our home.

And yet...nothing can hide what we've already lost. I see the Undercity when I close my eyes, shaking as it's bombarded. I see the streets of our ruined capital, choked with blight. I see Tirisfal, my beloved homeland, ravaged by war and by blight.

Blight set on it by our beloved Dark Lady.

There was a time when I would have followed Sylvanas Windrunner anywhere. I was one of the first...the oldest of the old guard, those who first awakened here in Lordaeron and struggled through the earliest days of our rebellion. I remember facing the Dreadlords...or their forces, at least, I never had the misfortune to personally witness one. I remember the surreal days fighting alongside Garithos' living forces. I remember the desperate rebuilding, and the search for identity, once Lordaeron was ours.

Through all of these things, the Banshee Queen lead us. I have never agreed with blind zealotry...we retook our freedom from the Bastard Prince at great cost. To shackle yourself again, to give up your mind and will, seemed to me an insult to all that it meant to be Forsaken.

And yet, my loyalty was never weaker than anyone else's. It was simply...different. True loyalty borne from respect, not the blind dogma so many of my fellows ascribed to.

But now...now I see my home in ruins, an order given by that same Dark Lady. An order she gave so easily after she became the Warchief. Was Lordaeron of no further use to her, now that she has Orgrimmar? Are the Forsaken of no further use to her, now that she has the Horde?

It was never truly her home, though, was it? She died fighting for Quel'thalas, not Lordaeron. It was simply the place she ruled. Why should she have any sympathy for it?

Perhaps it's natural. I can see the merit in her strategy, from a cold, pragmatic perspective. And yet, those words, those thoughts, feel so very hollow in light of what we've now lost.

There will be justice for Lordaeron. We clawed our way into the icy heart of Northrend for that purpose, once. We'll do whatever must be done this time, too.

Whatever must be done.
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