A warlock cloaked in mystery and prestige, no one (not even Krasgoth himself) knows of his origins. His rich cloaks and finery speak of his wealth and bearing, but the past is by far a mystery to anyone who has seen him. Gambler, entertainer, soft spoken wanderer, mystic, demonic dabbler and velvet glove all in one, Krasgoth has quite literally seen the world, yet remembers none of what he was before his awakening in Brill.
The first stormy nightEdit
The first thing he remembers in his life is waking up in the midst of a pouring rainstorm, underneath a windmill in Agamand Mills. Soaked, looking only for cover and avoiding the marauding skeletons, he came to Brill, garbed only in a thin cloak as he patiently waited out the storm. He staggered aimlessly, his memory foggy as the innkeeper asked him if he knew where he was, where he had came from, and what he had done in the past. It was apparently a common problem, forsaken gravitated to Brill, newly cursed or just searching for their bretheren. The trouble was, he had no idea what he was doing, why he was there, or what had happened to him. His skin and demeanor looked pale to him in a mirror, but Krasgoth was never sure if that was how he was in life, or an afteraffect of something that had happened to him. Shivering near the fire, he listened to tales from the other scant patrons, hearing stories about far off travels to Silvermoon, The Barrens and other exotic names he neither recognized nor remembered from any part of his past.
He mentioned that he had found himself in the Agamand Mills, and every patron, forsaken and non, took a visible step back from him. "Bad luck, that place is!" hissed a bony woman near the bar, seated at a table. "Anyone's been near that place has ended up cursed, left to wander Tirisfal for eternity!". Feeling even more alone and still not understanding what the problem is, he huddled into his blanket and gazed into the fire. He leaned nearer but felt no actual warmth - Only a certain curiosity came over him as he watched the dancing of the flames.
Eventually, confused and delirious, he was able to sleep, nestled up in the corner of the inn basement, being unable to pay even for a room. His dreams were tormented, dark visions of evils snatching at his very soul, and several times in the night he woke, sweat mingling with the raindrops on his cold skin. Slumber eventually reclaimed him, only to bring the disturbing images back into the forefront of his mind. Thunder boomed outside as he shivered himself to sleep, the few hours of rest he got ruined by his aimless tossing and turning.
Starting AnewEditKrasgoth woke in the morning, still shaking from his restless sleep. An odd thought occured to him, as he checked his tattered clothes for reminders of who he was, or who he might have been. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a strange talisman that he would remember the rest of his days. An eerie pulse radiated from it, and as he pressed it to his skin he felt a warmth that he had not felt in days. The medallion seemed to meld with him as he took it out, so he clasped it around his neck, feeling the closest he had ever come to being complete and whole for the first time in his life since he had awakened. Warmth eddied through him, and the first feeling of peace wafted through him.
He would remember this moment, the first time he put on the amulet, for the rest of his days. Securing the chain around his neck, he fingered the talisman in his hands, looking deep into it as he stopped, noticing with a shock the reflection of an unfamiliar woman in it behind the amethyst glaze. He looked carefully at her, not recognizing her for an instant yet knowing her somehow to be important. Completely baffled at feeling something so familiar forcing strange and unfamiliar memories upon him once again, he clutched his head in helpless desperation, wanting to know who the woman was that he now knew would haunt the outsides of his memories as long as he wore the wonderful talisman.
Ambling upstairs, he noticed a group of merchants talking in the inn, wanting for volunteers for their journey to Silverpine forest. He offered his services, and although the caravan owner scoffed at his bedraggled state, he took Krasgoth on as a chance of fate. The journey was dangerous and they would need all the help they would get, making stops near Shadowfang Keep and through the minor scattered wizards of Dalaran. Krasgoth gathered himself, accepting that he needed no supplies and couldn't afford any in the first place, accepted the laughing and scorn of the other caravan members for coming empty handed, and set off on his journey.
Even as he travelled in the back of the Merchant's cart, Krasgoth felt a sense of calm. He had no idea where he was, who he was, what he was doing or where he was going, but if he put his hand to the talisman hidden under his dirty, torn clothing, everything felt ok. He wondered once again as to the identity of the mysterious woman, though no further revelations had come to him on the short trip he had had, and he doubted seriously that there would be any at all, resolving his past to be a mystery for the time being.
Coming to the side of the road a couple of times, he had gone to take a drink from a nearby stream and noticed the water behaving strangely when he touched his hands to it. It would ripple around his fingers, almost as if avoiding him, and he had to plunge his hands full on into the water to grab a handful to refresh himself. The same when clearing a path, it seemed as if the very trees edged away from him as he tried to brush branches aside. His hands never needed to go near the leaves before they would brush aside. The wind almost seemed to rustle away from him, leaving him with an even colder, emptier feeling than he had before.
Sitting at a fire to warm his hands at the end of a long night, Krasgoth leaped back as the fire suddenly rushed towards him, seeking to sear his clothing and body. He thought it a trick of the wind, a freak accident or possibly even the shifting of his own feet to kick a wayward log towards him, but as he tentatively reached his hands towards the fire once again, he noticed it creeping slowly towards him in a tender, almost loving manner. Intrigued, he dipped his hands into the fire, only to feel no pain at all. The caravan guards each took a tentative step back from him as they watched him play with the flames, slowly learning to move them this way and that as they curled around his limbs with the greatest of ease.
One night the caravan was halted with a gigantic treat, a true giant of the forest that had lived for hundreds of years and had finally fallen in the middle of the road, leaving a clearly marked path with no possible way through. The journey ended there for the evening, campfires beind set up and a guard established while scouts trekked around the massive wooden blockade, looking for a way around everything. Tired and frustrated, Krasgoth sat at the fire when a novel idea took him - Why not help the caravan out and discover a little more about what exactly was happening at the same time?
Gingerly, almost as if expecting to be singed, he dipped his hands into the campfire despite cringing from his fellow caravan mates. Moving his arms from side to side, he laughed as the flames curled around his arms, not touching but following him in a stream from the campfire. After a while hearing his laughter, his companions joined in, nervously enjoying the distraction from the blockade in the road, when suddenly Krasgoth slashed his arms towards the giant tree. The flames followed the path of his arms with angry savagery and smashed into the obstacle with a deafening sizzling noise, setting half of the tree ablaze in an instant. As the horrified caravan onlookers watched, the giant that had blocked their way minutes ago had a gaping ash filled hole in the middle of it wide enough for a wagon with a horse to walk through safely.
The Second AbandonmentEdit
A night after the incident,