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((Just for refrence, I'm not going to drop this whole thing at once, but instead create it a bit at a time. It's a bit of background on Qoz, and will also serve to help me narrow down some chronology.))

Qoz tied Kirin by the bank, and took a leisurely walk to the Drag. It was another windy Orgrimmar night, a little cooler than usual. That was plesant.

He remembered that he could have a cool, quiet crypt all to himself in the Undercity, if he wanted. All of his expenses and training would be paid, and he would have all the privacy he desired to relearn his past talents, curtousey of Lady Sylvanas herself.

Qoz shuddered at the thought.

Qoz noted a fire pit, stopped beside it, smirked at the irony. He pulled from his robe a small bottle of pinot noir, and took a swig. Pulling up his goggles, he figured now was as good a time as any to recall the events that had brought him here...

((Next Installment, we learn the man's name. Exciting! Tune in, some bat time, some bat channel!))

((*sits forward in his chair* Finally, more on Qoz! Woo! And it won't confuse the hell out of me, wring me emotionally, of drive you crazy! Hooray! ... Right?

Getharn))

Warren Volqozki was always talented. Initially, however, he was talented at getting into trouble.

The Volqozskis lived in the Lordaeron town of Brill. Robert Volqozki was a shoemaker, by trade, and Rebecca, his wife, aided the family business by tailoring fine attire for the townsfolk. Their only son, Warren, was, despite their best efforts, a bit of a ruffian. He stole not out of necessity, but to prove that he could, and he boasted to his friends that some day he would join the Rogue's Guild of Stormwind, and become a famed assassin.

Then, one day, Warren was caught.

The guard that had caught the youngster, and the patron wizard of Brill, visited the Volqozki home that night. The guard (and Warren's parents, too) wanted him to spend a couple nights in the town jail, to teach him a lesson. However, the Wizard, a kindly man by the name of Kel'Thuzad, spoke against this action.

He pointed out that Warren had evaded capture for two and a half years, how his trail could spontaneously disappear, leaving the guards befuddled as to his location, and how he could take lengthy falls without a scratch. These, insisted the young wizard, were Arcane traits, and moved that Warren be sent to the Dalaranian Academy immediately.

From that day on, at the age of thirteen, the Academy was the only thing that Warren knew. Elderly archmages lectured for hours on the proper gestures to use when throwing fire, how to use your one's to protect one's body from harm, and how to destroy the physical forms of enemies using pure thought energy. Fascinated by the possibilities of these new talents, Warren threw himself into his studies, and, with his effort and talents in accord, became the fastest learner at the academy.

Eight years later, when Warren was nearing the title of Archmage, the unthinkable happened. Strange, green-skinned invaders of unknown origin arrived on Azeroth, and, with shocking haste, razed Stormwind. Immediately, Warren joined the Alliance military as a combat mage without a second thought. Warren's tactics were unconventional, to say the least, and many Horde tacticians were confused by the lone mage who would charge into their ranks brandishing a sword, kill several grunts (without a blow falling on him), and suddenly disappear. Despite being called the "Mad Mage" by members of his regiment, these tactics were quite successful, and Warren was given command of his own mage's brigade. The Frost Daggers quickly gained renowned amongst friend and foe alike, and they pioneered caster-skirmish tactics that became essential towards the end of the second war. ((Just thought I'd clarify Qoz's bad combat habits while I'm at it. The reason they don't work now is because Qoz was only able to pull them off at the height of his power.))

When the Second War ended, Warren was one of the few who opposed pursuing the fleeing Horde through the Dark Portal, instead insisting that the portal be closed from Azeroth and closely guarded. When the order was given to enter the portal, Warren (and the Frost Daggers) resigned from the military, and Warren returned to Dalaran to finish his studies. Not long after that, Warren was awarded the title of Archmage, and was almost immediately offered a position on the Kirin Tor (Dalaran's ruling council) by Kel'Thuzad. He declined, instead opting to become the Patron Wizard of Brill (as Kel'Thuzad had once been).

At the end of the presentation ceremonies at Dalaran, Kel'Thuzad presented the new Archmage with a small vial, attached to a chain.

"Waters from the glaciers of Northrend." the old man said, with a smile. "Keep it close to your heart, so that it, like the water, may always remain pure." Warren thanked his old friend and mentor, and that night, returned home to Brill, where he was honored by King Terenas himself (possibly, the greatest honor he ever received).

Since Warren's parents had died in the Second War (not as a result of the fighting, but instead of their age), he moved into his childhood home. He soon married a local girl by the name of Claire, and settled into his comfortable new life.

About five years later, at the age of thirty-nine,Warren inexplicably died. He had not been ill, and his body showed no signs of foul play of any sort. He was buried in full archmage regalia, in the crypts northwest of Brill.

((Next installment: Twelve years later...))

Warren Volqozki drifted awake.

He reached around to find Claire, but didn't find her. She had probably gone to the market. Warren sleepily rolled over, opened his eyes.

I don't remember us having stone walls. he thought to himself. He closed his eyes again, rolled over. Must have been a trick of the light.

As he became more aware, he began to note other things. Where are the bedsheets? I don't recall laying down in my robes. Have those torches always been there? They're disrupting my rest. He reached to his neck, felt that his amulet had shattered. Ah, hell. I wonder if Kel'Thuzad has any more of that water?

Qoz opened his eyes and sat up, looking around.

This wasn't his room at all. This wasn't even his house.

This was a crypt.

Warren stumbled up the crypt stairs. This must be some kind of prank, he thought to himself, that's the only way to explain my robes, my sleeping place. My hair.

At the top of the stairs, Warren met a hunched man, who was holding a torch. The man perked up at Warren's arrival.

"Ah good, you've awoken-" began the man.

"Yes, yes. Fantastic prank. A good time was had by all. Now may I have my sleeping clothes back?" Warren was more than a little irritated at this point.

"I believe you misunderstand me, friend." said the man with a smirk. Warren's eyes drifted down to the man's torso, saw the missing flesh, the empty ribs, the dangling blue skin.

"You're a zombie! Did Kel'Thuzad make you? Did he think this would be funny? Because you can tell him it's not-"

The man sneered at the name. "Kel'Thuzad made me, yes. But he would like to see me dead, now. Well, not dead like you or I."

"Dead like me? You've got to be-" Qoz had begun to rub his elbows, and felt the cold bone there. He glanced at his hands, his fingers had gone skeletal.

"You see, Archmage Volqozki?" The man smirked again, "You passed away about thirteen years ago. At least, so your loved ones think."

"This is all wrong!" mumbled Warren, as he began to lose his composure. "I've got to get to Dalaran!"

Warren began the proper gestures and chant that would take him instantly to the chambers of the Kirin Tor, but the magics flickered and faded from his hands. He glanced at his hands, at the smirking man, and at the graveyard that surrounded him.

Then Warren began to run.

Guardsman Jerek yawned.

Hillsbrad was always a hotbed of activity. The Alliance would strike Tarren, Horde reinforcements would arrive and push the Alliance back to Southshore, defenders would arrive for the Alliance, and the whole cycle would begin again.

But not at Lordamere. Ever since Thrall led the Horde to the freedom of Kalimdor, the defense forces at Lordamere were nothing more than token. The most they ever got was the occasional rogue Tauren attacking the guards, but nothing of significance.

Jerek yawned again, and peered out into the morning sun. A lone hunched figure was running across the grass towards the ruins of Dalaran, pursued by a few angry bears.

I swear, if this is another defector, I'll kill him before he speaks. Jerek thought to himself. He was incredibly wary of the few undead walking around the camp, and would be damned if there was another.

"Let's go, men!" Jerek yelled, and a group of the defenders ran across the field towards the animated corpse.

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Archmage Runeweaver was enjoying a morning stroll outside the ruins of Dalaran. Granted, it was hard to enjoy anything after the fall of his beautiful city, but he took what small pleasures he could.

The Archmage squinted as he looked out over the hills, and saw a single robed undead running at him. Excellent, he thought, I love a little revenge in the morning. With a smirk, he began to cast the most powerful spell that came to mind, and fire lept in his cupped hands.

The undead continued running, pursued by a few guards, and lept at the Archmage. But instead of tackling him, the damned creature dropped the ground at his feet, and began begging.

"Ansiem! Ansiem, please! You've got to help me! What's going on? What in the Light's name has happened to me? What's happened to Claire?!" it sobbed, gripping the Archmage's robes as tightly as it could.

Ansiem Runeweaver peered at the shriveled body, searching his memory. "Warren?" he asked in a low hiss, "Is that you?" The corpse nodded. "What in the nine hells?" the Archmage continued, " What happened to your hair?"

The Lordamere guards had finally caught up, and began to pry the deadling off of the Archmage. "Sorry about the trouble, Magus, we'll take care of him." Jerek said, and snapped a salute. The guards turned to leave, carrying the flailing, weeping creature with them.

"Wait!" called Ansiem Runeweaver, halting the guards.

The guards stopped, peered at him intently.

"I just realized, I should take him in...for...questioning." the Magus said, and pulled the undead to him with some minor magicks.

"Of course, 'guvner."

Ansiem nodded the guards off, and began muttering the incantations to open a portal to the remains of Dalaran.

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"Look, Warren, the only reason you're in here is because I know you're a good man. Anyone else would have been killed on sight-" Ansiem began.

"I understand, old friend, I understand." Warren replied, wiping some tears off of his blue face, "I just need to know what has happened. Clearly, this is not the world I once knew." he added, glancing around the ruins with a sad smile.

"Understand, Warren. You may mail me at any time, for any purpose, and I will do what I can to aid you. But if you ever show your face, I have no choice but to attack you. Is this clear?"

"Crystal." muttered Warren, the same way Ansiem would have said it during a briefing years and years before.

Ansiem smirked. "Okay, here's what's happened."

I can't believe this has happened...

Warren drew his hood down over his eyes, and continued pondering what Archmage Runeweaver had told him.

The Burning Legion's strike...damned demons.

The destruction of Lordaeron...his beloved nation.

And his wife...fled to Stormwind.

Qoz carefully pulled the gloves he was given over his hands, made sure his skin was mostly covered.

With a deep breath, he took one step forward.

And entered the Valley of Heroes.

((To be continued...I'm feeling the RP, so background story ahoy!))