Fire and Fear, Flame and Destruction.

Ajun sat down before the small campfire he had just lit and sighed deeply. His clothes were completely soaked and acid had burned holes in his robe several places.

Even Ajun himself had a hard time overcoming his own stench of death. His swimming some hours before had washed away the balming flouids that kept his body from rotting and the smell of decomposed flesh followed him around.

It was getting dark. For once the Hillsbrad foothills were completely silent. A young human couple passed by him only thirty feet away, but they were either fooled by his Dalaran apprentice robes, or maybe they were too concentrated on each other to notice the forsaken. He heard them mumbling something, but couldn't make up the words. Ever since his ressurection, his common got worse day by day.
Suddenly a wave of despair came over him. He didn't want to live for all eternity as an abbomination, an udead, an outcast. The Forsaken's fragile alliance with the horde was troublesome. He never liked the barbarian-like orcs, the wild trolls nor the naive taurens and he saw the blood elves as a nuisance, always getting themselves into some kind of trouble, because of their hunger for magic.
No. What he really wanted was to return to the living, even though he knew that was never gonna happen.
He shrugged.

Ajun moved a bit closer to the fire and warmed his hands.

He raised an eyebrow. It was as if he was pushing an invisible barrier against the flames. The flames repulsed away from his hands when he moved them closer. He drew his hands to himself and clenshed them. The fires died out. The moment he opened his hands again the fire burned again.
He remembered the his old teacher being able to conjure fireballs and burn large areas, but this was different. He didn't conjure the flames, he controlled them.

J'abatal, Ajun's imp, looked at the fire with wide open eyes. The imp liked his master. Unlike many before him this master conversed with J'abatal. There was also something about him. An calmness even in rough siturations.
He felt powerful besides this apprentice warlock, for some reason.

Ajun pulled out his spellbook from his bagpack and began writing down everything about this sudden change of his magical flow. He took a look at the campfire and clenshed his fist, killing the fire. He could feel a power burn inside him. A new lifeforce.

Ajun will be away for roughly 16 days to practice his new powers.


Going to Vietnam real-life!

Wow cool... Have fun mate, see ya when you get back

Ajun pointed at the human guard with a bony finger and mumbled a few words. A flame bursted from the tip of the finger and struck the guard with a massive force, throwing him backwards and igniting his Southshore tabard.

"I.. Am.. Alive!" he laughed out loud.

The screams of the guard could be heard miles away. Ajun closed his spellbook held in his left hand and smirked. He turned on his heels and went towards Undercity.

"For the Queen - for the Blighted Crown!" he whispered, still smirking from ear to ear.


OOC:
I AM ALIVE AND BACK.

Winterbloom lowered her hood. Her white hair slowly moved as a cold breeze swept across the Hillsbrad foothills. It's was getting colder every day. She wrapped her cloak around her and moved closer to the campfire. She stared into the fire, almost hypnotized by the dancing flames.

Suddenly she heard movement. Her sences sharpened. Had someone managed to sneak up on her?

Light footsteps. No orc or human. A small humanoid - A gnome, a forsaken, a child or maybe a goblin. She'd had several run-ins with a goblin accompanied by a robot but she couldn't her the metallic sound of the robot. She knew that the Forsaken infestation in the Hillsbrad area was big, but she hadn't spotted one in days.

Winterbloom picked up her daggers and moved away from the campfire and into the shadow of a nearby tree.

A figure moved closer to the campfire. It was a forsaken. A tall thin undead with a pointy purple hat and dressed in ragged Dalaran apprentice robes. He was carrying an unusually big spellbook in his left hand. The forsaken seemed completely lost in reading from his spellbook and didn't even notice that he passed a burning campfire.

Winterbloom took a bottle of poison from her belt and coated her two daggers in it. Wizards could be hard targets if they got time to prepare spells, but an unprepared wizard was an easy target for a trained rogue and assassin such as herself.

She moved from her tree and followed the forsaken. His stench of death was almost unbearble.

Winterbloom noticed that the sleeves of his robes was burned, almost as if his hands had been on fire - or perhaps the former owner's hands. The forsaken stopped. He looked like something had caught his attention. He flicked through the pages of his spellbook and when he apparently found the page he was looking for, he grunted in satisfaction.

She could see that the undead pointed a bony finger at something in the distance. Suddely a strong light appeared from his finger tip and a huge burst of flames flew into the distance towards where he was looking.

The flames struck a guard in Southshore armor and threw him several feet backwards. He screamed out and crumbled in pain like a dying spider.

The forsaken cackled loudly and said something in gutterspeak, the language of the "free" undead. How could a simpleton wizard dressed in apprentice robes kill a guard with a flick of his hand?

Winterbloom desided to follow the forsaken.