| ⠀ | 
| |
| Source | World of Warcraft | |
| Age | 22 (Hatched in 18 DP) | |
| Pronouns | He/him (unexplored) | |
| Species | Black Dragon | |
| Height | 4'9" (Dragon)
6'5" (Visage) | |
| Occupation | Annoying | |
| ⠀ |
| Strengths | Weaknesses | |
| • Flight/typical dragon-ness | • Amplified effect from light and holy magic | |
| • Extreme temperature tolerance | ||
| • Accelerated cauterizing healing | • Capacitated by anti-magics |
⠀⠀With a name like the Black Prince, Wrathion has to be pretty full of himself. The truth is that he’s massively stubborn and proud of what he's done for his flight. He's not afraid to do what's hard to protect the world, nonchalant about how people may see him if it means that what he does is for the best.
⠀⠀Until he does mess up. In that case, he only tries to exemplify the good things he's done, still buying trust through charisma and gifts, by encouraging those who are loyal to him and being loyal in return. Family doesn't have to be included in that loyalty; despite being the self-proclaimed heir of the black dragonflight, he never condones the actions of his world-ending grandfather, seeking to right the image of his race by throwing himself into the duty of 'Azeroth's Protector'.
⠀⠀He's still immature in his actions. Growing up with unchecked authority has left him a bratty, self-justified man, one who thinks he's entitled to being the good guy and deserves loyalty. And it's always back to loyalty— he trusts mortals more than his own kind, keeping those who won't betray him close to himself. He knows assassins when he sees them. After all, that's the kind of person he employs, and the kind of person he knows he can depend on after giving them enough coin.
⠀⠀And he's not afraid to get dirty himself, being partially adopted as an assassin himself. He's impatient and ruthless in his plans, able to move in the shadows with ease and navigate to seek what he finds, whether it be artifacts or knowledge. Being the last black dragon has driven him to a fanatical obsession on being Azeroth's defender, on finding ways to protect the earth and fulfill his grandfather's proper, original duty. Some part of this extends to finding a way back; he can't leave Azeroth by itself, can he?
⠀⠀In the meantime, he’s not above indulging in life’s delicacies like extravagant clothing and high-end food. Much of his spare money goes to frivolous purchases such as these. He can live in a tiny inn room for all he cares, as long as he has the finest drink to go with it.
⠀⠀Wrathion is a living experiment. With his entire race being influenced by the Old Gods infesting Azeroth's surface, Wrathion was designed to be free of their touch. Free of the Void, Wrathion spent his youth* raised in secrecy by Rheastrasza, a red dragon who had sacrificed her own egg for his creation.
⠀⠀He isn't sure if he should resent her or thank her for who he is today. As a mere whelp, he was pried and prodded in samples and experiments, treated as nothing more than an animal to be studied than any proper child. When Ravenholdt stole him, it was nothing more than a blessing to be rid of the tumultuous childhood he'd been forced through.
⠀⠀Rising through the ranks of assassins through his charisma, Wrathion eventually fell into the role of leadership, directing mortals to slay other black dragons for his cause. There was no hope of cleansing them like he had been— they had lived far too long, had plans set in motion, and needed to be stopped before anything else. He succeeded in his brutal subterfuge. He, as far as he'd known, had killed the last of his kind, for the good of Azeroth.
⠀⠀A vision of the Burning Legion had drawn him to the battlefield of the Alliance-Horde war, providing the Alliance† with weapons and tools to win. After all, a divided Azeroth wouldn't stand a chance against the Burning Legion, and either faction had warred for as long as he'd been alive.
⠀⠀While in Pandaria, Wrathion studied the mogu, seeking to study their connection to the titans. It was due to titan influence that he was cleansed, and his magic was descended from the titans', so with his studies he'd found what he was looking for: ways to create powerful artifacts that utilized his magic for Azeroth's safety.
⠀⠀With a litany of artifacts created for various champions to wield, Wrathion was set. The Siege of Ogrimmar went nothing like expected. He had set the Alliance up to win, and yet their leader, Varian Wrynn, had spared the Horde, spared Garrosh Hellscream. Wrathion would not stand for this. He had put in so much effort for the Alliance, he had done so much for the war, and yet his one plan would be denied to him.
⠀⠀What he did was for the safety of Azeroth. What he planned to do— send Garrosh back in time— was, perhaps, foolish for that goal. He had full belief that working with the infinite dragonflight could keep everyone safe, but failed to realize how corrupt they had become with their own sense of righteousness that blinded them in the same way Wrathion had been. By sending Garrosh back, they had the potential to create a new Horde, one that would be unified and strong enough to defeat the Burning Legion. It would be a faction free of fel, free of magic that corrupted the orcs and broke their unity.
⠀⠀He failed in his mission when Garrosh had truly succeeded in creating this new Horde. This Iron Horde sought to invade Azeroth and influence the current day, sought to control both their original planet, the new, and many more after. It didn’t bring unity; it brought more death and destruction that only weakened Azeroth before the oncoming invasion.
⠀⠀Wrathion? He took no responsibility. Instead, he hid, took asylum and kept away from the public eye for years. He would have no part in this— for his plan had failed, and he had to put his trust in the champions of Azeroth for the future invasions.
⠀⠀His fabled Burning Legion came and passed, and he was nowhere to be found.
⠀⠀Years later, he's sought out. While elusive, he had followed further studies into the Old Gods, discovering how to cleanse some of their influence and traveling the world in search for a more permanent solution. It's only when the last one had been freed that he made himself known in Stormwind and advised its current king to be prepared. He knew the invasive tendencies of the Old Gods, and he knew best how to defeat them: by fighting fire with fire.
⠀⠀Fire, in this case, being scales from his corrupted kin that were reshaped to be a warding cloak, providing the wearer sanity and relief from the strain that N'zoth pressed in their minds. By utilizing the Chamber of Heart, Wrathion allowed adventurers to conquer visions into the world N'zoth wished to create, training them for what was to come.
⠀⠀Ny'alotha. N'zoth's domain. It's here where Wrathion would make his final move, his final service against the Old Gods. By using an empowered blade gifted to him from one of N'zoth's previous servants, Wrathion stabbed the Carapace of N'zoth, giving a team of adventurers just enough reprieve to recollect their sanity and defeat the Old God for good.
⠀⠀After that, Wrathion turned his search onto the Dragon Isles. He had been studying them in tandem with all of his other reading, and yet could only get so far before finding more blocks in his paths. Before the Sundering ten thousand years ago, the land had served as the seat of his kind, with oathstones for each leader, aspects, of the dragonflights to protect and life pools to brood eggs in. Feeling the call after years, he arrived to find a new race in stasis, an old race that his grandfather, the former aspect of the black dragonflight, created before his descent into madness.
⠀⠀They were the dracthyr, and they combined all facets of dragonkind with the mortal races. Though some were bitter and others disheartened, few arrived in Stormwind with him to deliver a message after they escaped their shattered creches.
⠀⠀A new enemy had awoken. Raszageth had been broken free thanks to a resurgent group on the rise: the Primalists. They rejected the titans' touch, the titans' gift to the few dragonflights, using primal aspects to turn on dragonkind. Raszageth, the youngest, had let Wrathion go free to warn the others, warn the Queen of Dragons of her freedom.
⠀⠀But Wrathion had more important things. Once Alexstrasza- said queen- and her flight were secure enough, he needed to attend to his. The black dragonflight's ancestral home had been taken over by dragon killers, ones he sought to oust from what he assumed to be his rightful throne. He had done so much for his flight, he ensured they were uncorrupted, ensured that they would be safe.
⠀⠀Another dragon, older and wiser, by the name of Sabellian had other ideas. He had come from a world outside of Azeroth, biding his time with a group of black dragons to wait until the Old Gods touch on Azeroth was no more. While Wrathion sought to be the new aspect of his flight, he and Sabellian fought, and—
* Up to year 28, when he would have canonically hatched.
† This changes in-game depending on what side the quest taker is on.
⠀⠀Careful hands run over Succession’s blade, the leather of the gloves worn from the movement, performed a thousand times over. No matter how many times he sharpens her, she always dulls, always needs care. Wrathion’s jaw sets at that line of thought. He really should just find a way to keep it sharp, no more messing with silly things like weapon upkeep. Does he have time for that? No. Well- probably, but it’s not like he wants to do it anyway.
⠀⠀Fingers massage into his temple as he rocks to his feet, brandishing Succession just long enough to place her back at his hip. He needs to get a move on with his day. His wandering through the apartment couldn’t be called much more than meandering, light footfalls sure and catlike in how he stalks towards the kitchen. He’d set a kettle to brew earlier, and it seems to be about the right time to take out the teabags. He’s been eyeing it, making what he’d call an educated guess at what time it needs, and he hasn’t failed before. Not that he’d ever admit to failing such a simple task, and not that he’d ever need to.
⠀⠀Tea goes poured into a cheap mug (he really needs to replace that) and bags tossed towards the trash. Drifting back to the couch, Wrathion cups the mug with both hands and holds it close to his lips, inhaling the scent and savoring it before sipping lightly on the far-too-warm drink.
⠀⠀His sputter rings throughout the apartment as nothing but pure bitterness hits his tongue. ”Oh— damn it,” he utters to no one in particular, hissing and baring his teeth. This always happens. He leaves his teapot unattended for just a few extra minutes, and bam, another set of teabags gone to waste. A rough sigh accompanies him as he turns back for the counter, places the mug back and stares at the teapot with disappointment painted across his face.
⠀⠀How on Azer- Earth is he going to fix this? Sneering at his failure of a brew, Wrathion reaches towards the faucet and turns it on as hot as it can, waving his hand under the stream to test for its temperature. ”If I must,” comes the accepting growl just before he fills the rest of the pot with the water to hopefully dilute it out. What he wouldn’t give for an accurate timer around here.
⠀⠀He should probably get one. Setting the teapot aside, Wrathion puts that on his mental checklist for things he needs for the apartment, things he desperately needs. Things that he keeps overlooking, because he’s so used to them being around.
⠀⠀... He’ll worry about it later. For now, he has a tea to fix.