Lomanic

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Lomanic
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Lomanic

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*Confidential - Eyes Only*

SI:7 Official Documentation

Subject: Draguin Ragos

Age: 32

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 220 lbs.

Place of birth: Dalaran

Classification: Warlock

Race: Human

Known Aliases: Lomanic, Richard Farrenton

Known History: Draguin Ragos, a.k.a Lomanic, was born to an unwed mother, Evangeline Ragos, from the outskirts of Dalaran, fathers identity unknown. Accepted to the Dalaran School for the Magically Attuned at age 6, known classmate of Lady Jaina Proudmoore but not known consort. Expelled at age 16 for various infractions of the rules barring violence, unapproved organizations, unsupervised magical use, and study of Demonic Practices. Linked to the disappearance of fellow student Riley Pemberton, case dismissed due to inconclusive findings. Former member of the Stratholme Militia under the assumed name of Richard Farrenton and member of Lady Proudmoores forces during the Burning Legion invasion and campaign in Kalimdor reported A.W.O.L. prior to the battle for Mt. Hyjal. Wanted in connection to the murder of Bishop Ignacious Malloy of the Cathedral of Light. Currents whereabouts unknown, last sighting on the outskirts of the ruins of Stromgarde with a westward bearing.

Recommendations: Subject is considered volatile and extremely dangerous. Do not speak with the subject as he is quite convincing and capable if given a chance. Offer no contact; remain hidden if subject is spotted. Current recommendation is that subject is to be given no quarter, orders are kill on sight. Subject is wanted for questioning but is considered to dangerous to be held captive. Repeat, orders are kill on sight.


Mathias Shaw

SI:7 Director
























~~~~~ As Lomanic read the stolen file his rage began to grow.

"Kill on sight? Who do these insignificant fools think they are?"

He folded the file carefully down the middle and stored it away in his robes. His hands trembled with fury as his thoughts began to run wild. Thoughts of murder and blood, carnage and destruction. He caught himself then, began to slow his breathing, regaining control of his senses. He had much reading to do, he hadn't even begun to sift through the volumes in the great library; there would be murder, but not tonight. His thoughts returned to the lands of the alliance, and what he must do there. The memories were still fresh in his mind as he knew they would be for sometime.



Thwarted in his attempts to expand his demonic manipulation to control over those pathetic Draenei by that bothersome priest, he had searched for new power. The priest in the mean time had paid for his intrusion and his body, or what was left of it rather, had been found around the area of Telhamat, all around the area of Telhamat. His return to Azeroth had been unfortunate as well for the Gryphon handler and stable boy who had the misfortune of being amongst the first to encounter him after this defeat. He had flown to Darkshire where he felt he could ponder his next move in relative anonymity when he first heard the story. He had been in the inn that day for a drink when that miserable wretch they called "jitters" came in, mumbling something about a scythe and great monstrous wolves. The locals dismissed him as they had heard the stories before but Lomanic listened with interest. The next day he left for the Stormwind docks where he caught the boat to Darnassus. There in the libraries of the Temple of Elune he read about the Scythe of Elune for the first time.

"Worgen."

The thought intrigued him. An army of vicious Worgen to do his bidding. It wasn't quite the demonic taint that he liked working with so much, but it would definitely suffice. According to the notes the last known location of the Scythe was in Silverpine forest in the possession of Archmage Arugal. Lomanic knew Arugal had been defeated sometime ago. "The Scythe may still be there." He thought and prepared to depart the next day.



The air was murky, tainted; it burned his throat slightly with each breath. As Lomanic looked around all he saw was death. The ground was soft under his feet as it too was rotting, the grass a sickly greenish yellow, and the trees either bare or with black leaves only. Lomanic was home. He surveyed what remained of the Hillsbrad foothills since the Forsaken takeover and laughed. It didn't bother him on bit to see his homeland die; it was a place of weakness. It fell to the plague; it fell then to the Forsaken. If it was a sentient being he would have killed it himself for its sheer weakness. The only bastion of strength was Gilneas and they had walled themselves off like cowards when the time came. This was a pathetic land and Lomanic was glad he was only passing through. The few undead he did see fell quickly before his demons and never once slowed his progress towards his ultimate goal... Shadowfang Keep. He would tear down the very walls to find either the Scythe of Elune, or if it had been removed from the site, some clue as to whom now possessed it. The trees along the roadside grew thicker and denser, the road paved beneath his feet. He looked, slightly surprised for once, at the largescale militarization the forest had undertaken under the Forsakens rule. He knew the keep was not far ahead and thus decided a place to camp for the night would be best; take time to plan his maneuvers through this now heavily occupied area. It was a slight inconvenience that he had to deal with those rotting wastes now... and Lomanic did not like being inconvenienced. Remembering what little he did from his childhood in the area he made his way for the docks to camp the night on Fenris Isle. A low howl came from the direction of the Isle, Lomanic paid it no heed, some wandering wolf in the woods, he had more important things on his mind. He didn't even see the red eyes peering at him through the foliage as he began his trip across the lake. The boat ride was short and soon he found himself on the isle docks. He made his way towards the old abandoned keep located on the hilltop. He made little notice of the tracks that crisscrossed the path. It did not seem unusual to him that there would be so many wolf tracks on a place called Fenris after all. As he neared the keep entrance he veered off the road into a small clearing, here he made his camp, making sure to set his demon gate on the other side of the road, in case an improbable quick escape was needed. He had no fear of these woods, the gate was just habit. He set camp quickly and then sat down and removed the stolen documents from Darnassus to study them again. As he looked over the nightelf scrolls he never saw the stealthed Worgen Rogue, eyes growing wide in anger, in the tree behind him; and he never heard him when the rogue slipped away into the night.



Lomanic had awoken some time earlier. For about an hour now he feigned sleep, he knew his visitors where there, he was simply waiting to determine their intentions. There were 4, maybe 5, and he had just decided on slaughter when another group of roughly the same number of men appeared. Their numbers saved them, slaughter became charm, and Lomanic “woke up” slowly, making a show of his getting up, setting his heavy robes in place and making sure to act surprised when he saw his visitors for the first time. He sized them up as they came, all of them looked tired, a bit haggard and tense. There seemed to be something else as well, an emotion he couldn't quite make out that seemed to elude his senses, his first thought was that they looked.... wild. Lomanic stepped forward

“Greetings my friends, I did not know others camped here as well. I was just about to make some breakfast if you would like...”

He was cut off when a larger man stepped through the crowd and sternly spoke.

“Silence! No lies Warlock. We know who you are, we know why you are here, and you will come with us.”

His voice dropped an octave on the word “will” and sounded almost to growl. Lomanics eyes grew to slits and his temper suddenly flared. In a low, threatening voice he stated his next words very slowly.

“You know who I am, and yet you dare speak to me as you do. You know the things I have done, and yet you dare approach me. You have heard the name Lomanic before and surely know why I am here and if the 3 men behind me do not stop trying to flank me they will dead before I finish this sentence.”

The group behind him stopped where they were and looked towards their apparent leader for instructions when a voice from the back said in a whisper, almost inaudible

“I thought we was looking for some bloke named Draguin?”

That poor man was up in the air a second later, with amazing speed brought on in fury Lomanic hoisted the man up by his neck while silently casting one of the powerful Fear spells he could remember casting, sending the poor mans compatriots scattering.

“WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT NAME! WHERE! YOU WILL TELL ME OR I SWEAR I WILL RIP EVERY LIMB FROM YOUR BODY AND MAKE YOU WATCH AS THEY BURN! TELL ME NOW!”

Suddenly the man began to shake all over violently, not in spasms, more of a vibration, and he grew increasingly hotter, Lomanic was just beginning to notice he seemed to have gotten much heavier when the Rogues Sap knocked him cold. The Pack closed in on him, and then carried his unconscious body to the keep.



It was dark where he had awoken. A Dungeon somewhere, the keep was the most likely answer. He took quick stock of his surroundings, a single guard, no other prisoners, and a stairway leading out. The guard looked crippled, in the darkness all he could make out was a hunch in the mans posture. Working silently he summoned his felhound who make quick work of the cages bars. Kneeling he began to cast a shadowbolt to relieve his would be captor of his life but then stopped. He had another idea entirely.



Andrew did like guard duty. Granted it wasn't often needed, the commander had stopped taking prisoners some time ago but it was still not something he enjoyed. The prisoner had been out cold since he was brought in and for that Andrew was glad. There was something about that man, something dark, that he did not like. The commander wanted him for some reason and Andrew would be glad when he was taken from his care. He had not felt much fear since his “conversion” along with the other Hillsbrad survivors, and he supposed he did not feel it now. Something though was creeping up on him, a feeling of uncomfortableness, in fact as he stood there, eyes locked on the door it grew. He felt his body begin to tremble, he began to grow frightened at seemingly nothing. Andrew went to move as if to flee but found he could not, he was rooted to spot in sheer terror. He was not sure what had brought it on until the voice behind him spoke for the first time.

“So, my captors are Worgen are they? I had heard the Worgen were brutal, primitive creatures. You do not seem so brutal to me boy.”

Andrew now felt real fear over the false fear the warlocks spell had placed on him. The prisoner was loose; he had been warned about the danger of this man.

“Well I think while I have you hear this will afford me a valuable opportunity. If you wish to leave this dungeon alive you will tell me what you know about the Worgen, and please, take your time. I can do this all day.”



Lomanic listened with interest at the story of the fall and then rise of Gilneas, about the force of the forsaken attack, and then about the conversion of the Hillsbrad farmers. This was a new development and a welcome one. With the scythe he could no longer control mere beasts, but now... A whole nation. He listened for sometime more but soon grew bored of the young Worgens rambling.

“One last question my hairy new friend. In the clearing, there was a man who confronted me before I was taken hostage, he was clearly the leader. What is his name?”

The Worgen trembled even under the grips of the powerful Fear spell Lomanic had cast.

“He is a powerful man, came from Gilneas, said he was from Hillsbrad originally. His name is Jacob Ragos.”

The last word Andrew Southman ever heard before his body went limp and dropped to the ground was

“Father”.

Lomanic made his way up the stairs slowly, carefully. There would be death tonight on Fenris Isle. The first Worgen he saw never even saw him. He was fast, efficient. A fear spell to hold them in place, a corruption spell to slowly kill them, making sure every death was painful. He made his way up to council room where he found two Worgen. They appeared to be in charge.

“Tell me where Jacob Ragos is and neither of you will have to die painfully. It will be quick and over before you are aware you're hurt.”

Lomanic prepared for a fight, knowing they would not give over one of their own. It was then that from behind Ivar Bloodfang jumped and struck Lomanic down. Caught unaware he was quickly placed on the defensive. All three Worgen attacked with a vicious fury. During the course of the battle Lomanic managed to take one down, but the other two simply doubled down their attack with Bloodfang being the aggressor. Finally a powerful swipe caught Lomanic and he fell. Overpowered and mortally wounded he used the last of his strength to call out to his Demon portal he had set some time ago and he left the keep. He appeared outside, on the ground, crumpled and broken. Disbelief at being defeated by, by, a dog, mixed with his dying pain. As he closed his eyes for what he thought was to be his last time he saw an angel of death above him. He knew he was not headed to the light. So did Agatha the Val'kyr who was used to being mistaken for death.



The almost metallic voices of the Val'kyr awakened him slowly. Lomanic made out only a few words. Powerful, Dark, Asset, and finally Dark Lady. He felt odd. Lighter somehow and just... strange. He then realized he was not breathing, yet he was alive. He was about to address the three Val'kyr when suddenly with a cry of “Sylvanas!” and were gone. Lomanic sat up, he looked around, he was in a small military encampment. He could see the Greymane wall in the distance. His head felt light, he raised a hand to it and stopped. Bones, his bones, were in front of him. He took full stock at that moment and a slow dawning thought came over him. Quietly in his own mind he thought....

“I am Forsaken”.

Lomanic stood, shakey on his new near skeletal legs. Anger and rage washed over him. As he looked around he saw other Forsaken, he saw Orcs, and Trolls. A Tauren and Sin'dorei stood off by the road. They did not cower from him, they did not fear him. He started to rethink his situation. The Horde, he was a member of the Horde now. The horde accepted Warlocks; in fact the forsaken downright encouraged them. The forsaken... the libraries of Lorderon would be available to him as a forsaken. The troves of dark knowledge that was accessible to him now! The power he could learn! Then his thoughts returned to what brought him here, of the Worgen, of the apparent appearance of his long lost father. He remembered the guards words in the dungeon of the keep about the alliance welcoming the dogs. Not only could he strike revenge at the dogs now, but at SI: 7 and his father as well. Others would strike with him, happily at that. He could have revenge on those that killed him, revenge on those that hunted him, revenge on the one that abandoned him. For maybe the first time in his life, or rather his new unlife Lomanic felt.... serenity. He could kill..... He could maim.... he could murder.... and here he would be rewarded, not hunted! He looked towards the road and forgot all about the Scythe, his thoughts on the scores of dead Worgen, and Draenei, and Dwarves, and Gnomes, and everything that lay before his future. Now he did not think, now he shouted.

“I AM FORSAKEN!!!”

and he set out for his new home; he set out for the Undercity.
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You can't spell Manslaughter without Laughter!
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