Birth Name: Sorriastrasza
Full Name: Zirinax the Ravager
Race: Reddish Dragon. Sort of. You'll see.
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Personality: There are a few screws loose in this dragon's head, and I mean that in the most sincere of ways. There is absolutely nothing left of the hereditary personality of the red dragonflight; Zirinax lost the ability to feel sympathy and compassion for the lesser races when she was ruined by them. She is bitter and resentful to an extreme, with a dangerously short fuse and an explosive temper. Patience is not something she has an abundance of at all, and things that annoy her generally do not continue to exist for very long.
It is not, however, impossible to get to know her. One simply needs to catch Zirinax on a good day, and while she may outwardly seem coarse and - for a lack of a better term - bitchy, there is a great void deep inside formed by the mistreatment she suffered at the hands of the cult. It is difficult to get into her blackened heart but once there, those close to her will find they have a fierce, loyal friend willing to risk her life if need be. There is great sorrow and great longing deep inside, masked by a violent facade.
Likes: Her eggs, magic, moderate climates, being left the hell alone. Also, shiny things.
Dislikes: Deathwing, black dragons, twilight dragons, those damn cultists, pretty much all of the mortal races, probably you.
Appearance: Not terribly unlike a twilight dragon.
In most cases, Zirinax appears to be a very, very deep shade of red - nearly black. However, the experimentation done on her by the Twilight cult has made the color of her scales entirely dependant on several factors, including lighting, mood, and what particular energy Zirinax is full of. The scales along her belly are a deep crimson, as are the membranes of her wings. At times, however, her scales can appear more blue, or solid black, or purple, or even a deep forest green - truly any color of the rainbow, so long as it is not far off black. The membranes of her wings will also change color to match whatever color her scales choose to reflect.
Along her hindquarters, shoulders, and spine are tiny, glowing runes. They were once branded directly onto her skin and since then, the scales that grew in those places have been of brilliant neon colors - bright red, yellow, neon green, ice blue, and white. The scales there are exceptionally hot to the touch and glow with their own light, and anyone well attuned to feeling the ebb and flow of magic would be able to feel magic radiating very powerfully from those runes.
Her horns, teeth, claws, and spikes were once pearly white, but have blackened near the bases from the experimentation. Her eyes, like her scales, change colors quite readily but are ordinarily a deep red.
Strengths: She is small and swift, giving her an evasive advantage in combat. She is also stupidly skilled at a number of different magic schools, and has experimented enough with these schools to manipulate them in fun and unique ways. She is quite tolerant to physical pain, and most magic seems to have a reduced effect on her.
Weaknesses: The experiments done on her have made her extremely unstable in both mind and body - she could, theoretically, detonate at any given moment. She is a lot smaller than the average dragon of her age, and quite terrible at physical combat. Zirinax doesn't tend to think decisions through before making them, and in many cases, is very predictable. She is slightly more susceptible to holy magic and nature magic than any other kind.
History: Zirinax doesn't remember much of her past, but she isn't the one telling you about it.
She was born from an egg laid by a red dragoness named Variastrasza. Her mother cared very deeply for her and the other young whelps born from that clutch of eggs. She was christened Sorriastrasza when she was young, and under the careful guidance of her mother and the other matrons of the dragonflight, she grew to feel love and compassion for Azeroth's living residents.
When she was just a young drake - small, lithe, but a pretty young thing - Variastrasza was called off to tend to matters elsewhere. Sorria quickly developed a sense of independance and self-sufficiency as a result of this, and not long after recognized a sense of duty both to her flight and to the preservation of the beings she shared space on Azeroth with. She was very young when she first submitted herself to Alexstrasza's service.
Years passed. Being so small and so young, she was never asked to tend to things requiring combat, as it was feared that she - even though she was a little spitfire - would not be able to handle it. Sorriastrasza strove to prove herself to the flight, that she was capable of the tougher tasks, but she was always set to standing sentry over the nests of older and wiser reds, or else sent as a messenger of sorts. Sorria became very restless over time with these jobs, which continued to be assigned to her even as she reached her second millenia of life.
She was nearly halfway through said millenia when her patience wore off. Realizing that she would never be able to serve as a protector of the living as well as she'd like so long as she was continuously asked to do menial tasks, Sorriastrasza decided it was time to make a change. So, with a new start in mind, she flew off in the dead of night to arrive at a small, quiet village in the northernmost reaches of the civilized world.. Tranquillien.
Sorriastrasza assumed the name Sorria Dawnbrook, and for all intents and purposes, she ceased to be a dragon at all. Her new name came with an elaborate story, which she concocted as things unfolded - having never had much exposure with the mortal races, much of the cover she created for herself was improvised on the spot in situations that called for it.. But she had a knack for this story-weaving, and in no time, Sorria Dawnbrook was accepted in the high elf community as a bright young girl with no extraordinary qualities at all.
She lived as a mortal would, in this fake skin of hers'. She made friends, she made enemies, she went so far as to cross one of the most major boundaries dragons masquerading as mortals have: she fell in love, and foolishly married the man, which certainly didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time. What's the worst that could happen, after all..?
But after a marriage of nearly two decades, the man had figured out something was amiss. Her elaborate, many-tiered story fell apart gradually, for the bright-eyed man Sorria Dawnbrook took as her husband was a clever one. He was well aware there was no record of her or her fictional parents in Silvermoon's records. He was aware there was no fire like the one she described, where her fictional family perished in a small cabin at the side of a lake. In short, he was aware that Sorria Dawnbrook was a complete lie, and he did not hesitate to confront her about it.
Devastated, she told him the truth: who she really was, why she was here, and why she lied to hide her identity. It crushed her to do so. His betrayed expression told her volumes about how insulted he was, and though she pleaded with him to understand she truly did love him, he walked out on her that very night, leaving the young dragon alone, full of sorrow and grief and feelings of self-loathing. She would never be good enough: not as a dragon, not as a mortal.
She took to the wing again the very next day, still mourning her failed love. She could not bear the thought of returning to the dragonflight after having left without a word. What would they say? What would they do? Sorriastrasza was certain that their ridicule would be far worse than that of the high elf man she had nursed a deep affection for, and yet, she dared not try another walk in mortal shoes. She had to return. There was no other option.
She was welcomed back. Not warmly, sure, but she was taken back and put back in service for the flight, and she gloomily returned to doing the most simple tasks, as she had yet to grow into a dragon fit for strenuous work or combat. Though Sorriastrasza hated it, there was nothing she could do, so she tolerated it.
And that was her life. Nothing noteworthy happened at any time for the next couple thousand years.
Just a few years before the Second War, Sorriastrasza became the mate of an older dragon named Touristrasz, who could tell the small female was not particularly happy with her lot in life. He was a pleasure to be around and never dismissed her abilities based on her size, which she greatly appreciated. With him, she was able to settle down, and in what seemed like no time at all, Sorriastrasza had lain a clutch of eggs deep in the depths of the red dragonflight's most populous lair.
She faithfully tended those eggs, frequently refusing to leave the lair, even when there were others there to take over the watch. Her devotion was such that Touristrasz had to forcibly push her out of the lair at some point. She spent no more than four hours out of the red dragonflight's spacious cave. When she returned, it was empty. Completely empty.
Nearly all of the eggs were gone, and those that were left were smashed. The broodmothers that had been tending their eggs were either gone or slain, including the dragonqueen herself. Sorriastrasza, understandably maddened by worry and grief, joined the rest of the flight on the search for Alexstrasza, her consorts, and the large amount of eggs that had gone missing - including her own.
The search was a frenzied one, and the flight immediately came under attack by the black dragonflight. Sorriastrasza, the little female who had never been given a chance to prove herself in this situation, shockingly excelled when confronted by the blacks: so consumed with rage and sorrow was she, that any challengers that survived her wild assaults of tooth, claw, and flame were left to flee with grievous injury. She sustained serious injuries herself, she paid no mind to her own pain and instead focused all of her energy on making the black dragonflight pay for bothering her and her flight.
Though she knew not exactly who was responsible for the kidnap of Alexstrasza, her consorts, or the eggs, Sorria found great relief in taking it out on the black dragons that tried to take advantage of the scattered state of the remaining reds.
It took some time, but it was soon discovered that the orcs at Grim Batol were the ones responsible. The Dragonmaw Clan were using enslaved red dragons as tools of war, something Sorria - and the rest of the free flight! - found beyond repulsive. Despite the fact that they now knew the culprits, they were helpless to react and were forced into hiding.
For no less than eight years, they hid, Sorria included, until Alexstrasza and the other enthralled reds broke free from the command of the Dragonmaw. There was much frivolity and celebration and over the next couple years, things went back to normal. Kind of.
Sorria was afforded a little more respect and was allowed to carry out more dangerous tasks. She refused to bear another clutch of eggs due to paranoia that they would be stolen, as her first had been - neither Touristrasz nor the other brood mothers could make her let go of this fear, and eventually stopped trying. Sorriastrasza, as a result, remained barren.
Just a bit more than five years ago, Sorriastrasza was investigating suspicious activities in the Highlands east of Grim Batol, and suddenly -
The force of the collision knocked her right out of the air. She had no idea what hit her until she heard the screeching roar above her, and looked up to see a dragon unlike any she'd ever seen before - it was a soft, matte black with a strong reddish-purple tint to it and the fire it readily shot at her was a lethal purple. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she was sure it was something the rest of the flight would want to know about immediately - but she never made it back.
The drake - a twilight drake, as the flight was named - pursued her west until it managed to ground her in a small forest clearing at the foot of a long mountain ridge. In its excitement, the dragon tore at her with its claws and teeth, squealing and shrieking in delight the whole while. Sorriastrasza, unable to do much while pinned to the ground as she was, was left to struggle and squirm and bear the drake's repeated attacks. The small jets of flame the twilight drake excitedly let loose upon her seared right through her scales, burning through her thick hide to expose layers of muscle below.
It was only when Sorriastrasza stopped struggling that the drake stopped attacking and backed off, leaving her a bleeding, panting mess. Where her blood reached the ground, bright flowers sprung from the dirt around her and her wounds began to slowly cauterize without any help from her - she could do nothing, as she was unconscious within five minutes.
When she awoke, it was near dusk, and she had thick shackles fastened to all four legs and her neck, attached to great chains fastened firmly in the ground. The second thing she noticed, after the shackles, was that she couldn't see - she had a large, thick canvas wrapped around her head that she could not shake off. The fact that she couldn't see where she was or what was going on made her nervous.
She was right to be nervous. She didn't have her head raised for more than thirty seconds when suddenly, she was struck across the bridge of her long snout with something white-hot and painful. Sorria threw her head back with a shrill yelp and squirmed, rattling the chains attached to her shackles loudly, but she was unable to get away. Unsure of where the strike had come from, all she could do was sit still and hope to smell the culprit, or else hear him, or feel him.
But he told her where he was with a soft laugh that made her head turn to the direction of the noise.
"Feisty, aren't you?" purred a voice from just in front of her, just a bit off to the right. "It's been some time since we've seen your kind in these parts."
"Speaking of parts," purred a second voice, this one a bit behind her and to her left, and female. "Have you considered the size of her, Martil? I doubt if she could be used successfully for anything else."
"Come now, Andreda," purred the first, walking toward Sorria's hind end. She turned as best as she could, but was struck on her left flank almost immediately for it - the woman had done it without saying anything. The man stopped at Sorriastrasza's hip. "Can you think of nothing else?"
There was a long moment of silence, and both of her captors began to walk toward her front. She could hear their footsteps stop in front of her, apparently looking at her, maybe judging her. When someone spoke, it was Andreda, who let out a sharp laugh and asked, "Seriously, Martil? I doubt she's even old enough. Look at the size of her, she can't possibly be - "
"So she's small," Martil snapped impatiently, "But she is mature, I promise you. No, Andreda - wait -"
The woman had apparently started walking away. Martil's footsteps could be heard, running over to the woman.
"Think about it, Andreda, just - for a second - think about it!" he said, his voice growing low and excited. "There are only so many of - of them -" There was a pause, followed by, "- if we could get her to lay eggs for us, we wouldn't need to go to the trouble of stealing them, or worrying about not having any! Don't you see?"
"Brilliant plan, Martil," Andreda drawled sarcastically. "There's only one problem. How do we get her to lay eggs for us?"
There was a long moment of silence again, punctuated only by Sorriastrasza's heavy breathing. She didn't know who these people were, but she had no desire to deal with whatever twisted plans they were forming. Just as she was getting hopeful that this Martil could think of nothing, he crushed that hope.
"Do we not have any male dragons around here?" he asked with a laugh. "Honestly - black, one of these twilight ones, does it matter? We have them, don't we? I'm sure they'd be relatively compliant, don't you think?
And that, unfortunately, was the end of the matter. That plan is exactly what took place: Sorriastrasza was held captive and forced to lay eggs fathered by an old black dragon named Orastrion, a most violent beast who took indecent pleasure in Sorriastrasza's entire situation. The same could be said for her captors, of which there were many - she was frequently the victim of violent mistreatment at their hands; if they were having a bad day, they would often come out to where she was chained for the purpose of abusing her, simply because she could do nothing to stop them. Their abuse was petty to an extreme; unable to see and unable to move, they would often offer her food simply to move it away, somewhere out of reach.
She was quickly muzzled, and her wings clamped to her sides. The few things she could do in self-defense included lighting her torturers ablaze or buffetting them with her wings, but once those options were removed, her only safety measure was her tail, and her mortal captors were quick to learn not to get in range of it. The muzzle was removed only for eating, and replaced immediately after.
They were mischievous enough, one day, to unshackle her neck and legs. They left on the blindfold, the muzzle - metal, by the way - and the cords binding her wings to her side, and let her go, blind, to wander among them, and more importantly, around Orastrion, who would frequently watch the cruel treatment of his new, forced consort with great interest. It was always he who subdued her to the point where she could be returned to her shackles, but never before playing with her in the way a cat plays with a mouse - but Orastrion's claws were non-retractable.
Sorriastrasza knew from the beginning that they were taking away the eggs from this forced pairing, and though she loathed the way they came about, she cared for them in the way only a mother could - her maternal instinct was impeccably strong, and the knowledge that these devious cultists were stealing her eggs away filled her with both sorrow and rage; she overheard them talking about experiments on them, and taming the hatched whelps like they were no more than dumb beasts. It pained her greatly.
After two solid years of this, it stopped. Suddenly, one day, nobody at all came out to where she was shackled, covered in burns and open wounds and gashes, mostly left by Orastrion, but sometimes from hot pokers wielded by the cultists. Very suddenly, nobody came to poke her, to hit her, to antagonize her.. For three days she was left in total peace.
Maybe they've lost interest?
The thought was wrong to an extreme so fierce it was almost overwhelming. On the night of the third day, a large number of the cultists approached her, as did Orastrion. Her shackles were undone, permitting her the freedom to walk, but she was still muzzled, wings still bound - bound so tight the ropes bit into her skin, in fact - but her blindfold was taken off, and she could see, for the first time, that she had been held captive in the middle of a dark, ironbound encampment, draped in purple at every turn.
She only had a moment to observe this with eyes that had not seen in two solid years before she was given a sharp whack on the flank with a hot iron, followed by a gruff, "Move."
Without the strength to fight them all - and certainly not Orastrion, who stayed nearby - she could not get away on foot, and so was forced to walk among these cultists, led to a dark hold built into the side of a mountain. There was something about this place that didn't feel right, like there was somebody else there, somebody unseen - hardly more than a subtle prescense that flitted in and out of the mind. It was a strange feeling, but Sorriastrasza blocked it out as best it could.
She was led to a tall chamber, dimly lit by purple lamps made from what appeared to be the membranes of dragon wings; everywhere she looked, there seemed to be signs that whoever she was caught by didn't think much of her kind. Inside, she wondered if they would eventually kill her and cut her up, too.
In the center of this chamber was another set of shackles, and she stopped at the sight of them, not at all ready to repeat the experience in a confined space. Orastrion, however, let out a rumbling growl of a laugh and shoved her close enough toward them for the cultists to bind her. They grinned at her as they did so, and left her unblindfolded. She didn't like the looks they gave her.. She didn't like feeling like they knew something she didn't.
They all left the room through the huge hall they'd entered from, and a heavy metal gate lowered to lock her in. She watched this happen, feeling uneasy as she did so - and when she turned her head, there was someone standing directly in front of her, someone in long, dark purple robes.
"Good evening, Sorriastrasza," the robed man purred. "You have made it through phase one of our experiment wonderfully. The young from your eggs have been extraordinarily helpful for our efforts. We greatly appreciate your cooperation, even if it was unwilling. I am pleased to inform you that you have now graduated to the second phase of our little experiment."
Sorria stayed silent, but shifted in place as a man revealed a long vial, full of a thick, deep red liquid with streaks of blue flowing throughout. At one end of the vial was a long, thick needle.
"This blood was donated to us by a dragon named Narigos," the robed man said, approaching Sorria's shoulder. "I wonder what would happen if we put this blood in you? Shall we find out?"
Knowing she had no choice, Sorriastrasza could only lean away when the robed man slid the needle under her scales, through her thick hide, and into a vein near the base of her neck. She was aware of a sting from the injection site and a strange, invigorating feeling as the vial was emptied, but nothing else. She felt no different, and so fixed the man with a disgusted stare. He smiled smoothly back at her.
"You will be seeing much of me in the coming weeks," he said, still with a twisted grin, before heading out of the room.
The robed man returned twice a day from then on, once in the morning, once at night. Each time, he brought with him vials of blood belonging to other dragons - ones she assumed were dead. Donations came from all flights except red; Narigos, Lemigosa, and Taligos from the blue, Karidormi and Novormu from the bronze, Etherus and Vesra from the green, and only one donor from the black: Orastrion, who had not yet retired from his job of siring Sorriastrasza's eggs, which were still removed from her immediately after laying.
The order in which the robed man brought the blood seemed random, but he gave no indication of stopping. He frequently sounded frustrated, even disappointed by her lack of reaction to the blood; only minor changes had been noted with the continuous infusions, mostly physical changes. Still, he did not stop bringing her these blood infusions.
One day, he came with several robed others like him. They had with them several tools she did not recognize, but she found out what they were for soon enough: they stood at her hip and began plucking her scales, one by one. The process was remarkably painful, to have each healthy scale torn from her skin unceremoniously.. And once the desired area was free of scales, these robed men would carefully draw a rune into her thick hide and brand it there with hot iron, dipped in blood - the blood of the dragons they were injecting into her.
When these brands healed, they glowed a sickly bright color depending on which flight the blood on the iron was from. Over the course of two weeks, she had these runes drawn into her shoulders, her hips, along her back, even a couple under her eyes. She wasn't sure what the purpose of this was, but the robed man that injected the blood into her seemed quite pleased with the results of them.
And she began to notice a change, herself. She became more in-tune with things around her, things she'd never noticed before. When the robed man and his accomplices used magic on her, she was acutely aware of the ebb and flow of it, the way it was absorbed by her body, the way it traveled through her.. She became aware of the earth beneath her feet and the pain it felt, no doubt caused by the digging of the cult further into the mountain. She was acutely aware of the passing of time and found that despite being shut up under a mountain, she was perfectly aware of when it was dawn and dusk. At times, when she laid down for a short sleep, she almost felt as though her conscience was slipping away into another realm, without ever passing through.. And she understood.
The more blood they injected into her, the greater these effects became. Eventually they began to add a different type of blood - that taken from the twilight dragons they worked with. The runes had made her infinitely more receptive to the changes they were trying to force on her. Days were full of experimentation with tolerances and reactions to different types of magic, and nights were filled with restlessness and a quiet voice breathing a soft mantra in the depths of her mind.
"The flight has forgotten you.. They are better off without you.."
The whispers were maddening beyond belief. Something about the whispered words was so seductive, Sorriastrasza found them difficult to not believe, but she forced herself to ignore them - they weren't her own thoughts, it was just a trick being played on her by the cultists. They had spent two years physically abusing her, she suspected mow they would crack her mind and soul.
And they succeeded. The next year was spent trying to enhance the effect of the magic, the runes, and the blood, and by the end of that year Sorria had begun to truly listen to the whispers and began to truly believe the message of hopelessness both they and the cultists themselves were keen on making known to her, and she had forgotten who she truly was. The cultists seem to have had this in mind, for when she stopped trying to fight them - truly fight them - they unshackled her, removed the muzzle, and unbound her wings. She adopted the name Zirinax and became exactly what they wanted her to be: a monster.
The second year was spent refining the doses of the blood, which strengths dominated others, and training her to properly use the powers she had been granted through the process. They encouraged a violent temperament, one that became so terrible that they had to muzzle her again - she was prone to untriggered fits of rage, periods of utter instability that resulted in three cultist deaths.
But they couldn't have been happier with her.
For a time, she was everything they wanted her to be, so much so that they took her out flying - she with her new, nearly unrecognizeable appearance - she almost blended in with the twilight drakes, the one borne from altered eggs. She was magically formidable, which made up for her size and relative lack of strength.
Just one year ago, they thought they had her perfected. The higher ups in the Twilight Dragonflight were ready to accept her as one of their own - ready to take her to aid in the defiling of the Ruby Sanctum for the sake of irony, in fact, but they never got the chance.
The whispers stopped. One day, quite suddenly, the whispers in her head stopped while she was flying about - she had gone out of range of their power. The sudden silence allowed room for her own independant thoughts and actions. Where she had been convinced by the corruptive power of the mysterious voice that terrible things would happen to her if she did not cooperate with both the unknown voice and the desires of the Twilight Cult, she was suddenly free to realize there were alternative. It was like waking up from a long, vivid dream - one minute she was purposefully flying alongside a number of the drakes borne from corrupted eggs, and the next, she was wondering how she got into this position.
And she flew away. As simple as that - being as small and as lithe as she was, she was a swift flier, much quicker than the drakes she flew with. They simply could not catch her. Zirinax could not remember who she was or why she was with them, she only knew that she had to get away, so she flew. For days she flew nonstop until her wings could carry her no longer.
And since then, she has been playing the part of recluse.
-Like most Twilight dragons, she has the ability to vampirically drain the powers of others - a talent she is not very good at and does not use often.
-Because she tries to avoid others wherever possible, she has turned to collecting shiny things to keep her occupied. Old relics, coins, jewelery, doesn't matter - if it glitters, she wants it.
-Though the blood of the five dragonflights was given to her, she cannot command all of their powers: she is not chromatic. She is, however, significantly more aware of the things they tend to be aware of than the usual red. The most blood was given to her by blue and black, accounting for a newfound affinity for magic of all types, and the tendancy toward violence.
-She very rarely assumes a mortal guise, as she very rarely comes into contact with mortals. In the event she does come in contact with mortals, she does not bother with a fake identity. She does not care if the world knows she's a dragon.
-Zirinax does not remember who she was before. She doesn't clearly remember anything from the time she was born to the time the servant of the Old Gods, Iso'rath, started speaking to her. She vaguely remembers the events following the twilight drake's attack, but only remembers those events enough to know that she hates the culprits with a fiery passion and nothing more. She would not respond to the name 'Sorriastrasza' if called it, as a result.
-The enemy of her enemy is her friend. She may not like the mortal races, but she's willing to use them.