A mage seeks out power, those who say anything different are lying to you. The journey is lifelong and typically never stops when the first life ends. At least that was the story in this particular case. A man whose potentional for power, then love, came to be in such force, that he would never die, (or at least stay dead) until those infinite lusts were flexed and enjoyed to their fullest extent.
Wayne DeLovely had a taste for magic since before he had taken a breath that was his own. However, being born to peasant farmers gave him little potential to develop his powers as a child. It was not until his potential was noticed, almost by chance, (or fate, as some magicians would call it) that he was given a scholarly magical education in the captial city of Lordaeron. He graduated at the top of his class, due to the fact that anyone who would happen to best him would not linger to have the ability to do it again. The circumstances of the disappearances of his classmates were very wide range, everyone seemed to know it was him, but proof and explanation were silent to help. His stark blue eyes would see no defeat. Even has a teenager, his cruelty and cunning was astounding.
Due to the kingdom granting him an education, his services went to the betterment of said kingdom. Though by contract, Wayne DeLovely had never felt loyality to anyone but himself, he cared nothing for the well being of Lordaeron. If the following ten years of his life in the service of Lordaeron could be described in positive terms, then you would find none. He hated it, he hated his colleagues, he hated the activites of the kingdom. The only enjoyment he found was the expansion and growth of his own power.
When his decade of service ended, he was 29 years old and had the ability to pursue anything, but he choose to go back to the farm that he was born on. By now his parents had been dead for years, and the squalid patch of miserable earth was in full decay. He did not seek to rebuild the farm, at least not at first, only to live in solitude and grow his powers to limitless bounds.
The tall stone watchtower in the middle of the wheat field still stands to this day, build by his own hands and a great deal of magic. The sanctuary became the perfect abode for him. Many nights on the top floor of his tower would be a testament to the skill that few had matched.
At first he had no interest in making the fields bloom, the allure of nature was seen as being weak to him. Weak yes, but also, he reasoned, it was still beautiful. After a couple of years of procrastination, he breathed life into seeds, and tilled the dirt with his own hands. His joy became long spells of fasting from rest, he would push his mortal body to extremes in the pursuit strengtheing himself. The effort was shown, the fields would always be teeming with life, especially roses, which grew around and climbed the great stone tower.
The total peace and solitude was undisturbed for seven years, until invaded by a small entourage of his old colleagues and knights of Lordaeron. Whatever their reason for coming to him would be turned down, he reasoned, due to their reckless gallop though his daffodil feild. They approached him in front of his tower, and choose not to dismount from their horses.
"So you did come back to this, eh?" said an old mage he knew, a man named Keils.
Seeing as Wayne barely looked at him, and was carrying a look on his face of contempt, the man named Keils went on,
"Prince Arthas is calling many senior serviced mages to join him," Keils said.
Wayne showed still no reaction or care.
"To Northrend," Keils finished.
Wayne began talking then, "I have not heard anything of the activies of Arthas or his kingdom in years, but I know that nothing good will come about by venturing to that place."
"Who are you to call disfavor on this crusade? A man who ran to this wasteland and cared for nothing!" challenged Keils in a loud tone.
In quaint response, Wayne said calmly, "Chasing trouble that far will bring no peace here."
Keils rounded his horse quickly and charged away, signaling the others to follow. Wayne stood and watched them ride off, somewhat pleased that they were not making another trail though his daffodils.
It was only a week later that he became seriously ill. A crippling pain in his chest and abdomen that felt like razors flying around and bouncing off edges under his skin. Any healing that his magic might be able to do would be impossible, as the disease felt like it was scrambling his brain and all his thoughts. He hit the stone floor of his tower on a cold night and remembered nothing for a long, long time.
End of Chapter 1