Vekaar

No one was left who could remember how it had happened; how the Eredar had fallen under darkness. At least, no one who would do anything. No one who would stand and fight the Legion, no one who would challenge their power. Or so Kil'jaeden believed.

As a lone Farseer spit on the charred corpse of his newest Orcish victim, he muttered an oath, gazing to the stars. "You spawn these demons, enraged with your blood, turning them against us. You believe you will dent our will. While the 'peace' you use these puppets to impose may lull some of this Alliance into complacancy, you can be certain I, for one, will not rest until the last demon, and the last puppet, and the last sympathizer, and the last spawn of those demons, have all been destroyed."

Argus
A gleaming civilization had conquered the entirety of a world to call their own. A unified race of beautiful, intelligent, strong people, who looked not too dissimilar to Humans. Curious above all, these Eredar as they came to call themselves were deeply interested in other worlds. Science, technology, society, and thinking overall were in a constant state of progression, and with the march of the world's collective intelligence came that of their collective prosperity. The rivers glistening, luminescent even in the darkest hour of night, the streets paved with glistening gems. Towering spires of stone cliffs, miles high, were buffeted by crashing waves of hues more varied then any human's eye would ever even be able to see. A utopia, untouchable. Spearheaded by their valiant triumvirate of leaders, the society had leadership that had never failed them. The glorious three: Archimonde, Kil'jaeden, and Velen.

Among all this glory, one of the Eredar lived a luxurious life even by their standards; A wealthy politician, well-liked by his people and in a position of minor power in a local government. This man who went by the name of Vekaar was an affluent thinker, writer, and nature-lover, spending much of his time in the wilds, enjoying the beauty of Argus. He had claimed a beautiful wife and three healthy, intelligent children. He couldn't be happier.

As he lay in a meadow one night, staring up at the stars, he thought about his good fortune, as he often did. Giving thanks to fate for what it'd given him. He mused upon, and eventually came to the conclusion of, what the greatest fortune he'd had was: That it would last, for all intents and purposes, forever. The Eredar lived so long that it was unrecorded of a single Eredar ever having died of old age, and his invincible civilization certainly wasn't going anywhere. He smiled contently and stood up, turning to face his children who'd run out to meet him before they went to bed.

It was the next day that the town was abuzz about the news of some foreign being communicating with their leaders, promising them the chance to study creatures from other worlds.

The Exile's Flight
Hard, metallic ceilings arched high above the man in tattered robes, along with the hundreds of other refugees he stood confusedly alongside. Their only remaining leader, Velen, stood calmly, yet still obviously as confused as they were, in the center of the group. He told them only to wait, and trust the beings that had saved them, and spirited them to this vessel. He told them they were exiles: Draenei. He told them to hope that the others would be alright. He told them the only thing he knew about the beings that had saved them, their names: The Naaru.

So be it, Vekaar thought, laying alone and battered on the oddly organic metal that composed the vessel. At the very least, he owed these Naaru appreciation. He sighed and turned to sleep. He froze as his arm fell upon the floor, realizing this was the first time in any recent memory his wife had not lay beside him. He stayed frozen in an awkward sideways position before slowly relaxing and crumpling to the floor, beginning to sob, joining the already growing chorus of sobs in the chamber.

It was about one thousand years after the day that the refugees became Draenei that Vekaar was reunited with his son.

The Naaru had stopped the voyage on a foreign world in an attempt to find a place for the Draenei to settle. The environment was hostile, but the will of the Draenei was prevailing. Gigantic trees became carved into settlements for the refugees. It was a few weeks into this settlement that the first among them began to feel safe. This was when the Legion caught wind of them once again.

Within the day, Infernals rained from the sky, legions of Eredar wizards burned the settlements to the ground, Felguards stomped the marshes, slaughtering anyone fool enough to get in their way without a sufficient weapon. The Draenei fought hard, but were scattered, and formed into small bands that found each other in an attempt to reunite with the Prophet Velen and escape the world before it, too, was overrun by the Legion. Vekaar, as the most intelligent and adept in the group of twenty or so Draenei he'd stumbled upon, was made the leader. He led them in the direction of the tallest mountain in the area.

Guessing their movements with ease, it was only a few hours before they were ambushed by a party of Eredar magi. They hurled themselves into battle, and the Draenei gained the advantage quickly due to the Eredar underestimating their will to fight. A few Draenei were charred to ash as they hesitated, knowing they were fighting against their former people, wondering if they were right or wrong. Vekaar did not stop to wonder. As the Eredar were pulling back, the warrior charged forward, leaping to the leader of the magi and bringing his mace down on the back of the demon's skull, shattering it as the beast's blood and brains splattered Vekaar's armor. It spun around and fell, wheezing as it died, the last of its allies retreating into the forest. Vekaar looked upon the dying demon and stepped on the chest of the creature, intending to spit on it, or simply take pleasure in watching the corrupt thing enter the afterlife and regain purity. His gaze fell onto the twisted, gnarled face of the person he once called a daughter. It gazed back, baring fangs with nothing but malice. A beast, and nothing more. His horror, a greater horror than he'd ever felt before, was quickly overshadowed by an emotion even greater: Disgust. Not in his deed, but in what the Legion had done to his former family. He came to realize that any of the Eredar he had killed in the few past battles he'd been in, and any of those he killed in the countless battles he was sure to join in the future, could be one of his past family or friends. His horror-stricken grimace slowly grew into a smirk. He cracked his neck quickly, and began laughing. Only death would set them free. The Legion thought they would destroy his will to fight by making his own family their soldiers? Surely, it had the opposite affect on Vekaar, as it instilled him with a righteous fury the likes of which he'd never felt before: He could only hope to cleanse the ones he'd loved of their slavery to the Legion through death. Unpleasant to some, maybe, but a glimmer of light in hell for him.

It was thousands of years and countless similar experiences on other worlds before the Naaru vessel landed on the world that'd come to be known as Draenor.

Draenor
The old warrior named Vekaar had been appointed an Exarch, leading the guard of a settlement in Terokkar forest, mainly just beating off roaming ogres and helping the occasional lost Orcish hunting party. The Orcs were a seemingly harmless people. It'd been a few hundred years existing among them, and the Legion had seemingly lost track of the Draenei. By all indications, this world would be the exile's refuge. Draenor.

Somewhere in a remote anchorite's hideaway in Zangarmarsh, the survivors of the genocidal surprise campaign by the newly Legion-aligned Orcs were in an even more dismal shape than when they had escaped Argus. The majority of their population was dead. They knew they were doomed, but they stayed behind in Shattrath to sate the Orcish bloodlust, and the anger of the Legion. If they thought they'd killed off the last of the Draenei, they'd stop hunting them, allowing the few survivors a chance at life. An empty city would only prolong their fight. The majority of their population was martyred. And all along, the Draenei had relied on the power of Vindicators and Anchorites to help them channel the power of the Light. The Naaru had saved them once, and they had revealed that this Light was the force they served. Why did the Naaru not save them once again? The answer was obvious: They had displeased the Light. The Vindicators and Anchorites were worn out and useless, their ways obviously ineffective at bringing the aid of the Light, in Vekaar's mind. He spoke out against them, and was shut down rather quickly by his peers.

It was then that Vekaar finally decided he'd had enough of the traditional, weak, fleeing, subservient Draenei culture. He abandoned his prestigious title of Exarch, striking out with a strong mace and a slight knowledge of the land to become a hermit. It was after a few years of wandering the wilderness and rekindling his relationship with nature that he stumbled upon a villiage the Broken, who had recently taken to Shamanism and were spreading the message to the Draenei people. He had come to view the world as another creation of the Light; Shamanism could be, to him, merely a new, powerful method of serving the Light. He begun his training immediately.

Azeroth, The Burning Crusade, and recent history.
Upon his crash-landing with the rest of the Draenei on Azeroth, Vekaar was one of the first to introduce the Draenei to Night Elven society, and helped bring them into the Alliance by demonstrating that they were, in fact, not demons, as the Elves had originally assumed. A few rather painful but non-lethal arrows and a glaive that nearly decapitated him were understandable, and forgiven quickly.

Quickly learning Common and learning all he could of his new allies' culture, he quickly came to amazement by two facts: The Legion had once failed to invade this world, and the Orcs lived on this world in relative peace with the other races.

The first fact inspired him. He quickly took up the growing concept of 'The Army of the Light' securing Azeroth before one day moving along to destroy the Legion in entirety. He saw the value in their newfound manpower.

The second fact enraged him. This 'Alliance' was being tricked by the Legion-spawned, green-skinned, blood-drinking Orcs into 'peace'? Their allies, each more savage then the next? The living dead roaming the earth, created by Ner'zhul himself? And news of a new alliance being formed with the Blood Elves, demon-worshiping, corruptive mana addicted cousins of the noble Night Elves?

The situation was clear to the Farseer. The Orcs, Blood Elves, and Undead were all direct creations of the Legion, and must be put to death at once. The Trolls and Tauren willingly allied themselves with these cretins; surely too primitive to understand what they'd done, they were like misled little children, and there was no going back for them. They needed to die just the same, and without a hint of remorse.

Preparing to gather a group of like-minded individuals and begin a campaign on the Horde, he was interrupted by the chance to strike at the Legion in the shattered remains of Draenor. Rushing off to join the Burning Crusade, he forsook the Illidari and the Horde to directly strike at nothing but Legion camps, often spending weeks alone in the hills preparing guerilla ambushes and traps. Upon his satisfaction of having seemingly killed the last demon in all of Outland, months after Illidan had died, he returned to Azeroth, seizing a new opportunity to strike on the Isle of Quel'danas. And as soon as he was content with his work there, the Lich King attacked, leaving the Farseer with a new enemy to focus on before the Horde could become primary. Normally he'd leave the Alliance to fight its own fights in such a situation, but Ner'zhul was a personal enemy for Vekaar, having been the first Orc to contact the Legion.

After the defeat of the Lich King, Vekaar returned to Azeroth, exploring the world for a while before settling down in the Park area of Stormwind for a short time, not wanting to return to the Exodar, feeling his people would only sit and stew in the husk of their ship. It was there that he was introduced to the Might of Staghelm. Admiring their skill and commitment in destroying the Horde, Vekaar joined with them instead of forming his own group, as the Might was everything that the Farseer had wanted to create. His skill and commitment allowed him to quickly rise to the rank of Ravenguard, one of the elite fighters of the Might's forces, and rumors state that he's been put in charge of a secretive project by the Might. His current goal is the destruction of the Horde, before turning his attention on the Warlocks and Death Knights of the Alliance. He allows them to live for now only due to the fact that they stay out of his way and make for good cannon fodder.

He's often seen in elaborate battle mail near his dwelling in Shattrath, smoking cigars or performing rituals.

Rumors have spread of a male Draenei clad in red male striking out at Horde settlements, sparing no woman or child, leaving banners jammed in corpses and buildings smoldering. A few scouts have attempted to track this Draenei down, but they've all been promptly turned into frogs temporarily upon coming within viewing range. The more persistent among them were usually found dead, horribly disfigured with burns and crushing impacts, days later.