Mirran

Information

Appearance

Usual Garments/Armor: Red armor bearing the insignia's of Black's Drakes is what you'll usually see him in, if not his red vest and simple clothing.

Other: His right fist is -literally- made of steel.

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Mirran West is a tough case to describe. He labels his enemies and his friends appropriately, and makes it his life's goal to ensure that his enemies die in some way. However, for him, 'enemy' does not always refer to the people he does not like. 'Enemy' refers to the people or things that would threaten his comrades or kingdom. Mirran feels it is dishonorable for a man or woman to throw away their potential in life by committing suicide or making stupid decisions in battle. He feels that while there are those that tend the fields and manage the papers of a great kingdom, there must always be those that fight for the cause, whatever the cause may be. A real patriot of himself, he regards the king and banner of Stormwind with great respect, though he does harbor an inner hate for most all nobles of Stormwind, considering them corrupt and 'unworthy' of a position of high regard. He does not accept blatant failure by his comrades unless a failure could not be helped by lack of training or ability to do something.

He does not fancy time around women, as he feels that most women see him as a 'monster' for having killed so many things. However, he does enjoy time with any sister-at-arms, as he knows that the woman would know his 'pains' at least to some degree. Mirran West has a large tendency to curse; mostly because it has become more habit than anything else, considering how consistent cursing was during combat in the wars. Mirran is overall an honest man, speaking truth in most all of his words, but occasionally he will lie, but only if it were for a real purpose. To save the life of a comrade, for example. Mirran has a blatant sense of sarcasm, most always rolling his eye whenever the person he is speaking to does not sense the sarcasm in his voice. Most of his sarcasm gets him either yelled at or at the other end of an argument he was not looking to get into.

He will often single out people and give them nicknames, referring to the person by their nickname in conversation and other forms of social contact. His nicknames will usually reference something he sees in the person he gives it to, for example he will normally call any militiaman or fresh-from-the-farm type soldier a 'fresh f**k', indicating towards the fact that they do not bear any combat experience even close to his own, and act like an idiot or are cocky. Mirran has specifically been told he has a 'grudge against idiots, cocky people, and cocky idiots' with how he treats some people that completely ignore some factors in a situation. Easy to piss off, Mirran takes a while to temper, usually leaving a conversation, argument, or just the room to keep from eventually punching someone. His anger usually diverts to violence, where he calls himself by either repeatedly distributing physical harm on an object of some form or verbally battering someone, something, or himself.

Mirran is a fierce man in combat, often delivering very strong blows against his enemies despite tire or weakness. To those that ask him why he always fights so passionately, he answers 'There's no rest until you're done, and the best don't rest'. He takes his job seriously, taking time to distribute orders while giving his fair share of blows. A very experienced strategist, he will plan his attacks in a way to minimize casualties but also have effective strikes. On the field, Mirran is very passionate for his comrades and their safety. He would rather come out a battle defeated but with comrades alive then come out victorious with too many losses. Every time he loses a man, he takes the blame for himself, insisting that it was his fault the soldier died. He can be remarked as both a merciless, barbaric fighter, and a merciful, honorable fighter, although it all depends on what the fight is about. He often tries to give quarter to surrendering parties, but if circumstances such as high casualties or personal vendetta are in order, he will be merciless in his strikes and kills.

He makes sure to honor all those brothers-and-sisters-in-arms that fly under the banner of Stormwind and the Alliance, as he finds a unique respect for the people who take up the fight he held for thirty years. However, Mirran often finds himself praying to whatever higher power he believes might exist for the men and women he has seen die, and during these times when he prays or pays his respects, his face is slathered with pain. He will speak with a mundane voice, and often as if he hasn't a good thing in the world. Though, he does not feel that hope is lost, only that he must give himself time to let those who have died get some respect. All too often he finds himself with a shaky voice and near-to-tear eye, though he keeps himself from fully showing his sorrow, turning it into an obvious guilt. He is usually able to stay this guilt and sorrow with his daily drinking of mead, but whenever he finds himself alone he often is entrapped in such feelings.

Another way Mirran has found is to try and make a joke out of anything - hence the nicknames he can sometimes come up with, combined with his blatant sarcasm he makes sick, bad, or ill-tempered jokes of anything, from within battle, outside of battle, and in 'civilian encounters'.

History

Childhood and the Fall of Stormwind

As written by Gabriel Ardenwright, Biographer, in continuous interviews with a soldier by the name of Mirran West.

Mirran West was born to two loving parents - Adam and Eva West. At the time of his birth, he had three older sisters, Maria, Anna and Grace, and within a year of his birth, he also had two twin sisters below him in age, Danielle and Josephine. Mirran's childhood was rather simple - his parents were two farmers in the Kingdom of Stormwind. Like any farm-boy, he began to show an apt toning in his body and muscles from the hard work that he experienced just about every day. Mirran was home-schooled by a local tutor who his parents could just barely afford for all six of their children, and so Mirran wasn't that much of an average farm-boy, as he had not only hand-on-hand knowledge but also taught knowledge to do with history. By thirteen, Mirran was an upstanding model of the farmer class of Stormwind, and a caring brother for his older and younger sisters.

When he was sixteen, Mirran gathered up money for a stay in Stormwind City so that he could join the army of the kingdom. Upon entering the city, he marveled at all of the wonders that the large collection of buildings held - he had only known his farm and the nearby logging camp, just open forests. Captured by the sights to see in the city, he wandered for a little longer than he could afford, and ended up at the foot of a recruitment center for the army of the Kingdom of Stormwind. Entering the building, he enlisted and was sent under the command of a Captain by the name of Drako Black. Drako Black was called hard and cruel in his commanding style by many, but in truth, his only ideal was to get the job done effectively. It was either a success or a failure. There was no middle ground. Drako's platoon was nicknamed 'Black's Drakes', and they were together fifty strong.

At sixteen, the strong farm-boy Mirran West fit right into Black's Drakes, and he began a series of patrols alongside his brothers in arms to the southern forests - specifically near Grand Hamlet. For two quite lengthy years they kept the local bandit populace in check, and made sure that no true harm befell the Kingdom from the south or east. Two years passed, and Black's Drakes lurked in the southern forests on a dark evening around the campfire. Food and drink was passed around after a successful patrol and ending of a small bandit threat - but this bandit threat left the entire platoon curious, as the bandits seemed to be fleeing from something to the east. They shrugged it off, laughing as if the bandits were frightened a bit by a few gnolls and a giant spider or two. Little did they know, to the east of their small camp laid the initial invasion force of the Orcish Horde. Most of what Mirran remembered of that moment, later called First Encounter, was a warning shot fired into the air and a lot of running. Drako arranged a swift strategy to set up defensive positions along a few ridges, and the Drakes moved into action. They underestimated their opponents, and the 'Greenskins' as they were called simply broke through the defenses without much challenge. The call to retreat was sounded, and so the First War began.

Most of the Kingdom was in a panic, and the Drakes were barely able to pull out of First Encounter with minimum losses. Five were dead, and twelve of them wounded. Within a month, Drako had aided other platoons in Southern Elwynn in establishing basic fortifications to hold as long as they could against the Greenskins. To Drako and Mirran, the war had only just begun. Drako saw quickly in the battles that followed that Mirran showed an exceptional skill at tactics and leadership. With much regret for the fall of their Kingdom, the Drakes were ordered to pull back from Grand Hamlet. The news of the slaughter that followed were horrifying even to Drako, and left each of the Drakes scarred. Mirran silently cried for all of the men and women of Stormwind that weren't able to evacuate out of the town before the Greenskins struck. He immediately discovered that Drako did not accept such displays of sorrow. Black's Drakes were either the best of the best or they were as dead as the next footman. Mirran was promoted to Corporal the night before the attack on Sunnyglade, and the Drakes prepared for the worst.

Sunnyglade was different than Grand Hamlet. The Drakes had less tactical advantage, and so they had to result to guerrilla warfare to even have a hope to stand a chance. Ambushes in the trees were set up, and trenches were lined alongside small fields of traps to try and overtake the approaching Greenskin forces. As the attack on Sunnyglade wore on, Mirran found himself faced off against a very large orc with a very large axe. After blocking wrong, the orc's axe tore through Mirran's wrist and severed his hand off of his arm. However, his bad block had one advantage; it managed to make the orc stumble. Mirran took advantage of the stumble, and began to mercilessly beat the orc in the face with his left fist. Drako found Mirran over the orc's corpse, still relentless in the beating of the orc's face. After a while of watching the scene, Drako managed to wrestle Mirran from the orc's corpse and get him to one of the clerics in the Sunnyglade forces. While Mirran's wound was being mended, word came that the Kingdom was pulling the defenses back again. After witnessing Drako's lengthy verbal battering on some random soldier for the 'incompetence' of his commanding officers, the Drakes retreated from the trenches of Sunnyglade.

In a long journey, many despairing battles followed Sunnyglade. First Moonbrook, then word came from the east of the fall of Stonewatch Keep and Lakeshire. Mirran was able to procure a woodworker for a small wooden replacement for his right hand, able to retract enough to fit a sword in the grip at least. The Drakes were stationed in Goldshire with the final orders to hold the line until reinforcements arrived. These reinforcements were from the northern kingdoms, Stromgarde and Lordaeron among them. A persistent assault followed the given orders, the Orcish Horde attempting each day to break the defenses at Goldshire, but each time the humans of Stormwind were able to just barely hold them back. It became less a battle and more a sequence of massacres for orcs running into lines of fire and barely making it to slay five or ten men on the human lines, yet the Horde remained vigilant in its assaults, their numbers nearly endless. It seemed to the humans as if they were fighting an entire planet's filling of orcs. On the eve of one day when loss seemed ensured, the Expedition Forces charged in from the west and caused a large distraction to allow the Stormwind forces to flee. Much to the regret of the 'fearless' Drakes, in their now thirty-six of numbers, they followed the order to flee the Kingdom. Mirran looked back at what people now began to simply call 'The First War', and grumbled sorrowful words about how only a few months could possibly cause so much death and destruction. Then his mind snapped, and he remembered that his family was within Stormwind City as part of the evacuation plan. Word came to him along the trail of Stormwind's utter destruction and the massacring of its people, and Mirran fell into a very depressed state. By this time, Drako didn't even have the energy to waste telling the Drakes to get back on their feet. He gave them time to grieve.

The Eve of the Second War

The Drakes followed on the tail of the refugee caravan of Anduin Lothar as rear guards. If the Horde followed, then the Drakes were prepared to give their lives so that the refugees could escape. Mirran was surprised when that day did not come, and with grim thoughts the Drakes cheered. The Horde had decided to stay their forces for the time being. New lands were introduced to Mirran as the refugees traveled north. He got to see the great stone halls of Dun Morogh and the long tunnels of Dun Algaz. While the dank swamps of the Wetlands weren't much of a sight, it was still a marvel to see something so different than the forest homeland that Mirran knew so well. Another marvel passed under them as the refugees came upon the Thandol Span, and gasped at the glory of the dwarven bridge that stood strong and tall. He was reminded by Drako that there were many more kingdoms where Stormwind came from. The Horde couldn't possibly break through the lines of a united north. The only problem that Drako said was that the challenge of the situation was finding a way to unite the northern kingdoms.

The refugees eventually passed into southern Lordaeron and Hillsbrad, and quickly Mirran and the Drakes were inspired with hope; they saw the armies of the north preparing, and the size of their strength was unbelievable to the weary soldiers. Drako told them as they walked of his experiences throughout Lordaeron, his home kingdom. He never told the Drakes why he had left Lordaeron, but Mirran and the Drakes decided to leave it be. Days passed as they journeyed through the lands of the north still seeing the might of the kingdoms that were meant to hold back the Horde. Eventually they reached Lordaeron City, and Mirran noticed that Drako was specifically anxious - either to get the war over with already or to get as far away from the city as possible. In the city, Mirran found himself sparring and befriending several people - Arthur Godford, one of the ensigns into the new Order of the Silver Hand, his two sons Neveen and Dalikan, an old Commander named Jerick Jacobson, his son Gerald Jacobson, and a very large Stromgardian named Aldis Tannen. All of these six were part of the Silverpine Brigade, or were assigned to aid the Brigade in any upcoming efforts of the War that was by now inevitable to come. Word quickly circulated through the city that Anduin Lothar's plea to the King Terenas Menethil II was regarded with high effort - the north mobilized for a war that would shake the continent.

The Second Great War

Mirran was promoted to Sergeant on the eve of leaving for the one land where the Drakes would first do battle again; Stromgarde. The Silverpine Brigade was hot on their trail, a close ally for the upcoming struggle in the Arathi Highlands. Preparations were put up for a year - watch towers and fortifications along the sides of hills and cliffs. As far as Mirran was concerned, the Alliance of Lordaeron would be ready when the orcs attacked. A year of silence passed by, and the watch on the towers slacked off; it would almost seem as if the orcs had decided not to advance north. However, one day they saw on the horizon a troupe of dwarven soldiers. They passed over the Thandol Span, and then they were soon followed by a larger force of dwarven soldiers - they were fleeing. Khaz Modan had been breached, the orcs were being held at Dun Algaz, but no dwarves knew how long even that would hold against such vast numbers as the orcs had. Drako and Mirran spent a month staring over the edges of the trenches in the Highlands, watching and waiting. The cry of the sentry was sounded as their fortification instantly erupted in clouds of dirt and grime from the boulders of orcish catapults. Artillery fire was exchanged from across the Thandol Span as the Horde marched over the ancient stone bridges, bringing with them two new allies - the Ogres, and the Death Knights. The Drakes looked on with horror as they saw the bodies of Knights of Stormwind riding at the front lines of the Horde forces, comrades that they all had previously known. The Ogres were a testament to how overpowering the Horde's forces were, in that they were big, fat, one-headed giants with large clubs that easily broke through the shield walls of the Alliance. The Thandol Span erupted into a bloody conflict, and the retreat horn was sounded, bringing Mirran and the Drakes to flee once more.

As with the First War before it, the Drakes constantly set up defenses and were called to retreat with each one. However, it could be noticed that the Alliance fought harder each time as they neared more familiar territory, and as alliances were made and pushed into the ranks. Mirran befriended a couple of Quel'dorei in his battles nearing the Thoradin Wall; Dara Goldmoon and Desdeynia Del'anos. The Battle for the Thoradin Wall was another that would never be forgotten by Mirran, Drako, or any of their companions. Artillery fire was exchanged across the green fields of the Highlands, the grand stone ramparts holding against boulders and spells alike. Mirran and Drako found themselves in the main field behind the gates of the Wall, and their shields were upraised to hold back the Horde in the case that they broke through the gates. Eventually, the power of the Horde's artillery tore not only a hole in the gates but also severed a large part of the rampart itself - the fire of the explosions were evident that the Horde had recruited new allies; the Goblins. As with all other battles before it, the sound to retreat echoed across the battlefield. Over the next few days in their camps, Drako ranted on and on about failure and the dishonor of retreating in the face of victory, leaving Mirran and the Drakes to simply watch their Commander release his anger with the mindless verbal battering.

Hillsbrad was engulfed in war, the Drakes standing at twenty-five of their original fifty, but recruits were sent forward every day, conscripts of Aedelas Blackmoore's attempts at saving the kingdoms of the north. Mirran watched as Durnholde Keep held against countless barrages of catapulted boulders, and the Drakes were called to flee further back into the Kingdom. Tarren Mill, and then Southshore fell, but Mirran was greeted with new allies - the Coldwind dwarves, Dalin and Grenalin. Still the lines were pushed back until Mirran recognized the area that split the Hillsbrad Foothills from Silverpine Forest. He started, however, for this was the perfect bottleneck for the much more superior army of the Alliance. The Horde would have to send the entirety of their forces to break through the choke-point with any hope for a chance of success against the rest of the North. Days passed as the orcs mindlessly battered their forces against the fortifications in the breach between Hillsbrad and Silverpine, but the Alliance held the line with ferocious strength. Victory would be assured, and a counterattack made possible - soon. Little did they expect, the Horde soon came from the northeast, and punched a hole through the fortifications of the Alliance. Mirran shared anger alongside Drako and all of their companions - the only way that they could come from the northeast would have been Alterac, and Alterac had betrayed them. The most familiar sound to the Drakes once again rang across the battlefield, the retreat was called and they fled.

The Horde, now combined with the forces of Alterac, continued to push north through Silverpine Forest, and the Alliance could barely hold them from over-running Lordaeron. Word came from the south of the naval blockade of Kul Tiras, the taking of Zul'dare, and the desertion of Gilneas. Dalaran too was left holding its gates against the ravenous Horde, and so this left Lordaeron alone in the struggle save for their Quel'dorei allies in the northeast. Dara assured Mirran and Drako that the Quel'dorei would come to assist their allies, and in the dead of the winter, the high elves did come. Alterac's passes were used to take Caer Darrow, and the Horde advanced now from two fronts. The Drakes sat now at twenty of their original fifty, and Mirran suggested wearily that a retreat be sounded. Silverpine Forest erupted with Alliance cheers as the new order of knights rode into battle - the Paladins had finally arrived. A long and hard stalemate extended through the winter of Silverpine Forest, the Alliance successful in staving off the scantily clothed Horde thanks to the snow and cold. Blizzard after blizzard battered both lines of the conflict, and then one day, the snow stopped, and the sun rose. The Horde charged over the hills and broke through the last line of defense for Tirisfal, advancing on the tail of the fleeing Drakes and Alliance of Lordaeron. On the border between Tirisfal and Silverpine Mirran gained another one of his greater scars; in the confusion of the battlefield, he found himself walking into a target zone for friendly artillery. He managed to jump to cover before the shells hit, but a small sliver of shrapnel found itself in Mirran's eye. He growled in pain for a while before continuing his sprint, half-blind at the tail of Drako Black. The priests and paladins made sure that they healed what they could, but his eye was officially out of commission.

The small line between Lordamere Lake and the mountains was where the Alliance met its next stalemate against the Horde. Lordaeron focused all of its forces on that small streak of land, but then word came from the southeast. In the wake of Caer Darrow's capture, the Horde had charged north to the homeland of the high elves; Quel'thalas. Lordaeron sent all the soldiers that they could spare, the Drakes being a part of them. Mirran passed through the eastern lands of Lordaeron, and Drako explained to the Drakes as they went of his old homeland; they passed Andorhal, Hearthglen, and several small towns and villages on their way to aid the High Elves. Finally, Mirran marveled at the sight of the magical land of Quel'thalas, homeland of the High Elves and the magic capital of the world. Smoke rose from the outer reaches of southern Eversong as Mirran and the Drakes marched forward to meet the Horde in battle. The terrain in southern Eversong was different than Lordaeron - it almost seemed unnatural to the men and women in the Alliance army, but they continued forward and began to thoroughly decimate the Horde's forces by attacking them from both north and south. The Battle for Quel'thalas ended swiftly, and the Alliance forces, alongside their refreshed Quel'dorei forces, were at a very high level of strength; so high that they could initiate a counterattack into Alterac to make the traitors pay for what they did.

Mirran, Drako, the Drakes, and all of their allies advanced south, pushing the Horde back. Word came from the west that the line was being held by Lordaeron, and so hope returned to the hearts of the Alliance. With hope for victory in their hearts, the Alliance forces charged through the northern passes of Alterac, voices shouting cries for vengeance. The Alliance forces punched a hole right through the Horde defenses and broke into the valley of Alterac City. A long and bloody battle commenced, and Mirran and Drako spent several days sleeping in the freezing trenches of the valley that had by then become a full-out war zone. The final charge was issued, and the battered walls of Alterac fell before the might of the Alliance, the wrath of the humans, elves, and dwarves shining at the head of the host as Alterac City eventually fell. News came from the northwest that the gap was near to being breached, and so the Alliance pulled back to the north to Lordaeron City. In the hallowed halls of the grand city Mirran shook with anticipation; the sheer sight of Alterac's fall had brought thoughts of victory once more to the forces of the Alliance.

The night of the Siege of Lordaeron City was dark. Fog spread over the entire city, and the sentries silently watched as the great braziers of the Orcish Horde slowly neared the walls. Despair once again took hold in the hearts of Mirran and the Alliance as they saw that the Horde's forces had been replenished - fresh clans of orcs now gnawed their teeth at the front lines of the large army. Once again it was only by Drako's verbal battering that the Drakes were able to keep a tight grip on their blades. Silence racked the field between the walls of the City and the Horde, and the Alliance could do nothing but watch. One day, the tide turned. A great eastern wind blew the fog from the field, and the sentries on the walls saw the Horde moving away from the City. The Alliance burst into cheer, and suddenly found themselves strengthened; a vigor for vengeance that had waited years since the beginning of the war to truly unfold. The gates of Lordaeron City opened wide, and the Alliance of Lordaeron charged with a renewed cause for victory. Mirran and the Drakes were left laughing in the faces of the orcs that they slew as they advanced after the once fearless Horde. Through Tirisfal, to Silverpine, and then to Hillsbrad they chased after the Horde, day by day passing by in the charge for vengeance.

The Push to Stormwind

Mirran noticed the lands he had once known as beautiful now in ruins - Dalaran still held its ground, alongside Durnholde Keep. The two cities replenished the forces of the Alliance of Lordaeron as they marched through the ruined gates of Thoradin's Wall. It was not long before word came from the west that Kul Tiras had lifted its siege, and a new Alliance Navy sailed south adjacent to their brethren on the land. Mirran watched with a smile on his face as the Alliance forces easily overcame the Horde forces at the Thandol Span, and he began to simply call this charge the Push to Stormwind. Battle after battle, the Alliance advanced south, through the passes of Dun Algaz to the wonders of Loch Modan, and over the ash-covered fields of the Searing Gorge. It was in the Searing Gorge that the Alliance faced the base of the Horde's major operations; Blackrock Spire. Mirran remarked to his companions that the artillery that descended upon the Spire was glorious; almost like the fireworks of Stormwind he had told his comrades. Fifteen of the original fifty fought side by side up the slopes of the Spire. Word came from the head of the bloody battlefield that Anduin Lothar had been slain, and the Horde laughed at his death; they expected that Lothar's death would simply be cutting the head off of the snake. They underestimated the Alliance, and Lothar's demise simply drove the humans, elves, and dwarves forward with such a great vigor that Mirran began to actually see fear in the eyes of the green-skinned wretches he had grown to fear in his early military career.

It was not long before Mirran stood once more on familiar lands. He saw in Redridge Mountains the area where the township of Lakeshire had once stood, and rejoiced alongside Drako and the Drakes. Victory was assured, but the Push to Stormwind had yet to finish itself. The Alliance forces chased the orcs south, through the ruins of Grand Hamlet and to the misty deeps of the Swamp of Sorrows. Mirran still to this day tells his Drakes about the 'good old days' of running through the dank swamp to chase after stray grunts and spear-throwers. After the swamp, the Alliance found themselves standing upon the scarred fields of the Blasted Lands. The skies did not forebode well, and lightning cracked in the distance, but the Alliance had yet to lose their thirst for vengeance - they would take the fight to the Horde's homeland if they had to. The Alliance marched across the scarred plains of the Blasted Lands, and Mirran looked down upon the origin of the orcs that they had yet to discover for so many years. It did not take long for the Alliance to break through the Horde defenses on the Dark Portal, and when the fields were cleared, talk of assaulting the homeland of the orcs was spread through the crowds of Alliance soldiers. Drako took Mirran and the Drakes, still fifteen of the original fifty, to the upper slopes of the Dark Portal's crater. They watched while hitting mugs of mead together as the Alliance Expedition was formed and marched through the Dark Portal.

The Victorious Alliance

The feeling that swept across the ranks of the Drakes was something they hadn't felt in a long time - the feeling of true victory, of peace. The Drakes went their separate ways with the solemn promise that they would meet each other again in Lordaeron within the next several years. Mirran spent a long time walking through the glades of Elwynn forest, the home he had once known. He visited the site of his family's farm, an empty field with grass growing where crops once did. Mirran walked through the ruined cobblestone roads of Goldshire, the town rather intact considering it had been the site of a major artillery struggle nearly nine years ago. He also took a moment in his travel to walk the utterly destroyed streets of Storm wind, full of men and women who tirelessly worked to rebuild the once grand city. Mirran then spent a few years simply enjoying the feeling of his homeland again, and he saw in his walks the other thirteen Drakes, although Drako was not among these. Eventually, the group of soldiers had replenished their energy and made way to Lordaeron. The rebuilt kingdoms were a glorious sight for their sore eyes, although Strom remained a land of struggle and competition.

Mirran shared a table with Drako and the other Drakes that were left of the original fifty, fifteen in total with Mirran and Drako included in the number. Each night they shared tales of their individual encounters throughout the First and Second Wars, laughing over old wounds and new encounters. A few years of this passed by, and then word came from the southwest and from the east of a plague. While Mirran waved it off as merely a weak sickness that people were over-reacting about, Drako took it quite drastically, and ordered the Drakes back together for moving out. Again the Drakes counted fifty soldiers, fifteen originals and thirty-five rookies. Mirran went along with the plan and advised the Drakes be split up into ten-man squads. Drako led one while Mirran led another, and the other three led by the three highest ranking men among the Drakes just under Drako and Mirran; Jacob, Arin, and Jives. The squads were selected and split up across the Kingdom of Lordaeron to commence a search and destroy tactic on any plagued villages. They were ordered to check their targets and only slay those that were either not save-able or infected to the point of contagion. Mirran's main area of investigation was Andorhal. By the time Mirran and his nine men arrived there, the town was in ruins; bodies were piled everywhere and footmen were running wild without officers. At first Mirran mistook the attackers for orcs - the signs were relatively similar; complete chaos and a lot of fire. However, the enemy he now faced was a greater threat that none of them could comprehend. Blades were brought down on the new enemy of the Kingdom - the Undead Scourge.

The Horrors of the North

Within the first hour, Mirran noticed a change in the city of Andorhal. It became a full-fledged war zone. He could hear officers shouting orders, he could see Lordaeronian footmen charging at Scourge positions. He could smell the stench of sweat, death, ash, and gunpowder as dwarven mortars raged on nearby. Within the second hour, Mirran saw the tide turn; it seemed the humans had won against the paltry force of ghouls and skeletons. In seconds however the town erupted in chaos again when slain bodies of regional guards stuffed with disease and plague were launched over the walls. When hope seemed absolutely lost, Mirran was firing on a new enemy - a hulking monstrosity of flesh and bone; dubbed an abomination by the footmen around him. The abominations tore through the ranks of the defenders of Andorhal, and within the third hour of the day Mirran was fleeing once more, watching the undead slaughter those that stayed behind. Combat against the Scourge was different after that day. Mirran was always filled with an adrenaline rush that he told himself he couldn't lose until every undead in sight was dead. Of the soldiers and refugees from Andorhal that Mirran could gather up, three of them were Drakes, and the only three originals in his squad at that. Four Drakes, seven regional guards, and sixteen civilians left with their backs turned to Andorhal.

Mirran crossed paths with the second Drakes squad that had been sent east; a similar tragedy had been occurring in most villages across Eastern Lordaeron, and refugees from the northeast said that Stratholme was likely the next target. Refugees continued to pile up in the company of Drakes and their allies as they traveled west, the only true hope they knew. Mirran eventually led the group to Vandermar, a village that had been reported as an area clean of the plague. There he found the third Drakes squad, still at their full numbers. He counted twenty Drakes in total, including himself. No word came from the west from Drako or any others, and Mirran found himself in a tight position; Drako had earlier promoted him as his Vice-Commander, meaning that in the absence of Drako, he had full authority over the Drakes. He ordered them to pack up and get ready to move east in increments of five men per squad to aid the counterattack against the Scourge. Vandermar Village was more than happy to provide them with holy blessings on their blades and armor as well as bullets for their rifles that were blessed with holy energies.

A month passed by quick for Mirran and his four men fighting their way east through Scourge-infested lands. They noticed immediately that Lordaeron's counterattack had failed for the most part. In a fight with an abomination, Mirran and his squad members were split up in the forest, and Mirran was left alone in the depths of eastern Lordaeron. He barely survived encounter after encounter, but he told himself that he was the Vice-Commander of Black's Drakes, and that Drako Black hadn't given him permission to die in battle. Once again he began to gather up a group of refugees, news passing through that Stratholme had fallen and Jaina Proudmoore was preparing a fleet to sail west into uncharted seas. Jaina's purpose was not known to many, but they assumed she meant to escape the very continent from this plague. Mirran took the initiative that the Drakes would gather at the fleet to sail west and out of the war zone. Along the way, Mirran found himself at an old, ruined farm. The farm was empty aside from a few zombies which were easily dispatched by the militia-like men and women within the group of refugees. Mirran entered the farm house and found a stack of dead bodies surrounding a wounded woman in her late teens, seventeen at the least. While he was unable to administer treatment, there was a retired cleric that informed Mirran that the woman was not infected with the plague, but was wounded badly. The cleric could heal her to a stable state, but he could not do much more. Mirran had the woman healed and then carried her over his shoulders the rest of the way.

Once the refugees began getting further west, greater signs of resistance began popping up here and there; Lordaeron's army had chosen the Tirisfal Glades as a staging point for the defense of the Kingdom. At Vandermar, Mirran was greeted by all fourteen of the original Drakes; Drako Black at the end of the line. Mirran embraced Drako firmly as a son would to a father, and then they prepared for the final march west - Jaina Proudmoore's fleets prepared to sail. Before they left Vandermar, however, Mirran took Drako to the tent holding the seventeen year old girl. The girl awoke just that moment, and introduced herself to the two. Her name was Heline, and her parents had died defending her from the Scourge that attacked their farm. Mirran watched as Drako looked down at the girl and asked her if she could wield a sword. She answered yes, and Drako looked around the tent for a sword. Drako picked up a small blade with a pommel depicting a raven taking flight. He gave a few honest chuckles before handing the blade to Heline, and naming her Raven Flametongue, a Drake. Raven began to wonder at her new role in the Drakes as Mirran and Drako walked from the tent. They shared several drinks and laughs before finishing their packing - the march west was just in time.

Sailing West to Lands of Conflict

Mirran, Drako, Raven, and the thirteen Drakes sat on one of the ships of Jaina Proudmoore. They had spent twenty years fighting for the Eastern Kingdoms, and now they were leaving without so much as a farewell artillery shot. Jacob looked to Arin, Arin to Jives, Jives to Drako, and Drako to Mirran, and they all gave one single nod of survival. Drako looked to the fifteen Drakes assembled before him in the hold of the massive Kul Tirasian frigate and grinned. He said to them a saying that would become a standing point for all future Drakes - "Drakes, we charge in breathing fire or we come out bleeding smoke." The next month on the ship was strange for the Drakes; they were accustomed to warfare and stories of great battles, though many of the soldiers on the frigate were either new recruits or silent people. A silence hung over the ship that was barely ever broken save for the occasional conversation - they were sailing into uncharted waters, "who wouldn't be silent at that" Mirran heard Raven remark one day. Mirran had several conversations with Drako reflecting on both of their lives. Drako said that he regretted being such an ass and never settling down with a woman. When Mirran remarked about how Drakes never retire, Drako almost smacked him upside the head, but refrained from it, eventually agreeing to the point.

Once the month of awkward silence had passed, a cry came from the upper decks - Land. The sixteen Drakes sharpened their blades and loaded their rifles, slinging their packs over their shoulders. The Drakes were assigned as the first to get onto the shore, and they loaded into the rowboats. Mirran watched every nook and cranny as they neared the shore of the badland-esque land form. It reminded him too much of the Blasted Lands, but this land was more natural in its appearance. The Drakes unloaded from their rowboats and let the other members of the fleet begin docking themselves. While the men and women of the fleet began to unload supplies to set up camp, the Drakes were sent into the land that would someday be Durotar to secure the closer regions. They were greeted by their old friends; the Orcs. By the end of the encounter, the small field of rocks had orcish corpses laying in the dust. The Drakes noticed that these orcs were different - the warmongering ones that they had fought in the First and Second wars would have slain at least three of the Drakes, but the soldiers stood with no casualties save a few injuries. They shrugged it off and then returned to the shoreline to inform their allies of the news.

A week passed of establishing a camp before the fleet was greeted by the scouting forces of the other fleets; Jaina Proudmoore and all of her fleets had landed relatively safely on the shores of this new land that had been named Kalimdor. Mirran took a deep breath of the salted air of the sea before they began to march inland. They quickly discovered several races that they recognized - Murlocs and giant crabs among them. However, they discovered some newer races that they had never seen before; the Quillboar and Centaur were the two major ones. Scout reports rolled through quickly of new lands to the west; more inhabitable, while Proudmoore and her men had established themselves a camp in a marsh. The reports read that to the northwest of their current area there were thick forests; a staging ground for later gathering of lumber. Mirran advised to Drako that they should just set up a camp in the middle of a collection of rocks, and set up some ambush positions in the case they get attacked by hostile native races. Drako agreed to the idea, and the Drakes set up camp in a strategic collection of rocks, some traps and ambushes set just in case.

A month passed by in the camp with no true progress on news of the front or of any true conflicts yet. As far as Mirran was concerned, they were safe from the enemies they fled from. Just as their hopes were up though, word came from the south, north, and west of new conflict with the Orcs and their new Troll allies. Another month of senseless conflict arose as the Drakes marched west to a land known as the Barrens. In the Barrens, it was Arin that pointed out the 'walking cows' that were beating a platoon of Proudmoore's men senseless with rather large totems. Mirran scoffed at the idea of this new enemy, and the Drakes moved in to dispatch the 'walking cows'. They apparently called themselves Tauren, but it was a passing joke in the Drakes to call them anything relating to the bovine of Stormwind. As much as the Drakes joked about the bovine-like Tauren, they were rather surprised to see that the Tauren were very hard to fight without combined efforts. Mirran nearly got crushed by a Tauren's totem several times through the skirmish, but narrowly avoided it each time. The battle ended with several of the Drakes wounded, and they had to make camp in the Barrens.

The Barrens was an even worse land than the rocky crags they had landed at. Word came quickly from the north that the legendary orc hero Grom Hellscream was slicing his way through Proudmoore's main force like it was nothing, and Drako gathered Mirran and the other three original Drakes into a tent to discuss plans. It was Mirran's final decision that they try and break through enemy lines and get into the dense forest to the north. Claiming a spot in the forest for lumber would be a very good way to start in Kalimdor, and it would hopefully stop the orcish advance into what could be the foundations for a new city. Drako dismissed the plan as potentially costly in lives, but with some tactical persuasion and Mirran's famed persistence, Drako eventually gave in and ordered the move north. The Drakes narrowly avoided the wars between the Tauren and their natural enemies – the Centaur. Mirran connected the dots with the Tauren attacking Proudmoore's men and the Horde on the move through Tauren lands that the Tauren had joined the Horde in this new war on Kalimdor.

The entrance into Ashenvale was a gruesome scene. Where the Drakes were expecting to have to fight through an orcish outpost, they only found peons cringing in fear alongside the lifeless bodies of grunts, their bodies riddled with arrows. Mirran took an apt opportunity to curse the fact that every single corner of this new continent was full of some form of enemy. They had simply gone from a war of death and decay to a conflict of old hatreds and 'intrusion defense's. It took barely any time after their camp was set up for the new 'enemy' to be revealed. Women. A skirmish force of women. But not just any women. Violet-skinned, amber-eyed, tall and agile women who looked extremely similar to the high elves in Proudmoore's ranks – in form at least. Mirran didn't find any disgrace in fighting this new enemy as Drako explained simply to him; “They attacked first. They started the war, and they pissed off the Drakes. Now they get to taste some dragon fire.”

Another month of fighting these warrior-women and the orcs combined followed before word came from Proudmoore's main forces. Jaina Proudmoore had agreed on a tenuous pact between the Horde and the Alliance forces. The Drakes were called to the east, and there they experienced what they had felt they wanted to flee from – demons raining from the sky, and orcs gone wild. Except the difference between the orcs they fought against and the orcs they fought beside was that their 'allies' were green-skinned, where these new orcs that they fought were red-skinned, and bore the banners of the Warsong Clan. Mirran's jokes about the red orcs called 'fel orcs' brought many of the Drakes to roll their eyes at his attempt to keep the fear of the demons out. Luckily for the Alliance forces, they were informed that their job was to stay on the defensive – the Horde would fight its own battle here in this place that people were starting to call 'Felfire Canyon'. It was a strange thing for Mirran to hear that the orcish hero Grommash Hellscream was the cause of this trouble with the corrupted Warsong Clan.

The Defense of Kalimdor and the Battle of Mount Hyjal

After Felfire Canyon, and the news of the death of the Pit Lord named Mannoroth and his slayer Grommash Hellscream, Mirran began to suck in his racist comments at least towards the 'New Horde' he met on the fields. It was a vain hope that Mannoroth was the only demon overlord of his kind, but it was definitely not so. Soldiers flooded from the coasts of Kalimdor with news - landing craft and great air barges began to pour undead and demonic forces onto the new continent like a tide, and the Drakes were surrounded on all sides by an utter warzone yet again.

Miraculously, Drako managed to rally what men and women from either force he could find. He insisted to Mirran and Raven that it was time to make the demons and undead regret coming onto their 'shithole of a world'. Mirran followed closely behind as day by day the Drakes, with Drako at their head, battled in the forests of Ashenvale. Whenever the combined force passed by any night elven forces, the two would usually go into a brief standoff before some form of demon arrived and they had to fight them off together. Mirran remembers well the chaos that ensued in the mere month it was when the Legion's forces just about eradicated any defense they could put up. Half of the battle wasn't killing the enemy, but making their armies stop coming; a feat that no man in their force knew how to accomplish. Eventually, Mirran advised Drako to pull back to the deeper parts of the forest to watch and wait.

The Drakes and their allies made camp in what was to become Felwood, and awaited orders from Proudmoore's main forces. Barely a day passed after completing the camp when Proudmoore's orders came - they would ally with the 'Night Elves' and make their stand on the slopes of Mount Hyjal. Mirran could tell by the look on Drako's face that he was tired of running and making stands. He had obviously lost hope for this cause, but he eventually went along with the plan. When the forces arrived at the main bases at Hyjal, they saw the preparations being made. Mirran held in a laugh at how they were almost always the same exact planning of defenses. When the Drakes reached the hall of the human defense - ironically for the Drakes, right at the front lines - they were able to get more information; the leaders of all three forces had devised a plan that would succeed only if the line was held long enough. Mirran and Drako both grinned at each other, commenting that Hyjal was 'A fitting place for a famous death.' Once again the Drakes lined the trenches.

Mirran remembered the Battle for Mount Hyjal with great detail; watching as the demons raised their citadels and portals almost as if from the ground itself, only able to keep your eye on the forces approaching, unable to charge out and meet them. Before the demon's forces clashed with the combined forces of humans, orcs, and elves, Mirran remembered his fifteen Drake brothers and sisters, each of them clasping hands and saying in unison to each other; 'I'll see you when you get there.' When the demons and undead clashed with the defenses of the allies, Mirran could never forget the faces of some of the rookies around him. The Drakes fought on with steeled faces and great roars of battle, but Proudmoore's forces were not like them - organized, rank-and-file, and barely able to muster the strength to hold at the bottom of the slopes. Mirran could never say how long the battle went on for, but he did say the change of emotion when the flash came from the top of the mountain. It was like a tide as the news and cheers flowed down the slopes. The roar of the tide as it pushed down on the now severely crippled demonic forces. Mirran could've sworn seeing Arin getting a little teary-eyed at the beauty of the victory, but at a comment the Drake snapped to and smirked, passing it off as nothing.

The Return to Ruins

The celebration was short for the Drakes. Drako insisted that now that the Legion's leadership was crippled, the Drakes could sail back to Lordaeron and help in its reclamation. Mirran did not protest, and neither did any of the Drakes that survived Hyjal. But they took a day to cremate the bodies of their fallen brothers - six had fallen at Hyjal, but the rest had stuck to their senses and made it out relatively alright. Ten Drakes, and only one of them was not an original in the organization. The Drakes were allowed a small ship meant simply for fast travel, not combat and warfare. Half a month of silence on the ship as Mirran got more and more anxious the closer they got to the shores of Lordaeron. It was not unexpected when the Drakes made port in the ruins of a port-town; they were not expecting Lordaeron to be in any shape near 'good'.

It was not long after landing that the Drakes discovered the small outer patrols of Lord Garithos' forces, and they rejoiced slightly in the knowledge that one of Lordaeron's generals still lived. Mirran and his nine comrades were welcomed to one of the refugee camps of Lordaeron, where Drako immediately left into the camp to 'tend to some old business'. Mirran sat on a log near a campfire beside the other Drakes, and enjoyed what could be the calm before the storm. They had come this far, only ten of them had survived. Other soldiers might've cracked down and went insane at the loss of so many brothers-in-arms, but the Drakes learned from their teacher well; the best can't grieve, they can only convert their anger for their brother's loss into a severe assault on their enemies. But Mirran could see each of them around the circle rubbing their temples and bowing their heads, whispering lost words. But the storm had passed. The Drakes had made it through the world's ending.

Mirran caught Drako on the way out of the medical tent in the refugee camp, and for the first time in all the time since the day he joined the man's battalion, he saw pain and sorrow in his eyes. Something had happened, Mirran did not know what, but he did not ask what. The next day, Drako was his old self again, and rallied the Drakes up. He gathered what men and women the camp could spare as soldiers and signed them in as Drakes, arming them appropriately. Thirty Drakes set out from the refugee camp and met up with Garithos' main forces at Dalaran, where they were ordered to the front lines against encroaching Scourge forces. The initial days were hectic, as Mirran said, but eventually the combined forces at Dalaran were able to push the Scourge back. Again hope for victory stirred in the hearts of the Drakes, but the news pouring in from Garithos' officers continued to make the Drakes stir uncomfortably. A new enemy continued to elude the main forces, a serpentine people that called themselves the 'Naga'. While neither Mirran nor Drako knew why they were supposed to hunt the Naga, they did not disobey the orders.

Shortly after the call to hunt down the Naga, there also came word that told of the 'high treason of the blood elves', and that the blood elves of Dalaran were to be hunted down as traitors to the Alliance. Those elves that were not imprisoned by Garithos' own soldiers were to be hunted down as readily as the Naga. While there were not many encounters between the Drakes and the two 'enemies', when they did meet, it was a different battle. The Drakes had grown so used to fighting mindless drones and cannon fodder demons that when it came time to actually face off against living opponents, they had a sense of relief when the elves and naga fell writhing in pain when a sword was driven into their gut. Mirran, while not to others but only to himself, was saddened when he was faced off against an elf he recognized from the Second War, or even the encounters of the Third. For him, it was hard to have to kill comrades; but orders were orders, no matter what Mirran felt. He was joined by several Drakes in a sigh of relief when the elves and naga had reportedly fled from the city via a portal. They did not care about following.

The Calm after the Storm with New Conflicts

While Mirran did experience Drako's regret, he was convinced that the Drakes needed to go back to friendly territory - too long fighting, too little rest. Drako told them to pack for a long journey to Stormwind. At the news of their destination, the hearts of Mirran and his seven brothers-in-arms from Stormwind rose up with hope. They eagerly prepared for a long journey, and Raven and the other newer members of the Drakes who had only known Lordaeron were intrigued to see the homeland of the 'original fifty'. They set out from Dalaran and hiked the long trek towards familiar territory. Again they passed through the lands of Stromgarde, where Mirran was greeted by their former comrade, Aldis Tannen. He had been leading a small number of Stromgarde's troll hunters in raids against the enemies of Stromgarde - from Witherbark to Boulderfist to Syndicate. Mirran wished the 'old bastard' luck before the Drakes departed to continue southward.

The sights were so invigorating to Mirran, Drako, and their seven original brothers. Through the marshes, the great halls of Dun Algaz, the long tunnels of Dun Morogh, and the perpetual sight of the Gorge and Steppes. All of them free of enemies, for the most part. They passed from the Steppes to very familiar soil; Redridge, and Lakeshire. The Drakes had to punch a hole through a small Blackrock blockade to get to Lakeshire, but overall the eight Drakes of Stormwind bent down and kissed the ground they walked on. No wars were fought here, no great battles or undead plagues. It was as best a peace as they could get, and they remembered it on their way to Stormwind City.

For four years, the Drakes waited, plotted, recruited, trained. Mirran was not the only one to growl at the news from one of the higher-ups of Stormwind's armies. The Drakes were being sent to Westfall to deal with a very significant problem in the Kingdom's backside. This, however, was obviously a quiet move by their commanding officer - as it seemed the nobles of Stormwind and any supporting them did not mind the Defias that much at all. Fifty Drakes set out from Stormwind City, and they marched their way to Westfall. The first few days were rather simple; they were dealing with thieves and brigands, not an organized force. Mirran remarked heavily that fighting a bunch of teenagers would be like a vacation for the heavily trained Drakes. However, it seemed in their battles that while the Drakes had training and persistence, the Defias had guile and annoying tactics. They balanced out well, and for each Defias Mirran killed, it seemed like two took their place.

It was not long into this tour of duty that Mirran saw his first days of hating Stormwind's nobles. One of the nobles of Stormwind had 'convinced' the specific commander to withdraw the Drakes from fighting the Defias, and instead sent them to fight the Blackrocks in Redridge, under the guise of a mercenary organization out to help Lakeshire. Mirran did not specifically enjoy having to fight orcs again - he and the other eight originals had had enough of them during the Second War, and now it was like routine. However, the Blackrock orcs were not as laid back in their fighting as the orcs of the 'New Horde' had been in the landing of Kalimdor, and so they were indeed a challenge during the skirmishes against them.

It was barely a year of skirmishing against the Blackrock orcs when the Drakes heard that their services were to be dropped, and it just about made each of them scratch their heads in wonder. But news came from the south - and while Mirran did not like the fact the army of Stormwind had simply tossed them aside, he was amazed when Drako said that they would be taking advantage of the new frontier. The Dark Portal, thought sealed for nearly two decades, was opened up, and it was popular among the men that there were survivors of the Alliance Expedition on the other side. Drako told them that the Drakes would be doing their first mercenary tour, and Mirran was humbled and rather honored when he crossed through the Dark Portal and met some of the men and women of Honor Hold. The Drakes took up what jobs they could get paid for.

The Outland Conflict

First Hellfire, where the Drakes fought against the oh-so-familiar Fel Orcs, and occasionally had to fire a few rifle rounds into one of the peninsula's gigantic ground-riding worms. This was also where Mirran shattered his wooden hand, and Raven - who had learned the basics of engineering during the four years in Stormwind - made him a mechanical fist of red steel to match his armor. She then crafted Mirran's famous blade-fist of the same alloy, and it was then when Mirran caught the alluring gaze Raven would occasionally give him. At first he simply grinned and snickered at the thought of a young woman flirting with an 'old fart' like Mirran. He dismissed it initially, and trained to get used to a fist weapon over a sword.

The second place to serve was Zangarmarsh, where various anonymous sources paid them quite well to keep the local beasts in check, or to 'gather' certain things from certain locations. After fighting for a short time in the strange marsh, the Drakes followed payments to Terokkar Forest, where they were hired by a vengeful band of Draenei to decimate small camps of the Arakkoa as a 'warning' to the bird-men. After fighting the Arakkoa, Mirran had concluded that he had 'seen it all; bearmen, cowmen, birdmen, and spidermen'. Drako didn't cease to smirk at Mirran's comments along the journey through Terokkar, where the Drakes were then called to Shadowmoon Valley - the Wildhammer Dwarves, thought long lost, were calling for any help they could get - mercenary or Alliance force.

Shadowmoon Valley was like a living nightmare to Mirran and the Drakes. Felfire spewed up from cracks in the ground, dark clouds constantly covered the sky, and the smell of ashes and death always filled the air. They never ceased to find an enemy to fight - flying creatures resembling chimaeras, 'felboars', and worst of all - the great wars between Legion and Illidari forces. However, the Drakes were lucky - the mercenaries they recruited off the field weren't militia; they were experienced from much time in these fields, and so difficulty in combat was lessened by a small bit with each conflict against the demons and Illidari. Eventually, the Drakes were rewarded for their time, and heard from a traveling Ethereal of some people they could aid - the Consortium in Nagrand was their start. They were glad when they saw that their location was not a dark warzone engulfed in destruction; green fields, as far as the eye could see.

In Nagrand, the Consortium mostly set the Drakes to mundane tasks - quell a small raiding party of Lost Ones and demons here and there, but mostly prowl the plains as heavily armored hunters to procure special items for the Ethereals. Mirran was rather amazed when he saw the types of wildlife Nagrand contained. Clefthooves, Elekks, Talbuks, Windrocs - all of them were strange creatures compared to what laid on Azeroth. Not far into the hunts against wildlife did their specific hirer wish to procure an item only obtained by one of the mountain gronn in the northern regions of Nagrand. Finding a gronn was easy - they were large, hulking giants by description and appearance. However, taking one down was the hard part - the battle was tough on the Drakes, by lives and wounds. A single one of the gronns slew nearly ten of the Drakes, and left half of the rest wounded. Mirran and Drako were faced with cremating three more of their original brothers, though Jacob, Arin, and Jives were not among them. The other remaining original Drake, Torik, was soon after promoted to 'Black Dragon', the highest rank among the Drakes just under the Vice.

After the battle with the gronn, the Drake's hirer took some form of pity on the Drakes by sending them in the direction of the Blade's Edge Mountains, to help the Cenarions with a crazed band of cultists as well as a very apparent ogre problem. The Drakes rested and then set out for Blade's Edge, where Mirran was yet again left stunned by the peculiarity of the shape of the mountains and their jagged spikes. He questioned how such landforms could be natural, but overall dismissed it as an advantage; something to throw their enemies onto if need be. The Cenarions, though many of them were 'wimpy druids' as Drako said, paid well for Mirran and the Drakes to attempt to slay any Wyrmcultists that managed to get across the great bridge near Ruaan Weald. After a few short jobs of this, they were then called to aid one of the non-Cenarions in the Weald in fighting back some of the ogres of Blade's Edge. Mirran made the joke that Blade's Edge was 'where the big fat idiots come from', referring to the native population of ogres. Fighting the ogres was tough, but the Drakes lasted long enough to be called away.

It seems their previous hirer from Nagrand now required their services in the Netherstorm. The Consortium once again paid quite well for the Drakes to help them in their matters - as well, some passing jobs from the goblin town Area 52 helped here and there. They split up and helped where they could, putting Mirran as part of the crew in the northeastern bases of the Consortium. A faction of Ethereals had apparently gone rogue, and the Consortium was paying the Drakes to put down their outlying outposts so that they would not be such a nuisance. A difficult task in itself, as the Ethereals were not easily slain, having the ability to flick around in and out of sight as they deemed necessary. The jobs were quick, and it did not take long before Drako sent word that the Drakes needed to gather back up. They had reaped Outland of its jobs, and it was time to go home.

On the way back to Area 52, Mirran was set in a very bad predicament - one of the local crystal golems was charging after some meddling Gan'arg, which then turned on the nearby Drakes as it saw them with eyes of rage. The golem's first swooping strike was powerful enough to send Torik, the sixth original Drake, over the deep edge of the Netherstorm. At the sight of this, Mirran commanded his men to use the rocks as cover and try to wait the golem's rage out. Eventually the golem did calm itself and trail off back to its 'home', and Mirran was left staring at the edge of the nether with mixed emotions - the only Drake who would never have his body meet the torch. The survivors of the ordeal gave a brisk salute to their fallen comrade, and then continued on the road to Area 52.

The journey back to Azeroth was rather simple - with the money gathered, they were able to rent a flock of gryphons to transport the near twenty Drakes back to the Dark Portal at the least. Quite an expensive feat, but afforded with the well-earned funds of the Drake's trek through Outland. Mirran watched his four original brothers with him tremble slightly at the news of Torik. When they landed and walked back out into the Blasted Lands, a pyre was constructed, but with no body to set atop it. Mirran was the one to set the pyre aflame, and then the Drakes made their way back to more friendly territory. When they arrived in Stormwind City again, they recruited, trained, and prepared for something that was long in wait. The Alliance was planning an invasion of Northrend.

The Charge of Vengeance

The Grand Alliance needed veterans and experienced soldiers for the charge on Northrend - hitting the Scourge at their heart was not a thing done by militia or conscripts. The specific commander in the City called on the Drakes again and brought back their military status. They were called onto some of the first boats that were to land in the Borean Tundra, and each one of the Drakes shook with anticipation, especially so the five originals. This was the final blow against the Scourge. The time to show the Scourge the wrath of the living, and the wrath of Lordaeron. Mirran could see the passion in Drako's face as the ships caught sight of the shores of Northrend. It was now or never. The beach landing in Borean Tundra was rather chaotic - officers screaming orders as Alliance rifle fire exchanged across the beach with Scourge meat wagons and catapults. However, the Alliance came out in the end, leaving the Scourge in the area decimated. Most of the Alliance's forces merged into the forces at Valiance Keep, but the Drakes pushed on.

They soon faced off against the Tundra's smaller enemies other then the Scourge - it seemed as if the Alliance wasn't just fighting the Scourge, they were fighting all of Northrend. While some they fought were simply wildlife, they did frequently encounter the local snobold population, and even less they found a lesser magnataur and riddled the beasts with holes and explosions until they collapsed dead. One of the most peculiar battles for Mirran was when they were ordered to ambush a 'traveling group of rogue mages'. These rogue mages turned out to be blue dragonspawn, led by a blue drake. Through sheer luck and dedication with their strikes, the Drakes succeeded in their fight with minimal losses. After that, the Alliance commanders were sending them into cooperative strikes with other platoons to fight the Scourge in key locations, which brought the Drake's spirits up; they came to teach the undead a lesson, not poach mammoths.

The Drakes were called to their greatest show yet - they were to be among the participants of the siege of Angrathar, the Wrathgate. Mirran, Drako, and Raven were all pulled aside from the main charge up the stairs to the Wrathgate to help the relief forces get ready in case the main force failed, however impossible it might be with the combined force falling down on the Scourge. They were among the first to stand shocked when the first barrel of new plague crashed into the center of the forces. Mirran could see the pure rage building up in Drako's eyes when he heard from the retreating soldiers that the attack was caused by Forsaken catapults. Upon searching the ranks of those Drakes that made it out of the strike, Mirran too was struck with rage - Jacob, Arin, and Jives were not among the surviving Drakes, and their bodies were desecrated at the top of the hill, unable to be retrieved. It was then that the last two original Drakes felt an inclination to respect the Red Dragonflight. Red Drakes flew over the forts of Alliance and Horde and burnt the field, leaving the Drakes without the duty to burn their dead.

Mirran could tell that Drako held blame for the three's deaths, 'it's what we get for trusting the Forsaken, New Horde or not' he had said to Mirran and Raven. The Drakes packed their gear and moved on to Grizzly Hills, where their platoon was being called next. Compared to the tragedy at Wrathgate, Grizzly Hills was a vacation. The worst of their troubles was the local wildlife, a native population of Furbolgs, which were not unknown to the Drakes, and a strange race of wolf-like humanoids called the 'Worgen'. Mirran would always remember Grizzly Hills - and he told Drako and Raven that if ever he were to retire someplace, he would retire next to the river. The relative peace and scenery of Grizzly Hills would always leave Mirran with pleasant memories, despite war and conflict in his past. In the Westfall Brigade, Mirran clasped arms with some familiar faces - those who he had once seen as part of the People's Militia in Westfall were now soldiers of none other than the Valiance Expedition. Not long after fighting side-by-side with the Westfall Brigade were the Drakes called to the north - the Alliance wanted to show their support for the Argent Crusade's cause.

Mirran looked at Drako, and Drako looked at Mirran at the feet of the great staircase leading into Zul'drak. They both shook their heads and started the climb to new ground. Their first orders put them at the Argent Stand, though they were ambushed twice on the way there - already displaying the problem of the region. It was crawling with trolls. The sight of the large trolls of the region made the Drakes roll their eyes with 'joy'. A living opponent that actually knew how to fight. At the Argent Stand, the Drakes were sent out to aid Argent forces with both Drakkari and Scourge enemies. It took a long time for the Drakes to run out of things to do, but when they finally did, they were allowed time to recuperate. Rumors spread among the Argent Crusaders that the Crusade had successfully punched a hole right through the hillsides of Icecrown to breach the region. This revigorated Mirran, and especially Drako. This rumor was the mark to the final push against the Scourge.

After a month of rest, the Drakes were once more called to battle, but in a foreign and unnaturally cold land - Icecrown. Base of the Scourge, and the place where all of its horrors began. Mirran, Drako, and Raven writhed with anticipation while they fought the Scourge in the cold plains of Icecrown. It was as if the undead came in endless waves, but they did not care. Each kill got them closer and closer to a final assault on Icecrown Citadel itself. When the Drakes finally had their eyes on the steps of Icecrown Citadel, Mirran was visibly shaking with anticipation of the upcoming battle. They were going to fight a battle to be spoken of for centuries. A battle to end the Scourge, and all of their undead plagues. The stalwart Drakes fought and fought against wave after wave of Scourge alongside their companions of Argent, Horde, Alliance, and any others, and with the crack of Light's Hammer breaking through the gates of the Citadel, the Drakes cheered on. Finally, after what seemed like hours of glorious battling, the word spread through the ranks like a tide - like the tide at Hyjal, almost. Word and cheer. The Lich King had been slain. At the news, and the end of the battle for Icecrown Citadel, the Drakes erupted with cheer, and while Mirran said it was strange for them all to cheer like little girls, it was accepted nonetheless.

Final Victory and the Fall of a Hero

This was it, the Scourge was defeated. Drako, Mirran, and Raven looked at each other and gave one final cheer, and then Raven left the two original Drakes to their own, and they took a moment to mourn all the good men and women that had died to the Scourge and all of their devices in the charge of Northrend. The Drakes had nowhere left to go, and with the lack of any true enemy to fight anymore, the Alliance commanders put the Drakes back down to mercenary status. They took a job from independent reclamation movements in Lordaeron to patrol the Eastern Plaguelands and eliminate any small clusters of undead in the eventual hope of reclaiming this part of Lordaeron.

During one of these patrols, the Drakes were ambushed, breaking Drako and a few of the Drakes away from the main group of Drakes, led by Mirran. Mirran remembers distinctly that the majority of the Drakes easily dispatched the main ambush force, but upon realizing their commander's disappearance they immediately spear-headed into the woods. Mirran found Drako severely wounded in a small clearing, the majority of the clearing littered with undead or Drake corpses. Mirran held back his sorrows as he held his commander, mentor, and the man who was practically a father to him in his arms. Drako gave him a few passing words, joking about the fate that was awaiting him before beginning to speak to himself. Mirran held Drako as his last breath left his lungs. Raven took the news especially hard, and collapsed with tears and sorrow. The rest of the Drakes, sorrowful though they were, began to craft a great funeral pyre for Drako's corpse. When it was finished, Mirran was the one to toss the torch into it. 'Drako had the funeral of a hero' Mirran would say as the only true description to the event. With the death of Drako Black, Mirran was left as the Commander of Black's Drakes.

Mirran was never expecting this tragedy, and the Drakes moved back to Stormwind City, where they recuperated from the loss of their commander. Nearly thirty years Mirran had known Drako, nearly thirty years he had fought beside Drako, and nearly thirty years he had grown to be a Drake. He had earned the title of Vice-Commander, and now he inherited what Drako had created all those years before. Mirran gave himself time to grieve for the loss of Drako, to let it out then rather than have it trouble him too greatly later. During his silent walks through Stormwind, he met several of his old comrades; Dalikan and Grenalin among them. He also met new faces, such as the Lady Katrana Silverberg, who he at first hated for her status of nobility mixed with Mirran's general hate of Stormwind's corrupt nobles.

Since then, Mirran has spent his time working out the Drake's funds and training the new Drakes, whoever they happened to be. He occasionally stopped to think and remember the 'Glory Days' of his service before and after the Third War, but before the Battle of Icecrown Citadel. Mirran West will never forget the comrades he has lost, and none of the names of the original fifty have left his mind.

The CotH Chronicles

Some time passed before the Drakes needed funding once again - they accepted mercenary jobs here and there to gather up coin for the organization, but it was mostly scratching at the heels of the Alliance, since their jobs were rather mundane compared to the great battles against the Lich King and the Scourge. Among the jobs done, one specifically set the Drakes back onto their path to the 'glory days' that Mirran so spoke about. They were to lead a caravan to Nethergarde Keep from Duskwood, but the job was a setup at its core; one of the Drakes had betrayed them by setting up a fake job so that an old nemesis of the Drakes - Thrahktar, an orc commander - could ambush the Drakes in hope of killing off Mirran at least. The Drakes proved greater then Thrahktar's men, though, and with the help of adventurers and mercenaries Mirran led the attack on each of Thrahktar's strongholds, eventually leading to a cave in Alterac. 'A fitting place for a traitor to die' Mirran had commented before killing the traitor Drake, who had taken refuge in this stronghold. During these times he lent himself and some of his best Drakes to fight in the defense of Godford Manor, where his comrade Dalikan and his master Ruibarra Silverfang made refuge. After fighting in the defense of Godford Manor, Dalikan put the Drakes on his payroll to watch over the Manor until the Blades of the Silverfang found permanent residence, with exception of doing their vengeances against Thrahktar.

With Thrahktar's strongholds diminished, Mirran was left in a wild goose chase to try and find the enemy commander and slay him. However, fate had a different plan for Mirran and the mercenaries attacking Thrahktar's final encampment. They slew what they thought to be the final batch of his forces, only for Thrahktar to escape by a hair, and the adventurers could only look on from a hill-top as Thrahktar and his final amount of orc bodyguards faced off against a Lich. The Lich slew all of Thrahktar's men, and left Thrahktar mortally wounded before the Lich was slain, its phylactery left in the empty field. Mirran shouted with rage when his orcish rival consumed the contents of the phylactery and became some form of living Lich, fleeing away to an establishment that held the dead Lich's former forces. In a joint assault with Ruibarra Silverfang's Blades of the Silverfang, Dalikan Godford's Order of the Lion Hearted, and Cassius Palenix's Tumultus Inquisition, Mirran and the Drakes charged on the gates of 'Necromancy Hold', the new fortress of Thrahktar. In a costly battle, the combined forces vanquished the undead forces within the hold, and Mirran led the final assault against Thrahktar himself, where in the end Thrahktar was slain by a grenade and some Drake-styled willpower. He celebrated the victory alongside Dalikan and Ruibarra before leaving Godford Manor with the Drakes to look for jobs.

Mirran, during this time, found himself getting extremely attached to Raven. It was awkward, for old and young to be in a relationship, but it seemed to Mirran as if Raven was the only woman he could actually have feelings for - those kinds of feelings, that is. He found himself dreaming of Raven, and whenever he woke up he would smack his head against a door, chastising himself for having 'the cheesiest dreams of a man's life'.

For three months this continued on before Mirran received contact from a company in Stormwind that was requesting the Drake's services. Why specifically the Drakes and not armed thugs Mirran did not know, but he did not question it when they offered very nice amounts of funding. Crimson Company as it was named was a company based around the requisition of artifacts from ancient cultures; specifically troll cultures. Seeing the ruins of Tanaris as ripe for the picking, Crimson Company hired Mirran and the Drakes as 'security' for their expedition crews. Upon acquiring a more permanent base off the coast of Tanaris, Mirran began to guard Crimson Company endeavors in Tanaris, where three major issues have arisen over time. First, a caravan for setting up a base camp for Crimson Company was being ambushed heavily by hostile Wastewander humans, and Mirran chastised the Company for its lack of a form of security for its own. Second, Crimson Company had sent an expedition crew into a troll ruin before checking for hostile inhabitants, and were 'surprised' when a large group of Sandfury trolls assaulted their expedition crew, bringing Mirran, the Drakes, and some hired hands to clean up the mess, which cost many Drakes their lives in the fury of the battle. Mirran sent Crimson Company a message holding words of rage before waving it off. Thirdly, Crimson Company wanted more operations done in southern Tanaris, which would mean to safely bypass they would need to blow a hole right through Dunemaul territory. Crimson Company 'foolishly' sent their major group of trained goons, Second Platoon, in before the Drakes arrived, which caused Mirran to chastise the Company greatly before departing with a group of adventurers. The battle that resulted left the Drakes and Second Platoon at low numbers, though the astounding victory was thanks to a favor granted by the Lionhearts.