We all started somewhere, and usually we are not where we envisioned ourselves being as children.
What aspirations did your character have when they were little? Did they have big dreams or no? How different is your character from what they had pictured? Does your character still hold onto that dream in hopes of someday accomplishing it, or have they forgotten entirely?
Azrexil closes his heavy tome and rubs his eyes under his glasses. He looks around the large class room, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His eyes travel from one of his fellow students to the next, each one mastering this weeks new spell. One after the other they manage to piece the intricate parts of the spell together, forming a hot, but stable orb of arcane magic. Azrexil looks down at his work station, ashamed of the countless scorch marks and singed notes.
"Its nothing guys, really. I guess I just have a knack for it!" A dark haired girl laughs. Kircia was always in the center of a group of her admirers. She was easily leaps and bound ahead of the class, let alone Azrexil, who was easily leaps and bounds behind the class. "Whats the matter Az? Beginner magic control too tough for you? Maybe you should be out in the yard learning how to pick peacebloom." The whole class turns to look at him.
"Its not that," He stammers, "I was trying something different is all. I just haven't figured out how to bind the different forces." He scrambles to hide his notes, afraid they would see through his lie.
"Oh please brother, you cant even form a simple arcane bolt. What could you possibly be working on? Everyone knows you're only here because of me. We both know you aren't meant to be a mage. Just go home before you hurt someone." The class laughs and turns back to admire the girl. Azrexil gathers up his notes slowly, shame and anger burning his cheeks. "Oh I'm sure he'll manage to make it home. I mean, its not like he can screw up walking, right?" More laughs.
"Home early again son?" His father asks, looking over his work bench. "What is it this time?"
"Its nothing, I just need to rest." He lied. "Kircia had the whole class distracted anyways. They won't even know I'm gone."
"Some times I wish you were more like her" His father said absent minded . Anger bubbled up inside Azrexil again, but he choked it down. He walked past his room dropping his books just inside the door. He walks outside into a beautiful rose garden. Deep red roses blooming everywhere, a small tree growing in the center of the garden.
"Hi mom," He whispers to the tree. "I failed again. This isn't my path." He closes his eyes and tried to relax. "I know there is a way I can harness this power, but I just can't seem to focus the ley lines on my own." He opens his eyes slightly and looks around, making sure hes alone. "I overheard a few professors speaking about a few mages trying to use demons to bolster their power. They all died in some horrible manner and the Arch-mage himself came to investigate with a tall, dark haired man in red robes. But I think I figured it out."
"Talking to yourself again brother?" His sister mocked him from the doorway. Azrexil panicked. How much had she heard? "It doesn't matter who you talk to. Not even the Arch-mage himself could help someone like you." She sneered. "You need to give up. You're just going to have to accept that you will amount to nothing in this city. Dalaran isn't your home. Just leave and save dad and I some embarrassment." She turned on her heel, the last time she would see her brother.
"You don't know how right you are sister. This city can't give me what I need." He pulls a small letter out of his robes. "But I found someone who can. The next time you see me, I wont be a mage." He stands up slowly, placing his hand on the tree one last time. "The next time I come to this city, I'll show you all what I can do." He looks up at the tree, tears of anger in his eyes, "The next time I see you, you won't know what hit you."
Azrexil turns back to look at the city one last time. His blue apprentice cloak lying on his bed with all his arcane related studies. He pulls his black hood over his head, and heads south. Towards the hidden location his small letter directed him too. Towards his true calling. His mastery of these demons. His control over this new source of magic these orcs were using. These....Warlocks.
For Drascar Shadebough, there is no greater honor than being among the first Highborne. His parents were some of the first of the kaldorei to pursue the mysteries within the depths of the Well of Eternity, and when they bore offspring that were immediately magically adept, only one path was set before them: glory.
Drascar took to all of his studies with vigor, and though he was the least magically adept of the siblings, he came to be easily as skilled, if not more so for his sheer creativity with spellweaving. Driven ever-onward by his insatiable hunger for more knowledge, more power and authority, the young Highborne was all but certain that he would indeed be the greatest of his kin.
Sometimes he thinks back on these things, and smiles. He sees the face of an elf that lived an entirely different life and wonders what if, perhaps, history had taken another path? Would he still count himself among the Highborne? For better, or for worse? More importantly: would that once-child look into his reflection, and still feel guilt?
I like this blue but can we consider purple :^)