|Heironymous Alexander Rote
|OOC Game Stats|
|Nicknames||H.A., Hay, Ha|
|Height||5 foot 8|
- Alts: Stamp, Ulaumao
- Companions: Gaknam (Imp), Hathdok (Voidwalker), Anriana (Succubus), Czaagrom (Felhunter), Normal (Felsteed), Jhuutom (Felguard)
- Stories: Letters to Alicia
Over time, Rote gradually has come to accept that he will always be Forsaken. He still has the vague ghost pangs of loyalty to the people of Stormwind, but that fell off dramatically after his own family recoiled in horror at the sight of him and the city guards chased him through the wilderness, calling him a monster and trying to destroy him.
He still clings to some aspects of his old life: Rote keeps accounts for merchants in the Undercity, just like he used to do in Stormwind; he enjoys red wine; and he likes to read just about everything he can get his gnarled hands on.
He resists some aspects of his new life: He only cannibalizes a human when he doesn't have another choice ... or when no one's looking.
Under the tutelage of the warlocks below Lordaeron, Rote has become increasingly fascinated by the powers he is able to harness.
He has a rather dark and sarcastic sense of humor. He's overly fond of puns. But the more he delves into the fel magic of his craft, the deeper Rote seems destined to descend into a fathomless well of growing madness.
Prior to the coming of the plague, Heironymous Alexander Rote was a simple accountant with an office in the Trade District of Stormwind. He had a wife named Alicia and two children, both boys, Keenan and Riff. They dwelled on a small plot of land in Goldshire, not far from the Stormwind city gates.
He was on business, visiting clients in Brill, when he was afflicted with the Forsaken illness.
When Heironymous Alexander Rote "awakened," he was taken under the wing of the warlocks in the Magic Quarter of the ruined city of Lordaeron. He was resistant, at first. He felt certain that he could be cured. He was sure that he could return to Alicia and the boys someday; that he could resume the bland life of an accountant, chartering books for cheese shops and wineries in Stormwind. But his instructors in the Undercity told him, over and over again, that there would be no going back. The change was permanent, they said, and it was in his own best interest to learn how to harness his latent talents with Fel Magic.
"Forget the past," one instructor had insisted. "It brings only pain."
But H.A. Rote wouldn't accept never for an answer.
He fled the dank environs of the Undercity and made his way south and east to Goldshire, to his little house near the Stormwind city gates. A gibbous moon glowed in the sky above as H.A. Rote stood hunched outside the window of his own dining room, peering inside at his wife and children gathered around the table for dinner.
It was little Keenan who first noticed the gaunt, splotchy gray face and glowing yellow eyes of the undead man staring through the window. Little Keenan, who once grinned up at his father from a cradle and clutched Rote's finger in a chubby, tiny hand. Little Keenan, who used to romp around and wrestle on the floor with Rote. Little Keenan set eyes on the aberration that used to be his father and screamed. It was a heart-wrenching, hideous noise, soon joined by the shrieks and wails of Riff and Alicia as their gazes turned to the source of Keenan's distress.
Rote fled through the night, dogged by Stormwind guards alerted by the cries of his own family. He narrowly escaped their pursuit.
In time, he found his way back to the Undercity. Agonized and shattered over the loss of his old life, H.A. Rote grudgingly accepted that a cure was unlikely and that he might never again be reunited with his family. He apprenticed himself to the demonological masters of the Magic Quarter and, in his spare time, started managing the books for various merchants throughout the Trade Quarter.