Conquest of the Horde

Cycle of the Duskrunner - The Path of the Demon Hunter

After a couple of requests from people who wanted to read this, I've reposted it (the original thread was accidentally deleted, but I had a copy saved). If you're interested, enjoy. If not, good luck, that's 33 pages in a word document right there.

This is the story of how Fala'thorei Duskrunner became a Demon Hunter.

Chapter I: The Road Home

The damp soil mulched beneath his feet as he walked. Layers of tree roots, dead leaves and ferns and broken branches interspersed the otherwise tranquil forest floor. His boots were covered in mud, splashed on by the heavy rainfall that had dripped, leaf by leaf, to the forest floor of Ashenvale. Fala'thorei Duskrunner stopped for a moment to tilt his head back and sniff the air. Aside from the peaceful smell of a forest after rain, there was an edge to the scent of the woods. It was the smell of smoke, an unusual scent to perceive after a heavy rainfall.

He had been walking for three days, trudging endlessly through the wooded landscape. The occasional rabbit or squirrel had provided sustenance, while the fresh forest springs had allowed him to keep hydrated. For over five and a half millenia he had lived in this forest, and he knew the lay of the land as well as any hippogryph rider. He was finally coming back to his home, the home of his father who worked as a in a secluded corner of northern Ashenvale, near to the borders of Felwood.

Since the death of his mother, Fala'thorei and his father had both lived the same lonely existence, keeping to their respective professions and rarely socializing. Over the years they had developed a very special relationship. Both rarely spoke, even to each other, but they cared deeply, as only a father and son could. In the few months he had been gone, he had missed his father greatly. Though Fala'thorei found his living as a hunter out in the forest, he never normally went more than a week or two without seeing his father.

He walked onwards, drawing ever closer to his homeland. He had left his Frostsaber to hunt alone in the forest. She would find her way back to him eventually. As he crested a final ridge that overlooked his home and his father's forge, a horrifying sight met his eyes. Small smoke plumes marked where the rain had recently extinguished fel-fires dotted around the ruins of his former home. Shattered walls lay upon great beams, which lay scorched and cracked across the small site that Fala'thorei had called home.

He froze for a moment, stunned by the shock of what he was seeing. Recalling his senses, he sprinted down the small slope towards the remains of his home, looking frantically for some sign of his father. He leaped over smoking boards and beams, twisting his ankles on the tumbled stones that had made up walls and floors. Eventually he found his father. All that Fala'thorei could see was his father's right arm extruding from under a heavy oak beam, the fingers scorched nearly to the bone.

Horror gripped him, as well as the numbness which comes with shock and disbelief. He dropped to his knees, the hot ash beneath him scorching the outside of his leather breeches and beginning to heat his skin beneath them. There was no room left in his mind for more pain, as he tried in vain to process the information of what had happened. He knelt there and stared at his father's burnt hand for a while, until eventually the burning ash beneath him made him stand. He stumbled to the edge of the razed building and fell on a patch of wet ferns, lying face down and very still for a long time.

All that was left for him to love in this world had been taken. He had no friends, no family, and he was without even an acquaintance to call on in this time of his greatest need. He rolled onto his back as it began to rain again. He could see spots of the light of day all around above his head, the white clouds and leaves forming a pattern of speckled black and white to his vision, almost like the night sky on a frosty summer's eve. For several hours he lay staring at the roof of the forest, the rain making its way through the limbs of ancient trees to fall all around him.

The warmth of his hands and feet disappeared after some time, and his breath began to condense in front of him, becoming ever weaker and weaker. He closed his eyes, ready for death to take him, his very blood chilled to the core. But even as he felt death's cold embrace reach out to grasp his heart, a fire awoke within him. A fire for vengeance. Burning rage filled him, like a flame ignited from the smallest of sparks. There would be a reckoning for whoever had done this, and neither pain nor death could not stop Fala'thorei from exacting his judgement. His eyes flashed open. He gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow as he let out a roar of pure hatred. He would have his revenge.


Chapter II: Breaking Point

He spat again. The taste was still clinging rancid to his lips and tongue. He had thrown up on the ground, his face now resting on his knees as he felt the rain continue to drip onto the back of his neck. It was refreshing now, not chilling, as the cold sweat formed on his skin, his insides groaning for lack of sustenance. He had inspected the area around the ruins of his home. It seemed the house had merely been in the way of an Infernal. Charred impressions in the soil marked its footsteps, coming down from the north, from Felwood, and veering off course at the point where it would have spotted the house.

It was left to roam free through my homeland.

He lifted his head, spitting the last of the taste from his mouth. His eyes focused on a tumbled stone wall as he forced his legs to bear his weight. He rose, shaking from the wet ground. The tracks had then led away from his house and back to their original path. Millenia of tracking experience told him that the Infernal had been walking along a straight path, spotted his father's home, and headed straight for it. His father would have heard the encroaching sound of massive footsteps thumping loudly into the damp clay. A rending sound of stone, wood and metal would have screeched through the air as the Infernal smashed its fists into the ceiling of the smithy. His father must have cowered in fear as he heard the sound of his own doom.

It was an affront to nature, a vile spawn of the Twisting Nether, brought here by the very embodiment of hate and let loose upon my homeland.

By the looks of things his father had been killed as the ceiling caved in around him, a heavy beam falling to crush the life from his bones and steal his very breath away. After the house had collapsed in on itself, the Infernal had smashed downwards repeatedly with its fists, beating the walls and floors into dust and wood pulp, mashed into the soil by the steady downpour of rain. It had flailed its arms at the remaining debris, sending detritus flying through the air, crashing off trees and logs. Burnt wood mixed with puddles of rainwater laced with his father's blood all over the ground. The Infernal had stamped around for a moment, triumphant, before returning to its previous location, ready to continue on its path to whatever decrepit corner of the world it sought.

There can be no victory for me through strength of arms. The Sentinels would deal with it eventually, oh sure, but how many more would die before it was taken down? Why are the borders of this land not protected in the first place?

He swayed unsteadily as his feet found their balance again. His thoughts were racing now.

The Burning Legion had come close to destroying the world twice. Even now, after their apparent defeat, there was no end to the wrath of the demonic horde they had set loose upon all of Azeroth. There could be no quarter with them, no mercy.

His teeth gritted as his face drew into a sneer of hatred even at the thought of the corruption that was ever present between the trees of Ashenvale.

The Satyr had been bad enough, but now this? What is there left for one of the Kal'dorei to do against such reckless wrath?

He stumbled to a nearby tree, bracing himself as he wretched again. He turned his head back to look at the wreckage of his former home, his muscles tensing as his veins coursed with rage.

There will be a reckoning.

He turned back to face the forest before him. His eyes struggled to focus through the nausea that gripped his abdomen.

There will be no Judge, no Jury.

He began to trudge forward, unsure of his destination. His thoughts flashed back to his encounter with the thief, Shar'dal.

But there will be an Executioner.


Chapter III: The Lead

Fala'thorei breathed a sigh of relief as he exited the Tavern. The night air offered no refreshment, but was filled with hope. Several days had passed since the terrible discovery of his father's fate, and he had ventured far south, to Ratchet. The unfamiliarity of the place was unnerving. The sights, the smells, the strange creatures. In his long life he had never been in more than fleeting contact with the Tauren from the south, and the of the other mortal races he had little or no experience. But this place, this Goblin port, had been his only choice.

At least I have a lead.

He began to walk up a hill to the outskirts of the town itself, to the tree to which he had lashed his Frostsaber's reins. She was always well behaved around him, but he wasn't sure if he could trust her in an unfamiliar place. All it took was one person who didn't know how to handle a beast of her grace and suddenly someone had lost a hand.

Back up north I go.

He vaulted lithely onto the Saber's back, slapping its shoulder briskly to encourage it to start moving. The humid air of the Barrens offered no refreshment as he rode across the plain, dust clouding up behind his Frostsaber's pawprints. Striking up a conversation with the Goblin behind the bar had been difficult. Fala'thorei had never been one for talking to strangers unless it was something he needed to do. But he had succeeded. He had a lead. He thought of the Goblin's words. It had taken a huge bribe to get him to start talking, and even more to get him to continue.

"If ya're that serious about it, I may be able to give ya a hand. It'll cost ya though!"

Through luck or fate, he had uncharacteristically brought some gold out when searching for Shar'dal. What else he had left had been stored safely at his home. But he could not bear to go searching around the ruins for it. Luckily, he had kept enough to buy him the information he needed.

"I think I know the type you're talkin' 'bout! Shady guy, wore a hood as long as he was here, but I could see he was wearin' a blindfold." The Goblin paused to pick a shred of meat from between its teeth, extracting it and inspecting it for a moment, "But he didn't have trouble gettin' 'round the bar, even with his eyes covered! Can you believe that? He waited 'till the bar was empty at night b'fore he came in. Place was borin', so I figured I'd get him talkin'. Said he'd just got back from Outland, y'know."

Fala'thorei nodded. "Did he say where he was heading, Goblin?"

The barkeep looked at him expectantly, blatantly holding its hand out for more gold. Fala'thorei had obliged, handing over the last of his money. The Goblin's words echoed in his ears even as he rode across the plains. "He didn' say much, but before he left town he said he was headin' north. Waaaay north. Winterspring, if I remember rightly. And on foot! Jus' started runnin'!"

And so to Winterspring Fala'thorei would go. He didn't know how he would get there, but he knew he had to find the Demon Hunter. He spurred his Frostsaber to speed up. It had been two days since the strange figure had left Ratchet by foot. Fala'thorei hadn't passed him on the way here, which meant he wasn't sticking to the roads. With any luck, Fala'thorei could catch up with him, or perhaps even make it to Everlook first. After that, it was a simple matter of approaching this hunter and asking for his help. If there was a way Fala'thorei could exact his revenge, this Demon Hunter would know it.

He will show me how.

Fear had left him. He had only loathing in his heart. Everyone he loved was gone. There was no other path but vengeance.


Chapter IV: Vendetta

Fala'thorei shivered, bracing himself against the cold air of Winterspring. He kept his eyes on the tavern door, his breath regularly obscuring his vision as it condensed in front of him in the snowy air. He was crouched between a mudbrick building and the town wall, his eyes ever stationed on the entrance to the inn. His journey hadn't been easy. Following the course of the Southfury river northwards into Azshara, he had made for Talendris Point. Unfortunately, he had to sell his Frostsaber for the gold to pay the Hippogryph master for a flight to Everlook. As a neutral town, Everlook would likely be the Demon Hunter's next stop. And it was, as Fala'thorei soon learned. Upon arriving, he had taken up his position across the street from the inn. Night had since fallen, and the otherwise bearable temperatures had dropped to a blistering cold. Fala'thorei eyed the inn's last occupants jealously as they wrapped themselves heavily in their cloaks to face the freezing night air outside.

Come on, Demon Hunter. Where are you?

A moment or two passed with the inn completely empty. Eventually, a cloaked figure emerged from an alleyway down the street, making for the door of the inn. Although it was getting too dark to see whether he wore a blindfold or not, Fala'thorei took his best guess and rose to follow him inside. He strained to walk straight, his legs now mostly numb. He pulled his own hood over his head as he stepped into the warmth of the building. The dark figure was at the bar, and glanced quickly towards Fala'thorei as he entered, despite the fact that his eyes were blindfolded. The figure took its drink and walked quickly towards a dark corner, weaving between tables, chairs, and the detritus of broken glass and spilled alcohol that was present across the whole floor.

So... What now?

Subtlety was not a skill of Fala'thorei's. He decided to be direct, and so went straight for the corner in which the hooded figure sat. The Demon Hunter did not look up from his drink, but gestured to the seat opposite him as Fala'thorei approached.

"What is it you want, Night Elf?", said the figure, raising its head. He was old. A slightly wrinkled face and white beard indicated that this was a Kal'dorei of great age. He took a long sip of his drink, a dark red concoction.

Fala'thorei shifted uncomfortably, taking a moment to inspect the Demon Hunter. Despite the scalding cold outside, he was clothed in light cloth, the sort that would offer little protection against neither blade nor the bite of winter's chill. He wore a long hooded cloak, but now that Fala'thorei saw it up close he realized that it was also of a light weave, and seemed to be worn if only to hide the wearer's identity. Fala'thorei thought about his words carefully. Throughout his sheltered existence he had heard tales of Demon Hunters. They were dangerous, and the Sentinels would never let one pass near Astranaar without keeping a very close eye on them. He would have to choose his words wisely.

"I want revenge", he responded.

The Demon Hunter sniffed the air sharply, setting his goblet down.

"You must have me mistaken for another. I have never met you before, Night Elf." He leaned forward on the table, his muscled arms gripping the edges. He seemed to be staring intently at Fala'thorei, who struggled not to back away instinctively. The Demon Hunter had the scent of the Fel about him, making Fala'thorei very edgy. "Unless, of course, it is not me you seek revenge against."

Fala'thorei tried to stare the Demon Hunter in the eyes. All he could see were two dull impressions in his blindfold, where the cloth outlined his empty eye sockets. "W-what is your name, Demon Hunter?" he stuttered nervously. He rubbed his arms, trying to coerce the blood to flow back to his fingertips.

The Demon Hunter let one corner of his mouth form into a grin before responding in his deep, grizzled voice. "My name is Alatorias", he cocked his head to one side, leaning back to an ordinary sitting position. "What is yours, Night Elf?" He slid his goblet across the table, gesturing to it with his other hand. "Take a drink, it will help to draw the warmth to your limbs."

Fala'thorei peered into the liquid nervously before taking a sip. He felt a wave of heat sweep down his oesophagus and out into his arms and legs. "My name is Fala'thorei, son of Harfurias Duskrunner", he began, "And no, it is not you I seek revenge against." He hesitated. Stick to the direct approach. He will either help you or you'll have to find someone else.

Alatorias took the goblet back, his fingernails were long and sharp, almost like claws. "Then who are you seeking revenge against?" he took a large sip. "Or what?"

Fala'thorei hesitated again. Just stick to the direct approach. He took a deep breath. "All that I have ever loved has been taken from me..." he faltered once more, struggling to find the words for what he was about to ask. "...And without love, all that is left in my heart is... rage." He looked down for a moment, trying to put his emotions into speech, something he had never truly accomplished before. His eyes strayed downwards to the wood of the table. "Demon-kind have taken everything... There is nothing left but..."

The Demon Hunter's ears perked up as he said in a husky voice "A Vendetta?" Fala'thorei nodded nervously, looking Alatorias in the face once more. "I cannot go on living without doing something to sate the wrath that has grown inside." he leaned forward, forgetting his worries and speaking louder than he intended. "Will you train me in the arts of Demon Hunting?"

Artorias sat back in his chair, sipping his goblet with clawed fingers. He seemed to be deep in thought. He has to say yes. The Demon Hunter leaned forward, laying a hand palm up on the table. He extended his fingers. "Give me your hand, Fala'thorei Duskrunner."

Fala'thorei obliged, placing an open palm on Alatorias'. Quick as lighting, the Demon Hunter grasped his wrist, pinching hard with a set of claws. Bringing his thumbnail to his lips, the Demon Hunter sucked a droplet of blood from it as Fala'thorei withdrew his hand with a gasp. He stared wide-eyed at Alatorias, gripping his wrist as the Demon Hunter looked thoughtful once again. What the fel have I got myself into?

"You have much hate in you, Duskrunner", said Alatorias. "But I sense no evil in you." He pursed his lips, as if savoring the taste. "You remind me of myself, when I was much, much younger." Fala'thorei looked eagerly at Alatorias. Is he about to say yes? "Much younger, and much more foolish", the Demon Hunter continued. "Do you understand what you are asking me to do to you?" Fala'thorei nodded hesitantly. There is nothing left for me to do. The Demon Hunter's face suddenly shot forward, and he sat face to face with Fala'thorei, inches between them. Fala'thorei felt as if he was under a piercing gaze, one which someone with the sharpest of eyes could not have achieved. The Demon Hunter's voice suddenly changed to an angry hiss, his face contorted into a sadistic grin.

"You will be subjecting your body and soul to the worst of torments. Wrath and power will become part of your soul, as will the taint of the Demon-kind. You will know agony that will bear down upon not only your seared flesh, but on your very being. There will be no respite from the solitude, the loneliness. You will become an agent of destruction, your heart and mind will warp to thoughts of hate and darkness, and ever you will long to succumb to those thoughts." The Demon Hunter chuckled manically for a moment. "And though you'll be able to resist for a time, you will eventually decay into a being as evil as those you hunt, or die in the process." Alatorias leaned away, his crazed smile all but vanished as his face took on a grave expression. "Only if you are willing to make the sacrifice of your very being are you ready to become a Demon Hunter."

Fala'thorei breathed a heavy sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as he mulled over his thoughts. "I know in my heart of hearts that I am broken. The agony of my losses will never be sated, it will never heal. I know this", he breathed deeply once again, "All that is left for me to do is to turn this agony and loathing into a force of good."

Alatorias betrayed a small smirk. "To be a Demon Hunter is to turn evil upon itself. It is fighting evil with evil", he tilted his head back. "It is to become the very thing that you hunt. And what you hunt is an affront to nature, an abomination that should never be allowed to exist. That is what you would become."

Fala'thorei nodded. "The only chance I have of revenge is to become vengeance itself. I will not cease until my dying breath is beaten from me. I will do this with or without your help. But I ask of you to help me to know what it is that I hunt, so that I may slay them as proficiently as it is possible to do so."

The Demon Hunter's head tilted forward again as he brought his goblet to his lips. He drank deeply. His lips curled into a grin, showing for the first time his teeth, sharper and longer than any Kal'dorei Fala'thorei had ever seen. "I once spoke words almost identical to yours", he said, his voice returning to its normal huskiness. "Taking the path of the Demon Hunter is one of the few regrets of my life. I hate what I have become, and I won't let someone else do the same."

Fala'thorei stared for a moment. "But-"

"You asked, and I have my answer," said the Demon Hunter, finishing his goblet and rising from his seat. "I must go."

With that, he walked quickly out of the inn, giving a curt nod to the bartender as he passed.

Fala'thorei rubbed his eyes for a moment, contemplating his next move.

This isn't over.


Chapter V: The Turn of the Tide

The satisfying crunch of snow underfoot had all but dulled. Fala'thorei forced himself to keep moving. The Demon Hunter's tracks were odd. Almost like the footprint of an Elf crossed with that of a mountain goat. It had toes, but was cloven halfway down the center. But Fala'thorei was certain these were the right tracks. He had followed the Demon Hunter to the edge of town, and then eyed the path he took through the snowy ridges. The tracks were very far apart, which indicated that the Demon Hunter was running with some speed. Fala'thorei could only hope that his quarry would stop for rest. Otherwise he had little hope of ever catching up.

It was now the middle of the night. The snow appeared a dull grey against the overcast midnight sky. Through the biting cold he ran, his exertion doing little to warm him. His breath came in heavy bursts. Though he was physically very fit, this Demon Hunter ran with a ruthlessness that made it almost impossible to ever catch up. Had Fala'thorei not sold his Frostsaber he may have had hope, but without it he had to rely on his own abilities to follow the Demon Hunter.

He must stop for rest soon!

A stitch had formed in his ribs, forcing him to slow. He panted heavily, his breath forming a translucent cloud in front of him. The darkness made it hard to make out anything in the distance. Only a dull set of tracks marked the Demon Hunter's path ahead, and even those were hard to read. He continued onwards, keeping his eyes peeled for any sort of danger. Several hours passed and eventually he had to stop. He fell to the ground exhausted. Winterspring was in the twilight hours before dawn, and the only light Fala'thorei could discern was a faint glow by the eastern horizon, just peeking over the slopes of mount Hyjal.

Sitting up, he heaved his exhausted legs to make them work. He was as tired as he could remember being in all of his long life. Up ahead he could see that the ground dropped away sharply. Ahead and to the left a bridge crossed the chasm, with what looked like a Highborne tower next to it on the far side. The tracks went to the edge of the fall, and then veered sharply to the left, as if the Demon Hunter hadn't noticed the drop until the last moment.

Fala'thorei forced himself to stand. If he was going to rest, he would need to do it by the bridge so that the Demon Hunter wouldn't slip by without him noticing. He made his way along the chasm until he came to the bridge. It was hard to tell if it was natural or some ancient construction. There was several inches of snow on top, and Fala'thorei's arms and hands were already cold enough without him probing around in the snow. He crossed to the halfway point, where the bridge was at its narrowest. Wrapping himself in his cloak as tightly as he could, he lay down on the frozen ground, shivering.

"I'll just rest here for a whi..."

Several more hours passed before he awoke. Sitting bolt upright, he was shocked to see that the sun had already crept well beyond the horizon. It offered no warmth in the wintry air, however. He stood up, his muscles and joints burning from fatigue and the cold. He could still make out the tracks, though a light snowfall had partially obscured them. The Demon Hunter would be miles ahead by now. The Highborne tower he had seen earlier was just ahead now, at the end of the bridge. He trudged towards it, looking up at the majesty of its archaic durability.

But this splendor came at a price.

The tracks continued along the road, which ran straight into a gorge ahead. Fala'thorei made his way forward. The ground sloped sharply upwards on either side, looming over him as he entered Darkwhisper Gorge. Decorative Pillars lined the path, more remnants from a forgotten time. He stepped forward cautiously, keeping his eyes peeled for anything strange. There was a smell of smoke in the air. Not the billowing white smoke of an oak hearth fire, but the dark, acrid sort that was present when demons were nearby. The smell made him think of his father. His burnt and torn hand extruding from the wreckage of his home. He stopped dead.

What was that?

A faint clash of steel on steel echoed down the chasm. Somewhere not far ahead, there was combat underway. Fala'thorei crept slowly, moving from rock to tree to pillar to stay out of sight of whatever was ahead. He peered over the top of a rock, ready to make his next move when he froze. Up ahead, he could see the remains of a Felguard on the ground, its head lying several feet from its body. Fala'thorei moved slowly from around the rock, keeping his ears pricked. He spotted several more bodies not far from it. Another ringing sound sang out, this time much closer. It was followed by the sound of flesh being torn. He leaned his head out ever so slightly to try and see around the corner. Up ahead, he could see a Felguard facing in the other direction.

But where is the Demon Hunter?

All of a sudden, a figure dropped heavily onto the Felguard from above, thrusting down with a pair of warglaives. In the dawning light Fala'thorei watched as the Felguard threw the Demon Hunter off, making him roll across the blighted ground. The Felguard advanced, raising its sword at the helpless figure of Alatorias. Without a second thought Fala'thorei sprinted from his cover, drawing his sword. The Felguard turned as he drew nearer, bringing its huge blade around in an arc, aiming straight for Fala'thorei's head. He brought his own sword up in a feeble attempt to parry the blow which sent it flying from his hands. He dived for it as the Felguard swung again, this time with a cleave that could slice a Gnome in two.

As Fala'thorei hit the floor, he turned with his sword in hand to block the tremendous swing of the Felguard. Bracing his blade against his left forearm, he watched, as if in slow motion, as the Felguard's blade clashed with his with enough force to drive his own sword through his bracer and into his left forearm, sending a whiplash of pain up his arm. He screamed in pain as the Felguard raised its blade once more, ready to strike down at its helpless opponent. It raised both arms above its head, giving a growl of sadistic satisfaction. Fala'thorei could only look up in horror as the points of two warglaives slipped their way between the Felguard's arms and neck, quickly clashing together with a ringing sound to shear the Felguard's head off like a scissors.

Its body slumped to the ground, leaving Fala'thorei speechless as the figure behind it came into view, that of Alatorias. He was slightly stained with demon blood and dirt, but looked otherwise unharmed. In the light of day he was truly more frightening, his rippling arms a testament to the weight of the weapons he was carrying, which were the largest set of warglaives Fala'thorei had ever seen. The Demon Hunter had removed his cloak and shirt, leaving a bright blue set of jagged tattoos visible under dirt, blood and sweat. His chest rose and sank as he stared at Fala'thorei, his blindfold as deep and dark as any pupil.

"What the fel do you think you're doing here?!" whispered the Demon Hunter, his voice somehow more piercing than the loudest of roars.

"I... I was..." stuttered Fala'thorei, the pain in his arm distracting him as he rose from the ground. "I thought you were done for... you were on the ground, you weren't getting up..."

"Are you mad? That's how I lure a Felguard in!" said Alatorias. He began to pace around, exasperated with confusion. He turned to Fala'thorei. "What the fel were you thinking, Duskrunner?"

Fala'thorei looked downwards at his left arm. The bracer was cloven, and blood flowed freely from the gash in the leather. "I wasn't thinking. I couldn't stand the thought of someone dying like that", he said, his face a muddle of emotions.

"And what about yourself? You're no match for a lesser demon, let alone a Felguard!" said Alatorias, his voice staying in the same piercing whisper. "I was ready to strike when the Felguard came close. They're sadistic creatures by nature, they like to wait a moment before they make the final blow. It's the easiest way to dispatch them." The Demon Hunter sighed, beginning to pace again. "And what were you doing following me?"

Fala'thorei looked downwards. "I thought you would lead me to demons", he said embarrassed. "And I was right." He looked down at his arm once more, struggling to unclasp his bracer so that he could inspect the wound. He removed it, flinging it on the ground as Alatorias continued to pace around. A deep cut ran along the outside of his forearm, not showing any signs of clotting. He sighed and applied some pressure to it in the hope that the bleeding would stop.

"You came looking for demons to kill?"

"Yes."

"And you know that you'd stand no chance against anything more powerful than an imp?"

"Yes."

"And you know that you would've been killed if not for my intervention?"

Fala'thorei paused, closing his eyes for a moment. "It would have been a good death." He opened his eyes to see Alatorias raising an eyebrow, making his blindfold go slightly eschew. He planted a warglaive deep in the ground with a strong thrust. "I would have died knowing I had done what I could", said Fala'thorei.

Alatorias rubbed his cheekbones just below his eye sockets with a clawed hand. "And if I leave you to go on your way, what will you do?"

"I'll search for more Demons. I'll get better. I'll train myself if I have to."

Alatorias sighed heavily, burying his other warglaive deep in the blackened soil. He continued to pace, looking up in the air towards the sunlight, a sight which he must have missed sorely. He crouched down, then stood up. He rang his hands, and extended them to flex his fingers. He then sat down in front of Fala'thorei, placing his elbows on his knees. His chest was almost as wide as that of a Draenei, warped and engorged with fel energy. He looked down at the ground for a moment, his lank hair hanging over two small bumps on his forehead. He looked back up at Fala'thorei, rising from his sitting position.

"Then you leave me no choice. I can't let you go off and get yourself killed. That would be the greater evil. It seems that the lesser is that I take you on as my apprentice, though I do not do it lightly." He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If I thought I could dissuade you from this path I would, but I see now that your resolve is unshakable."

Fala'thorei's heart jumped. Does this mean...?

"If you still wish it, I will teach you the arts of the Demon Hunter. If only to keep you from getting yourself needlessly killed. You may yet do some good for this world, and if that is so, then I will not let you throw that possibility away."

Fala'thorei knelt down, bowing his head. Relief coupled with exhaustion made his voice falter. But he managed to make out a small whisper.

"Thank you."


Chapter VI: Ordeal

"The concept of a sacrifice is one that is both simple and intricate. Sacrifice is the giving of something to serve a higher purpose. Be it abstaining from alcohol to improve your physical health, or deciding to stay at home for the rest of your life to take care of an invalid parent. Usually, the nature of the sacrifice is irrelevant to the end result, because it is the goal that is important. However, in some cases, the nature of the sacrifice must be taken into account. What you wish to sacrifice is your individuality, as well as your affinity to anyone you may have known in the past."

The Demon Hunter paced as he spoke. It was something Fala'thorei had noticed about him. He always seemed to do it. The sun shone down in the autumnal air, a cool breeze teasing any uncomfortable heat away. They had made their way to Azshara to begin the training. In order to not become forgetful of what might happen, the Demon Hunter had told him. They were standing on a clifftop overlooking the bay and the ruins of Eldarath. Towers and domes stretched as far as the eye could see, all the way over to the headland that wrapped around the city to the North. Fala'thorei was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, squinting against the sunlight.

"For what you will be doing in this training is ceremoniously corrupting yourself, right down to your very core", continued the Demon Hunter, pacing back and forth behind Fala'thorei. "Your skin, your blood, even your very soul will grow darker as you accept the Fel into your being with open arms. But it is vital that you maintain your own mind. Corruption will make its way to the shores of your consciousness, and there it must remain. Because the second you give in to the darkness, your will, your judgment, your soul... they will be gone, banished to the Twisting Nether should you ever give up. You should also know that during this training process, if I suspect for a second that you will not have the strength of mind to continue, I will kill you as you sleep."

Fala'thorei turned his head, shading his vision with a hand. Alatorias looked serious, though it was sometimes hard to tell with the blindfold obscuring what remained of his eyes. Fala'thorei turned, swinging his legs up onto the rough grass of the clifftop. He stood, mindful of the edge of the cliff. He took a closer look at Alatorias. It seemed the Demon Hunter only covered himself up when he needed to venture through a town or city. The rest of the time, he did not seem to be conscious of the temperature, even in rain or snow. His muscular build was clearer in the light of day. The thought that he too may one day be as strong filled Fala'thorei with hope. The sting of the cut on his arm had not lessened.

"That is good. If there is one thing I could not stand it would be the thought of a demon in control of my body. Torment in the Twisting Nether would be nothing compared to the torment of the knowledge that my body was the means for some great evil to act."

The Demon Hunter nodded. "It should be now that I ask of you whether you are sure that this is the path you wish to take. But I can see that your mind is made up. Come, let us begin the training."

With that, Alatorias wrenched both of his warglaives from a nearby tree stump. He handed them to Fala'thorei. The weight was incredible. Fala'thorei strained to keep his arms from hanging by his sides. He had enough strength in his arms to pull a bow, but this was far heavier than the pull of a bowstring. The Demon Hunter folded his arms to look at him with a grin. "Don't worry. It will get easier. Warglaives as large as mine are uncommon, most prefer to wield a faster blade. But this will help to put some meat on your bones." The Demon Hunter chuckled. "I'd suggest you take your shirt off, it'll irritate you after a while."

Fala'thorei placed the two blades on the ground, where they lay heavily, crushing the grass beneath them. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off. Tossing it on the ground, he reached down to tie a lace on his boots. "Those too." Sighing, Fala'thorei slipped his boots off, laying them on top of his shirt to keep the wind from blowing it away. He bent to pick up the Warglaives again, their weight more apparent after his short respite.

"I'll meet you by that tower", said the Demon Hunter, pointing to a tall tower across the bay, down on the beach at what looked like the edge of the peninsula. It looked like a good distance, possibly around five miles as the crow flies, but considerably more due to the route Fala'thorei would have to take. With that, Alatorias broke into a sprint, disappearing into the brush. Fala'thorei stood stock still for a moment, unsure of how to begin. But he knew in his heart that he could not give up. He took a few steps, testing the weight of the warglaives to see how they affected his balance as he ran. Picking up speed, he just about managed to find a rhythm with the huge weapons, though his arms swung almost comically as he ran.

It took several hours to get to the tower. The going was tough. The terrain was uneven, and his path was often crossed by thin, wiry roots which made him sidestep or jump to avoid them, which upset his balance with the huge warglaives and forced him to slow to regain his rhythm. It was a nice day, however, neither to hot nor too cold, and the sun felt amazing on his chest. He tried to enjoy it, but the burning pains in his shoulders soon filled him with frustration, not at the pain, but at his own inadequacy.

Eventually he reached the beach by the tower. He had taken a full circle around the sunken city to avoid the creatures that dwelled there. The wet sand felt good against his feet, which were blistered and cut from the punishment of the journey. He had taken his time, pacing himself so as to be ready should some creature pounce from the bushes, but his journey was uninterrupted, save for tripping over a tree root, which had hurt his foot and almost caused him to impale himself on a warglaive. He had forced himself not to stop, though. Up ahead, Alatorias was sitting with his back against the tower, which leaned slightly outwards towards the sea. Fala'thorei reached him, just managing to raise his arms to sink the warglaives into the sand before lying down on the wet sand

The pain in his shoulders and across his back was unbearable. The coldness of the sand was comforting against his bare skin, however. He leaned his head back to look at Alatorias, who was staring at him with a smile. "Nice work", he said. "Tomorrow you'll be faster." Fala'thorei suppressed a groan, instead turning his head back to stare up at the sky. The sun was just sinking into the hills to his right, and a gradient of color trailed across the sky, from pink in the west to a dark blue in the east. His first day of training had been grueling, but he would keep going. The Demon Hunter knew what he was doing, and Fala'thorei trusted his judgment.

Tomorrow, I'll be faster.



Chapter VII: Respite

Over the next few weeks, the training only grew in intensity. At the start he was allowed a day of rest for every two days spent training. Of course, he'd normally stay in the small camp in Azshara because he was too tired to actually go anywhere. Eventually his break was once for every three training days, then four, then five. His limbs ached in the mornings, and felt like jelly in the evenings, but he was growing stronger. Often when Fala'thorei was given a task to complete, he would come back at the end of a long day to find a campsite laden with food hunted and gathered by Alatorias.

Fala'thorei could almost see the muscle growing on him. Though he had always been very caring for his own body, the intensive training coupled with the large amounts of food he was consuming meant he was steadily gaining weight, his muscles bulging more every day. However, Fala'thorei had begun to grow impatient. While the training was making him much fitter physically, he had yet to train in any fighting styles, or learn anything about demons. Sitting in the camp one evening, he eyed the Demon Hunter as he ripped chunks of meat from a deer leg with fanged teeth, his eyeless stare scanning the horizon.

"Master, do you think perhaps we should try something different tomorrow?"

The Demon Hunter turned his head to face Fala'thorei. He stopped chewing his meat and swallowed it. "Like what?" he growled.

"Perhaps it would be time to move on to some combat techniques? I'm ready to take on something new. I feel stronger than ever!"

The Demon Hunter chuckled for a moment and turned back to the view from the clifftop. He wrenched some more meat off the hefty bone, chewing loudly. Fala'thorei waited for a moment. It was hard to tell when Alatorias was thinking about what to say and when he had just lost interest.

"Master?"

Turning his head back, the Demon Hunter looked at Fala'thorei with an odd expression of surprise. "Oh, you're serious?" His cracked lips curled into a smirk as he continued, "Your new strength is not for the purpose of fighting demons. It's so you can survive the first binding."

Fala'thorei's heart leaped. The first of the rituals was drawing near! Though he knew little about them, he couldn't help feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension at the thought of the word 'binding'.

"What will that involve, Master?"

Their relationship had evolved over the last few weeks. Starting out quite casual, Alatorias had taken to ensuring that Fala'thorei called him 'Master'. So that he'd always be reminded of who listens to who, Alatorias had said. He chewed his venison for a moment before answering.

"It marks the beginning of your journey along the path of the Demon Hunter. What it involves are two rituals- The Oath, and The Marking, or tattooing of your skin." Fala'thorei nodded at Alatorias as he continued, "It can be done any time, but I'd prefer to do it at the next full moon for luck. That's when I began and I've been lucky so far."

The Demon Hunter tore off another hunk of meat. "And the reason you need to be in peak condition is that you're essentially binding the Fel to your physical entity. You'll probably take a fever. You'll definitely feel like crap for a week or so." He swallowed, pausing to extract a shred of stringy meat from between his pointed teeth. "What this ritual does is that it gets your body used to the presence of the Fel. These tattoos will stay with you forever, and as such, your body will need to try to build up some sort of immunity to the taint. Of course, that's impossible, but it's a natural process that'll resist the taint of the Fel before succumbing to it."

"These tattoos have been passed down through generations from the first Demon Hunter." He paused for a moment. "And their shape and form is such that it helps subdue the soul of the demon under you, when the time for that comes." Alatorias looked towards Fala'thorei for a moment, his blindfold seeming to stare intensely at him. "But after that comes the interesting part. Your body will grow and change. Your muscles will be stronger than they've ever been before. You'll be a lot faster, and have much more endurance. Your skin will grow hard, like leather, and the very heat of your blood will make any weather feel like that of a warm summer's day."

Alatorias threw the almost meatless haunch off the cliff. It soared far outwards before it began to fall. "The power you'll feel will be overwhelming. But while you'll be strong, you'll be brittle. Like a dried up bone. You'll be able to defeat all but the hardiest of foes, but at the same time the pain you feel from a wound will be more intense. You'll pass out from a blow to the head more easily, and your bones won't be able to take as much shock as you're used to. So you'll have to learn how to fight, and use your speed and strength to avoid and parry any blows sent your way."

"But all of this will be after The Oath, which you'll have to take first of all. Although I feel you're committed, you have to make a blood oath under the gaze of Elune, as is tradition among Demon Hunters. I won't train you until you make this oath, and you'll have no success without asking for Elune's forgiveness. Because that's what you'll have to do. Beg for forgiveness for the sins that you're about to commit against your own body and soul in the name of the greater good. Without this forgiveness and blessing, you will be cursed for your Fel-deeds."

The Demon Hunter sighed. "But it's getting late, you should get some sleep. I'll have first watch and wake you once the moon is past Draenor's spark." Fala'thorei nodded silently, his head full of thoughts and dreams. He lay back on the cloak he had spread across the ground, wrapping himself in it. In the dull glow of the campfire, he could see the Demon Hunter as he stood up, raising his left leg and bracing it against his right leg to stand on one foot. He placed his hands together in a praying style before lowering his head to stand stock still.

Fala'thorei still had no idea what Alatorias was doing when he did this, but it was his common practice when he was meant to be on watch. Turning over, Fala'thorei closed his eyes.

I just hope I'm strong enough.


Chapter VIII: The First Binding

The full moon shone down over the landscape, illuminating everything in a chilling glow. Fala'thorei stood by the edge of the Azshara clifftop. The Tower of Eldara was visible far below on the sandy beach, and the ocean stretched before him into infinity. With no clouds for warmth, the night was made colder by the fact that he was shirtless.

"You may begin, Duskrunner", growled Alatorias, who was sitting behind him crushing something up with a mortar and pestle. Fala'thorei cleared his throat.

"I, Fala'thorei Duskrunner do hereby pledge to do all that I may to combat the wrath of the Burning Legion", he began, "And in taking this oath I accept the sacrifices I must make of both my body and my soul. I pledge to invite in the darkness, only to subdue it and use its power as my own, and not for pride or vanity or ego. But to use this power to turn evil against itself, and fight fel-fire with fel-fire."

He took a deep breath, conscious of the importance of the moment. "I pledge to do all that I may, and never give up this fight. I will never let the darkness take me or control me. I will dominate the evil that I let inside as I will dominate the evil I will face in this world, or risk eternal damnation to the Twisting Nether."

Alatorias spoke up behind him. "And I, Alatorias, Demon Hunter, do hereby pledge to take Fala'thorei Duskrunner on as my apprentice, so that I may turn him into a weapon against evil. I pledge to teach him all I know in the ways of Demon Hunting, so that he may channel his power into good deeds and not evil. And I pledge not to let him fall into darkness so long as he is under my guidance. Should he turn to evil, I pledge to hunt him down and banish his soul to the Twisting Nether. He is my charge, and for ever more shall be my responsibility and my curse, as I was to the master who taught me."

Fala'thorei continued, straining to remember the exact wording of the scroll that Alatorias had written out for him. They hadn't rehearsed it out loud, and all Fala'thorei could do was trust in his memory to ensure he got it right.

"I hereby ask forgiveness of Elune for the corruption that will soon engulf my body. I do this knowingly so that I may use it against evil. I ask that Elune will grace me with the strength I will need to resist this corruption and overcome it, so that I may dominate all evil, both within and without. I accept whatever punishment she may rain down upon me, and hope that she can find it in her infinite wisdom to forgive this grave sin that I willingly commit."

"I ask forgiveness of Elune for the taint that I will soon instill in this child of hers. I do it knowingly and willingly, and accept full responsibility for my actions should this Elf turn to evil."

Fala'thorei brought the dagger he was holding up to his left forearm and drew it across the back of his wrist with a grunt. The pledge to Elune wasn't part of the actual oath, but Alatorias had insisted on it, being a Kal'dorei of great faith. Fala'thorei turned to look at him, his oath now complete. Alatorias continued crushing whatever was in the mortar. He looked up at Fala'thorei.

"These are fragments of the fel-stones that make up an infernal. I slew it in Demon Fall canyon earlier today. I will mix this with some other ingredients before applying it to your skin and burning it. It will be extremely painful, but I ask you to try to keep your resolve. Once the mixture has been burned, it will leave the tattoo mark that I have chosen that will suit you best."

Fala'thorei nodded, walking over and taking a seat on the log next to Alatorias. He eyed the contents of the mortar, which was the color of the sand of Darkshore, a dark gray with a hint of brown. "What tattoo will that be?" he asked, looking up at Alatorias in the firelight.

"Rage", growled Alatorias. "You have much anger in your veins already. This particular tattoo will enhance that, although for most it would make them more likely to submit to the darkness. In your case, I think you are stubborn enough to handle it."

Alatorias had already mentioned that there were several types of tattoo that a Demon Hunter could be given, and each emulated a different aspect of a demon, enhancing the hunter's abilities in some ways, and limiting them in others. The Demon Hunter took out a small phial of viscous green liquid. He uncorked it and poured it in. A heavy smell of the fel wafted from it. He answered before Fala'thorei could ask. "The blood of a Felguard, a being of rage."

Fala'thorei stood up and walked back to the cliffside to gaze out over the ocean. He had butterflies in his stomach. His entire day had been spent resting and eating while Alatorias, it seemed, had spent his day fighting demons. He was nervous about the ritual. He knew he had the strength in him to survive, but there was always the chance that something could go wrong. He was also worried about the pain of the tattooing process. Not the pain itself, but he feared that he might cry out in front of Alatorias and appear weak.

"It's ready", growled Alatorias, rising from his seat on the log. "Kneel."

Fala'thorei knelt, preparing to meditate. He felt the cold touch of a brush that Alatorias had made. The paste being applied to Fala'thorei's back felt warm to his surprise, and it would almost have been comforting, were it not for the stench of the fel that now stung his nostrils. Alatorias continued to paint, doing what felt like jagged lines and patterns across his back and chest. Gently raising Fala'thorei's arms, he then proceeded to continue the pattern around his biceps, forming an intricate yet simplistic pattern which circled his torso and arms.

Fala'thorei took no notice, preparing himself for the pain he would feel when the paste was burned. He had never had a high tolerance for pain, except when in a fight, or going in to finish off an animal he hunted. When his adrenaline flowed, he usually didn't notice any wounds he had acquired until after he had calmed down.

That's it! I'll think of something exhilarating!

He searched his mind, but could not think of much except the words 'searing' and 'flesh'. He thought of the future, of being a Demon Hunter, and what that would mean. He thought about fighting demons, and unleashing his built up wrath upon them as they lay prostrate before his might. He's finished with the paste. He thought about his father's hand, sticking out from under the beam, his fingers nearly charred off. The injustice of it all! They will pay for their crimes against the earth! Rage engulfed him. He was conscious of a great heat about him, but he was too angry to care. Why am I wasting my time here with this old fool? I should be out there getting my revenge! This is a waste of time! How much longer will I have to put off being able to fight to avenge my father's murder?

"Finished." whispered Alatorias in a surprised tone.

Fala'thorei stood quickly, turning to take a swing at Alatorias. "ABOUT TIME!" he roared. Alatorias dismissively blocked his punch, and the reality of what Fala'thorei was doing suddenly dawned on him.

"I'm... sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know what-", he began, and then a wave of pain hit him. He had grown so angry that the pain of the immolation of the tattoos hadn't reached him until now. His knees quickly grew weak and Alatorias caught him as he dropped to the floor.

"Shh...", the Demon Hunter whispered as he lowered Fala'thorei to the ground. "You will soon fall unconscious. Resist it, Duskrunner. Fight through the nightmares that will take your mind. Rest now."

A wave of nausea hit Fala'thorei as his eyes closed. He turned on his side and vomited, a cold sweat spreading through his body. And with that, he fainted.

Resist.

Fight it.

Chapter IX: Darkness Falls

Fala'thorei was in a constant state of semi-consciousness. The real world swam and merged with the world of his dreams. Landscapes shifted and changed, events and people came and went, and every day seemed as long as a year spent in a dark prison cell. Occasionally he was able to focus his mind enough to separate reality from dream, but the two worlds would inevitably warp and twist together to form one horrifying reality for him.

It's catching up on me.

He ran forward, into the endless void. The ground was a dark sand, a flat plain stretching into infinity, and his bare feet pounded into it. The plain was lit, as if a full moon shone down on it, but there was no light to be seen overhead. The Darkness was always behind him, gaining pace as he ran. There was no wind in this place, not even the breeze that one would feel while running on a still summer's day. There was no air. He dropped to his knees, trying in vain to inhale, but he was being smothered. The Darkness drew closer as he gasped on the ground.

This is a dream, I don't need air to run.

He picked himself up off the ground. His mind was clearer now. He didn't need air in a dream, he didn't need to feel tired or fatigued. He picked up speed, but the Darkness had gained too much ground. He spun around, drawing himself up to his full height and bracing himself, as if ready to fight a single opponent. The Darkness sped towards him, a wall as high as he could see, churning and twisting like a thick sandstorm. Then it was all around him, lashing at him and sending him spinning. He was thrown to the floor.

He heard a grizzled voice in his ear. Fight it. He sprung up, flailing at the Darkness. His fist touched something solid. All of a sudden the cloud all around him flew into a single place, transforming into a monstrous demon. It roared at him, its breath blowing against Fala'thorei like a strong wind. He roared back, ready to fight it. But he was naked in the darkness, there was nothing he could use bit his fists and teeth. He stood for a moment, taunting it. It ran towards him, bringing clawed fists down upon his face.

In the moment before it touched him, it transformed into a creature of black, viscous slime. It wrapped itself around him, and there was nothing he could do to get it off. It engulfed him, spreading upwards from his chest towards his mouth. He roared in anguish. A fire was rising inside him, a burning rage born of frustration and wrath. It grew from within him, passing through his flesh and engulfing his body in flames. The Slime let out a piercing shriek as it was consumed by the heat. It dropped off, writhing in pain as it reformed, the thick blobs of black slime spiraling upwards and reforming in the shape of the Demon.

Fala'thorei roared again. He could see fear in the Demon's silver eyes. He rushed towards it, tackling it in the midriff and bringing it to the floor. He grasped its head by its dark blue hair, bringing a fist down into its face, making its head bounce backwards off the floor. He beat the Demon again and again as it shrieked.

You will not conquer me, Demon.

He grasped its hair once more, raising the palm of his hand high in the air and bringing it down forcefully at the Demon's nose. It cracked as loudly as an ancient tree falling in the woods, breaking across the Demon's face. The Demon began to melt into the ground, its black form making a stain on the sand. Fala'thorei stood back up, panting as he kicked his foot down at the tainted sand. He looked around. The Darkness was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was the moonlit plain, stretching endlessly to the horizon. He looked back down at the stain, just in time to see that it was forming a hole in the ground.

A void, darker than the night sky. So dark it was like looking at something solid. Fala'thorei plunged in, determined to defeat the Darkness once and for all. The blackness surrounded him. It was as if he was blind. He was floating. Not falling, just floating, the blackness surrounded him entirely. But then his vision began to blur. Dull browns and greys swirled into view, twisting and changing to form a myriad of images. Then he could see two scenes before him, together and yet apart, as if looking through a clean window to see both his own reflection and what was behind it.

He could see Alatorias sitting by the campfire, watching him intently with a look of concern on his face. The second scene was that of his father's living face. The two scenes merged into one. His father's face twisted to form that of Alatorias. Suddenly the blackness faded. He was no longer floating, he was lying on the ground. He could feel his body again. His eyes were open. He looked up to Alatorias. The Demon Hunter was still staring at him, his brow furrowed with worry. Fala'thorei tried to move but couldn't. His body ached, as if he had been working without rest for days. He tried to say something, but it came out as a whimper.

Alatorias rushed over, kneeling next to him. "You pulled through", he said simply. The Demon Hunter gripped his hand. "Try to sleep, you'll feel better after."

Fala'thorei awoke a full day later. His dreams had been dark, but they hadn't seemed so real. They faded from his mind after a few moments as he opened his eyes. The sun had just risen, peeking over the treetops to the east. The shadow of Mount Hyjal was far off in the distance. He sat up slowly. His muscles still ached, but he had enough strength to move them. Alatorias came into view.

"Good morning." His husky voice was comforting. Fala'thorei cleared his throat, which felt very dry. "Water", he replied. "...Please."

The Demon Hunter must have expected this, because he handed Fala'thorei a skin of fresh water immediately. "Drink, and eat. Your body will need several days to recover from the shock, but you'll soon feel stronger than you've ever felt before."

Fala'thorei tried to stand, but Alatorias stopped him. "Give it time."



The next few days were tough. In his waking hours, Fala'thorei felt as though he hadn't slept in days. He felt weak, but energetic. Food was aplenty, for it turned out that Alatorias was also a good hunter of lesser prey. Eventually, Fala'thorei could stand, and even walk. As weak as he felt, he noticed improvement in himself each day. Whether by contrast to the bright green tattoos that now scrawled across his chest, or by some effect of the ritual, his skin seemed darker, his fangs and nails just a tad longer and sharper. He hadn't realized the changes to his body would manifest themselves so speedily.

Whenever Alatorias was around, he gave Fala'thorei encouragement and praise for the smallest of achievements, which helped him greatly. About a week passed before Fala'thorei was able to move and speak as normal. Alatorias had been right, he did feel much stronger. It may have been the constant eating and resting, but Fala'thorei felt as if he was bursting with energy, ready to take on anything. Alatorias explained that the tattoo had only been the first step, but it would allow his body to survive the other trials that were ahead.

But for the moment, Fala'thorei felt wonderful. If this new found strength was just the beginning, he had passed through the darkness and been reborn. He had resisted the evil, and he felt as though he could overcome anything that the trials would throw at him. He would soon discover how wrong he really was.


Chapter X: Blind

Fala'thorei tested his bindings. His hands were tied together behind the tree against which he was propped up. It was near midnight, and the campfire had dimmed to a pile of red branches, the flame all but extinguished. In the dull glow he could see Alatorias sharpening a dagger inscribed with demonic runes. His words echoed in Fala'thorei's ears.

"In the second ritual, you will be blinded with Demon Fire. It will be painful, and it will take some time", he had growled, "So I may need to restrain you. The last thing I want is for you to run away with the ritual half-finished."

Fala'thorei had argued, but eventually agreed. He felt less nervous than he had for the tattooing, as that had seemed so quick. His abilities had improved greatly since the first Binding. He could summon a fire from within him with relative ease, which would engulf him in flames. He only hoped that that wouldn't happen while Alatorias was trying to blind him. Fala'thorei shifted uncomfortably. He was sitting on a tangle of tree roots with his back tied securely to the tree. His bare skin had become tougher since the first ritual, but the sharp bark was still very abrasive.

"How do you feel?" the Demon Hunter asked, looking up as he continued to sharpen the blade on a whetstone.

Pondering for a moment, Fala'thorei wondered how he really did feel. "Anxious", he concluded.

"That's natural", replied Alatorias. "I'll try to do this as quickly as possible, but it'll be delicate work, I hope you can appreciate."

Fala'thorei nodded. "Have you ever done this before?" he asked. The Demon Hunter had often eluded to having another apprentice in the past, but he had never said more than a few words about it.

Alatorias thought for a moment, continuing to sharpen the dagger. The dull ring of steel on stone was the only sound in the air for a moment. "No. He never made it this far." he admitted, obviously discerning Fala'thorei's meaning. He eyed the edge of his runic blade for a moment, touching it with a fingertip. Satisfied, he circled around the remnants of the campfire to where Fala'thorei was sitting. Setting the dagger down for a moment, he picked up another length of rope, holding it in one hand for a moment. "Ready?" he growled.

Fala'thorei hesitated for a moment. Was he ready? Was this the best course of action to take?

Be strong. I made an oath, and I will not break it.

He nodded, and leaned his head back against the tree trunk as Alatorias began to tie the rope around his forehead, lashing it securely to the wood to keep him from moving. Fala'thorei looked at him, conscious that these would be the last sights he would ever see with natural vision. He tried to move slightly. A notch on the trunk was resting uncomfortably in the fold between his shoulder blades, but he could not budge an inch. He looked up at Alatorias. Sometimes it was disconcerting to try and look him in the eyes when there was nothing there but a strip of cloth.

"If I beg of you to stop, don't."

Alatorias nodded grimly. He placed a carved piece of wood in Fala'thorei's mouth to bite down on. He picked up the dagger, holding it steady at head level. Green flames erupted from his shoulder, spreading downwards past his hand to the very tip of the runic dagger. The runes lit up, and a flickering green glow bathed Alatorias's face before him. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Fala'thorei's forehead. The heat of his skin was apparent.

"I wasn't going to."

With that, he brought the dagger in slowly and steadily towards the center of Fala'thorei's vision. The head of the flames was uncomfortable on his open eyes. He closed them, biting down hard on the wood. The pain as the tip of the blade pierced his right eye was unbelievable. He moaned in agony, his gritted teeth digging into the soft wood between his jaws. He felt a hot fluid run down his cheek. The pain was more of a burning than a flesh wound. He felt as if he was holding his eye open above a candle flame. The inside of his eye felt as if it was just disappearing, burning away from the demonic fire erupting from the steel.

His moan intensified, throat growing hoarse as he struggled with the ties that bound him. His left eye flew open, only to look on helplessly as the burning dagger was drawn from his right eye socket, and began to come at a snail's pace towards his left eye, now his only source of vision. He shut it tightly, now conscious of the fact that his right eyelid had been consumed along with his eye. He could see the green flames flickering opaquely through the veil of his eyelid, assurance that his eyes would no longer be of use to him.

Darkness descended. All he could discern was the burning pain from the front of his face. Where his eyes had been all he could feel was fire and blistering. His jaws clenched further. His teeth must have been close to severing the wood. His groaning came in bursts now, interspersed with his gasps for air through clenched jaws. Upon his cheeks fluid ran, either blood or tears or some vile liquid from the inside of his eyes. With it ran small chunks, the charred remains of his eyelids no doubt.

The blackness was crushing. He had no escape, no respite from the fire and the pain. If he had tear ducts left he was surely weeping. He begged himself to faint, to have a brief rest from this torment. But he was too strong now. His body and mind would not suffer him to fall unconscious from the pain. He felt a nauseating lurch as the blade was drawn from his left eye socket. Alatorias was muttering something now, an incantation. Fala'thorei grunted as he exhaled and gasped as he inhaled. The pain had not lessened, and he felt as if he would get sick.

His head fell forward. Alatorias had untied the rope that bound his head to the tree. Fala'thorei wept openly, spitting out the piece of wood from his mouth. The Demon Hunter was wiping at his face with a damp cloth, a welcoming coolness after the fire which had seared the skin around his nose, cheeks and forehead, as well as his eyes themselves. Fala'thorei continued to sob as Alatorias wrapped a strip of cloth around his head, covering his eyes and continuing around the back of his head several times. Fala'thorei did not try to move. His struggle against his bindings had stopped long ago, and he sat limply as Alatorias circled the tree to untie the rest of the ropes.

Fala'thorei felt strong arms grasp him under his shoulders, lifting him off the ground and setting him down somewhere else. He lay down weakly, his sobbing beginning to abate. "Rest now", he heard Alatorias's voice from somewhere above him. "Your true vision will begin to function soon."

Fala'thorei turned over on the ground, wrapping himself in a blanket. He did not need it for warmth, but rather for comfort. He felt ashamed of his broken resolution, ashamed and deeply guilty. He hoped he hadn't let Alatorias down. Everything is dark now. He wrapped the blanket tighter, trying to escape to his dreams as a child would. His face still stung intensely, his eye sockets burning beyond comprehension, but his body and mind were suddenly exhausted. Sleep took him.


Chapter XI: Resolve

In the cold of the fresh morning dew, Fala'thorei Duskrunner awoke. He tried to open his eyes but nothing moved. He sat up, making the world swim, a swirl of mist and fog. He rose unsteadily, panicking and looking around. There was a vivid violet shape in the greyness somewhere nearby. He moved towards it, trying to identify his surroundings as his feet tread cautiously across the forest floor.

What happened to me?

He reached up to wipe his eyes but stopped as a sharp pain made him jump. He groaned, memory flooding back to him as he remembered the ritual blinding. He gently felt at the blindfold obscuring his eyes. His brow and cheekbones were badly burned, and his skin cracked and bled at the touch of his clawed fingers. He grunted in pain, and stepped back nervously as the glowing figure before him rose.

"You're awake at last", it growled. It was Alatorias. "Your vision will get better in time. For the moment, though, you need to rest." The Demon Hunter's blue tattoos shone out from the deeper purple that made up his body.

"Will I ever see again?" asked Fala'thorei, his voice wavering slightly as he sat down on the damp ground.

"You'll never see as you once did", replied the Demon Hunter. "But it will get easier to discern shapes in time. And you'll notice you can now see the arcane." The glowing shape of Alatorias erupted in green flame, swirling and twisting as only Felfire would. "In a way, this spectral sight is truer than any vision of nature", he stated.

Fala'thorei nodded. He looked down at his own body. He too glowed a violet hue. His green tattoos shone, the color of a firefly, but much more brilliant and luminous. He raised a hand to eye it as he turned it over. The air was like the thickest of fogs, but somehow it didn't obscure the sight of his hand. He concentrated for a moment, beginning to immolate. His shadowy hands seemed to erupt into green flames, which licked at his flesh, but with none of the pain of ordinary fire. He stopped immolating, standing up to try and discern his surroundings. There seemed to be no color left in the world, save for Alatorias.

He took a few cautious steps forward, his hands outstretched. He felt at a tree trunk, its shape almost invisible against the swirling white that made up everything in his view. He continued forward, trying to identify shapes. It was easier when he was moving, as when he was still everything seemed to swim together.

"Careful now", he heard Alatorias mutter behind him. The ground ahead seemed odd, it was hard to tell if he was about to go uphill or downhill, or even judge distance. As he was about to let his foot fall, he felt muscular arms grasp around him and pull him backwards onto the ground.

"I said careful", the Demon Hunter said. "You were about to step off a cliff."

Fala'thorei nodded, sitting up. Alatorias stood over him. "Sorry."

The Demon Hunter turned and went back to the log next to what must have been the campfire. Taking a seat, his head turned towards Fala'thorei. "Just rest for the moment. Practice with sticks, stones, and whatever you can find, but try not to walk around. We are awfully close to the cliff."

Fala'thorei nodded, picking himself up and walking over towards where Alatorias sat. He felt around for something to sit on, accidentally putting his hand in the hot ash of the campfire.

Alatorias laughed heartily, handing him a skin of water.


The next few days progressed slowly. As promised, his vision grew better as the wounds around his eye sockets healed. He could now make out branches strewn across the forest floor, as well as identify features like fallen logs. It was still difficult to judge the distance of ordinary objects, but he found that if he kept moving his head, it became easier. On the fifth day of his recovery, Alatorias gave him a test. A series of sticks was laid out on the ground before him, each of different length and thickness. Fala'thorei sat down a few feet from Alatorias, who handed him a sword and proceeded to explain his challenge.

"You are to point out to me the correct order of the sticks, beginning with the shortest and moving on to the longest", he said. "And you can't move any closer."

Fala'thorei concentrated. He thought about causing his sword to immolate, to set the sticks on fire, but that was not the point of the test. He stared at the sticks before him, moving his head from side to side and bobbing it up and down. There were some that were clearly shorter than others, but some were very hard to judge.

"This is the shortest", he began, pointing to the stick that appeared shortest. "Then this one", he continued. "Then this one, and this one after that. These two", he said, pointing out the final two sticks. "Are of equal length."

Alatorias grinned. "Correct."

Fala'thorei sat back, relieved. "So what does that mean for me?"

"It means", the Demon Hunter replied, "That your real training can begin."


Chapter XII: The Hunt Begins

Fala'thorei inhaled deeply. He tensed his arms, feeling the weight of the warglaives. They were much lighter than Alatorias's, but were still around twice the weight of a broadsword. He did not know where exactly the Demon Hunter had got them from, but he had merely been gone a few hours before returning with some food supplies, as well as the new set of blades for Fala'thorei. Up ahead, he could see a felhunter sniffing at the ashen dirt. They had traveled to the edge of Demon Fall Canyon. Though they had sparred and trained for a few days, this would be Fala'thorei's first true encounter.

He stood up on the balls of his feet, letting the dry soil slip between his clawed toes. His body had changed significantly in the last few weeks. The Fel taint in his blood had buffed his muscles out. Though he was still nowhere near as toned as Alatorias, he noticed he was already bulking out, especially his arms and chest from the intensive combat training. But training could only take him so far, Alatorias had said. He would have to actually fight demons if he wanted to get better at it.

He sniffed once again, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he brought one of his warglaives up into a prepared stance. To his spectral sight, the Felhunter ahead glowed a bright amber color, shining out against the swirling gray background. He leaned forward, allowing himself to break into a jog and then a run. Up ahead, the demon turned, snarling angrily. Its clawed feet sent dust clouds up into the air as it began to charge at Fala'thorei, who was sprinting towards it. He brought both his warglaives up, ready to slash downwards.

He sidestepped just as he reached the Felhunter. He had practiced this with Alatorias and subsequently on trees. It was a motion of stepping to the side while simultaneously swinging both glaives in wide opposing arcs. It was tricky, but he was hopeful that his practice would pay off. It did, he realized, as he heard the Felhunter howl as it scrambled past him. He spun around, cautious not to let the weight of the warglaives unbalance him. It was difficult to try and use them after a lifetime of using a sword.

With a single blade, it was about the momentum of the swing. The weight was what did the damage with a sword, but with warglaives, it was so much different. He had to keep his balance, using both glaives simultaneously to stop himself from swaying unsteadily, and he had to use them in more of a slashing motion than a cleaving one. The serrated edges were what did the damage, not the momentum. Switching from a sword to a pair of warglaives was like switching from an axe to a saw. It was more effective in the right hands, but it took some getting used to.

The Felhunter turned, ready to charge again. Its gaping jaws betrayed a trickle of blood, which flowed freely from a slash across its face. Fala'thorei braced himself, holding one glaive before him and one behind. He eyed the demon carefully, allowing his lips to form into a snarl. He roared at it, taunting it to attack.

Come on, I dare you!

The Felhunter dug its clawed feet into the soil, pouncing at him again. He spun, keeping one glaive on each side of him to maintain his balance. He brought a steel blade across the Felhunter's face, even as it flew threw the air. It was thrown sideways with a whimper. Fala'thorei ran over to it, tossing one blade aside as he brought his other warglaive down in a two-handed chop, cleaving the Felhunter's head clean off to leave a carcass spurting purple blood. He picked up his other warglaive, panting with the exertion of the fight. He turned as he heard footsteps approaching to see Alatorias's swirling purple form walk towards him through the mist of the world.

"Not bad. Now do it again, and this time catch it by surprise."

Fala'thorei sighed. It was going to be a long day.



The next two weeks were spent in training. Not practicing, or sparring, or lifting weights or any sort of ordinary combat training. Fala'thorei was killing demons, and it felt amazing. The thought that he was finally getting some revenge was satisfying. He was powerful enough to easily dispatch ordinary demons, and while the warglaives took some getting used to as weapons, he was growing more proficient at wielding them every day. They were an elegant sort of weapon. More precise than an axe or mace, and with more cutting power than a sword, if used rightly.

He was learning to balance as he fought, something which took a lot of restraint on his part, as before he had tended to swing wildly and ferociously when in melée combat. Alongside his new weapons his abilities had grown. He could immolate not only his body, but his weapons too, causing them to become engulfed in fel-flames. When concentrating hard enough he could make the arcane turn to fire, burning who or whatever was using it. Alatorias called this the Mana Burn, and explained that it could be used not only against demons, but against anyone who wielded arcane magic as their own.

He grew more efficient in his killing, becoming swifter and deadlier as he progressed. He took the occasional minor wound, but he found that while his pain from injuries seemed to be greater, he recovered much faster than he would have naturally, with little scarring. When not slaying demons, Alatorias would instruct him on the lore of various kinds of demon, their origins and history, as well as practical information like their strengths and weaknesses, and how best to dispatch them.

Fala'thorei was constantly tested. Sometimes the Demon Hunter would ask him questions at random times to make sure that he was learning. But Fala'thorei was always able to answer correctly. Though he had never been the brightest, his passion was such that it would take a lot to make him forget the best way to kill a demon. Once in a while, Fala'thorei would return to the campsite to find it empty, only to have Alatorias come sprinting through, having drawn a demon in for Fala'thorei to fight. During the day, Alatorias would give him tasks, like collecting a certain number of heads or hearts, and Fala'thorei would be flung back into the wilds, not to return until his task was complete.

The days drifted into weeks, and Fala'thorei had grown, both mentally and physically. Though he was still nervous about taking on greater demons, like Felguards or Infernals, he was able to deal with them as well as any other sort. Eventually, Alatorias broke the news to him- Fala'thorei would soon attempt the final ritual, the Second Binding. His soul would soon be permanently bound to that of a demon, corrupting him forever. It would be his final challenge, his graduation into a Demon Hunter.


Chapter XIII: The Second Binding

Smoke rose from the scorched earth, billowing and swirling from the sudden gusts that constantly rose and fell in the depths of Demon Fall canyon. Alatorias was crouched low, drawing swirling marks into the ashen soil with an inscribed dagger. He shifted constantly, going from one point to the next, constantly altering the design on the ground as Fala'thorei looked on with folded arms. He glanced around, keeping a keen eye out for any demonic presences that might have been so bold as to try and catch them off guard.

They were at the center of the canyon, the monolith erected by Thrall looming over them ominously. Alatorias stood, pressing his hands to his knees as he did so, as if his muscular frame was difficult to lift. He had been wounded several days before, a large gash across his thigh stood as a testament to it. He had been momentarily distracted by an imp as he dueled with a felguard and had payed the price for it. Such wounds, he said, were part of the trade.

"That looks about right," he growled, "At least, that's how I remember it looking."€€€

Fala'thorei looked down at the design. It was a form of jagged lines, roughly in the shape of a circle, with various symbols marked out along its outer edges. His vision had improved further since his blinding. It would be hard to describe to others, he imagined. When he looked, he did not see. Rather, it seemed to him to be more akin to a vivid memory that he was seeing in his mind's eye. Whether it was a sight he had seen before or not, it was irrelevant. The shapes before him were clear in his mind.

"How will you know if it's right?" he asked, hoping that he would not have a botched ritual.

"It will work or it won't," Alatorias responed simply. "We'll know afterwards."

The final ritual, or the Second Binding, was the culmination of his training. He would bind the soul of a demon to his own, becoming one with the darkness. On Alatorias' instructions, he had left his warglaives at the campsite. If Fala'thorei succumbed to the darkness, Alatorias would have to execute him immediately.

Alatorias picked up a large bottle from nearby the monolith. It contained felguard blood, which would be suited to Fala'thorei's tattoos, which were in the aspect of Rage. He began to pour the bottle into the grooves he had marked out in the soil. The viscous liquid soaked into the soil immediately, as if the blighted earth thirsted for it. Once all the patterns had been bloodied, the Demon Hunter stepped back.

"Now, stand in the circle," he said, "And I will draw a demon to you. You must ensure that it is within the circle when you slay it, otherwise the ritual will have no effect."

Fala'thorei nodded, stepping carefully into the center of the runes so as not to disturb the design. Alatorias handed him a small dagger.

"I'm not letting you take my only weapons," he muttered with a chuckle, "Just in case."

With that, Alatorias wrenched his glaives from the tainted ground, eyeing the slopes around them. The hills around the heart of the canyon were crawling with demons, and the bedrock was riddled with networks of caves, where vile creatures slithered and dwelt within the depths of the earth. The Demon Hunter took off to the south at a pace, quickly disappearing over the ridge.

Fala'thorei gripped the dagger nervously. If he failed now, all would have been in vain. He thought of the arduous journey he had undertaken, and how much he had changed. He looked down at his body. Though he could no longer see with mortal eyes, he knew that he must look frightening, his swollen muscles and clawed fingers giving him the appearance of a beast. Stumps had appeared on his forehead, a sure sign that he would eventually grow horns. He was fortunate, though, that his feet had not become misshapen like Alatorias'. He wondered if it was really worth all of this sacrifice, but then an image flashed into his mind, that of his father's broken body lying on the forest floor in the rain, and his resolve returned, his nervousness vanished.

This is for you, father.

Alatorias breasted the ridge he had passed over moments ago, sprinting down the hill. He nodded at Fala'thorei as he passed, and hid behind the carved monolith. Just as soon as Alatorias was out of sight, Fala'thorei saw a figure coming down the slope at a pace. It was a felguard, charging down towards him at speed, its jagged blade raised in the air. Fala'thorei tensed. Though his body now had a lot more mass, the sheer momentum of the felguard would be more than enough to bowl him over.

The demon reached him, bringing its huge sword down with a single hand, still charging at a pace. Fala'thorei held the dagger up as he rolled backwards. The felguard fell upon him, rolling with him. Fala'thorei kicked out with both legs once the demon was over him, using its own momentum against it. He quickly rose in one fluid movement. He had grown so accustomed to fighting with the heavy warglaives that his balance had greatly improved, and he found that he could use the dagger much more swiftly thanks to his training. The felguard grunted as it rose, much more gruffly than the Elf.

Fala'thorei risked a glance downwards. He was standing a couple of yards outside the circle, and the demon was at least another ten yards from it. He backed up, lowering his dagger, as if about to break into a run. He thought back to his first encounter with Alatorias, and what he had told him about felguards. The words came so clearly to Fala'thorei's mind that for a moment he thought the Demon Hunter had spoken them aloud.

"They're sadistic creatures by nature, they like to wait a moment before they make the final blow. It's the easiest way to dispatch them"

Fala'thorei turned, as if to run away, but feinted to trip. He was now within the ritual circle, lying face down on the foul-smelling earth, the dagger clutched in a fist under his body, concealed from view. He heard the felguard approached slowly as Fala'thorei pretended to try to crawl hopelessly away, only using one arm to feign an injury. He heard its cloven hooves drawing closer and closer until it must have been within the circle.

He turned onto his side, keeping the dagger concealed beneath him. He shifted his legs, preparing to pounce up. The demon's silhouette was outlined against the raging skies. It lifted its blade up, growling satisfactorily as it looked down upon his helpless form. Fala'thorei had only a moment to act. He pushed off hard against the ground, kicking his leg at the same time to gain leverage. It seemed like an age to him, but in a flash it was over.

The felguard dropped the sword behind it, bringing both arms down to clutch at the dagger now embedded in its muscular abdomen. It looked downwards, gripping the handle. It began to tug at it, sliding it slowly and surely out of its body, baring its fangs as it did so. Fala'thorei gripped both sides of its head with muscular arms and twisted sharply. The demon's body went limp as it slumped to the ground, its neck broken. In an instant the blood that had marked out the ritual circle erupted in green flames.

Fala'thorei stared at them for a moment, wondering what to do next when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He dropped to his knees, crying out. He looked down in surprise but there was no wound to be seen. He slumped onto his side, writhing in agony. It felt as if someone was slowly impaling him through his ribcage. He shrieked in agony, having not anticipated any physical pain. The phantom blade that he could feel just kept going, and he was sure it had reached his core. All of a sudden, he felt as if it was pulled sharply from him, and his hands flew to his chest, instinctively anticipating bloodflow. But there was still no mark, no blemish to even legitimize his pain.

He lay for a moment, panting heavily. Then the world went black, and he fell unconscious.


Chapter XIV: Penultima

It was several days before Fala'thorei awoke. Since he had been blinded it was always hard to tell what time of day or night it was, especially if it was cloudy. He couldn't see the sun or moon, but the air had a fresh chill that suggested it was just before dawn. Not that the cold bothered him anymore, of course. He sat up, and immediately regretted it. His head swam with nausea, and he tried in vain to remember what had happened. Like trying to hold a palmfull of water in his hands, the memory of his dreams faded as soon as he tried to hold on to it. He thought back to his last time awake.

What the fel happened to me?

He eased himself into a standing position. His legs felt like jelly. He looked around, keeping an eye out for any sign of Alatorias' bright violet form but it was nowhere to be seen. They were back at their campsite in Azshara. Fala'thorei went over to one of the logs that they used as benches by the campfire, which was little more than smoking ash. He put his head in his hands, trying desperately to coerce his memory into coming back. His fingertips touched the two lumps on his forehead, where horns were starting to protrude. They were bigger than he remembered. This angered him, though he could not think why. All of a sudden, a flood of memory came back to him.

The Second Binding!

So now I'm part demon? he thought to himself. He felt nauseated and irritated, but at least he felt himself. Though he could not recall his dreams as vividly as he could from the First Binding, he felt sure he had beaten the darkness back. He looked down at his arms. Perhaps because he had just woken up, or perhaps because of the ritual, but his skin seemed to glow much brighter to his spectral sight than he recalled. In his weakened state, he was hesitant to test out his abilities, but he was too curious to care.

He stood, bowing his head and balancing on one foot to meditate. He erupted in green flames, immolating with much less effort than he had needed before. He tried to concentrate harder. The flames grew, licking his leathery skin and singeing the dry grass beneath his feet. He opened his eyes, planting both his feet firmly on the ground. He felt powerful and filled with wrath, the adrenaline pumping through his veins making him feel invincible. He looked at a tree across the clearing and lashed out with an arm. A ball of demonic flame erupted from his fingertips, crashing into the tree and setting its lower boughs on fire.

This power feels incredible!

He felt as if he had so much more within him, but there was something stopping him from using it. He stopped immolating, the shock of his realization calming him instantly.

That must be the demon's soul, he thought nervously. The reality of the ritual dawned on him. He was part demon now. He felt disgusted with himself. He did not regret taking the path, he was just sickened that he had become as corrupt as what he sought to destroy. He was furious.

Fight fel-fire with fel-fire.

The flaming tree was now fully ablaze, its coniferous needles sending sparks high in the air. Fala'thorei stared at the green flames as if in a trance. He had just burned a tree, for no other reason than to see how his powers had progressed. He felt ashamed, but the flames were too high to put out now, unless a rainfall was soon to come. Suddenly, clawed fingers gripped his shoulder, pulling him sharply backwards over the log. He was staring up into the face of Alatorias.

"What was your father's name?" he hissed, swiftly bringing an inscribed dagger to Fala'thorei's throat.

"Harfurias Duskrunner!" he cried, surprised at his own quick reaction. Alatorias let go of his shoulder, his claws having drawn blood.

"You couldn't have waited five minutes to wake up!" growled Alatorias manically. "I've been by your bedside for two straight days and I leave for two minutes," he continued, "At least you're still you."

Fala'thorei stood up, dusting himself off. He felt ashamed to have been caught off guard like that. For such a massive figure, Alatorias could be surprisingly subtle. They both stood in silence for a moment, staring at the green flames.

"It's a strange feeling, all this power," said Fala'thorei, "For a moment I was worried I'd succumb to it."

"That's why I wanted to be here when you woke up," responded Alatorias, "To make sure you didn't do something stupid."

Fala'thorei nodded. The sun was beginning to rise above the eastern horizon, illuminating the large column of smoke given off by the tree which billowed an acrid black against the dawning sky. Alatorias began walking around the camp, picking up odds and ends and stashing them in a light leather satchel.

"Well, come on," he said, expecting Fala'thorei to follow suit. "As soon as the naga see the smoke, there'll be scouts swarming these hills. They don't like demons encroaching on their territory."

Fala'thorei began to gather his belongings. He also only had a satchel full of equipment, as well as his light warglaives. Hunters can afford to travel light, he observed. They began to trudge through the endless scrub, leaving the roaring flames behind and heading forward towards the dawn.


Chapter XV: Heartfelt

Spring had gradually passed into late Summer. In the eternal Autumn of Azshara, however, the falling leaves bore no signs of time's passage, only an everlasting timelessness that had made time fly past without notice. Nearly three months had passed since the death of Fala'thorei's father, he thought. It seemed like an age ago, yet the days had flown past. Now, as he and Alatorias approached the outskirts of Ratchet, their hoods pulled up, the realization struck Fala'thorei that this may be their last moments together. In these dangerous times, how could one be sure of the safety of someone a world away? Their respective warglaives were slung across their backs, concealed in leather casings to disguise them as bows. Though they were occasionally used by ordinary warriors, the blades would draw attention to the two travelers if not disguised.

Alatorias would go to the upper peaks of Mount Hyjal, his original plan before he had bumped into Fala'thorei. The Master seemed apathetic of their parting, though Fala'thorei suspected this was part of his nature- never letting his guard down. Still, Fala'thorei had been his only apprentice to have completed the initiation, there must have been a part of Alatorias that would miss him. A strong gust of wind blew across the barren plain, causing a flag in the distance to flap violently in the wind. Stinging sand whipped up by the wind lashed across their faces as they approached the first of the buildings that marked the town of Ratchet. Fala'thorei longed to take off his cloak. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and a sea breeze was rolling in. The perfect weather to lie in the shade and do nothing.

He thought about how he felt about the parting. In the long years of his life it had been a short few months, but one that had changed the course of the rest of his existence. He and Alatorias had not been close, per se, but they had been there for each other, like brothers, or like a father and son. They reached the tavern. The next ship would not be leaving for several hours. They stepped inside, keeping their hoods held high. They both ordered their drinks. Fala'thorei had not drank before his training, but he saw no reason why not to now. His body was now far from being a temple.

They made their way to the corner, sitting in a secluded table in silence. The bar wasn't too crowded; it was the middle of a fine summer's day and anyone with time to kill would be spending it outside. Fala'thorei took a sip of his port, looking down at the table. He played with the ragged tablecloth using a clawed finger. A few moments passed in solemn silence.

"What's wrong with you?" growled Alatorias, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he responded, "Just mulling over my thoughts."

"Where will you go from here?"

"Outland."

Another moment passed in thoughtful silence. They sipped their drinks, Alatorias eyeing the bar's occupants, and Fala'thorei continuing to stare downwards.

"And you?" asked Fala'thorei.

"Pilgrimage to the mountain." Fala'thorei had known this already, but he felt as if there was nothing else to say. They had spent almost three months in constant contact, and it would be strange adjusting to life on this path without a mentor to keep him in check. Alatorias finished his wooden goblet, draining the last of his port.

"Will you be alright?" Alatorias asked, a concerned edge to his usual husky growl.

Fala'thorei looked up, and nodded. "Yes, Master."

Alatorias stood. "You're your own master now, Duskrunner," his voice broke slightly as he said this, and he began to walk towards the door, giving Fala'thorei a rough pat on the shoulder as he passed. "Good luck."

"You too," croaked Fala'thorei in response. His back was to the door, and he did not turn as Alatorias walked out. He simply sat for a while, sipping his port.

Eventually it was time to leave. Picking up the leather wrappings that contained his hidden warglaives, he slung them over his shoulder, twitching his hood forward to conceal his face further, and walked down towards the docks. The sun was beginning to set behind him, casting a long shadow on the ground in front of him. Up ahead, at the end of the pier, sat the ship he would take to the Eastern Kingdoms. He stopped for a moment, looking out at the endless ocean.

Taking a deep breath, he put a foot forward and continued on his way to the ship.

Here we go.