Conquest of the Horde

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Ten Thousand Days
Navren Windstrider's ascension to the ranks of the Demon Hunter
Updated Fridays and Saturdays!

Libram:
Chapter I:
Ten Thousand Days
Chapter II:
The Great Below
Chapter III:
The Sound of Silence
Chapter IV:
The Outsider
Chapter V:
The Distance
Chapter VI:
Cemeteries of London
Chapter VII:
Another Bag of Bricks
Chapter VIII:
THE FIRST BINDING RITUAL
The Beginning is the End
Chapter IX:
A Pain That I'm Used To
Chapter X:
Martyr of the Free Word
Chapter XI:
THE SECOND BINDING RITUAL
Mad World
Chapter XII:
The Spaces In Between
Chapter XIII:
Day of the Lords
Chapter XIV:
Spoils
Chapter XV:
The Tank
Chapter XVI:
THE FINAL BINDING RITUAL
Re-Education Through Labor

The Finale:
Chapter XVII:
Gimme Shelter (Coming Soon!)
Chapter XVIII:
Break On Through To The Other Side (Coming Soon!)
Chapter XIX:
Paint It, Black (Coming Soon!)
Chapter XX:
Wings for Marie (Coming Soon!)

All of the chapter titles are songs from various artists.
Add 10 points to your cool meter for everyone you recognize immediately and brag about it to me. d

Vacant, broken.

Fell at the hands of those moments that I wouldn't see.

It was you who prayed for me, so,

What have I done, to be a son to an angel?

What have I done to be worthy?

Chapter I: Ten Thousand Days

The cool air of autumn eternal rushed upon the Crater, knocking over things and brushing the trees. The orcs stood resilient, the shamans watching the breeze carefully. The elves took small note, the druids hearing whispers upon the ethereal breeze. Navren Windstrider was perched atop a knoll of grass and leaves, his blade resting in an imprint of the grass. His cautious eyes watched from under his headband the leaves breeze past, gently toying with the tallest grass and tantalizing with the lowest clouds above. They flew out of sight around the bend, and Navren looked back forward. The remains of his life were on threads of thin wire, not visible at this point to anyone but himself and Masimavri. His sister had vanished after he had snapped at her. Amongst the Earthshakers and the patrons of the Arena Tavern, he shouted to her and she ran in return. She had accused Navren of being a murderer.

Atop the higher peaks of Hyjal, Navren and his father fought. Masimavri was nearby, engaged with her own troop. The protagonist and his father fought alone, however, unguided by military hands. Orcs, Humans, Night Elves, they all clashed at the mountain but not against each other. The degenerate frontage of war, the common unifier, and in symbolism, the great equalizer. Death. They fought the Legion that poured from summoning circles and portals in the sky, seemingly endless. Navren and Raihen Leafwind were nigh back to back, blades at the front and their teeth bared. War raged on in a feverish furor, a frightening feat of tragedy. The push up the mountain was successful, however. The military groups collected as they walked and the necromancers and warlocks lost strength of will. Masimavri joined them, and Navren fell back to check on her, as Raihen was still fighting. The battle was nearing its tiring end. He turned and moved back up the scale to join his father, who was struggling. When there was no sign of the either of them, Masimavri moved out alone to search amidst the chaos of war. The plundering, black and red skies above were thundering menacingly. She swept through the battlefield, only to find Navren standing over his deceased father, blade in hand. The demons around were dead. Her brother was covered head to toe in cuts, all bleeding with blood of the demon tainted on them. She said something to him but he seemed not to heed her. Instead, he leapt over the corpse, and took off into the woods. Masimavri was not fast enough to catch him, as he vanished from the battle altogether. She returned to the forefront, her mind alight like the dusk sky.

Their conflict grew over the years, especially with Navren's return to the Crater. Arguments lit the night and filled the air of the Leafwind camp often. However, Navren was nearing his breaking point. Among his brothers in arms, he swept everything from the table where they sat and yelled at his sister. This time, she did not yell back. Instead, she fled on foot, and vanished from the Crater. Navren weighed this in his mind, as he sat among the grass, green plant life weaving inbetween his toes. Masimavri could be anywhere, anywhere at all. He gripped grass within his hands, tearing it from the earth and letting it go into the wind. It unceremoniously flew off, leaving the Night Elf to wish that it would go directly to her. The commander shook his head, and laid back into the grass. The dusk skies were a brilliant shade of orange and blue, a shifting hue across like a masterful painting in bold oils and vibrant strokes. Clouds moved with a sharp speed accosted by the high winds. Navren rose from his position and grabbed his blade. He looked over the crater from his high position and shook his head. If Masimavri was not to return then he would leave.
And leave he did.

By the time he reached a formidable part of the mountain of Hyjal, it was dark. Navren crept with caution, as what lurked around here was more dangerous than any demon here before. He silently brushed from branch to branch, he landed on the solid ground with a thud. Before he had bearings, something struck him in the back. He fell to his knees, rolled forward and spun as he rose, sliding his feet in the dirt to a standing stop. Before him stood what he searched for, armed and looking particularly dangerous. A silver glint took a thin line in the slight moonlight, and as the being stepped forward, a horizontally held glaive was illuminated like the inside of a building when someone with a candle passes by a window. In a flash it was gone again and the demon hunter was shown, a shorter but lighter Kal'dorei before him. His eyes were gone, his whole body adorned with a glowing in light mark. Navren quickly remembered why he was attacked and drew the vial from his possession. A small vial of demon blood swirled, as he held it out. Quietly and softly in Darnassian he spoke.

"This is what you have seen on me. I pose no threat." He drops it and it shatters with a quiet cacophony of breaking glass. As Navren said this, a movement in the wind brought a bit of more light to a spot in the corner of his eye. There in the glimpse of moonlight his peripheral vision saw another figure. He flicked his eyes but not his head, and a demon hunter stood in a crouched, straight legged attack position on a nearby fallen tree. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and he counted more. Hyjal was the breeding ground of the hunter, many rested here in between Outland runs. He slowly rose his hands as the hunter in his front crept forward. It looked down and examined the never-drying blood of the demon, and then looked back up to Navren Windrunner, with a cautious snarl upon his lower face, his eyebrows scowled upon his blindfold. His mouth opened, slow, as careful as his movement was.

"What is it you're doing here, Kal'dorei?" He spoke as if he was not a part of Navren's kin, and in a sense he was not. His voice was gruff, as if his throat had been cut before, or he was a smoker for thousands of years. Navren took a breath, thinking. He could turn back now, return to the Crater and wait for Masimavri, living the rest of his life. However, it would be lived in vain, he felt incomplete at this point, he had done everything twice over. This was all that was left. He thought continually for a moment, before speaking, softer than the Demon Hunter.

"I come seeking training of you immortalized ways." Navren said, eyes heavy. The Demon Hunter backed up, and lowered his glaives.

"You will stay here until dawn. The demons come and scower the hillside at daybreak, in gracious numbers. If you are to live by noon, we will return. If you are corrupted, your life will end here. If no, we will decide your path." He spoke, and jumped into the darkness. The sounds of many others leaping away followed. Navren slumped against a hillside and closed his eyes in conscious rest, his mind alight with fire.

' Forgive me, Masimavri. '

Staring at the sea, will she come?

Is there hope for me, after all is said and done?

Anything at any price, all of this for you.

All the spoils of a wasted life, all of this for you.

Chapter II: The Great Below

His eyes opened at the twilight of morning, a rustled sound nearby. He swept to his feet, having slept for a few hours. All of the sights, the sounds, the feel and the taste of the world flooded into his brain, stimulating every current and passage with a rushing wave. Navren Windstrider took his heavy blade from his back and held it tight. Through a gap in the dense forest brush the glisten of a yellow tint that haunted and weaved its way through the wood. It shone in the dust and landed on the floor of the forest, and Navren knew at this moment his life was in absolute risk. The sound of rumbling grew louder, like one talking down a corridor and walking closer to the person listening. A marching rally of noise came around the wood, and Navren leapt into the shortest tree, climbing higher. Below him, what the Demon Hunter had called 'generous' amounts of demons, came flooding like a stampede through the underbrush. They coated the ground in red and black, running like a herd, shaking the trees left and right. Those that were left behind ended up wandering to Azshara. It made sense now. Navren shook his head, and narrowly avoided death as a flying beast pierced the treetops, and a hundred more with it. Light was overtaking the woods as Navren stood on the treebranch, wondering if this was the end of the line. His body pressed against the main trunk, as the snarl of demons continued, the leaves falling in copious amounts. But, in a rush, it was over. A hallowed silence overtook the forest, as Navren dropped to the ground. He looked around and saw nothing. Surely this was not all of the survival test.

Or perhaps it was the test, those who felt brave enough to take on a demon without training as such would have been cut down in the flash of an instant. Half of fighting the ultimate enemy was knowing when to avoid conflict. He shook his head, hair strips tussling with it. He was over analyzing. Holding the longblade in one hand and scratching his moustachops in though, Navren looked over his shoulder to find some wretched, mutated hellbeast behind him, cringing for dear life. It was clearly a failed experiment, and running with the main demons obviously left the thing wounded and in need of death. Navren drew the blade, but it turned what seemed to be the head to him and howled a vicious sound. Clearly, the test was not over. Navren plunged the blade down and cut the demon, small as it was, in half. The rumbling was turning, it was curving and growing louder. A parabolic run of demons through the wood, Navren was not going to get caught now. He slammed the blade into the dirt and leapt back into the tree, forgetting they were coming from the opposite direction now. As he leapt to a midbranch to switch sides, he was hit by one of the beasts, a breaking thud into him, as his grip on the branch perished and the Kal'dorei fell. In a last bout of strength combined with dexterous agility, Navren landed on a lower branch and piloted himself upward again. His body shook with the lack of energy, his breathing was labored heavily. The beasts were not moving in just one direction underfoot, but instead ran like currents of the ocean all together, certain jetstreams going one way and main ways going another, and five different directions in between. They were looking for him. These ground foot soldiers were fought at the battle at Hyjal, they were stupid and couldn't tend to look up, but the thousands of them could take out any front line if they weren't prepared.

Eventually, as Navren stood in frozen shock, they collected and moved on. It seemed like days for them to move, he quipped to himself as the Kal'dorei dropped from treebranch to treebranch, eventually down to the floor. No stray demons around this time, as he gripped onto his blade, leaning on it and breathing heavily. His knees folded in, each exhaling movement was a rapture of energy and ability. As he did so, a noise jumped behind him. He spun, not having the strength to tear the monster blade from the dirt. There stood three Demon Hunters, one of them Sin'dorei, glaives in a defensive position. They were checking him to make sure he wasn't corrupted by the demons, or even dead. Navren stood upright, still breathing heavily. They nodded to one another and leapt directly upward into the trees. Another dropped from around their ascent, and looked at Navren. It spoke in the same familiar voice as he had heard last night.

"You aren't dead. Clearly you have enough sense to know how to hide for someone as large as you." He said unto Navren, glaives still raised. Navren let go of his sword, nodding primly. "I am Karana Nightslayer," he continued, "and if you are truly certain you wish to take this path of death and destruction, meet me upon my haven, three miles north upward. It is a simple cave. I will speak to you there." As the last word left his gruff, scar encased lips, he leapt into the tree branches and vanished. Navren exhaled heavily, pulling his blade from the earth with less vigor than arena fight pasts.

"I wish Mochla was here to tell me my future..." Navren muttered, before restrapping his blade to his back and walking off. He crossed the wood as the high noon struck, the light basking the entire mountainside. Within the hour, he came upon the cave. Setting down his blade and walking forward, he entered quietly. Inside torches crackled with the heavy smell of burning oil that wafted through the air like heavy smoke. It stung Navren's eyes as he looked over to the Demon Hunter, who was perched infront of the fire in contemplative thought, his eyes hidden from sight. "My name is Navren Windstrider, Karana." He spoke in the ambient silence, and the Demon Hunter nodded slowly, his blue hair short and unmoving. He inhaled slowly, then outward.

"You will learn everything you can learn about demons upon this week. At the end of it, you will be tested. If you are to fail, you walk away from here in shame, and never return to a Demon Hunter for training again. I have books assorted around and there are demons for study around Hyjal." Karana said, motioning his hand to a small bookshelf in the corner, looking relatively unused. "You have one week. I will not help you. Begin."
He said, and Navren sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. He marched over, picked up a book and sat down, beginning to read it.

It was going to be a long week.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

I've come to talk with you again.

Because a vision softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping.

And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains

Within the sounds, of silence.

Chapter III: The Sound of Silence

For the first time in a long time, Navren read. The words in Darnassian were not written in the masterful elegance of calligraphers and artists, but in a slanted, harrowed text that was vicious to the eyes. However, Navren continued on. The Demon Hunter came and went in ominous silence, never a word or a sound from him. Every small sound echoed in the cavern. Navren read the book from cover to cover, and put it down next to him. He reached for another and read. As Drumgar Bloodpaw rolled onto Mochla Stormcaller in his sleep, as Rigley Darrson was curled up on his bed in his diver's suit, as Kimee Frostshackle dreamed about strangling people and Clovis Briarthorn stood sleepless on the cold deck of Northrend, as Cheiftan Kretol sat and spoke with the spirits in a calm voice, as Grakor Ghostice looked to the stars questioning his future, as Isadorian Hearthstride dreamt of laying in warm sunlight and her life in Quel'thalas, as Riplah Deathscorcher lay in a field of grass fast asleep, as Mokaku dreamt about fighting the ultimate fight, as Duron Bloodaxe ate a late night snack of roast pig, as Alistus Thrawn concocted potions in his sleepless life, as Surienna Oathkeeper slept lightly in hesitation of sudden death, and Masimavri Leafwind cried in the forests of Azshara quietly, Navren Windstrider was up sleepless, taking in information. The rare Doomlords, the three fiends of Outland, from the Dreadlord to the tiny Imp, the novels were acrypt with writing, pictures, information. Their weaknesses, their strengths and which to avoid in combat and which to strike first. Navren turned page from page, sleeping only an hour at a time every couple of hours, only to get up, read and occasionally tear into uncorrupted boar meat from around the area. This went on until Wednesday, and in the early hours of the morning, Karana delivered a swift kick to Navren's stomach as he slept. The commander jerked up, eyes bitter and each intake of breath was cold and calculating. The hunter stood over him, seeming to tower as he resonated. He motioned for the door with his hand and walked out. Navren stood, grabbing his blade and his headband, pulling it onto his forehead. He scuffed out of the stone cave into the early morning daybreak.

"We're going to go study." Karana said unto him, fitting his warglaives upon his back ceremoniously. As Navren thought of his restless dreams, the two walked alone through the quiet woods. As Navren looked about, Karana stopped and extended his arm, stopping Navren as he walked into it. He crouched, and instantly shot through the glass like a Goblin rocket car. Navren did the same, and Karana leapt from the grass and struck what seemed to be clear air. Instantly, a spray of blood erupted from the clear air, and from it grew the form of a Beholder. The tentacled, floating demon cried out, weak from lack of contact with the Legion. It fell to the ground, twitching and snarling pitifully. Karana spun his warglaive and cut it in a swift half. "The Beholders, Navren, have the skill to stay invisible when they are not moving. It allows them to ambush people who cannot see them, as without contact with the Legion, all demons will eventually perish. It just takes the strong ones five lifetimes of our lives and the weak ones a handful of years. Always be alert, Windstrider." Karana said, cleaning off his blade. "That is all for today, we don't want to risk Beholder ambush, as you will certainly perish." He continued, moving through the grass to the cave at a quick pace. Navren followed, locked in thought.

When they reached the cave, Karana sat in a rounded corner of it, contemplating the burnt out fire. "Thirty questions. Fail one, Windstrider, you have failed your duty and will be turned away. I will ask them on friday." He said quickly, before seeming to close his eyelids, burnt out eyes or not, and leaned back in a form of rest. Navren moved to where he had sat before without word and slunk down across the cave wall to the dirt below him. He picked up another book and cracked it open. He skimmed to the page of the Beholder and looked upon the yellowing paper. Karana was correct in saying of their ability. He looked at the weakness, which was loud noise. The Beholders were meant to fly above the battlefield, far out of range, scanning. Any loud noise would alert them, but if they were close enough it would disorient them. He nodded and turned the page, skimming to the section on the Legion as a whole. Upon it he read of the connection to the Legion that all demon's share, those forsaken after contact with the non corrupted lose this. He raised an eyebrow, reading that Infernals lasted the longest away from the legion, just being composed of Felfire and stone. Navren's first sight as the battle for Mount Hyjal unfolded was burning green meteors falling everywhere, their first assault were the infernals. He shook the thought from his head, not wishing to relive the bitter scars that lay open.

It wasn't long before Navren fell asleep again, and Karana delivered a swift kick to his side. Navren bolted awake, as Karana stood over him, already prepared for the day. "Come on, it's Thursday. We need to go find a Felbeast and you need to learn why you must never let one of the prongs sting you." He said, and marched out. Navren stood, placing a book aside that was atop him and grabbed the blade, hauling it into the pre-light daybreak. They traveled for hours, sprawling through woods and grasslands of the mountain range. Eventually, Karana halted as a Felbeast was tearing into a boar, alone. He sprinted forward and unhinged his warglaive at the same time, as the beast turned around. He threw it mid run, grabbing his other. It cut sharply through the hanging spear at it's front, and the other slammed into its skull with a sickening crush. The beast fell quickly. Karana left it there, dying, as he moved to grab the spear with his gnarled, spiked hand. He held it out to Navren. "I hope you have studied enough because you won't have time after doing this. Stab yourself in the arm enough to break the skin." Karana told him, and Navren looked down at the red and black limb. He gritted his teeth and reared up, puncturing her skin with it. He pulled it out shortly, and felt nothing. He looked at Karana, who still held the warglaive carefully. Navren took a breath, beginning to wonder what was going on, and all at once, his vision strung out and he stumbled forward. His head felt like it was being compressed and his muscles tightened. He blacked out before he hit the ground.

When his vision returned, he was in the cave and Karana was eating nonchalantly. "What the f**k, Karana?!" He snapped, sitting up. His muscles felt as if he had ran around Hyjal five times only moments before. "You are not corrupted. The Felbeats's prongs carry a vicious poison in them, commonly found in plants. Being stung by one paralyzes you so badly your limbs freeze in place. I had to carry you back in your awkward position you just released out of an hour ago. It's friday morning, Navren." He said, biting into a slab of boar with long, vicious teeth. Navren slid off his bed-ground and stood up wearily. "You could have just told me that instead of wasting my time I could be using to study!" Navren lashed out to him, and Karana shrugged his shoulders. Navren looked and for the first time noticed his shoulders were pointy, and spines extruded from them in all directions, half an inch long.

"Were I to tell you that, Navren, you wouldn't learn anything. And the second rule of being a Demon Hunter is that you must always spend your time wisely. The first is to never succumb to the demon." Karana nodded and continued eating, as Navren slid back down into the bed.

"Your test is in eight hours. I would finish those books, were I you." Karana said, and Navren grumbled while taking a book. How Illidan trained groups of them was beyond his thought process. He opened the book for a sleepless morning.

Disconnect and self destruct,

one bullet at a time.

What's your rush now?

Everyone has their day to

die.

Chapter IV: The Outsider

Navren took to reading immediately, and everything he felt he had to know was what he knew. Karana had left early in the morning, and as the Demon Hunter climbed up, he came upon to see Navren standing over the edge of a cliff, watching. Karana lowered an eyebrow, locked in a shifting thought. Most Hunters, failed or not, spent every waking moment studying, up until Karana had to take the book from them. Here stood Windstrider, with his toes on the edge, watching figures in the distance fly and fight in mid air. Karana scratched his inferior facial hair and turned to move into the cave. "It's time for your first test, Windstrider." He said with his gruff, jagged voice. Navren took in a deep breath, his own mind scorn with information and thoughts. After this, if he were to pass he could not leave. It dawned on him in the early morning air that he didn't care what everyone would have to think of him. He was here to kill, and to clear his name. Above all else, he was here to clear his past and his future. Navren turned on his heel and stepped through the stone archway into the dim cave. Karana stood opposite, warglaives infront of him. "Twenty questions. Fail one, you leave without a word. If you come back to this cave after that I will cut you down. Do you understand?" Karana said unto him, and Navren nodded in a venerable silence. Karana waved his hand in a sweep at the floor infront of him, and so Navren sat. The Hunter crossed his arms, looking off into the distance.

"Question one, Windstrider. What word holds power over all demons?" He said, calmly but his throat rough. Navren took this time to look again at the healed over scar that stretched across Karana's skin. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Their name, master Karana." He said plainly, and he caught a glimpse of Karana nodding primly as he reopened his eyes.

"List the corrupted races, not the born demons." Karana said, crossing his arms. Navren had written them down and read the list out loud on thursday over and over again, from dusk to dawn. Navren scratched his moustachops in thought.

"Man'ari. Warp Stalkers. Darkhounds. Fel Orcs and Felblood Elves. Felguards. Helboars. Felsteeds. Broken, Lost Ones. Fel Stalkers." Navren said, his brain pulsing with remembrance. He was not a forgetful one, and the last race he mentioned he harbored the greatest revenge driven hate for. He took a breath and said the last word as Karana watched in apprehensive hesitation. "And the Satyrs." Karana exhaled on that, and nodded a curt nod again.

"Origin of Voidwalkers and Voidbeasts." Karana said shortly, and Navren bit his lip. Something to do with the Naaru, naturally, and he tried to remember by remembering the phrase of a dying star. The pieces of memory quickly fell back and he raised his head to answer.

"The death of a Naaru." He said, and Karana nodded shortly. He moved on to ask, "Purpose of the Shivarra." Navren's mind had photocopied the book page by page, and he remembered back to it.

"Priestesses, Chaplains. Only serve surgical military attacks." He said quickly, and Karana seemed as pleased as someone of his demeanor could be. "The three Fiends." Karana said, moving over to a small table to pour water from a pitcher onto his hand, which a demonic rune was carved into. Navren watched and answered quickly. "Terrorfiend, Fearfiend and Terrorguard." He said and Karana gripped his own hand with a scowl, nodding again.

"How does one fully kill a Dreadlord?" He asked, and Navren thought back, resting his hands on his lap. They were physically and spiritually defeated separately, destroying a body would only temporarily defeat it. "Decapitation after death and the eradication of the body without the head by an arcane spirit stronger than the dreadlord." He said, and Karana looked over his shoulder at him. They locked eye to blindfold, and Navren grew nervous. Karana exhaled, turned back his head and nodded. "Correct, Windstrider." Navren exhaled loud enough to echo, and Karana turned, his hand now dry and the rune seemingly gone.

"Two questions in one; Who was the first known Dreadlord and who became his downfall?" Karana said and Navren snapped to it instantly. "Tichondrius, and his death was at the hands of Illidan Stormrage." Karana nodded again.

"Question ten and eleven; Who was Mannoroth and where are his remains?" Navren knew this as well. The history was easily remembered, most of it was Illidans's fault either way. "Mannoroth was a favored Pit Lord, after corrupting the orcs he was slain and his remains are hanging in Orgrimmar." Navren said, crossing his arms.

"Name the eight commanders of the Demons." Karana said, taking a seat infront of Navren, across the firepit, tending to the smoldering ashes. "Archimonde, Kil'jaeden, Tichondrius, Hakkar, Mannoroth, Kazzak, Xavius, Mal'ganis." Navren said to him, nodding surely. Karana returned it, opening a book and flipping through it casually.

"Wraithguards are formally what demonic race?" Karana asked, still flipping through the book.

"Man'ari, corrupted by Fel energy to maximum amounts." Navren responded, watching Karana's every move. He moved slow but sure, every movement was precision and unhesitating. He clearly thought before doing anything.

"Special Beholder ability." Karana said, looking up for a moment at Navren. "Invisibility, conducts electricity." Navren responded, knowing that Karana had just given him the answer the day before.

"What causes the tattoo's of a hunter to shine?" Karana asked with a nonchalant tone, leaning against the stone wall. "Being carved in and sealed with demons blood. The ritual of drinking blood near the end causes it to glow forever." Navren said, breathing. All his studying had paid off, he was nearing the end.

"Blindness?"

"Carving and burning of the eyes with the eyes of a demon."

"Who had given Illidan the first spectral sight?"

"Sargeras."

"Slaying a Fel Reaver?"

"Removal of the machine heart."

"Only known Feldragon?"

"Felmyst."

Karana stood, looking at Navren with towering demeanor. "The final question, Windstrider. Why did you come to do this?" He asked, and Navren was starstruck. Why had he come to do this? He asked himself this earlier and knew the answer, but over the test, he had forgotten. He looked up to Karana. Not many men could intimidate Navren anymore, Fala'thorei was too kind of heart to do so. But Karana, he seemed to have seen so much more war. Death and hatred glazed his face, and in it, Navren saw himself.

"I came to clear my name and cleanse the world." He said, his voice strong but hesitant at the same time. The silence held the cave in time-lost frozen ways.

Karana nodded, turning away.

"You are now bound by the ways of the Hunter. Forever."

No trophy, no flashbulb, no flowers, no wine,

he's haunted by something he can not define.

Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse

assail him, impale him with monster truck force.

In his mind, he's still driving, still making the grade,

she's hoping in time that her memories will fade.

Cause he's racing and pacing and plotting the course,

he's fighting and biting and riding on his horse.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,

and long ago somebody left with the cup.

But he's striving and driving and hugging the turns,

and thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

Chapter V: The Distance

'Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.'
- Sir Winston Churchill, Former Prime Minister of England

Navren ran. The pounding of his feet against the grassland was beating in his head like a vibrant drum, it pressed on his ears and was all he could hear. In his mind he was far from racing, pacing and plotting the course, there was nothing but running. His legs were harboring fire, his chest was harboring vacant space. Karana was, laughably, on a magic carpet. He hovered along side Navren, and anytime he started to slow down, a stick he had picked up about the middle of the Barrens was delivered to his back. Bleeding profusely, the old Night Elf pressed on. Karana was not as old as he, as he had revealed while lounging about on the carpet he bought from a mage in Dalaran, and took great pleasure in beating the old trainee. Running was not hard for Navren, however in his hands he carried two, spiked and extremely sharp blades. They were not as heavy alone as Navren's blade, which was still on his back, but together they were much more so. If they touched the ground, Karana used the stick he was holding to trip Navren, then hit him on the back for actually falling. He had managed to avoid the stick after the first few lashes.

The grassland felt like nothing under his feet, but everything at the same time. The heat pushed through, each slam of his foot on the ground was a loud burning sensation under his toes that baked his arch and boiled his heel. It was a mindless run now, nothing but breathing and the movement of feet. Navren kept his elbows at his waistline, the swords drawn up so to not touch the ground. As he breathed out, one of the blades barely skimmed the ground and before Navren could blink, a lash was delivered on his back, opening another cut on the weakened skin. He grit his teeth and sprinted forward, a move easily and immediately regrettable, and Karana had to push forward to catch up. It wasn't long before Navren was back at his pace speed, out of breath and out of mind. The heat of the Barrens bore down on them as he ran to the Thousand Needles, and Navren felt as if he was going to break before then. Every harrowing step was pulsing blood in his mind, his vision was blurred and his brow was caked in layers of sweat. This was the first true week of his sealing in of training, physical hell. As he ran mindlessly, an echo caught the back of his ears. It grew louder as it was repeated, and his brain took function and directed control to listening.

"STOP!" Karana snapped, and Navren Windstrider came pulling to a close. His feet dug into the ground, and he stopped mere inches away from the cliffside of the Thousand Needles canyon. Sound and noise returned to his ears, the blood still drumming them. He held the swords up, and then let them touch the earth, exhausted. Karana came gliding up to him casually. "Rest for fifteen minutes. Then, we run back." He said, looking up to the sky. "It will be dark before we get back. Looks about four in the evening now." He continued, and laid back on his carpet. Navren fell downward, both hands still vigorously gripping the blades. Karana had told him that if he were to let go of them on his own free will while awake, the training week would start again. Navren had been running back and forth for the entire week now, and his legs felt like molten steel. What seemed like an instant was all of the fifteen minutes, and before Navren could breathe, Karana sat up and dusted himself off. "What the hell are you waiting on? Get moving, bastard!" He cried in Darnassian, and Navren swept up and took off. Karana pushed forward to catch up, as Navren picked up to his full paced speed instantly. The blades back at his sides and lifted, his feet hit the grassland as he continued onward. Stretches of miles and miles of grass took hold, as they crossed burnt down posts, fresh oasis' and not so fresh desert oasis spots. Eventually they pushed into Ashenvale, in which the burning heat was replaced with a cool breeze, but it was too late as Navren was already pouring sweat again. His body was a temple of fire emotionally before, and it felt of molten lava now. He grit his teeth and picked up speed, Karana having to push the carpet ahead.

The forest broke out into the coast, and Navren ran in the sand. The water was bitterly cold, compared to the warm, easy water of the Southern Savage or Ratchet Coasts. Karana floated lazily behind him, partly disappointed at the lack of stick usage. Nearby, a forsaken in a mask was sweeping the sand with a broom idly. It waved as Navren bounded past, and neither of them took much notice. The sun was moving downward as they ran, and Navren once again took up speed. The magic carpet was not of the highest quality, especially being controlled by a limited arcane user, and was trailing behind. Navren picked up again, his muscles pushing and his teeth in a perpetual grit. Inside his mind, he was no longer in the mindless state. His brain was occupied with Masimavri and how badly he wished to prove her wrong. Everything she had turned his back on him to was a fetid excuse for an existence. His thoughts pulsed and pounded, as he rounded the coastline into Azshara. Running up the mountainside, Navren reached the cave where Karana was staying, and turned around, legs still standing strong. Behind him, Karana was nowhere to be seen. He showed up, minutes later, as the sun was breaking the horizon like an unstoppable hammer.

Karana came to a slow. "By Goddess, Navren, I would have thought your old bones had broken before we turned around. Clearly, I was wrong." He said, and went inside the cave.

Navren uttered a word, quietly, before collapsing where he stood, instantly asleep.

"Clearly."

And the night over London rang;

So we rode down to the river where the toiling of ghosts sprang,

for the curses to be broken.

We go underneath the arches where the witches are in the saying,

there are ghost towns in the ocean, the ocean.

Chapter VI: Cemeteries of London

'Be as a tower firmly set;
Shakes not its top,
for any blast
that blows.'
- Excerpt from 'Paradisio' by Dante Alighieri, Italian Poet

Navren awoke in the brazen of the early morning, his face cold and water dripping on it. As his conscious rose, the rest of his body was such the same. He rose, swords still in hand, looking around. Karana was nowhere to be found. The sky was dark but the sound outside was a loud, beautiful cacophony of storms. Rain fell in the remnants of the World Tree and all around him, the night sky covered by clouds. Everything around was dark as night, the rain visibly being pushed by the wind and carried every which way. It was not a chaotic storm, but there was a sense of peace in the madness. He pulled the blades along into the cave, looking around with wide-awake eyes. Karana was again nowhere, clearly must be out. Navren sat, shoulders heavy and the swords resting in his palms. Outside the ambiance of rain hissed, echoing into the stone cave at a higher volume. Navren closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, and his mind slipped away. When he came to, Karana and another figure were in the cave, talking quietly. He gripped the blades and rose without a word, as the two turned to look at the towering figure.

"We are leaving to Outland, Navren. You must begin training for the first ritual." Karana spoke, before looking back at the stranger. Navren peered over, examining him. He was a very modest, meek human wearing a flat, brown robe. He looked up to Navren, and then to Karana without changing his tired looking expression. He was sitting crosslegged and had his hands ontop of a leather bound book, which also rested in his lap. He coughed quietly and began to speak in a lower tone than Karana or Navren.

"I will open the portal to Outland, but getting back is on your own terms, Karana. I am sure there are mages in Shattrath who will do it in a heartbeat. That, or you can get your way through the Dark Portal." He said, his gaze cast on the fire. Navren looked over his shoulder outside. It was very dark out from the clouds, and rain still poured from the sky. He looked back at Karana, who was in the process of standing.

"Very well, Anatlal. It would be very appreciated, and we might as well leave now. A portal to anywhere in Blade's Edge, please." Karana said to him, and the mage rose silently. He proceeded to open his hands and Navren felt the twinge of Arcane grace his skin. A portal was torn open nigh instantly from the thin air of the cave, on the visible outside was red ground and dust. Karana motioned for Navren to enter, and gripping his blades, he did. Immediately he stepped out into the brazen heat of midday, sand beneath his toes and the air above as red as the desert. Karana stepped in behind him and the portal closed with a quaint swish noise. Karana looked around in contemplation. "Hm. I know where we are. Five miles south, there is a camp of Demons. We'll scout there." He said, and instantly took off. Navren made tracks to follow him, Karana in nigh flawless physical health. It was like running in the Barrens again, except that now there was dust blowing in the wind chaotically. Carrying the two heavy blades, he raised them higher, as Karana leapt over the edge of a cliff and fell outward. Navren hesitated, but took the jump anyway, as Karana landed below, warglaives in the neck of a walking demon. It cried out in absolute horror and collapsed, green adn black blood spraying in a nauseating vomit from the arteries within its neck. Navren rolled as he hit the ground and stood, unharmed. Karana moved slowly forward to the next cliff, the place they had landed was a small edge for keeping scouting. He peered over the edge and Navren did the same.

Below them was helter skelter, demons were running amok. Summoning circles lit the evening sky, demons occasionally warping out of them. Karana pulled back and Navren followed. The Hunter looked to him, his face grim. "Only this week will I help you, Windstrider, if you are near death. Your first demon kill will not be celebrated long before your second, as we are both jumping into that camp and killing them all." He said, his voice gruff and cold. It was the look of a man who was facing a possible death, and the look of a man who had faced possible death multiple times.

"Are you sure that's a wise idea, Karana?" Navren asked to him, and Karana nodded. He pondered for a moment, looking to the sky. Demons blood dripped from his warglaives idly. He looked back down to Navren.

"Ever demon down there has made your life what it is. They are the cause of your misery and your circumstance. If you won't kill them, then stay up here and be the fucking woman that you are." Karana said and took off on the edge, rearing his feet up as he jumped and descended in a swift grace. Navren gritted his teeth, his brow furrowing. Gripping the wraps of the blade with a tightening vice, Navren Windstrider ran to the edge and leapt. Screaming a gutteral, masculine scream that vibrated his teeth, he landed on a demonic hound and both of his blades came rounding downward in the same style as a hammer into the beast's two shoulderblades. It howled and thrashed, as Navren sliced his blades free and leapt back. It turned with harrowing steps, and Navren readied himself. Once it faced him, it pulled its head back and let loose a wave of fel fire. Navren leapt, and was only partially burnt by it, on his chest. He charged forward, the basic shock combat technique, and leapt at it. Slamming one of the blades into the beasts eye, he climbed up by slamming the other into the skull of the beast. Rearing both out, the head was falling so he leapt to the other. Standing in the shadow of the colossus mountainside, the wanderer slammed both of his blades into the hounds skull, as blood sprayed out, black as night. The beast collapsed, instantly deteriorating. He ripped his blades free and turned to face the crowd. Karana was opposite the camp, skillfully slicing through waves of demons. Three warpstalkers crawled their way over in sickening speeds, the sand behind them being kicked up into a hell-like cloud. Navren readied the blade and struck one of them down in a heavy handed, felled sweep. The other two leapt without notice or notion, and overtook Navren.

Instantly, wounds graced his sides, chest, face. It seemed like hours before both of them were thrown off with violent, unstoppable force, and pinned to the canyon wall by warglaives. Karana leapt over Navren and ripped his blades off, throwing one of them right over Navren to spear an Infernal in the chest. Holding the other, he releapt and assaulted the Infernal. Standing, Navren gripped his blades heavily. Blood poured from him in bubbling amounts, however, he pressed on. Running at the Infernal, he used his feet to run up its wall like leg, and speared it in the side with one blade, and higher with the next. Climbing again, he reached the head the same time Karana did. He raised his free sword and brought it down just as Karana thrusted a warglaive for its direct face. The blades met inside the head of the Infermal, as the fel fire consisting of its body extinguished and the stones fell. Karana did not take time to even breathe or think before charging the next group. Grudgingly, Navren followed as he lost blood. Taking down a few more demons, he fell to his knees from the pain, still holding on to the blades that seemed glued to his palms. Eventually, a harrowing silence took the camp.

Karana stood over him, and put away his warglaives, grabbing his shoulder and heaving him up. Navren kept his head to the ground as he was carried, and the black soot of the demon camp turned to red dirt. After a ways, Navren was dropped and Karana tossed a medical wrap, which bounced off his shoulder. Navren sat up, gritting his teeth. The camp was extinguished, and his wounds still bled. He gruffly grabbed the wrap and began to roll it over his wounds sparingly. After the job was done, he placed it away. "If that happens again, Navren, I won't be around to drag you out. You should know better than to get that badly cut up. Hopefully you will learn in this upcoming week, because we will be doing this non stop until the ritual preparation." Karana said unto him, and Navren nodded, leaning against the wall of the canyon where they would be resting before moving on.

"Yeah, I should know better."

This cold dark tormented hell,

Is all I'll ever know.

So when you get to heaven,

May the devil be the judge,

With another bag of bricks.

Chapter VII: Another Bag of Bricks

'Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host.
But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.'
- Maya Angelou, American Poet

Thunder struck the eardrums and lightning lit up the sky. Navren and Karanas silhouettes crouched upon a ridge in imminent silence, watching the other silhouettes below. They both took off in silence, the ridge dirt stirring beneath their feet. Without a word, the hunters leapt downward, from faceless ridge to ridge, until they were ground level. Their audible movement forward hidden by the cacophonous roar of thunder, their physical ascent enraptured by the flickering lightning, the two demons patrolling the ground level were struck down without knowing why or having a chance to fight. They continued forward, and another camp approached. Karana slid to a stop a good hundred feet back and withdrew a wrapped object from his person. Without a word, he unwrapped a hollow dagger and handed it to Windstrider. It was taken, and the older elf ran forward, Karana staying behind. Using such a weapon in hand, he stormed the camp. The thunder came down and the rain followed, the storm reaching the camp in an ominous archetype. The red dirt turned to red mud as Navren ran, leaping over a guard with dexterous strength.

He had one target in mind, one sole demon to be killed. The challenge was to kill it and return unharmed, and no other demon killed. His thoughts furrowed with the ideal of suffering no demon to live, Navren slid in the mud underneath a Doomguard, and charged forward. There his target stood, a towering Shivarra, arms extended and holding onto floating chains. Navren ran up the beasts leg and jabbed the dagger into her side. She let loose a vicious cry, blood spraying from the wound. Dropping the chains, the ground beneath started to rumble and shake. The summoning circle beneath the stone ground was now loose, and felfire began to pulse from the widening cracks. He pulled up his legs and placed his feet on the demon, toes curling on the ceremonious clothing upon them. He stood and reared back the blade, as the Shivarra moved it's multiple arms to strike him. He jammed the dagger into the chest of the demon and instantly leapt from her. She fell to the ground in bitter agony, as the whole camp tried to converge on Navren. Through the rain the ground was clearly falling apart as nothing but the green hue of the ground and the faint white air of the night was visible. Navren ran, the burning fire of the demon circle burning his heels. He leapt over a makeshift wall and continued, the blood from the dagger dripping quietly.

He certainly had not killed the Shivarra but his objective was done. In silence, Navren and Karana moved away, sitting down in a small cave Karana had found in his scouting. Karana peered at the dagger, examining it. Eventually, the patter of rain in the background, he spoke.

"It will take a day for this to be prepared and ready for use. I'm sure you know what happens." He spoke, still thoughtfully looking at the dagger. Navren nodded.

"The tattooing will begin. Does the color pick itself?" He asked, peering at Karana's purple engravings, while Fala'thorei himself had green ones. Karana nodded.

"It is a variable, Navren. Personality, the demon killed. A lot of things." He said, placing the dagger onto the flat stone. "I had stabbed a Pit Lord to draw his blood, and it nearly killed me. However, I managed to get out alive. It has strong blood, black as night, and it made me fall ill for quite some time afterwords. Yours will do the same." He proceeded, scratching his jaw.

"Hm. I see." Navren mused, looking out the cave hole. The rain on the outside fell incessantly, quietly. "Where do you come from, Karana?" He asked, quizzically. Karana rolled his head in thought.

Eventually, he shook his head. "It's not important, Navren." He exhaled, and leaned against the wall. Without another word or objection, Navren walked out in the rain.

Taking a seat upon a stone, he watched the canyon closely, the spike edged walls and cliffsides jutting into darkness unknown. Rain covered his face as he contemplated his life, his mind working slowly but methodically. All around him rain fell from the sky, covering everything within range. Shadows jutted here and there, silhouettes walking to and fro. He closed his eyes, sitting in the rain in a stoic position. As he opened his eyes, he stood slowly and moved back inside the cave. Without a word to Karana, he sat against the wall and rested, his mind falling into a deep sleep. His night was dreamless except for the last minutes, which blazed a dream in front of him, the voice of his sister haunting.

"Doing this won't prove anything."

Is it bright where you are,

And have the people changed?

Does it make you happy that you're so strange?

And in your darkest hour,

my old secrets laid,

We can watch the world devoured in its hate.

Chapter VIII: The Beginning is the End

'Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.'
- Macbeth, Act II, Scene II. William Shakespeare, English Poet

Navren's vision came to in a few seconds, the burning hot sun of the mountain range of Outland still burning. Outside, bladed shaped spikes of earth jutted from the Blade Edge mountains. He blinked awake, and looked to his left, where Karana sat, unmoved since the night before, but obviously awake. There in front of him was a flat spot and the dagger ceremoniously placed in the center. The gray stone hole seemed suddenly smaller, as Navren moved to stand. Before him, Karana sat with his legs crossed peacefully, not unlike of a stone idol who was ever vigilant of his domain. Windstrider exhaled slowly, heavily. Upon him, Karana spoke.

"You have a few minutes to prepare yourself and your body for what is to come." He forewarned, and Navren nodded in understanding. Moving outside of the cave into the cool air, but burning sunlight, Navren stretched and looked beyond. Harpies, stone elementals, demons, all moved around freely. He continued breathing in the air and closed his eyes, pressing the eyelids down heavily. Within moments, he turned on his heel and stepped inside. Karana was standing, waiting for him. The thick dagger was in his hands. Without a word, Navren laid down upon the ground and Karana knelt beside him. He was on his back, and his eyes watched as Karana drew up the thick blade and swung it downward. It broke the skin and sinked a good ways in at his chestbone, and Navren closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into his hands. His whole body tensed in a furor, the muscle strengthening and contracting, severing blood flow all over his body. His rage and anger overtook him, it moved like a wave of fire. Everything Navren could see, feel, all of his senses and emotions ran a vicious color of red. His body felt like a baptism by fire, the great purifier. The pain was nulled out by sheer furor as the blood of the demon ran into his heart. On the visible outside, he was just seen as tense, clenching. No rolling in pain, no crying out. His inside mind was the furor of a firestorm. Everything around it rushed, pulsed, called.

There was no outside of the world, even with his eyes open in furor, Navren witnessed nothing but fire. The cacophony of the storm in front of his eyes accumulated and shifted, with accurate randomness. Karana dragged the blade across his skin, slowly and surely. The blood of the demon poured into him, drop by drop. His eyes were dead set forward on the roof of the cave, but he was not witnessing it. The hellfire was all he knew now, all of the anger he had built up and felt in his life was being flourished in a symphony of hate. His muscles pounded, the blood thumped in his ear. His whole body was pounding, sickness took the flame like a drop of blood into clear water. The fire he was witnessing caught a sliver of black in it, an elusive split second darkness. A few more took, slivers not unlike snakes that were sneaking through the flame. The flame took more and more, until half of it was a black flame. Navren did not even feel being rolled over as Karana continued dragging the blade across his side and onto his back. His eyes closed, the red fire was getting darker and darker. The black was textured of flames, it was as if it had taken the black of the Shadow candles he had once seen with Fala'thorei in their Duskwood conquest. Memories of rage and anger flooded into his mind, his teeth were pressed so hard together they felt as if they were going to split. Karana rerolled him over as the black fire stayed in his vision, but his senses were slowly returning. The second line underneath the first began, and once again, as the blade was drawn and placed somewhere else, the black fire swirled into red. The pain retook, the numbing was gone. He kept his muscles as tight as they would be, as Karana dragged the blade across. As he moved to roll Navren, the elf bent his own arms and rolled over himself, through strong, forceful actions as he fought the pain. Holding himself up on his knuckles from the ground, Karana continued in silence. All Navren could perceive through hearing was his own heartbeat, which pounded like the devil in a cage.

His knuckles tightened, Karana moved slowly and methodically, perfectly sculpting the flesh. Every quarter of an inch was a terrible mile into his flesh, the blade moving with horror and grace. Navren returned, the faint outline of the cave returning to the vision through the flame. He grit his teeth and turned back to his front, laying upon his back as Karana moved to the front. Eventually, the blade lines connected, and he instantly went to work on Navren's arms. The procession was quick now, and he set down the blade quietly. The fire burnt away, and Navren's vision was darker. Taking a deep breath, he rose from the ground and ran out in a sharp movement, standing on the edge of the cave. Karana followed, blade in hand cautiously, to see Navren standing on the furthest edge of the cliff, arms back in a stance with his chest forward. From him, a scream eruptured, low, gutteral and inhuman. It shook his teeth and his face, his eyes dark, his vision darker. Eventually, he collapsed where he stood, and Karana dragged him inside, exhaling slowly. The next week would be hell.

"He is out cold, and might possibly remain that way for a long time. If he's not up and better by the weeks end, I have to cut him down." Karana said to the stranger who had been watching in the shadows.

"I see. He took the process with strength rather than masking it. Hopefully the blood did not corrupt him. Was the demon it was drawn from slain?" The stranger asked quizzically, arms folded over his own demon hunter tattoo, watching Navren.

"No, unfortunately. It means it will have a more potent effect on poisoning him. However, he is vitally strong. I am uncertain of his survival either way." Karana said, standing and moving out of the cave. The stranger followed.

"Remember what happened to the last hunter you tried to train, Karana." The stranger said, walking past him. "Don't let something like that come upon you again. It won't look good in the society."

"That was a fault of the elf's weakness, not mine, Harak." Karana defiantly said, gritting his teeth. The stranger just kept walking, shaking his head.

"Who may know, Karana, but if Windstrider is to die, who's to say you won't be next."

All this running around, well it's getting me down,

Just give me a pain that I'm used to.

I don't need to believe all the dreams you conceive,

You just need to achieve something that rings true.

There's a hole in your soul like an animal,

With no conscience, repentance unknown.

Close your eyes, pay the price for your paradise,

Devils feed on the seeds that are sown.

Chapter IX: A Pain That I'm Used To

'While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.'
- Leonardo da Vinci, Italian Artist

Navren slept, in a dreamless state. Every time he would wake, his eyes would blur in and out, and sickness would once again poison him. He was paralyzed of movement, his voice unable to speak. The cave was a disgusting, filthy gray blur he did not wish to see any longer. Sweat caked and covered his body, drying and reapplying constantly. Every few hours, we would call out to nothing, to no one. It felt as sickness haunted him and death watched from afar. He phased inward and outward of a mulling sleep, his skin feeling sick and his eyes losing tint. The ground he lay on was cold and unfavoring, and it was not in his mind that this was a part of the trials of feeling pain. Nothing he had been stabbed of, poisoned, fell sick to had felt like this before. Ten thousand years and he was feeling like death was watching over his shoulder, looking at what he was preoccupied with in life. Sickness raged, and outside the cave door, Karana watched the monsters and demons below run and fight each other fruitlessly. He kept his arms crossed, hearing Navren groan sickly from indoors. He turned on his heel, moving through the cool, gracing wind that overtook the area.

Once indoors, he looked to Navren. The man lay on the ground, writing in pain. In between the cuts drawn for the tattoo, a sickly green color was spreading through his veins and skin in branches, filling the isolated corruption. The demons blood was at work. It would be until he drank the blood from the heart of a hunter that the tattoo would illuminate brightly, instead of the jaundice looking shade that touched the current wound. Navren writhed on the ground, sick in an indulgent pain. Karana shook his head, moving back out of the cave. There, The Stranger was waiting for him. He stood on the edge of the cliff, facing Karana with crossed arms. The Demon Hunter emerging stood in a defensive stance, watching The Stranger.

"What are you doing here?" Karana snapped at him, baring his teeth in a rage swollen manner.

"I've just come to see if the Hunter has succumbed to the sickness of corruption yet." The Stranger asked, in a calm voice that was a stark, clear contrast to Karana's angered hiss. He adjusted a long overcoat he wore, despite his stark black runic tattoo showing. Karana kept in his stance.

"Stop 'observing' me, you have no right to. If I see you again i'm going to kill you." Karana snapped, one hand reached behind for a warglaive. The metal rested in his hand. The Stranger merely shrugged, before leaning backwards and falling off of the cliff in frozen grace. As Karana carefully navigated to the edge, the Stranger was gone. He relaxed his muscles and shook his head, turning around only to be delivered two kicks to the chest. He was sent spiraling off of the cliff edge, the wind whipping violently around his head. He pushed his demon infused muscles and landed on his feet, a good ways below. Looking up as he drew his warglaives, the Stranger was freefalling, his duster fluttering in the wind at high speeds. Karana leapt from the edge he landed on to a nearby one as the Stranger slammed into the stone. Twisting, Karana brought up his blades as the Stranger had jumped in a flash at him. Their warglaives crashed, and Karana threw the Strangers blades down before turning and running, leaping off the edge and landing at the bottom of the cliffside, rolling as he did so. Spinning in the dust, the Stranger landed on his feet with an earth shattering punch. He snarled, as Karana saw near his mouth, a sickening black pulse moving through his veins.

Corruption.

The two engaged again, blades clashing with visible sparks. The Stranger drew up his foot and slammed it into Karana's chest again, as he stumbled backwards. Karana simply ran forward and they clashed again. This time, he pushed all his weight forward and used their blades as a flatpoint for him to lean on and flip over the Stranger. Drawing one of his warblades against the air as quickly as possible, he drew a cut into the Stranger's back. The corrupt Hunter stumbled forward, crying out violently. He spun, throwing one of his warblades at Karana. It nicked the hunter in the arm before slamming into the cliffside. Karana ran forward, using his uninjured arm to flay the Stranger, who daftly leapt and weaved to avoid him. The Stranger brought up a well delivered kick to the face of the Demon Hunter, dropping him into the sand. The Stranger rushed to the cliffside and drew his missing warglaive, before leaping upward on the stone. Karana scrambled and followed in high climbing jumps, as the Stranger enclosed on the cave. Karana was unrelenting in his movement and they both leapt up to the ledge at the same time. The Stranger dashed forward, warglaive in hand, and Karana threw both of his warglaives at The Stranger in a slingshot spin, which the Stranger turned around to take to his chest. He called out in anger as the blades cut him, and ran, leaping off the cliffside.

A still silence filled the air, as Karana was gripping his knees, breathing heavily. Trudging to the cave, he picked up his blood clotted glaives and leaned against the wall, sliding down. Nearby, Navren continued to jerk and writhe in pain, unaware of what had gone on. His mind was a rush of sickness and misery, blinding his senses. Karana shook his head, drifting to sleep.

The week drew past as Navren rolled in his abhorrent sickness. The next day after the fight, Karana sat and watched Navren. He still seemed to be in the same amount of misery, sweating like an Orgrimmar pig and gurgling like the death rattle of the Forsaken. He kept his legs crossed, leaning over Navren and watching him. The demons blood was venturing from the carefully artistic and articulate wounds, spreading downward. Karana scratched his jaw, thinking. The next day, the blood of the demon would surely reach his heart. Most hunters, or those who died during this trial, had perished at that point. The third day of the sickness would be the most miserable, most hunters could not remember it due to their delirium. Karana shook his head, standing up in the cave. His arm was sore, the wound starting to heal, but the Stranger was surely still around, somewhere. It would be foolish of him to leave without trying to take two lives of the hunters to injest their blood. Karana stretched, looking out of the cave into the bright sunlight.

Navren's mind on the third day was nothing but misery and confusion. He was awake for most of it, but unaware. He rolled, writhing in pain as the blood of the demon was reaching the heart. His vision was a swirl of black, a sickly dripping color that streaked the walls. His stomach was empty now, that was gone by the first day. His body was in a high temperature furor, the sweat ontop of him as cold as ice. His muscles tensed and relaxed over and over again, non stop. Around noon, as Karana was outdoors eating and watching the ridges of the canyon for any sign of the Stranger, Navren pushed himself up on his knuckles. His vision unfocused and focused repeatedly, and blood dripped from his mouth. Crying out in a roar of anger and pain, he punched the stone floor. Under the bolstered power of the demon, it cracked under his hand, and he collapsed again. Karana rushed in, looking at him. Clearly this had nothing to do with the hawking Stranger. He peered closely at Navren then turned outside again, deep in thought.

The fourth day yielded a return to the base sickness that had struck him the first two days. He wasn't rolling in pain, and the amount of times that Navren was pushed onto his knuckles increased. His awareness slowly returned. Karana spent most of the day outside, watching around. He stalked the area around the cave. Signs of the Stranger were apparent but limited. He was one of the best stalkers in the society of the hunter, and it showed. Only a mere footprint here and there remained. Karana shook his head, watching the area.

As the day broke, sunrise took the hill and Karana returned to the cave with food. As he entered, his reflexes tensed and fired as a figure was standing in the cave. One glaive partially drawn, he relaxed as it was Navren, leaning wearily against the wall. The fledgling hunter looked up at him, the tattoo having become solid now. His eyes were jaundiced, sickly and horrific. His look was one of sickness and misunderstanding, but he was standing. Karana slowly approached, looking him over.

"I see you didn't perish, Navren. You'd better shape up quick, as you've got a big target to track and take down next week. Alone." Karana said to him, his disengaged persona returning to the front. He sat down with the bag of food and began to eat. Navren glazed off the wall and moved slowly, sitting on his knees near him. He took a loaf of bread and cautiously bit into it, still clearly sweating.

"Damn well felt like I died."

Making a final judgment,

Based on your bias will never bring you forward.

Terror should never guide you,

For even the fearful can take a beating in the end.

Suspicion gets you nowhere.

Those who denounce a way of life,

Will stand alone,

Left to atone their social blunders.

If you gun down the messenger,

You guarantee that he will be made

Into a saint,

A martyr of the free word.

Chapter X: Martyr of the Free Word

'How incessant and great are the ills with which a prolonged old age is replete.'
- C. S. Lewis, British Author, Poet

Upon the next day, Navren was up and running as usual. At the break of dawn he had exited the cave, in search of food. Cutting down innocent beasts with his blade, he cooked and devoured the flesh and meat immediately, the heat burning his tongue viciously. His hunger was great, as his body used all of its energy to survive the past week. Two, three full animals were eaten down before Navren was sated. In the haze of a full stomach, he watched as Karana cautiously moved inside. His face was grim as he looked Navren over, taking in a slow and deep breath.

"Leave now, and don't come back until you've slaughtered a Void Terror and brought me one of the eyes." He said unto Navren, who stood and picked up his blades. Placing them on his back, he moved across the fire and to the cave door before Karana extended his arm, stopping him short."Be aware at all times, Navren. There is someone out there who wants the both of us dead." He said, and lowered his arm. Navren nodded and moved out into the sun. His eyes were stung by the oncoming sunlight of Outland, after spending so much time in the darkness of the cave. He stretched, and set out like a wanderer upon the sand, alone. He walked alongside the sharp stone edge wall, looking around cautiously. Small beasts, none of them threats, writhed here and there. The sweltering hot sun beat down now as noon approached. Navren climbed, hand to stone, his feet hanging off with treacherous strength. His muscles pulsed as he continued, beaten down by the sun. His eyes occasionally struck to his arms, the tattoo visible. He peered at it momentarily, but continued. After a while upward, he reached a plateau, and as far as he could go. Upon it, the ruins of a camp, Horde looking, lay by. He approached with caution, grabbing a glaive off his back. He skulked forward, looking about. Nothing seemed to be in the distance. He kicked open a box with his foot, and skulls rolled out. He shook his head, placing the glaive away. Whatever had found the Horde here made quick work of it. He turned to go, only to find a troll and orc, both dressed in standard Horde armor, rushing him with spears. Navren flipped backwards and drew his glaives, landing in the sand. As they rushed, he bat away their spears with the glaives and sliced the both of them in the throat. They fell, cringing. Blood sprayed on the orange sand, giving it a dark, brown hue. He stepped past them, looking about. Clearly a pitiful trap, but judging by the collections of heads, it seemed to get a lot of wayward travelers.

Navren withdrew flint from his person and struck it upon a stone edge of a campfire they had set up. Sparks flew, and caught a bed sheet. He tossed the sheet onto one of the tents as it roared up, the fire engulfing it and smoke rising. He kicked fire onto the other tent and set off, leaving the path of fire in his wake. He lowered his head as he walked, continuing on the elevated area. Above, a large bird swooped the area and flew off tactfully, obviously not a vagrant. He watched cautiously. The words Karana had left him with burned in his mind. Someone was out there. He shook his head and continued walking. Picking up a Horde flag that lay in the dirt, he wrapped it around his neck and face, leaving an opening for his eyes to keep out the sand. The tattered remains fluttered in the wind. His traversing carried him along the way, as he looked down. Below him, a demonic Forge Camp lay in working condition. Crouching, he silently slipped from stone to stone down the cliffside, with infamous Kal'dorei grace. After reaching a certain point, he looked downward. On the outside of the camp, a human brigade assembled. Shining silver armor, flags of Stormwind abounding, they looked ready to fight. A commander stood infront of them, talking to them. In the camp, the demonic scouts watched. He peered it over, and there was no Void Terror in sight. He shook his head, attention returning to the humans. A yell could be heard from the commander and the brigade, seemingly fifteen soldiers or so, charged forward to their death. The whole camp rushed forward to face them, exiting their burnt stone area to swell over the humans. Navren used this time to slip down into the camp, looking about. He stole from them a rolled up scroll and a odd, black stone necklace. Taking these things, he climbed back upward. At his resting point, he saw the humans were obviously defeated. As the demons moved in on the commander, he trembled in fear, dropped his sword and shield to run backwards. The demons went to their camp, one scout lashing out and bolting through the sand to catch up with the Commander. As he watched, the smaller form of the human was taken down quickly. Navren shook his head, and returned to climbing.

Back up on the plateau, Navren unrolled the scroll. Demonic runes were upon it, clearly an order. His meager translation served to read.

[Image: Note.png]

Whoever had written it was clearly not meant to write novels. Navren rolled up the scroll and struck a match. Burning the paper, he let it flutter in the wind into the sand nearby, burning out there. Standing alone, he dusted off his hands and looked at the necklace. It lay mute in his hand, uninteresting and flat. The stone didn't seem to shine or reflect light, just as mute as its demeanor. He put it away and looked around. The sand in the distance was covering, a fog of war, and he cursed in Darnassian. Navren continued walking, pondering of where a choke point could be. The canyon was full of them, but nothing came to mind on one that would be controlled by demons. As he walked, sounds of combat drew him. He slipped down onto the stones again, leaping from ledge to ledge. Beneath him as the sand was thinning in his vision, the Circle of Blood was visible. Humans and orcs decked each other in the arena, running like maniacs around in the sand. He shook his head and continued climbing, and walking once he was upon the level edge again. As he continued, around the evening the sand let up. He could see for a ways, and a tall figure was in the distance. Carefully approaching, he relaxed as the shape took hold. Oddly enough, it was a statue. A stone angel rested there, next to two smaller Horde statues of orcs. It seemed to be a burial for fallen soldiers, but being this high up was far unusual. He approached the stone idol and read its transcription. The stone had been worn away by sand, but the engraving was cautious and careful, and very deep into the marble. Looking up, above his head, the statue towered tall. Over his shoulder, graves with both Horde flags and Stormwind shields upon them rested quietly, their bodies underneath not ravaged by grave diggers or blown away by the elements. The two Horde statues were wordless, but still stood strong. One had its left side burnished away, the other its right. From this, he could tell the sand was blowing east to west and his directions were correct. Navren looked back to the stone, it's engravings bold.

He drew his fingers over the name of Lanius Lagane, pondering them. Standing, Navren walked in the opposite direction back into the sand whirlwind. As night fell, he slipped down from stone to stone along the wall, but still moving southward. Landing in the sand, Navren wandered about in the duststorm, eventually the Forge Camp of the demon drew near. The black stone and green fire surrounding it, demons wandered in and out. The remains of the human brigade were gone, presumably consumed by the demon band that lay inside. However, what Navren had turned around for was here. Walking through the sand, he came upon the Commander that lay dead on his face. His torso had a gaping hole in it, and he didn't show much sign of a struggle. Heaving up the corpse onto his broad sholder, and grabbing his weaponry, Navren once again returned to the cliff. When he reached it, careful, cautious movements began to ascend him upward, corpse still held on to. He gripped the warm stone tightly, as sand blasted him and the night sky was almost invisible. Darkness spread around, and he heaved himself onto the plateau. Taking a moment to rest, breathing heavily, Navren dusted off his plate skirt and picked up the commander on his shoulder again. He continued walking northward until the faint stone statue took presidency over him. Upon the graveyard that was founded by the Brotherhood of the Afterlife, he rested the body there and went to his knees. Digging into the sand with his hands, Navren eventually reached the dirt of the earth and continued into that. A few feet downward, he reached stone and could go no more. Climbing his tall figure out of the graveyard, he picked up the commander and rested the corpse into the grave. Meticulously, he covered the body, first with earth, then with sand. It left no mark like normal dirt graves, so Navren took the blade and shield that the corpse had died with. Placing the shield right over the grave, he picked up the sword with both hands and violently stabbed it into the shield, reaching into the earth and possibly the corpse. Up to its hilt, the blade or shield were going nowhere in this wind now. He stood, looking up to the statue. As he breathed out, he could feel a presence move about.
The spirits had claimed another.

Navren walked up to the statue, sat at its base with his back upon it and rested. His eyes closed to the world, and he slept peacefully for the first time all week. The night faded into day, and Navren woke again just as the sun struck the high ridges. The sand was still blowing about, and he stood up, looking around the graveyard. Nothing was displaced, it seemed. However, as he looked at the statue, a beaten, bloody warglaive was speared into the heart of the angel. He looked about, eyebrow raised. Something had been here over the night. He climbed up and pulled it out, the touch burning his hand. Dropping it from the stone, he leapt down and looked at it. The blood of the demon was smeared all over, still wet. Karana's warning now burnt brightly into his mind. He tightened up the makeshift mask, the faded red Horde flag, and swiftly kicked the warglaive off the edge. It vanished into the dust storm. Navren moved around the stone statue and continued walking. Reaching a gap in the plateau, he slid down on the stone to see what was below. Moving from stone to stone quietly in the violent wind, two figures were made out before clearly seen in detail. Navren looked closely to see two fiends, guarding this narrow path. This was clearly what the note was talking about, but they were not Void Terrors. Beyond their guardship, was a closed off area, a circular spot perfect for a forge camp. He moved forward along the ridges, peering down. There rested a large Void Terror, surrounded by lesser demons. He studied it closely, dawning that jumping down and engaging combat would be pure suicide. Not even a full demon hunter could do such a feat. Climbing back upon the stone, he scouted the entire area. The whole hide away was largely small, direct combat would be brutal and bloody for both sides. He would need a way to trap the Void Terror, as the large beast clearly did not leave. Locked in thought, he climbed back up and moved to the nearby Graveyard. Waiting for him was a form in front of the stone, clearly not there before. Drawing his warglaives, he moved forward but did not sense a demonic power. As detail was made out, it was a human in regal armor, hand on his blade hilt.

"I see he who slept here returns. I am Lainus Legane." The human said to him over the wind, and bowed, his metal armor clinking. He pulled back up, peering at Navren. "You are not the first demon hunter to be in these parts, especially as a fully trained one. However, you are the first one i've seen who has buried a fallen soldier here." Lainus said to him, crossing his arms. Navren relaxed, placing his warglaives away.

"It is strange for someone of your consort to be out here. Why is this graveyard here?" He asked, peering at Lainus closely. The man was covered in scars, clearly a hardened veteran. However, he bore no mark of Stormwind. A soldier looking of his sorts would be far off, high in power, were he in the Stormwind Military.

"Can you not read, Hunter? It is so the spirits can reach into this forlorn area and claim the fallen dead. Human, orc, night elf, all the same." Lainus said, turning and examining the statue. He leapt up, a heavy yet fluid motion. His armor seemed to weigh him considerably. He clung to the stone, peering at the small hole in the stone angel. "I came by earlier to see a glaive sticking out of the statue, and you sleeping underneath. However, since you had both of yours, I presumed it was made by someone else who was there earlier. For all you know, stranger, it could have had your head inbetween the blade and the stone. Consider yourself lucky." Lainus said, stepping down into the sand. He turned, facing Navren.

"I consider it a warning. Someone is after my head." Navren said to him, looking around. The storm made everything around the ridge impenetrable to vision. He looked back to Lainus. "I am Navren Windstrider. I've to ask, do you just go around collecting fallen soldiers and burying them here?" He asked to Lainus, who nodded in return.

"Soldiers, innocents, anyone. Many people die in this forsaken area. I used to do this on Azeroth, but the spirits live all over there. Here, it's almost forsaken." He said, running his hand on a sand smoothed ridge of the statue. "I must ask, what exactly are YOU doing, other than training to be a hunter?" Lainus said, turning to face Navren.

"I am to slay a Void Terror, but I cannot face it while it is surrounded." Navren said, crossing his arms. "But, it is nothing you should be concerned with." Lainus looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Perhaps it is something. I presume you are talking about the one in the cut away just north of here?" He asked, looking over his shoulder into the impenetrable sand wall. Navren nodded, and Lainus pondered for a moment. "This is something I am interested in indeed. Perhaps myself and the Brotherhood can be of some help. You see, that demon occasionally sends scouts up here to check for camps. On their way through, they dig up the corpses, destroy the statues, and burn everything in spite. It is not easy replacing these." Lainus said, motioning to the statues. Navren pondered for a moment.

"How many of your men can you gather up?" He asked, moving past the both of them and looking off northward into the swirling duststorm. Lainus stepped up beside him, doing the same.

"On my command, everyone shall be ready and prepared by two days. What is it you need of us, Windstrider?" He asked, hands behind his back, clasped in a knightly fashion.

"I need your men to draw out the demons of that camp and resist them until I kill the Terror. Then, they may retreat." He said, peering through the cloth mask of the flag. Lainus pondered this, walking to the stone and placing his hand upon it.

"I see. It shall be done. I will disperse and return here alone in two days. At that time, my men will be waiting outside of the camp. You need to do as much scouting as possible to give me information on what we're up against. Until then," he said, looking to Navren and clamping his fist into the other hand, bowing with that, "I bid you farewell." He marched off into the dust storm without a word beyond that. Navren rubbed his eyes and face, before turning back to the north. He too, set off, thinking about the man he had just met and the glaive that loomed over his head as he slept. Navren soon reached the edge of the cliffside, silently gracing downward. He landed from stone to stone again, and soon the detail of the camp was in view. The Void Terror stomped around, surrounded by lesser demons. Its eyes looked every which way, scanning the area. It would unknowingly, overlook Navren, due to the demon aura now emanating from him. He counted all the lesser demons around him, one by one, until all were accounted for. Many were base terrors, some very lesser demons, voids and the such. Even a few imps crawled here and there. Thirty eight lesser demons, and the Void Terror made thirty nine overall. He began to climb upward once again. The evening struck as Navren sat down in front of the statue, pulling out food he had gathered. He tore into it, with surprising ease. He stopped eating for a moment, running his tongue carefully over his teeth. They were vitally sharp, sharper than they had ever been, and longer. He pondered this, flexing his skin. That too, felt different. Running his fingertips on his forearm, the return feel was like a hardened, live leather. The blood was changing him. He knew by the end of it, especially after the consumption of corrupted blood, he would be vastly different, but as it was happening he was still surprised. His forehead showed no signs of horns though, but each hunter was different. He sighed, leaning against the stone and watching the sky through a small let up of the duststorm. As night fell, Navren dug up an area around the graveyard and climbed in, covering himself with sand. Whoever was tracking him wouldn't see him then, he hoped. Covered in warm sand, he slept uneasily.
The new day broke.

Navren dug himself up from his grave of slumber, looking around. The sandstorm was considerably less in the mornings, and easier to see. There were no signs of intrusion in the night, he was left alone now. Refilling his hole with sand, Navren brushed himself off and wandered back northward. Leaping from stone to stone, Navren once again reached the frays of the camp in the early morning. He peered, noticing that the camp was largely empty save a few lesser demons and the Void Terror itself, which seemed to never leave. He pondered on this, planning and thinking. Navren sat there for hours, until noontime. The demons had gradually returned from the outside until they were full at this point. He climbed back up to the plateau, the sandstorm back in full swing. The golden sand fogged the area as he walked southbound to the graveyard again. Upon returning, a form stood in the area, looking around. He withdrew the glaives and cautiously approached, as the figure jumped and took off. Navren gave chase, calling out. The figure, still darkened by distance in the sand, leapt off the edge, longcoat fluttering. Navren came to a sliding halt, looking down. Whoever it was, was gone now. He shook his head and moved to the angel, sitting at its base. He pulled out the last of his food, tearing into it. His razor teeth felt like they were piercing through nothing at lighting speed, as consistent as a cloud. He savagely ate the meat, his body needing more and more energy. Clearly the demon blood was catalyzing things upon him. Navren sighed, shaking his head. As evening took hold, Navren returned to the Forge camp to scout, sliding down to his normal position. Now, there were twice as many demons lingering the area. Clearly, morning was strike time. They fought, scowled and were generally anarchic in their motions at this time. He shook his head and returned upward. Moving to the graveyard he simply sat infront of the angel and closed his eyes, leaning against it. Eventually, he slept.

In the morning he was jolted awake by the pushing of a hand back and forth on his shoulder. Scrambling upward, he faced Lainus Legane, breathing heavily as his heart seemed to literally beat four times as fast. He shook his head, breathing out slowly. "Damnit, Lainus, you musn't sneak up on me. I presume you're ready?" He asked, and Lanius just nodded. Looking up, dawn was slightly breaking. "Good, we must attack now. Have your men draw out the demons as quickly as possible." Navren said unto Lainus, who saluted him and took off into the duststorm. Navren turned and ran northward, leaping from stone to stone along the cliffside. Tension built, his muscles beginning to tighten with demonic power, as he looked down upon the camp. The roar of the Void Terror let loose as the lesser demons all scrambled together and out the choke point. Navren drew his warglaives and stood upon the stone, tall and forward. The Void Terror was completely alone now. Without a word, Navren leapt from the stone and landed upon its head, surrounded by eyes that turned to look at him. Taking a wide sweep of his blade, Navren chopped a few of the eyes off. The Terror roared in pain and thrust its head so quickly, Navren could not reflex in time and was thrown off. Rolling in the dirt he stood to hear the sounds of combat over the lowered winds of the duststorm. The men were engaged with battling the demons and they were not silent about it. Navren looked up at the Void Terror, who opened its mouth and belched forward a rolling fire. Navren crossed his arms, the flame rolling over and doing minor damage to his infused skin. He ran forward, dropping a warglaive and leapt to the beast, clamping one hand on its massive teeth. He jammed his left handed warglaive into the jaw of the beast, which roared and poured out black blood. Navren pulled it out and landed in the sand, as it pulled up a foot to slam into the Hunter. He leapt backwards, sliding in the sand. Picking up his nearby right warglaive, he reared his arm back and launched it at the Void Terror, which used its head to bat it off into the stone wall. It roared again and stomped the ground, green fire pushing up from the ashen black cracks in the ground. Navren ran forward, feet burning under fire, and jumped to cling on to the leg of the demon. He grabbed his warglaive with his right hand, and then both of them, to slam into the leg of the beast. It went right through, and he dragged it down as blood flayed out. The beast cried out, and slammed down the foot to wrest Navren off. He fell, and landed on his feet with grace. It stomped about, using its tail to knock Navren atleast fifteen feet backwards, slamming into the wall. He fell to his hands and knees, vision blurring and fading. He shook his head, the streaks of black moving in and out. Standing, he looked at the Void Terror, which in a frenzy rushed to him. Rolling out of the way, Navren looked down the canyon path to see helmeted and equally armored Brotherhood men rushing forward.

"Wait!" Navren cried out to them, and they stopped. Lainus was clearly in the front. "I must slay this alone! Stay where you are!" He snapped, and looked back to the beast. The men stood there, confused, but watching intently. Navren ran forward, drawing his blade in the sand as he did so. The beast stomped about, slamming its tail into stone and earth in a fit of berserk rage. Navren leapt to the skies and landed on the beasts face as it was overcome with rage. Slamming his blade into its forehead, he made a large gash. Unfortunately, his blade was not long enough to reach its vital brain. As it roared out, breathing fire all over the area, Navren tossed out the glave and slammed his fist into the head of the Terror. In a fit of horrific rage, Navren screamed so loud his moustachops vibrated, and he pulled out a chunk of flesh from the beast. Punching in with his left hand, he did the same, and alternated, simply digging downward. The beast lost strength but was still alive, standing and roaring loudly, constantly. Navren continued to rip out red flesh as black blood poured out and drenched him. He soon reached a membrain covered skull, bits of flesh upon it. He gritted his teeth, rearing back his fist. "THIS IS FOR THE EARTHSHAKERS!" He cried out, punching the skull. It cracked slightly. He pulled back his other arm as the beast fell to its stumpy knees. "THIS IS FOR THE LEAFWINDS!" Navren cried again, and punched the skull. The crack spread in hairline fashion on the visible parts he could see. "THIS IS FOR EVERYONE I HAVE EVER KNOWN OR LOVED!" He called and slammed his right fist in. The crack spread and bits of skull started to flake off. "THIS IS FOR MY FAMILY, FOR MASIMAVRI AND MY MOTHER!" He screamed, his voice low and guttural, filled with deep, running rage. His left hand slammed the skull, as the beast just lay there, barely alive. "AND THIS. THIS IS FOR ALL OF MY RAGE AND HATRED. THIS IS FOR MY FATHER!" He shouted at the skull, and his right hand flung forward heavily, sinking his elbow past the skull and into the brain. The Void Terror fell to its stomach, no longer breathing, no sign of life whatsoever. Navren withdrew his arm, breathing heavily, shoulders high and head low. He stood, knees weak, and he grabbed one of the eye tendrils. Ripping it out, he slid on his bottom to the sand, breathing heavily. He looked up as Lainus approached. The human simply saluted him, and the rest of the brotherhood followed.

"We will be around, Windstrider. You're not alone in conquest now. Brotherhood, move out!" He said, turning and marching off. The rest followed silently. Navren moved slowly with the eye, wrapping it in a cloth and placing it on his back. He grabbed both of his glaives and climbed up to the Graveyard. Moving southward past it, he marched along and alone in the loud silence of the sandstorm. Walking around the entire area, he soon reached the confines of the cave. Covered in blood of the demon, Karana looked up to him, cautious.

"I see you return victorious, Windstrider." He said, motioning to the wrapped item on Navren's back. The hunter nodded, placing it on the stone floor. He trudged across the room and sat against the wall of the cave.

"Nothing can stop me now, Karana. Nothing."

All around me are familiar faces,

worn out places, worn out faces.

Bright and early for the daily races,

Going nowhere, going nowhere.

Their tears are filling up their glasses,

No expression, no expression.

Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow,

No tomorrow, no tomorrow.

Chapter XI: Mad World

"Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German Poet, Author

His eyes opened. With them, he saw.

The gray cave was accented with the gray outside of the canyon. A light rain was falling, and the skies were overcast from the little run off that they got from Nagrand. Navren was laying on his back, the eye of a demon he had recently punched to death was laying beside him, wrapped in a frayed cloth, the red and green blood staining all over. Navren closed his eyes again, exhausted. However, as he did so, the darkness was graced by footsteps. He picked his head up to see Karana standing at the edge of the cave, soaked. He shook himself, as Navren was pushing his form off of the floor. Every muscle in his body screamed in agony, but he stood regardless and without sign of injury. Karana looked unto him, holding a wrapped object in his hands. He set it down on the stone floor of the cave, moving to the other side and sitting against the wall. Navren watched him, simply standing beside his retrieved demon eye.

"The day is yours as you see fit, Windstrider. I suggest you spend it taking in the color and beauty of life, for when the sun comes to set in the sky, you will see no more but the hunt." Karana said unto him, crossing his legs and beginning to meditate, which he spent days doing at a time. Navren nodded, moving to what was set on the ground. He picked the object up, which laid heavily in his hands. Unwrapping it, it was unmistakably the hollow dagger that had tattooed him. His stomach churned as he looked at it, the association of pain struck along it. He wrapped it up and moved back into the cave, setting it on top of the eye that was wrested from the demon just the day before. Navren dusted off his hands and moved out into the cave. As he looked out, a figure in black was standing on the edge of the cliff, watching him. Navren bared his teeth and the figure fell off of the cliff in a dive. The hunter approached, seeing not a soul on the edge of the canyon or anywhere below it. He shook his head, standing in the rain, and scratched his moustachops.

Elsewhere in the world, the Earthshakers marched and drank, and the Leafwinds talked quietly of the day. The Ashenvale Front looked nervously around, the Warsong kept an open ear for the sound of an arrow being drawn. Thrall was far too busy talking with the spirits as a peon in Orgrimmar was being whipped for dropping ANOTHER log into the lake. As a goblin in Ratchet counted money he had extorted from a down-on-his-luck Forsaken, a new child was born to the planet in Thunder Bluff. As the bugs crawled across Tanaris, their outreach spreading, the Ogres in Dire Mall picked their noses and fought with their other heads. As Deathwing slept beneath the sea, a blood elf was reading a book on how to do his own hair with the arcane. Whilst the Rangers fought in the scar, dying and bleeding, a new ship bearing weapons came into Southshore. While Sylvannas was planning out world domination and a Forsaken was fishing his hat from the green bubble of sickness in the sewers, Magni contemplated life and scratched his beard, talking about the past with his guards. While Mekkatorque was inventing a fifty two bread toasting machine, and Thermaplugg devising a fifty two man killing machine, an old Dwarf and Gnome talked about the snow while walking around Dun Morogh. While Varian was in the middle of his daytime meal, telling his advisers how to draw out a statue of himself now that the Lich King was done for, a man in Duskwood was trying to find a small kitten he had lost. In Booty Bay, Nixxrax complained with a large orc about the influx of blood elves, while out in Northrend, a lot of people were contemplating what to do now that the Lich King and Scourge were pretty much out of the picture.

While the world continued spinning, Navren looked out longingly to the world above. Rain fell on the canyon, the gray and white skies moving slowly overhead. He sighed, shaking his head. He turned on his heel, moving back into the cave. He looked around, then to the dagger and the wrapped up eye. Sitting down in front of the two objects, Navren unwrapped the both of them. He took the eye and placed it center of the cave, taking the dagger in his right hand. Karana watched carefully, out of his meditation. Without a word proceeding, Navren picked up the dagger and sliced the eye. The dagger filled with the blood of the demon, a good amount pouring onto his legs and the cave floor. With a steady hand, Navren drew the blade to his eye.

"Are you sure you wish to start this early, Navren?" Karana asked, his hands on his knees, watching him closely, intently. Navren nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Karana. I believe I do. I have lived long, my life has gone on and taken me around the world a thousand times over. While I will not be blind, the beauty of the world would have ran out, had I not run it out thousands upon thousands of years ago. If there is anything left for me to see, then let me see it in black and white." Navren said, and jammed the blade into his eye. All at once, his muscles tightened and he froze, pain riveting and shockwaving his mind ferociously. He dug the dagger out and stuck it lower, under the eye. The blood of the demon was then released, burning like the furor of the sun upon his internal flesh. Navren sat still though, as he began to drag it around his eye, slowly and methodically, the pain nulling seconds after the demons blood hit it. He cut around his eye and pulled the dagger out, the wound nulling over. Before he could leisure in the crippling pain, he drew it to his right eye and looked at Karana with it for a second, blinking slowly then looking back at the dagger, jamming it in at the same fashion. First in the center, then under. He cut around slowly, the blood of the demon pursuing itself into his eye socket. As he was halfway done, he drew out the dagger and jammed it into the eye haphazardly, temporarily blinded. With arms as unbending as steel, he brought it to his eye and continued again, more blood pouring into it and nulling it out. He did not bleed, because of this, it was a very clean process.

Upon finishing the right eye, he placed down the dagger, the pain relatively gone save for a dull thudding on his eye sockets. He closed his eyelids after this, exhaling slowly. With his still tense fingers, he grabbed his black headband that had been upon his forehead for thousands of years. He had retrieved it from his home, it was once long and hung off his head by feet. However, he had torn a good bit off and wrapped it around a pike at the battle for Mount Hyjal, where this had all began. Navren pulled down the headband and slowly reached behind his head, moving his hair to tighten the cloth. There was nothing but the sound of rain, which seemed even louder now. As the black cloth pulled on his eyes, he opened his eyelids to still see black.

"The spectral sight will soon be upon you, Windstrider." Karana said, doing something in the cave with movement. Navren leaned back against the wall, tired.

"Well, if it turns out I stabbed a pumpkin as a cruel joke, i'll just use your blood." Navren said, a wry smirk upon his face. Karana was heard sighing, shifting on the ground and footsteps leading out of the cave. Navren kept his vision forward, the dagger still sitting in his lap. It wasn't long until flecks of gray appeared in his vision, almost impossibly. He rubbed his eyes, still a tad sore, the dull thud apparent behind his eyesockets. He shook his head, still looking forward. He closed his eyes and kept leaning back, resting. Eventually, he fell into a short sleep.

Upon waking, he opened his eyes and the cave was revealed. Each edge was light, the rest dark. It was a grayscale world, with the edges being an inverted contrast, light instead of dark, with everything else darker. He looked before him, the eye that was drying infront of his lap glowed a hue of green, vibrant and apparent. His hands also did the same, especially around the tattoos on his chest and forearms. He stood, looking around. He could see through the cave wall a figure glowing green, precise around the shape of a demon hunter tattoo. He rounded the corner, looking at Karana, who's details were apparent again.

"Hell, Karana, I was kind of expecting to see nothing but glows and faint outlines." Navren said, scratching his moustachops.

"Most are quite surprised. You can still see, just color is at a loss. This is how demons perceive us." He said solemnly, not even looking at Navren. The master Hunter was staring off into the distance of the cliff, arms behind his back, still in the rain. "Well, that is the ritual. As you can see, it is one you've done yourself. The next one will be the same. In fact, i'm mostly useless now until I tell you what you need to do." Karana said, waving his hand lazily in the air.

Navren nodded and went back inside, looking around the cave, the dagger and eye glowing green, along with other flecks and spots, seemingly from dried blood, glowing a very faint hue of green. He shook his head, sitting back where he was, looking at his own hands.

"I suppose we don't change until we see things in a new light."

All the blood, lying on the floor.

Sense the crowd is expecting something more.

Opened up, proudly on display,

What we tried so hard to hide away.

How we choose the framing of the scene,

Hate begins to spill across the screen,

Blinding light illuminates the dream,

Trying to fill the spaces in between.

Chapter XII: The Spaces In Between

Navren's feet hit the sand. He was there, alone, as he would be. The sandstorm swept and roared, blinding yellow light in a wild wind blasting away stones and covering his movement. Karana had instructed him to kill without remorse. The blood of the Demon now inside him would cause a furor inside him that would sit and grow like a bitter disease unless he relinquished the anger it grew. Karana had said to him, as the rain was stopping and the Nagrand wind was picking up, that Illidan had been set free from his prison in anger for a reason. Navren had nodded and set off. Through the sandstorm, the spectral sight envisioned unto him clear edges at a distance, the sand hardly a factor now. Polyps of green and black were weaving on the grounds below, as he ran on the high ridges still. He rounded the south edge of the canyon and pushed up northward, his feet digging into the warm sand, eyes blanketed by the headband he had once punched a Goblin over. He continued running, leaping from hardened stone edge to edge in the valiant wind, looking about. Eventually, a tiny polyp of green emerged in his sight. Navren pushed forward to his destination through the sandstorm, a figure appearing in his sight. As he got closer, its details revealed itself to be Lainus, who was standing with other soldiers amongst the graveyard perched high on the stone.

"Ah, Windstrider, I was wondering where you had vanished off to." Lainus said, turning around as the Brotherhood of the Afterlife did the same, craining their necks to look at Navren.

"I was undertaking training." He said, crossing his arms. His skin felt unreal to him, cracking and peeling. He wondered if Illidan had felt much the same.

"As I had expected. Well, the Brotherhood is about to set off to our Graveyard in Northrend. We were waiting here for you," He interrupted himself to motion for one of the armored knights to bring forth a piece of black, or at least dark cloth. "So that we may give you this. It was tied around the statue of the Angel, specifically on the eyes. We thought it ominous, and that you should take it before we left off." He finished, and took the cloth from the soldier, extending it to Navren. The Demon Hunter took it, looking it over. Slivers of the traces of demons were upon it. He looked at the edges, which were torn and frayed.

"I believe I know what this is. Thank you, Lainus. I will not keep you any longer." Navren said, still examining the cloth strip. The human commander nodded and wheeled his troops onward into the duststorm. Navren looked up to the Angel, and then down to the strip again. It was clearly the blindfold of a Demon Hunter. Whoever was wearing before was either dead or did not need it any longer. Navren scratched his moustachops in thought, gripping the cloth with his free hand. Illidan's corruption brought him to no longer needing the blindfold, his demonic sight simply burnt through it. The Demon Hunter looked around, eyes careful and cautious. All that was seen with the spectral sight were the demons down below. He wrapped the cloth around his right arm, tying it tightly. Navren drew his glaives and leapt down from stone to stone carefully along the edge of the wall. He slipped down in sufficient grace, and charged the nearest demon. Roaring with his demonic voice, the demon turned. It was a demonic hound, stamping its four feet on the ground before charging Navren. The Hunter leapt into the air and as he brought down his blade, his hand and the rest engulfed in a blazing red fire, which seemed a mute green to Navren. He cross slashed at the hound, cutting open its snout. It roared, ramming into the Demon Hunter as he landed, knocking him over. Navren rolled, pain jolting through his chest. He stood, facing the hound that towered over him. Navren stood his ground as the demon lashed forward, opening its mouth. Navren leapt backwards, and as his feet hit the sand he vaulted and dragged the flaming glaives across the tongue of the beast. It cried out, blood spraying and pouring from the mouth. The demon swung itself at Navren, and the Demon Hunter barely made it out from being crushed. The hound rolled into the canyon wall and scrambled, scuffing itself up. Navren charged while it was confused, and jammed the glaives into its scaled underside, the blades sinking into the flesh. It roared out and shifted heavily.

Navren withdrew his glaives quickly and dashed backwards a few times, the beast regaining itself. The Demon Hunter launched forward, jamming the blades into the skull of the hound. It fell immediately and without fight, dropping its face into the sand. He pulled out his blades, the glow of the blood dripping on them visible. He wiped them clean with a piece of cloth, and looked about. Out of the corner of his eye, a blip of light glared. He looked over sharply to see a green and black blot of energy leaping upward onto the higher canyon to the right, and disappearing from view. Navren charged and gave chase, landing on top of the sand enclave. In the distance the figure was running, streaking green and black. Navren pushed forward, placing his blades away to keep better speed. He sprinted, flying past the Graveyard, leaping over a pit gap, gaining speed on the figure. It sharply turned around and a wave of blinding green flourished on Navren. The fel fire rolled off his skin, leaving very minor burns. As he removed his arm, the figure was gone. Standing alone and looking around, Navren pulled out the strip of black cloth and looked at it cautiously. Shaking his head and placing it away, he took off along the ridge. A green glare came into view, and he drew his blades. He cut down the demon in one fell strike and continued running without slowing. He leapt downward onto the stone edges, caution gone. Navren landed in the dust below, sandstorm lightening. He charged another demon and came into combat with it. Wrestling and beating the demon with his bare hands, he whipped out a blade, knocked the demon over and speared it in the chest.

Without though, Navren took off in a high speed sprint. The anger was building, flourishing, burning in his chest. The blood of the demon glowed in the tattoo, his eyes filling with hatred and burning sparks of green past the blindfold. He rushed another demon, uncaring of whether it was a certain type or not. He sliced one of its many arms off, cutting it in the neck as it fell with hardly a fight. He rushed another, two, three more. Navren was soon yelling as he ran in the sprint of anger, nothing but the blood of the demon pounding in his voice. Memories of his father, mother, sister, all of them filled his head. He leapt onto the back of a hound and dropped his blade into the neck of the beast, the demon crying out. It tossed him off and he ran forward, bare handed, and punched the hellhound in the face, something breaking under the weight of his fist. He grabbed the snout of the beast and kneed it directly, the bones crushing. It bit his knee but he simply thrusted away his leg in a fit of anger, the skin tearing slightly. He drew his glaives from the neck of the beast and with it most of the beings spine. It fell to the dust as more demons converged. In his furor whirlwind, Navren leapt onto another. He jammed the glaive in its face and threw the second at another. Rage was fuel, anger was the ignition. The Demon Hunter was the vehicle, the tool of slaughter. As he rode the body of the demon to the ground, he withdrew the blade and looked at the encroaching mass. One swung a blade at him, catching his arm.

Navren roared out and his vision went red a virulent red. The Demon Hunter jammed the Warglaive through the arm of the demon that had swung at him, grabbing the blade top when he got to the hilt and thrusting it through, uncaring if it cut his fingers. He grabbed the handle on the other side and ripped it out in a furor and flash, slashing it with a quick swipe at the legs of the demon. When it fell, he straddled onto its shoulders, punching at the base of its humanoid head, cracking sounds becoming more audible with each blow. After the fifth one, clearly when the demon was dead, Navren was thrown off by a large, reptillian demon. It roared out, teeth razor sharp, approaching him. On it, his second warglaive he had blindly thrown was sticking out of its left eye. It flayed out its claws, approaching Navren as he got up out of the sand, one glaive within his grasp. Without thinking, he rushed forward. The beast punched him, knocking him back again. Navren got up out of the sand and ran forward again, spinning the warglaive. It punched him again, and once more he fell to the sand a few feet back. Navren stopped and looked at the beast, which had its right eye glaring at him. Navren dashed to the left and rushed the beast, it's left arm punching out wildly at him. He beat it down and leapt up, jamming the second warglaive into the left eye of the beast. It roared out, clawing at its face. Navren flipped off of the beast and landed in the sand as it ripped its own face off in pain. He withdrew his blades and looked at the remaining two demons. Simple beings, they charged anyway. Two fell strikes, and they were both dead. The red rage wore off, and Navren's body felt betrayed. He simply collapsed amongst the bodies of the demons he had slaughtered in mindless anger, instantly asleep, his humanity restored to him. Out in the distance, a figure was standing atop the cliff enclaves along the canyon wall.

After a moment, it leapt away gracefully.

This is the room, the start of it all,

No portraits so fine, only sheets on the wall.

I've seen the nights filled with bloodsport and pain,

And the bodies obtained,

the bodies obtained.

Where will it end, where will it end?

Chapter XIII: Day of the Lords

'There will one day spring from the brain of science a machine or force so fearful in its potentialities, so absolutely terrifying, that even man, the fighter, who will dare torture and death in order to inflict torture and death, will be appalled, and so abandon war forever.'
- Thomas A. Edison, American Inventor, Philosopher

When Navren awoke, his sight was greeted by the faint shimmer of stars. The spectral sight showed night well enough, everything was certainly darker, the white outline a bit brighter. His vision being the only thing that moved, Navren began to push his arms upward. As he did so, every muscle of his body seemed to pulse, a vicious and painful strike into his body. His strength roared awake and he rose in a sharp pain, gritting his teeth as he did so, pushing himself to his feet. He was standing atop the body of a fallen demon, the blood dried in the sand around. All around him, still lay the corpses of the monsters he had so savagely killed. The excess blood of the demon was leaving, or perhaps left his system, as Karana had foreseen. Navren picked up his glaives and fitted them to his back, adjusting his wristbands carefully. He rubbed his forehead, a fleck of blood coming off of it, and turned around. Behind him lay a scrawling of words, written in dried demon blood. Through his vision, they glowed a faint green, the power of the demon escaping them every minute. What was left behind in place of the green was a black glow.

Navren read it out, and looked around. Stuck in the back of a demon was a glaive, looking old and worn, with the skull of a Kal'dorei resting atop the blade point that reached for the sky. Navren approached, carefully, and took the skull. It cracked a little bit, obviously very old. The glaive looked much the same, well worn and notches all in it. It resembled the one that was speared into the heart of the statue where the Brotherhood of the Afterlife had rested the dead. Navren shook his head, pulling the glaive out from the corpse. He grabbed the blades with both of his hands individually, and smashed it upon his knee. If the hunter wasn't buried in proper with it, then it shouldn't rest in the hands of anyone. He looked around, scanning the canyon spikes and walls for any sign of the creator of the mark. There was no sign, whatsoever. Navren shook his head, thinking to himself that Blade's Edge was no longer a challenge. He tightened the Horde flag around his face and began to walk in the breeze of sand, a steady and strong forward pace. Through the waves of enemies that minded themselves, he reached the bridge, looking outward. Karana had to be watching him, something in the air wasn't right. That, or someone else was. He looked around, and saw nothing. Proceeding onward, he moved to the lands of the Hellfire Peninsula. Upon arrival, Navren set his foot on the red sand and looked upward. Traced in the sky was the glow of demonic energy, flowing like the lights that shone in Northrend. The energy was dissipating, slowly, from the Black Temple, where Illidan had fallen. Perhaps it would take thousands of years for the energy of the corrupted castle to finally leave, maybe it would never stop. He shook his head and looked back forward, walking on.

He pulled up the front of the Horde flag that was wrapped around his face, as the wind picked up. It did not carry much sand, but Navren didn't want any part of it. He marched onward, looking about. As he took a breath, his eyes settled on a prime target. A fel reaver, alone, marched about. It looked old and decayed, one arm was even gone, missing from a possible fight along the days when Illidan ruled the land. It clomped about, the ground shaking as it went. Navren pulled off his glaives and rushed, the glow from his infused blood shining in the tattoo. He ran forward, the blades catching on fire without thought, and leapt. The blades pierced the leg of the machine, as it groaned, a hardened steel upon steel sound. Lifting its leg, it slammed it down to shake Navren off, but he was in a hellgrip upon his glaives. Ripping one out, he slammed it higher up. The reaver cried out again, and slammed. Navren was not wrest from the back of the leg yet as he continued to climb. The reaver tried again without success. However, as Navren pierced the back of the beast, it groaned louder than before and bathed itself in dripping fel liquid. Navren quickly drew his glaives out and leapt from the machine, landing in the sand below. He quickly took the sand with his hands and pushed it onto the liquid that had gotten onto his skin, the texture brushing it off. The Fel Reaver took this time to turn around and slam its one hand at Navren, punching the Hunter in the back. He was slammed into the sand, pain soaring through his body. The reaver roared back to punch him again, the old metal creaking, and he grabbed his glaives and bolted forward, the hand slamming into the sand dune. He turned around and charged up its arm, slamming his glaives into the elbow as it swung its arm around in an absolute furor to remove the Demon Hunter.

Navren looked up, snarling, as the liquid fel began to pour over it. He hopped up, placing his feet on the thin handle edge of his two glaives, gripping the flat side of the blade with both hands. The liquid was short run, obviously ineffective, as the Fel Reaver brought the arm to its face. Navren stepped down and drew his glaives, only to be reknocked off by a wave of rolling fel fire. He landed back in the sand, a little burnt, as the Reaver picked up its foot to stomp him to a certain death. He rolled to his right and scrambled up, sand running off of him. Holding his glaives, he leapt and jammed them into the front of the leg again, and began to climb. The reaver tried and failed to stomp him off, and he now climbed the left side of the machine, where no arm was there to impede him. Navren reached the head, stood upon the shoulders, and his glaives made the Reaver fall to the ground, as it knew no more. Fel poured from it in gushes, the old machine preyed upon through its age. Navren stepped off of the back of the beast, exhausted. Had it been a full reaver, he would have certainly lost. Shaking his head, he looked up just in time for the blade to slice open his cheek. The Demon Hunter fell backwards, drawing up both of the warglaives, they together blocked the slice. As he looked up, the swirl of black and green was now apparent.

What stood before him was a Demon Hunter, a black tattoo across him. It was spreading, like ink on top of skin, his eyes burning green. Navren stood up to rush him, but the Hunter leapt over him, slashing his back. Navren fell to his knees, as the rogue landed on the machine just fallen. It turned to him, a wicked grin on his face as Navren spun around, still sitting on the ground.

"Tick tock, Hunter, the time is calling." He said, voice infused with heavy demonic persona. He punched a hole into the back of the fel reaver and drew out the caustic liquid, drinking it from his hand. He grinned and turned, running off into the distance. Navren stood, blood pouring on his face freely. He stepped up onto the machine, carefully watching the hunter as he jumped out of view. He dipped his finger in the blood of the reaver and ran it across the cut, the wound burning over painfully and healing just as his eyes did. He wiped the rest from his face, looking off into the distance.

"I see that I am never alone now."

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