World of Warcraft short – Part I

Emerald flames seethed from the covering obscuring the demon hunter’s face. Formed as a gaping mouth with long, jagged teeth painted gold and a leather cloth of crimson banded across the top to conceal his eyes, ebbs of the Fel magic flowed through it. The blazing, life-stealing green fire danced like tendrils of smoke, hypnotic and alluring like fingers beckoning. Made from enchanted material and etched with runes similar to the glyphs tattooed on his flesh, the complex network of long strokes and intricate patterns, fueled with fel magic, seemed almost alive as they glowed and pulsed with chaos energy.

Before leaving the safety of Val’Sharah she’d done all she could to mentally ready herself for the many wonders she would witness. Upon arriving in Dalaran, she’d encountered curious races of humanoid creatures and beasts. Not only elves but surly dwarfs wielding giant maces and guns slung over their shoulders; sweet and gentle Tauren who were both kind and imposing; even twisted men, doubled over and rotting, calling themselves the Undead. No matter how she’d steeled herself, Adinia found that she was unprepared for her first encounter with these creatures but none more so than the servant of Illidan. And though gazing upon one borne of the perverse magic opposite of her own, she could hardly look away. Choosing tact rather than overt ogling, the Druid stole sideways glances, hoping the action would be hidden by the conversation that he and her brother were immersed in.

He was a night elf, of this there could be no doubt. Though she could see nothing of him beyond his bare torso, his tall frame and long, pointed ears left no room for doubt. A pair of massive wings protruded from his bare back, obscuring two weapons –warglaves the little dwarf had explained as she’d shown them through Dalaran as they searched for the demon hunter–similar in shape to the blade of a scythe, though significantly larger. A thick pair of polished, onyx horns, jagged and curved and menacingly tipped, extended from his forehead just above the start of his mask. His dark grey skin could only have been chiseled from stone, Adinia considered as she watched the sinewy muscles in his arms stretch as he moved. Wielding the warglaves, which were nearly as long as her and must have weighed twice as much, had given him a toned body that rippled with masculine strength and confidence. The demon hunter stood proudly despite the weight of the weapons cinched to his back. Slightly curved at either end, each blade had a hand-hold in the centre so that the weapons could be wielded in close combat or thrown to reach targets further away. Like his mask, they were etched with permanent runes that would empower the weapons for as long as they existed. The silver blades gleamed as though they had only just been polished. Smooth on one side and serrated on the other, Adinia could only imagine the damage such weapons could do and knew, despite their clean appearance, that they must have seen to the end of countless lives. They were intricately made pieces of art, inlaid with gold and crimson, the glyphs carved and empowered with Fel magic. From his boots of thick, sturdy leather and fur bound and decorated with straps made of gold and crimson filigree, to his leather leggings washed a deeper crimson and hardly concealing the brawny flesh beneath, the demon hunter radiated power. On both hands he wore two distinct signet rings: one similar to her own marking him as a Horde warrior of the highest rank while the other would have been bestowed upon him by the Betrayer, Illidan Stormrange himself, the Lord of the Outland, naming him present master of the Illidari.

What was one such as he doing questing in a place like this, Adinia couldn’t help but wonder, and why had Malfurion sent her to find him?


Kallax nodded absently to the talkative little dwarf as she explained the request, only half listening to her high-pitched, adenoidal voice. Rather, his attention was drawn to the elf gawking unabashedly at him from over her companion’s shoulder. He could feel her gaze like an ember against his skin as she examined him inch by inch. Without the use of his eyes, he could only see the shape of her physical form. The arcane magic flowing through her, however, was vivid and arresting. Her figure was graceful and  slight though she was at least a head taller than her male companion. He could distinguish a long set of antlers extending from either side of her head, long, thick locks of what he knew must be her hair though the colour of which he could not guess, falling around them and down her arched back. Appearing as an almost blinding white light flecked with shades of violet and soft blues, the Druid of the Antler had a power that pulsed beneath her flesh like a heartbeat, strong and steady, dwarfing that of her companion who made himself appear as the leader of the two. Why the two had journeyed all the way to Dalaran, why they were seeking the help of a demon, was far beyond his understanding. If the ability of this singular female was any indication of the others of her race, surely they would not need his aid. Though whether this was the case or not, it was impossible to know

Kallax knew next to nothing of the secretive and elusive race; rarely did they ever venture from Val’Sharah. The Druids of the Antler revered Malorne, father of Cenarius the Lord of the Forest and held nature above arcane magic. Yet arcana flowed through her like a torrential flood of power. The twin swords strapped to her slender waist were embossed with the powerful arcane energy, the antithesis of his own chaos magic. Though extremely powerful and dangerously volatile, arcane magic was considered to be an element of order. Its users had to be extremely disciplined and precise to control the flow of the arcana. With her creation magic, she could influence both time and space, manipulate any person or object she chose. If her magic was powerful enough, which he was sure it was given the searing Light radiating inside of her, she could even conceivably extend her life indefinitely.

Chalk it up to good fortune that Altruis would send him to aid in them in this quest, he mused ruefully as he examined her, glad for the mask obscuring his face that made his staring far less overt than hers. He would give anything to see her clearly. For a brief moment of insanity, he wished for the return of his eyes if only to glimpse the contours of her face, know if it was as soft as her lilting voice as she absently responded to her companion’s query. The demon found himself drawn to the sound like a Netherwing to the Outland. Every second the arcana called to him, scintillating as much as it repulsed him, beckoning to him even as it burned. Kallax averted his sight, his skin bristling, his body thrumming as his own Fel energy raged violently in his veins with the desire to drain the very essence from her slight frame and devour her.

No doubt this would prove to be a most arduous quest. 


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