An End of Sorts ((Closed, Backstory))

The druid clutched his necklace so tightly it bit into his hand, the small petrified leaf so very insignificant in comparison to the size of the hand that enclosed around it. His eyes close, his lungs inhale deep of the sea breeze that stung his face with each gust. 

“Are you certain?” A voice behind him asks. 

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” The druid answers. His voice was rough, a constant reminder of the struggles that placed him on this precipice. A single palm moves from his amulet to the bruise on his throat where metal hands closed around to protect, not to harm. 

For the second time in his long, long life the Kaldorei stood among the ruins of his life but this time he would not flee the ghosts no matter how painful it was to stand and face the empty void where they once stood. 

He wiggles his bare toes into the sand, amber eyes looking outwards and upwards towards the Stars and Moon. He silently prays, asking for forgiveness for his actions as he had already done once that night. 

“I am sorry, Thero’shan.” The voice chimes. 

“I am too.” He replies. Cerellean turns, facing the entrance to a cavern hidden amongst the crags and sand. The larger Kaldorei that stood by the entrance regarded him silently, a moment of peace filled only by the sound of the waves. 

Wordlessly the druid walks across through the slowly rising tide into the dark where he would return no more the person he was previously. His final thoughts on a child and wife, on a new love and young life stolen from him, and of the only person he had left. 

A crooked smile crosses his lips. 

The cave was dark, there was not a single light within the downward slope but thankfully elven eyes need no light to see. Sea water from the rising tide pours down the rocky decline, the sound echoing and reverbing endlessly until it was a roar that rang in their ears drowning out all else.

The larger Kaldorei, despite lacking normal vision, walked as if he saw everything guiding the other through a maze of branching tunnels. The water rushed ever onwards and downwards faster and faster. The Hunter lifted a palm as if to ask the druid to pause, the two standing in knee deep water that tore at their robes violently. 

Beyond them in the depths of this deep crevice the water rushes off into the abyss below to the unknown. To any unwitting spelunker, to their death most likely as their body would be battered and beaten back out to sea.

The larger reaches over and waves a hand, the wall to their left vanishing in an instant and fel green light radiates from within, the large cavern behind the false wall lined with candles and various indentations where other Kaldorei rest. They turn sightless eyes towards Cerellean and bow in greeting as if accepting one of their own.

“Last chance.” The gravely voice of the Hunter offers, waving a hand to the assembled who in turn kneel before their hovels facing the center of the cavern where the fel glow is most intense. 

“I’ve made up my mind, I will live with this choice. “ He starts. 

“Or you will die.” The Hunter retorts. 

“I will at least be with her then.” The druid replies.

“Stubborn until the last, Thero’shan. Enter. “ He motions towards the center of the cavern. A hooded and robe clad elf stands above on a protruding ledge above what appeared to be a summoning circle, bones of demons and elves scattered within it. Fel seeps from the stone like an oozing wound rising into the air, forming at an apex of swirling angry flame. 

A deep breath fills his lungs, the stench of sulfur flooding his nose as the hooded figure raises her hands, causing the circle to flare.

“Enter, initiate, and know that we will not help you until you have won. “ The hooded figure speaks above the growing hum. The druid grips his necklace tightly, bringing it to his lips as he plants a small kiss to the crystal leaf. He proceeds as he had before, deeper into the dark down crudely carved out stairs that led to the center of the room. He steps within the glow, the circle flares brightly as life enters the ring. 

“Focus on what you want. What you lost, focus on your Reason.” The large Kaldorei starts before the hooded figure interrupts. “We are not to help, and you are to not play favorites Thalandros.” 

“Bite your tongue and focus.” Thalandros barks. The hooded figure recoils slightly but does as ordered. Chanting fills the room from each of the elves, it echoes much like the water before until it was all that could be heard in the spacious cave. 

A deep breath once more. Just keep breathing, focus, survive. This was his mantra, his anchor for the plunge. The chanting grows louder, the flames more intense, the stench of sulfur and death fills his senses until his eyes open in mounting fear only to spot the cruel, curled smile before him. 

A feminine voice chimes: “What have we here..?”

The demon looks around the room with violet eyes and a disgusted sneer born of a superiority complex and years of lesser creatures proving it right. They rest on the druid then turn as if he wasn’t there upwards towards the larger Hunter. From there they meet the summoner above, and only then does comprehension dawn on her face. The succubus turns her attention downwards once more towards the elf trapped within the ring of fel flame with her. 

“I see.” Is all she says as amber eyes stare through her. Armor made of chitin covers her form, on her hip rests a bladed whip of blackened metal coiled like a serpent. Strangely, she tosses it to one side clattering against the solid circle until it passes the edge, vanishing into dust as it crosses the ring of angry green. 

“Go on then, little one, I know what this is. Come to me.” She opens her arms wide, a crazed ear to ear grin spreading across her features as he lets out a tittering giggle. 

The druid was obviously confused as were those outside the ring, a clamour of whispers rises against the roar of flames until a single voice demands silence. It falls heavily, a weight that pressed down against the druid as he stared questioningly at the demon.

“Do it then! I can see it, I see the loss in your eyes. A friend? Loved one?” She starts, “Oh that’s it. Getting warmer.. A child? No. Wife? Oh-ho not quite.. “ She smiles and giggles endlessly as she stares down person opposite her. “So very close. Oh a lover.. I bet she died screaming didn’t she? Oh I would have loved to hear it! It must have been ama- “ 

A whistling sound fills the air for a brief moment and violet eyes look about in confusion for just a second until they spot the source. That smile never faded, even as eyes rolled back as her body slumped forward, freed from the vile maw attached. The head rolls over, just barely reaching the edge of the circle as the fel flame lick across, charring half to ash leaving nothing but a skeleton and a half smiling face. 

Cerellean drops his glaive gifted to him by his Shan’do, the ornate silver blade clattering on the stone below his feet as demon blood pools around them. He draws a blade from his belt and leans down, kneeling in the sickly green. Both hands hold the hilt so tightly they shook and his knuckles turned white as snow. The fires roar louder, deafening those near as a single, dull thud of Etharion’s old dagger sinking in to bone and flesh rings out into the dark.

Pain flooded the writing form on the floor, the elf’s body convulsing in a pool of sickly green blood that coated his hands as they contort as if grasping at something, anything to end this torment. The body rejects the blood and flesh as the fel taint radiates from within seeping into his being. 

A burning pit fills his stomach, his blood searing as if on fire as the seconds pass each like a never ending eternity of suffering. This was only the beginning however as the forced merging begins to take a more physical toll, darkening skin grows stronger and then even further still scales form on the extremities covering them in rugged demonic flesh. 

Fingers scrape swathes through the pooled thick blood leaving fleeting glimpses at the glowing runes drowned in the bright green, the Hunter’s chanting grow louder as the final stages of the binding draw. A voice mirror’s his own in pained screams before violent lights and pain fill his eyes. 

Visions fill his sight, screams his ears and the stench of fel and death his lungs. At first he saw a large city ablaze, felguards marching through the streets as screams fill the air. An elven woman runs, carrying a small boy in her arms as a young girl hangs tight to her dress following behind. Soon the whistling of an axe breaks through the noise, the lifeless drop of a mother as the child falls from her arms. The young girl grabs the toddler and runs, never looking back as they duck into the rubble of a collapsed and burning building.

Next came a mountain, bodies of all kinds piled high into the sky as portals burned the ground, armies of demons flooding through as smoke blocked out the sun and the sounds of death fill the darkening void. 

He saw worlds burning, countless civilizations far greater than their own crumbling to ash. He saw what was, what is, what could be, none of it was clear but one. He saw her as clear as he had when it happened, hands reach but cannot grasp as the deafening roar of grinding metal grows louder and louder while flames of green engulf the figure. “Enough.” Came a rough voice. 

It continued, the figure mouthed words as emerald flame ate them away. “Enough!” The voice came back, louder this time. The visage of the other twists and morphs into the face of a demon, wearing their skin like a loose fitting glove.

“Enough!” The voice pleads, it was only then he realized it was his own. Hands gouge, clawed digits rip and tear and shred until darkness fell and he saw no more. 

Wings unfurl in the dark and several hands lift the near lifeless form up from the pool of demon blood onto a cool stone table. A slender hand places a pillow or something soft behind his head before brushing his hair back with a soft knowing pat there against him. It was comforting in his haze, the soft soothing touch of one who knew this pain. A leather strap is placed between his clenching teeth by heavy hands and several more grasp his limbs and hold him down as if any fight was left. Restraints fall into place, cold stone against burning flesh. 

“The worst part is yet to come.” The soft voice said, it was sweet and caring yet faint and weak in a way that was unexpected. “Try not to die, or do, it doesn’t matter to me yet.” 

The hum of fel flames fills the void left by the ending of ritualistic chanting, sickly green light falling on forms that cast dancing shadows on to the cavern walls and the ceiling beyond. Ragged, broken breaths mix with the constant crackling along with shuffling of feet and the gentle metallic clink of tools being passed along.

“You will learn to do this on your own, in time. For now you will be gifted your first.” The gruff Hunter says idly, as if repeating something he was once told. 
“Some gift.” The soft voice replies, it was weak yet so very clear in his ears. In the moment between the start and those words the druid realized through his haze that it was an internal voice, yet not his own. 

Thoughts on this did not last long as something pressed against his arm, it was ice cold at first like the heart of Northrend plunged against his bicep. It burned next, or at the same time there was no telling the feeling apart when it was proceeded by searing pain. Arms that had no fight left strained against restraints, jagged teeth gnaw and bite down against leather as the knife bearing enriched demonic blood dipped again and again.

Struggling came first, heavy breathing and muffled screams as the burning pain worked up one arm like a creeping flame devouring flesh and sinew. Eventually struggling faded to limp weakness, no fight left as the tainted tip worked across one shoulder. 

“Your weapon.” The voice came, speaking through the elf’s muddled mind, “My prison.” It continued, it spoke with a pointed tongue cruel and harsh at the last words. 

Weakness faded too after a time, the teasing and cruel words fading and growing weaker as the pattern grew larger and more intricate until finally the knife withdrew and left the elf and the sweat soaked stone table in silence. No fel hum, no flame, just darkness and the whispers within.

“Rest now.” The gruff voice came after a few moments. 

“I cannot, I have to return.” The elf replied in a broken voice that sounded so very unlike his own it surprised him. 

“You cannot even stand.” The hunter chides.

“You will free me and see me back, I will not leave them.”

Silence falls for a moment more before restraints were loosened and a large arm moves to hoist the elf up about the shoulders. Staggering and lost in many ways, two hunters make their way up the stone stairs, through the winding waterlogged passages, and out into the twisted green light of a new day with fel flames burning on the horizon.