Peace of Ellune

[rentiger1]

((Made slight change to the storyline as Lily is changing her past, changed the referances to Lily to an NPC Esilt.))

The silvery light of the moon filled the little glad. Nardor had waited for this moment, when Elune would show herself. He bent to one knee, lowering his head. Anger marred his face as his mind turned to the thoughts of Esilt, taken from him. His heart ached and pained as if it could not find release. He had traveled to the barrens, went to their land and blooded the ground with their corpses.

He faded from the jungle, his cat chasing the orcs down, pinning them to the ground with the knife like claws, ripping their flesh. Then the arrows followed, they slipped easily into them, and Nardor was the last thing they saw as he was sure to pierce their heart with an arrow. He did not know how many he killed, he stopped counting. No matter how many he killed it did not fill that void inside him, that peace he felt when with Esilt.

He had the chance to fight for her, but failed. Because of that, her father had taken her, and he could not be with her. Now even his dreams of her were gone, he could not even dream of touching her soft skin. It was as if she had been stolen from his very mind.

“Elune, please, give me peace.” He whispered, each word growing harder to say. He did not like to admit he was not strong enough. Now he needed to admit to his goddess he was weak.

He had said earlier in Goldshire, he would not spare the life of a orc child, even they needed to die. Today he was hunting, tracking down a group of orcs headed across the barrens. It lead to a small house with a windmill. He paused, just at bow's length. His keen eyes watched as his pet Razorclaws panted next to him in the heat. Two boys played around the windmill, hitting sticks like swords. He frowned, they were children, and he could not help but feel a slit tug on his heart. They were like him and his childhood friends so long ago. The sharp voice of an older orc, she had to be well in her years barked at them and the boys shoulders hung as they left their wooden sticks to move bags of grain.

In his mind he knew they would someday be warriors and he would have to kill them then. So why not kill them now? He lifted the bow, and Razor crouched, looking ready. The arrow tip shook as if it did not wish to take aim. He lowered the bow, suddenly knowing he was feeling Esilt from someplace distant. She would not wish him to do this, and he knew he did not want to. He was not a warrior, a killer, like his mother and all those lectures he had about males not being the right “sort” for battle came rushing back.

In the glad he clenched his fists. “Elune, please calm these fires, this hate, this…. Hunger for battle.” He prayed softly, waiting to feel her calming presence.

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He never received a voice in his head, or any calm washing emotion. He only had the peace of the night. His sleep was dreamless and his morning he woke without any messages or avatars of the Goddess visiting him. He collected his things and went to patrol the woods for the demonic infestations.

Over the next few days, his dreams were free of Esilt, in fact his dreams were not there at all. He went through the forests feeling more and more empty. His hunting grew more and more fierce. He stalked not just the fel creatures but started to kill the humans he found in the woods with the demonkind. The green haired night elf would slip through the woods like a shadow.

It was while he slipped through the woods that he paused. A familiar black cat hunkered low in the brush. “Esilt?” he asked softly. The cat shifted shape and the druidess stepped from the woods. “You are back?” Suddenly his heart was swelling, it was as if a long blackness had the light of the moon.

She shivered, looking at him confused. “Where did you go… I could not find you anymore.” She whispered. “You left me, alone.” She looked at him accusingly, her amber eyes filled with pain.

He blinked. “I… did not do that. I could not.” He stepped closer, reaching out to embrace her. “But that is not what is important, you are back, we can be together now.”

She took a step back, her head shaking. “The rules are still the same. I cannot be yours unless you can beat me.” She said in a pained voice.

He could not move, he could not speak. She still wanted him to fight her and beat her. “No… no no no…” He could not, last time he fought her she almost killed him, and he knew in his heart he could not harm her. Fighting the demons, or even cultists was one thing, but her, he loved her. He turned “I cannot do this, I will be in Darnassus if you wish to find me.” He took a step and he felt everything inside him twisting up. His heart felt as if it would burst and he would die as he started to run from the spot.

He made his way to Darnassus, he had not been home in some time and as he walked through the street. There was a cry behind him causing him to spin around. “Dor?” Fenraras, his sisters widowed husband ran up to him from the bank. “Dor, you look like hell, where have you been?” He asked looking the hunter over. Dor could only shrug. “Well, I have good news, I am getting married again.”

Dor turned to him, grabbing the druid by the collar. “You cannot do that, you are married.”

Fenraras pushed Dor back. “Your sister died over 30 years ago Dor. We never had children. It is a different time, and I need to help our kind.” The druid spoke and wind swirled around the edges of his robe. “Sometimes we must do what must be done, even if it makes us uncomfortable.”

Nardor stepped back, shaken his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “Some of us just do not have it in our nature.”

“Then perhaps your nature needs to change.” Fen said. “You are welcome to come to the wedding tonight, you are family.” He smoothed out his robe and looked at Nardor's hand that held a blade. “Really?” He turned and walked back to the bank where others appeared to be waiting for him.

Dor looked down and noticed the weapon he had drawn. He did not recall pulling it out. Perhaps he did need to change. He needed to find a way to steel himself, chill his heart when he needed it.

The hunter turned and headed out of the great city, he had more hunting to do. Not demons anymore, he was going to hunt down the humans. He was not going to let his code hold him back anymore. The hunter took to the woods and the beaches. His arrows filling the bodies of the warlocks and the humans who protected them. He was not going to be made a fool of again. He took special care to look at their faces, to let their images chill him, pausing a moment to watch as their last moments left them.

He felt something changing inside him, when he walked through the woods he no longer saw the lush green world. He was in a place of death and decay, a place where life was cheap, and the weak were to die. It was not a place where life was nurtured but a place where only those who were strong lived and the weak were food.

The next time he saw his Esilt he would make her his. It would be his strength, his force, his dominance that would put her at his side. Love was a fading after thought, a dim star slowly getting lost in the dark reality he was coming to accept.

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The slice to the neck left a fan of blood from the orc. Nardor did not like to fight close in, but you can only keep them from charging so long. The red dirt of the Hellfire Peninsula scraped under his boots as he turned and moved to the next orc, the cat following him, hamstringing his foe. The Sentinels who followed him to the realm were cleaning up the orcs he dropped behind him.

He had to keep a head of them, had to prove he could fight just as well. He was in the thick of things, and this had caused his body a few wounds. His goal however was the large orange skinned satyr standing behind the orcs. The beast held a wicked looking sword in it's hand.

Nardor twisted around, facing the demon, his green hair caught in the hot wind of the red desert. “You have outrun your help.” The creature pointed out.

Looking over his shoulder Nardor saw the Sentinels were well behind him still fighting the orcs. “I do not need them to kill you.” Nardor said lifting his bow to start shooting. The arrows found their marks as the creature rushed him.

He was able to get his swords out just in time as the thick blade hit his sword. The demon hammered him with each blow, the block shaking him with the sheer strength of the creature. He had never seen a demon so strong on Azaroth. The orange skin of the beast rippled with muscles as it swing the large blade.

The female elves fought harder seeing the son of one of their sisters being kicked around like a rag doll across the desert sands. “Dor back off, fall back!” The Captain called to him.

Nardor coughed up some blood kneeling on the ground, he lifted his sword to block the blade as it came hammering down. His sword shattered as they met, throwing him to his back. He slid in the dirt and sand, the grit grinding into his wounds lighting them on fire with pain. He held fast to the shattered sword on his main hand. A hoof pressed to his chest holding him down. The beast reveled in the anguish the women had in watching this. He lifted it's eyes to laugh at them. This is when the hunter took his chance.

The broken blade sunk into the thigh of the creature. Nardor twisted his body pulling the hoof of the creature to trip the beast. The sword it held drop to the ground as it landed on it's back. Nardor was quick to take up the Fel creature's weapon. “You do not want to do that.” It warned.

Nardor lifted the blade and thrust it into the chest of the creature. It reached up the claws slicing through the armor on his side. There was a burning and a sizzling of the elf's flesh as the claws ripped his body. The creature shuttered and fell back, dead. A Nardor pulled the blade out, the blade burned with a golden fire.

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Sitting up Nardor hissed. The claw wound still had not healed, it had been days. The Pristess who saw him when they returned to Shadrath said it was infected with fel magic, but it would pass and heal with time. He felt like it was taking forever to heal. The blade rested at the side of the bed, and he got a little comfort from seeing it. It was an effective weapon and it had helped him more then he had thought it would. Already it had taken the lives of several warlocks, it was a tool of good, not evil.

Yet, the dreams were getting more intense. Dreams of hunting down others, not just warlocks, but the lust to hunt and kill seemed to call to him in his dreams. Sitting in an inn in Stormwind only made him more anxious, and when he was not sleeping he was pacing the room. He could not even sit to focus on a book. He needed to be out there, to be hunting, even if he was wounded.

Alexas said the blade was fel touched, this caused him to pause, and look at the blade again, the weapon was large, much larger then a sword should be, but Nardor could handle it with one hand, and handle it effectively. The Axe he had picked up was a different story, he took that from a warlock who had it sealed in a protective box with marking all over it. When he held them together they seemed to balance each other out.

He lifted his shirt to look at the wound, the four claw marks went across his skin, no longer looking as red and infected, but still open and seeping blood when he touched them. He took some bandages wrapping his chest, the old bandages crumpled on the floor, the blood was fresh at least, and did not stick of foul infection anymore. Perhaps his time swimming in the ocean was a boon.

That was another issue entirely, Who was it that had sent pirates after him, and who was it that wanted the blade so badly? He could not focus on the question at hand long before the urge to hunt to get out of the city and find something to kill… better yet, someone to kill.
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Faster, stronger, harder, he had to be all of them. Nardor had twisted and the burning blade sank into the felsworn behind him as the axe split the skull of the imp. He was starting to wonder if it was wise to come to their camp, but Desolace was the only other place the Satyr lived and if he was going to find Gladstone, and the Circus it was a good lead. The Felsworn and he met up completely by accident, and with twelve of them and one of him this was looking bad.

The wound on his side was healed, the wound was infected with fel poison, Annabelle and Arina had removed it and healed his flesh. This had him hold up in Stormwind for almost a week, the first half stuck in bed. Alexas had ordered him to take a rest. He despised the rest, he needed to be out fighting, and he could not prove anything resting in bed except his own weakness. In his mind, nothing was going to kill him, not anymore.

She was gone, he found out from the Druids who said she was no longer in the dream. His only reason for living now was to bring death to those who sought to destroy his home, his world. The thought filled him and the fire on his sword flared with heat as he pushed it into the body of the felsworn orc, it sizzled and hissed like a demonic choir. When it was pulled free the wound on the cursed one was burned shut.

He felt the cold chill on his soul as the shadow bolts hit him, and the fel fire that was rained down. His mind focused on movement, side stepping the attacks, like a dancer he moved, following the dances he learned as a boy in his homeland of Ashenvale.

The fire sword he name Deamon Tongue and the axe he called Eagle Wing moved together though they sought different targets. The axe pushed aside a blade as the sword pushed into the human's chest. He stopped looking at them, only looking through them.

As the last one sank to his feet he panted, cuts and burns marked him, his armor tattered and bloody. A sense of rage and satisfaction pumped through his veins and he roared. The silent ash grey Desolace only replied with silence. “I will hunt all of you to the twisted nether!” He yelled as if to warn the ghosts of the dead.

Sagi then came to mind, the traitor to his race would have to pay for the deaths of innocence he caused. He needed to get to Shattrath, to hunt down the abomination. He should leave as soon as he made sure Gladstone was not here.

He should also say something to Aliana.

The stray thought gave him pause. He had just met the wildkin, why would he need to say anything to her. She was so much like Esilt, preferring her animal form to any other, elusive and free. He saw so much of his love in her, and it was such a comfort being around her. Was it her similarity, her familiarity the draw or was it something else. Part of him wanted to just attack, hunt and claim, but there was a sane part of him that knew he could not do this whenever the urge attacked him. That was the way it was with Esilt, but, was that the way with all night elves?

He looked at one of the dead at his foot and swung the axe slicing off the head of the human woman. “No, I have a new purpose.” In the forest of Ashenvale he went to heal from the empty pit he felt learning his love was dead. It was in the shade of his place of Ancestors he felt the calling to hunt down the source of all their pain, the demons. It was the demons who brought the orcs, it was the demons who corrupted his land. He needed to destroy them, send them back to the pit they came from. As he thought of this, anger washed over him, giving him the power to ignore the wounds on his body and make his way to the ruins the satyr lived in. He would kill them all to find out if Gladstone was there, and he would make sure they talked.

[rentiger1]

The blood was fresh and the wound did not smell foul. He was glad of that as he looked over his shoulder. The worgen had caught him good, he was just glad he was not bitten. The think had hopped right on his back. His fangs were right next to his neck, the thought still sent chills down his back.

A dark haired human girl looked at the shirtless Nador as he sat on the bed. “I did not think this is what you had in mind when I offered to help you, Night Elf.” She walked over to the edge of the bed, her dress cut low and the skirt split to allow just enough leg to be shown. The increase in guards had brought up business, war always did. He had paid her for the next few hours, she shrugged, he could spend them as he liked. “So what is it you want me to do?”

Nardor looked at the wound right over his shoulder blade, he twisted and reached, the wound opening again. “I cannot bandage this.” He told her quite honestly, the pain on the edges of his voice. The wound was deep. “Do you think you could stitch as well?”

She crawled onto the bed, getting a closer look at the wound. “Looks pretty nasty, how did you get it?” She asked as she touched the bloody slices in his flesh. He handed her a sewing kit and she laughed. “I have taken care of more then one ripped dress.” She started to thread a needle.

“I was in the woods, I did not notice the pack until they were too close. I am thankful my cat is more afraid of them then I was.” He turned forward allowing her to work. “I am glad there are people who hire out for these services out here in Darkshire.” He commented.

She laughed softly as she started to stitch the wound closed. “Yes, you would think a priestess would look at this.” She regretted wearing her nice dress. “Why were you out in the woods, didn't you know about this place?” She asked.

Nardor sighed, “I have been hunting something worse then worgen.” He said softly. The lead was that the Circus had come here. His time at the festival had distracted him from the hunt. It was a distraction, yes the Litch king was killed, and all in all that is good. It will shift the focus from those problems to problems closer to home. Perhaps with the given mutual Alliance against the Evil they will band together to take care of the other evils that threaten all of them.

She loeaned in, biting the silk thread cutting it and threaded the needle again. “Should you really be hunting things like that? I mean, you are likely to get killed.” She pushed the needle through the flesh, knitting it together. “I am sure a handsome fellow like you has better things to do with his time.” She lowered her voice, gaining a sultry tone.

He only shook his head, “I do not know what else I should be doing that would be more important.” In fact he had not felt the fear of death in a while, not since he was in the deserts of Kalimdor. Even when they met in Goldshire, he knew they would not do anything. He was starting to think they were a beast with no fangs, only killing those who do not fight back. They had burned the ranch, but obviously they had not attacked when Don was there, or Anna. They were not the type to risk their own lives. They had found a place to hide, and part of him hoped they stayed hidden. Then Anna would not have to worry about her wedding, that was just the sort of event they will target to ruin, for no other reason then to ruin.

Mickey as well was getting married. It made him feel a little out of place, humans were lucky, they lived so short and found love so easy.

He felt the tug as she tied off the wound, the pain was a throbbing burn now that covered his whole shoulder. The individual pin pricks of the needle going through were being washed out in the whole of the pain. His fists were clenched so hard they were digging the nails into his palms enough to make them bleed. He tried to focus his mind, to think over the pain.

She paused. “I could get you something for the pain.” Rethreading the needle, her hands were now coated in the red blood. “You shaking does not make this easy work.”

He tried to still his body, emptying his mind of thought and trying to erase all feeling, both body and soul from him. That is when he saw it, jealousy, why was it they got to find happiness, why was it Anna and Don and Mickey all got to have a family while he was stuck loving a ghost. It did not seem fair in his mind.

He snapped back, the pain flaring in his shoulder. “Perhaps a drink…” He whispered.

There was no sunlight in this place, so when he woke he did not know how long he had been asleep, the girl was gone and the room was cleaned up, the bloody towels were gone, and the sewing kit was all packed away neatly. His head throbbed now more then his shoulder. He had work to do though, and he could not let his own emotions get in the way of those emotions. He gripped the flaming sword, pulling it on, he felt a surge of power run through him. Perhaps he needed to return to killing the demons. Gladstone was not going to stay hidden forever, he was sure of this. The sword was an example of how the weapons the demons used could be turned against them. He just needed to find a way to use those weapons against the circus.

[rentiger1]

What was he doing? What had become of him?

The questions hung in his mind like stinking rotted meat, they could not be ignored. He as fighting to save a Blood Elf, an enemy to his race and his traditions. That fight also brought him to blows with one of his own blood. The thought made his head spin.

He leaned back against a tree looking out at the water surround Astranaar, his fishing rod was propped up against a stone, the bobbers floated out in the water. He had been doing the traditions of his people, but not in a traditional way. He had been fighting for good, but not with the usual allies his people expected him to fight with. He even had a tauren Ranko he knew, and the Blind Chiefess and he pupil. He brought them to their side as well. He silently went over the people he was not supposed to be allies with who he had started to trust.

“Catching anything?” The Sentinel Starflare stepped over to where he was sitting. “I heard you were in the area, I thought I would say hello.” She sat down next to him, her eyes went to the sword flickering with the green fire. “That is interesting.” She nodded to the blade.

He let out a long breath as if to blow the distressing thoughts away. “Yes, it has served me well, killed them effectively.” He looked at the blade that leaned against the tree he had chosen to sit under. The weapon burned but the fire did not seem to burn unless he was using it to cut. He even tried to cook over it once but nothing would happen. “I guess in the right hands it is a weapon of good.”

“Yes, I suppose it is, just the same, are you sure you want it in your hands, you know what others will think.” She added. “I know your mother would not have wanted you to have it.” She said with a shake of her head. Starflare was one of his mother prized students, a fighter his mother almost adopted as a child. “She would not have wanted you involved in all this fighting, Dor, it is not good for your soul. You do not have the resilience we have. Men are not made for this sort of thing. I can see even now how jaded you are.” She looked at him with a patronizing smile. “You should go to Darnassus and stay at the temple for a while, heal not just your flesh but your soul.”

Nardor suddenly saw his mother in her face, the strong woman who was not going to let a son become a fighter. “I am doing what I am supposed to be doing, Star, I am killing the evil that threatens our people, all the people. It is true the Litch King is dead, but the war is not over.” He turns to the water, his heart racing, part of him remembered when he would have wilted when a woman ordered such things, but now he was his own man, he was not a thing to be commanded. “I am hunting down those who wish to summon demons and those who kill innocents.”

His eyes went to the green burning blade. “I will stop them, Star, no matter what I must do to get to them. I am not a Sentinel, I am not a druid, I am a hunter, and I will use what I need to catch my prey.” He stood slowly, reeling in the fishing line.

Star sighed and stood. “You have not healed from losing your mate, you should let us help you, help you heal. You need to be protected, sheltered, taken care of. Men are not made for this..”

He spun to face her, the hard look in his eyes cutting her off. “I can take care of myself. I have friends who help as well.” He picked up the swords. “I should get back to work, Star, when you feel like doing more then protecting just the woods, come to the real fight with me.” The look she was giving him he had seen before many times when his mother was scolding him, but this time he was able to turn and walk away.

He needed to return to Darkshire. The Circus needed to be closed.

[rentiger1]

Water poured from the fountain made from the glowing bucket like fungus. He sat in the stone circle, contemplating what has been happening. He was going to go to Darkshire, and in fact had. Only he met a bland man on the way, not just any blind man, a demon hunter.

He felt some safety in thinking about what he was doing in the circle of stones, the large mushrooms towering over him like his forest homeland. The earth here smelled rich, more earthy then he had ever smelled before with a slight tinge of decay. The ground was soft and spongy, and always wet. On the surface it seemed cool and inviting after being in Hellfire and killing the orcs and demons there. Part of him, however, wondered what was feeding all this decay.

He played the fights over in his mind, the way the elf moved, like he danced more then he fought. Creatures did not seem to be able to surround him as he wheeled and maneuvered his way around them. It made Nardor wish to remove all the armor he wore and his shoes.

Of course the lack of clothing could also be because of the change he saw.

They were down in the mines, the lights of fires flickered and danced off the walls as they fought their way down. The claws of the Sappers lashed at them and he was just barely keeping his own.

Then a noise came from the darkness, a it sounded like the grinding of flesh on metal, a wet mechanical sound he had never heard before. From the darkness came a form, a mask covered the face, like the goblins used when tinkering, but one of his arms was missing, and a drill was built into the flesh. It was as if the flesh and the machine were molded together in a perverse painful abomination. The thing lifted it's hand hitting Nardor knocking him back to the dirt. The drill lifted to drive into him.

There was a burst of noise as if someone, or something roared, and the black hand of a demon hit the creature. From where Fala'thorie a black winged demon attacked, the flurry of blows and the viciousness of the attack had him stunned with fear. Was he about to witness the end of a Demon Hunter, their eventual turn to the dark side.

The body of the thing fell to the ground and the demon panted, then changed, the wings falling from his back, the body of the demon seeming to slough away from him as if made from ash. “I am sorry.” He said looking at Nardor, noticing the reaction. “it is the tattoos, they enable to me to contain the beast inside me, normally, but sometimes it is released. If my anger grows too much, it can break free.”

This he understood. This Nardor knew and could relate to, he did not fear his anger either. He knew Anna thought it was an emotion to be feared, but he knew, in the right time and place, anger was an ally. “I know, I have called on my anger, my rage, to carry me when my body would normally have quit.” He stood with the help of Fala'thorie. “It is good though, that the creature is used for killing of it's own.”

Now sitting in the circle his mind pondered this. He would learn to be a demon hunter. He would be trained, and he would do what he must to get Fala'thorie to train him. His family was gone, his love taken by the fel sworn, he was leaving nothing behind. Like Fala'thorie had said. “Our lives must count for something.” He could not add to his race, no children to follow him, he would die, but before he did, he was going to make sure the Fel remembered his name and feared it spoken.

He stood, heading back to the inn where Fala'thorie rested.

[rentiger1]

Running. Fala'thorei ran everyplace, and Nardor ran as well, it was not easy trying to keep up with the elf. At nights all of him ached, and in the morning it hurt even more, but he still stood and went out to fight. He was getting sloppy though, he was trying to keep up with the Demon Hunter, but he could not. Fala'thorei always out paced him, and more then one time saved him from death. However, Nardor was learning to fight with the man, he was starting to know when he was going to duck left or twist into one of the maneuvers that spun him like a top eviscerating everything.

Mostly Nardor was learning when to get out of the way.

The letters from Annabelle and Syl were both unexpected and a little upsetting. Alexas had lost her hand, but more importantly, there was a member of the Circus in the Netherstorm. He was taking the letters across Shattrath when Fala'thorei approached him. “I have received news, we need to go to the Netherstorm.” The Demon Hunter said with that firm conviction he always seemed to have. Nardor had noticed the man had the same baring and look his mother always had. “We should get some mounts.”

Finally he did not have to run. Though riding the griffon was not easy on the thighs, and it was only as they entered the Netherstorm that he realized why they were not running, there was nothing to run on.

Circling through the floating rocks and other debris they found a settlement of goblind, Area 52. They split up and started asking around. The Blood Elf had been here, but they were not finding him. Meeting up at the bar they found a quiet place to sit down. “I have been meditation on this Circus. We should return, and address this threat of these Fel users who directly risk the safety of Azaroth itself.”

Nardor listened, just greatful to have a bed to sit on, lately they had been sleeping where ever they found a safe spot. “We are going back?” Nardor asked, looking a little perplexed.

Fala'thorei stood. “Yes, and see about getting your friends together, I want to talk to them, find out all about this group.”

The trip back Nardor thought about seeing his friends again. When he felt the earth of Azaroth under his feet again, he felt a sense of energy enter him. He gripped his windstone, calling Annabelle and the others, heading to Darkshire to meet up with Fala'thorei. He was surprised to find out Alexas had a house in Darkshire, and on top of that Anna was there. “The meeting is set.” He told Fala'thorei as he approached. “Everyone will be there, even Syl.”

“Lead the way.” Was all he said.

Nardor did as he was told, taking him to the house in the cursed woods full of worgen. The meeting of friends was good, he was glad to see everyone, even though Alexas was still hold up in bed. It did pain him to see the stump at the end of her arm and he felt the rage boiling inside him against the forces he was fighting.

He could see everyone was gathering and no one was watching the door, so he slipped out to guard the house. Out in the woods he could hear the howls of the worgen and wolves. The soft voices of the group made a soft mumble and rumble from the house, growing deeper when he heard Fala'thorei talking.

In a way, he was glad not to know the details of all that was happening. He was having a hard enough time with his anger, fighting the demons and fel sworn was almost a relief, he could let it out, he could rage and slash and yell, and not feel as if he was doing something wrong. Yet, part of him knew, Ellune was for peace, and inside, there was none. It was only a fire that needed to be fed.

When he learned of the children who died, of the people tortured and who suffered at the hands of the Circus, it was as if those souls now haunted him. His dreams were filled with the cries of those people. In the mornings he woke, ready to fight through pain, fight no matter how wounded or crippled. He was going to fight, and being back here just reminded him of how hobbled he was. The rules that hobbled him, not being able to kill them on sight, the rules of society and cities they use as hiding places. He was remembering how hard it was to fight this war.

He looked up at the window. Fala'thorei had stepped out of the world of society, he would to. He would need to. He needed to become a demon hunter, he had to.
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[rentiger1]

The air whipped around him as he loaded the crossbow. The wing beats of the griffon were the only sound he could hear as they raced through the air. Richtnel was not getting away, and Shattrath was getting close. If he made it to the city, he would lose him.

It was in Area 52 that he met up with him. After questioning Fala'thorei during the interrogation of the warlock Holly Nardor needed to prove he was up to the task of fighting the fel. If he brought Richtnel in and stopped this part of the plan he would have done that.

It started out going well, he caught the man outside of the town, and even got a good first punch in. He did not see the foot sweep though, Richtnel had feigned his weakness pretty well, and he seemed a good fighter for a warlock. When he fell however his sword had scattered from his side, knocked from his belt.

He had to charge the man to fight hand to hand and by the time he had stood, he had summoned an Imp. He took two blasts of the fel fire and it seared his skin before he could grab the imp by the horn and flick it like a cracking whip. There was a sickening wet snap as the imp went still.

When he turned around, Richtnel was in the air.

Now he was chasing him through the air. He swooped down and banked up, firing the crossbow. The beast Richtnel was on pulled in the wing. Blasts of fel magic shot from the creature as Nardor and Richtnel started to twist and turn. Their mounts carrying them up into the sky and back down.

Nardor was not good at this sort of fighting and he wished he had just killed the man to start with. He was right behind him and a little above, and Nardor was not sure the griffon would be able to move to swiftly now. He rigned back, pulling the animal around to attack the bat thing directly. The two creatures grappled. “We will die together!” Nardor told the man as they started to spin to the ground.

Richtnel must have been saving some power up because he let loose with a blast of fire that took off the head of his griffon, and Nardor barely dodged the blast as well. The creatures drifted apart in the air, everything seemed to slow down for Nardor as he tried to keep and eye on the warlock.

He felt something hit his side, and he was ripped from the saddle. Then it was all just pain as he crashed through the branches of the forest trees.

He woke looking into the glowing eyes of a Daranei. “I know you.” He said, his word slurred and he tried to move. Kaj shook her head not letting him move. Much of the next few moments were a blur until light passed over him and he was looking into the face of Annabelle.

They carried him to Shattrath, a large branch still in his leg, and his arm and other leg splinted. He wondered how bad he had been off, and how long he was out. They used some Dranei magic on him in Shattrath, and he went to sleep again.

[rentiger1]

Felwood, it was as dull as Desolace, but at least in Felwood he could help the Timbermaw. The place was once Aliana's home and seeing the pain on her face made him remember his home before it was corrupted. A shadow of Ashenvale was still present, but the corruption still threatens to take over. The Orcs and the Demon both seek to over take the forest. In his mind they are the same, the green skins and the demons.

Aliana was important to him, but while his heart was clear on the subject, he loved her. His mind was muddled. There was a bolt of fear that ran through him when he thought of the danger that Aliana put herself in and if he wanted to lose her like he lost Esilt. Also she seemed very quiet and reserved, and he did like a more assertive women, like his mother. She was embarrassed to even express any form of affection unless they were alone and even when he understood why; he could not help but feel perhaps she was ashamed of him.

His mother always seemed to sigh softly when a mate was brought up for Nardor. She would normally just shake her head and say he would require a special kind of woman. He knew what she meant, a woman who was as outside the normal night elf society as he was. He knew he was not going to attract any Sentinel or Priestess, so a female druid, he mother was right.

The thoughts were suddenly brushed from his head with the sound of hooves and deep laughter of flames. He looked across the grey desert of ash and saw a rider on a horse with burning hooves. Nardor started to run, moving to intercept the rider. He pulled his bow from his shoulder and an arrow from his quiver. The rider slowed as they drew closer. “Go away elf, I do not have time for you.” Nardor knew the voice.

“Gladstone!” He took a few steps closer, loading the bow and getting ready to fire.

The Warlock looked at Nardor. “Well, looks like I have been given a nice gift all wrapped up. I will pass judgment on you, and make you pay for your crime.” He slid off his horse and Nardor could feel the fel energy pulse from the man.

“I will make you pay for those you have killed, and for the theft of that stone.” He shouted at Gladstone.

The man only chuckled and shook his head. “I do not know who you are talking about.”

“Have you killed so many? You tricked me, and killed several tauren protecting a stone you stole. I intend to get it back.” Nardor said with pride.

This did not seem to move Gladstone at all. He only laughed more. “Their lives were insignificant. You would lose yours for them?” Confidence radiated from him.

Nardor gritted his teeth. “And for the life of my mate.” He hissed out, feeling the anger flow through him, the hurt and the pain he allowed to envelope him. He would do all he could to kill the man. He lifted the bow and let an arrow fly.

Gladstone threw out a bolt of energy deflecting the shot that had happened suddenly but the arrow clipped his shoulder. The Warlock growled and lifted a hand and balls of fair rained from the sky. Nardor ran forward, ducking and trying to weave around the falling balls of burning rock. The rocks exploded around him, throwing shrapnel into his flesh, burning the skin as it entered. He let loose another arrow, Gladstone deflecting that one with ease.

He tumbled out of the rain of fire and rock looking at the object of his hate. The scrapes and small burns from the attack faded in the rush of adrenalin. He was about to charge the man as flame flashed out from around Gladestone's feet. It circled him in waves rolling out across the ground. The fel energy was strong, and he was reminded of his time in the Outlands with Fala'thorei. He needed to knock the warlock down, stop his mind from focusing on the magic.

Nardor gritted his teeth, dropped his bow and drew his blades, and ran across the fire. His feet were engulfed in the heat as he rushed to hit Gladstone with his body. He felt the contact with the man, knocking him back, and the flames vanished. The sandals he wore did not offer much protection and his feet were red and blistering with large blisters.

Gladstone scrambled to his knees, looking up he quickly enveloped himself in flames. Nardor had only a moment to push back his fear and thrust his sword into the flames the fire wrapping around his hand and forearm. The blade sank in, seeing blood for the first time. It forced the warlock to scramble back, throwing out a wave of energy the knocked Nardor back. He let go of the sword, his hand burned to the point some of the flesh was blackened and charred. The green flamed sword fell to the dirt.

For a moment he thought he saw fear in Gladstone's face, and this strengthened him. He threw his axe at Gladstone to distract him as he lunged for the sword. He grabbled his blade, the hand screaming in pain and looked up as a blast of pure fel energy hit him in the chest point blank. He was lifted from the ground, falling back into the dirt and ash, sliding a few feet. He looked up seeing Gladstone getting on his horse and making a retreat. He stood using the sword like a cane, his muscles twitched and clenched with the residual energy. “I will find you, and kill you, and all you hold dear!” Nardor yelled after the fleeing man.

He turned his head, looking back at the place he had come from. The demons who had given Gladstone the book. There was one small pleasure, he would get to question them. He fumbled in his pack, taking out the mageweave bandages he had made, and started to treat his own wounds. He could not call Anna for this, she sounded busy on the other side of the world, and he did not know where Aliana was. He would just have to let this heal on it's own.

He made his way to the demons. He knew how to make them talk.

---------------------------------------------------

Tracking the horse was not hard, it burned the earth it ran on, and the small soot trail was just a matter of a keen eye. The demons had given Gladstone some pages of the book they had kept for themselves. They were did not want to tell him what the book was for, he would have to see if perhaps Alexas or Annabelle could help him out. Or perhaps if he knew where Gladstone was headed.

[rentiger1]

Gladstone was dead, so he had heard, but there was no body. They had been loosing on all fronts. They failed in their attack on the Catacombs, of course he was not there to have helped, getting there from Kalimdor was not easy. They had lost men in that attack. And recently they had killed Anna. He did not think this would effect him as much as it did. He pushed the anger and the hurt down, not really speaking of it, but trying to ignore it.

On the day of her death he found and fought another Warlock. Of course this one used fire as well, and even used some spell that almost drove him mad. If not for Alexas he would have gone mad.

And lastly, Fala'thorei had left everyone, and word had reached him that the Demon Hunter would not train him. As he looked into the water of the moon well he could not help but feel perhaps he was not of service to the Blades. He had no magic to offer them, and he was more of a hazard in combat then a help, costing them healing afterwards. He hardly knew any of them aside from Alexas and Anna anymore.

He turned and picked up his things, spotting Shivala across the water of the river that flowed around the island the moon well resided on. The perpetual autumn of the land in the crater made her stick out, her blue skin and outfit were a stark contrast to the reds and oranges of the forest.

They spoke. “I am going to Ashenvale, perhaps I will be of use there.” He told her and invited her to join before leaving.

When the hypogriff set him down at the small village in Ahsenvale he took a long breath, taking in the cool mossy smelling air of the forest here. He approached the Sentinels asking to find the leader here. She pointed the leader out and Nardor stepped up to her. “I am Nardor Leafrunner, I am here to help.”

She turned to face him. “We could use more fish, and bear meat if you can get it. Do not get yourself hurt though.” She looked him over. “On second thought, just the fish, I do not need some s=male stranded out there alone and wounded.” She turned back to the papers she was reading as if the conversation was over.

Nardor was shocked for a moment. “I am sorry, I thought I would help in fighting the orcs, or demons. I can track, and spy.”

She turned and laughed, laughed right in his face. “Oh really, you were serious?” She said after a moment. “Why don't you get us some fish, and we will see if we need you out there.” She turned back still chuckling.

The hunter turned and left the building, heading for the small shoreline. If he had to get some fish to be accepted, then he would.

[rentiger1]

One more chance to make a difference, one more chance to see if he had something to add with this trip to Elwynn. He knew nothing more then they were going to investigate. He pulled on a shirt and laced up the full breaches. It was different being in clothing like this again. With the news he would not be trained, he began to wonder if he should find another teacher. But that would mean a trip to the outlands, and months of searching. Perhaps Fala'thorei saw something in him he could not see.

The ship pulled up to the dock and he picked up his bow and stepped off. He would see today if he had the skills to be a fighter. His past few days at home had been different. The women there treated him nicely enough, but he was not let out of the sight of anyone after his first attempt to go out and fight orcs. It was also strongly hinted at that his mate would not like him walking around half dressed.

He met the group outside Elwynn and they started on the trail. He was not needed to track, or to scout. The Pride seemed to have things well in hand and Sylvandre was a stark reminder of all the reasons he was not supposed to be here.

They made their way to Duskwood, then in the forest outside the cemetery they started battling ghouls. He drew and shot, over and over but only one of his arrows struck true. With each shot it got harder and harder to focus his mind. All he could think about was the failures he had. How he was failing now, he was not even an asset to them.

As they entered the cemetery they met some of the Circus. None of his arrows found their marks. Sagi was even there and he could not even make one arrow land true. The Circus fled, Syl and her warriors forced them to leave.

Inside Nardor felt as though he had swallowed stones. Syl was speaking to some man, but all the night elf hunter could think about was the arrows scattered around the battle field. He collected what he could and mentioned to his fellows there he was leaving.

It rained on his trip back to the docks. It was just as well, he did not wish to keep the emotions back. The rain hid his weeping. His mother was right, he was not a warrior, he was not a druid. At best he was a hunter who could hunt in their home lands and around their city, where it was safe.

When in Ahsenvale he went into the inn, setting down his bow, and the weapons he carried, picking up the fishing pole. Perhaps this was a better way to serve, to make sure there was food and supplies.

He sat on the bed, the sadness gripping him as he looked at the reed pole. His father would always say one must be happy with the place they are given, you cannot be a turtle and wish to fly. The turtle has to be happy as a turtle, and a man must be happy with what Elune has given him.

[rentiger1]

Fishing and hunting was not so bad. He had his windstone to help him keep in touch, but no one ever needed his help, even when he offered. He was not fighting and not worried about fighting. It was the trip over to Desolace where he packed up his weapons for the first time on his cat. He was careful, in the wilds he was not found unless he wanted to be found. He slipped past the evils there and to the shore, collecting the fish he needed.

It was on the road back that he met with a man mounted on a warhorse with flaming hooves. His weapons were packed on the saddle, he did not stand a chance. He was ready to flee until he learned it was Gladstone. Then he knew he had to fight.

When it was over, he was feeling the full power of the warlock. He had done something to Nardor, and his mind and body were filled with a hunger for the fel blood. Fle blood Gladstone promised to give if he brought the House to Desolace to meet their end.


The elf had another plan. Reigen could give him fel blood, she was a warlock.
---------------------------------------------------

He woke tied under the watch of the Leafwind clan. The plan did not go as well as he thought. Voran deceived him and Reigen almost killed him with her magic. Two against one was not a fair fight, but worse then that was the hunger. He was bound head and foot, the ropes digging into the chared skin Reigen had left him with. They did not heal him, and took his windstone.

It was Saelyne who was his savior, she arrived and released him from his bonds, escorting him to the river to wash up. He chatted with her for a while, feeling weak, and hungry for the fel. He begged her to bring him some blood, anything. She bound his wounds and saw to his comfort. He was very glad he had her as a friend and a student.

When he woke again it was days later. The Leafwind Sentinal who woke him looked him over. “You need to eat.” She told him handing him some flat bread. “Our healers have healed you, your house has left.”

He sat up, the hunger was like a low buzz in the back of his head. He looked at the bread and really did not have a taste for it, he wanted another fix. “I can leave?” He asked softly, tearing the bread in two. His body ached and he felt weak.

“You are not our prisoner.” She told him softly. “But it would be best if you stayed.”

He sat, eating the bread. A mother fluttered in, and at first he could not place it. Then he remembered. “You are the bear killing moth, Saelyne's pet, right?” He said to it. It flew in a circle then fluttered out.

Soon Saelyne entered and smiled. He was glad to see her, she asked how he was. “I want to leave.” He told her. She helped him out of the Crater. The trip was hard and he was weak. He needed to keep his mind off his hunger for the fell. It made him itch all over. He could not go to Ashenvale, they would lock him up there.

He left for Ratchet. The place would be perfect, no one would even notice as long as he did not fight anyone. He found rum helped his ability to stop feeling the hunger, mainly because he would pass out.

But talk of a bounty on a gnome let him try to find another way. A gnome had stolen some goods from a local goblin and he had warrants out in Stormwind as well as Ironforge. The hunt helped him, it would help, keep his mind sharp, and his focus on the hunt not on the hunger.