Sometimes all I really want to feel is love
Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry
Sometimes my feelings get in the way
Of what I really feel I needed to say
~~Modest Mouse, Edit the Sad Parts
Four years ago, Quel’thalas
Sunken eyes, pale skin, gaunt features, thin frame. The past weeks had not been kind to the shambling mass that was the elf; His addiction driving him to and nearly past the breaking point. Now however, he had his prey. Black blood seethed through blades of grass, pouring from wound after wound in the Felstalker’s carcass. It mixed and mingled with the fresh dew, the evaporating liquid congregating amidst the smoke emanating from the black liquid. It burnt at the ground with the foaming energy of raw fel but it was nothing compared to the burning Fin’thori felt within his mind. He longed for magic... A taste, a glimpse, a single moment of contact with the arcane.
“Your death serves a greater purpose, creature... Die knowing your death will fuel me in the murder of more of your allies. The Legion will never prosper.â€
The elf’s hand reached out, grabbing the beast by one of the massive tentacles on it’s back. Yanking on the appendage he managed to roll it onto it’s back before crumbling to his knees at it’s side. He could only rest his hand on it’s chest as he panted. Sweat dripped from his snow white forehead, dripping down into his eyes, encircled with dark bags. Blood flowed from a multitude of wounds as his eyes closed, halting the eery green luminescence that had washed over his face.
Fin’thori couldn’t believe it. After all these weeks, weeks of pain, suffering, meditation. It would finally slip away, and all he had to do was kill a demon, something he already longed to do. Pressing both of his hands against the creature’s chest, Fin’s wild nails dug into it’s flesh. The ill groomed things dug into it’s scaled hide, drawing more of the dark liquid out. Evoking the powers that The Betrayer had given him and his people, a deep purple began to wrap itself around Fin’thori’s arms. The arcane snaked down his appendages, and into the fresh wounds his nails had formed. Like a straw sucking liquid from a cup, bright green fel energy made it’s way up the arcane lines until it was the demonic green that wrapped around his sickly arms.
The elf’s whole form tensed as he raised his head to the sky, nails still pressed into the Felstalker’s flesh. The colour returned to his face, and the bags began to diminish... His frame began to bulk back out to it’s previous state as raw energy passed through his arcane-impoverished body. Digging his nails deeper into the dead demon, the green tendrils grew brighter. Thicker. Longer. They wrapped themselves around his shoulders, and caressed the sides of his head before beginning to fade. The emerald tide lowered, and the tendrils began their metamorphosis back into the deep purple, the left over fel energy sinking back into the corpse. After several moments, they completely dispersed. Fin’thori’s eyes snapped open, the fel green flooding now over his face much stronger than before. The green globes were filled with determination, a newfound vigor for life.
Still resting on his knees, Fin’thori took his fingers to the cooled blood, dipping them deep into the liquid. From memory he drew sigils across his exposed arms, and wards taught to him by other elves across his face with the blood. They said the intricate patterns weakened the demonic batteries they fought, and any advantage was helpful when assaulting demons. He had no need to feed now, not for the next week. Rather, he would devote his waking hours to vengeance. To cutting down swathes of the demonic, those that had killed his family. Rising to his feet, Fin’thori looked up at the blue sky with his emerald eyes, fel corpse at his feet, and echoed the exaltation of so many Blood Elves before him.
“Bless the Betrayer and his gift...â€
Two Years Ago
“Bless the Betrayer and his gift!â€
The Blood Elf’s massive warglaive collided down upon Fin’thori’s sword with a clash, fel fire and sparks arcing around him. Fin growled, pushing all his weight upon his blade in an attempt to get the Hunter away before the next inevitable strike. The Demon Hunter was forced back, nearly getting taken out by a demonic geyser. The green flames were a terrible backlight to the tattooed beast, only made more terrifying by the Hand of Gul’dan in the distance, framed by the sulfurous sky. His assailant burst forward with inhuman speed once more, crashing a shoulder into the ever-observant Fin’thori.
“Stop admiring the view, you idiot! Get back in the fight!†an elf nearby screamed as Fin was forced back into a ruined wall of an orcish building. The speaker wore the decorations of many medals, won over many wars. His grizzled face was unremarkable, only the peppered goatee on his chin marking him an individual, alongside the vicious gaze he could muster at his beck and call. Unfortunately, that glower was aimed at Fin.
Ducking, the demon hunter’s blade slammed into the stone wall, sending more sparks and more flames out around the elf as the battle around them surged on. The Scryers fought vigorously this day, raiding one of Illidan’s demonic training schools. Several Aldor were scattered throughout the pack not wanting to miss out on the fun, but they were falling in equal numbers with the Scryers to the Demonic Adept’s glaives. The Hunters had progressed in their training further than either group had expected. Fin was dealing with that exact problem at the moment, but it would be under control soon enough.
The elf took his chance while the Hunter he fought was on the ground, glaive tossed to the side. Swinging his sword high into an arc above his head he shifted it’s position within his hands at it’s apex so the hilt pressed against the base of his hands. Redirecting the momentum downward, the blade slid easily into his opponent’s chest, sticking into the ground beneath. The man gargled as blood filled his throat, his still intact eyes meeting Fin’thori’s in a desperate plea for aid. But there was no mercy for the mad followers of Illidan, only death at the hand of the Scryers.
“Your fate has been sealed, and so has that of your beloved Betra-â€
A malevolent mass of twisted muscle and inscribed ink slammed into Fin’thori before he was able to finish his sentence, sending him meters to the left. Sliding across the blighted soil, he let out a long moan, cut off once more by a clawed fist hurtling into the side of his skull. The massive Demon Hunter was an uncanny ball of rage, beginning to slam fist after fist into Fin, both of their weapons lost in the battle. Fin’thori’s stuck in the corpse of another elf, the Hunter’s discarded into the midst of a fel geyser. He raised his hands over his head as he was pummeled, time and time again, his vision beginning to blotch over with black and white circles. The black sky began to spread across the whole of his vision as he felt the bones in his arms snap under the pressure.
It’s only a matter of time now...
...I always wondered what it would be like to die...
...How many more hits can I take?
...Two..?
Three?
...More importantly...
...Why aren’t I dead yet?
Fin’thori opened his clenched eyes, a glaive thrust through the chest of his assailant. The Hunter’s mouth was twisted into an eternal scream, his unscarred eyes bound to an endless look of horror. His black blood began to pool upon Fin’s chest. Smoke rose from it, writhing past the blade who’s tip was only inches from Fin’thori’s face. The body fell forward and to the side, tumbling off Fin’thori as the now-revealed figure kicked it from his blade. It reached a massive hand down, grasping Fin’thori by the nape of his shirt. He faded in and out of consciousness, but felt the figure toss him over it’s shoulder, sprinting out into the darkness of the Valley.
• • •
“You’re up.†Fin’thori woke, finding himself propped up against the side of a ruined structure, a small cooking fire smoldering several feet away. The speaker was sitting on a fallen pillar, sharpening one of his two warglaives. The small fire cast flickering shadows across his face, giving Fin a chance to finally catch the man’s features. Dark brown hair, nearly black, was pulled into a tight knot on the back of his head.
The well maintained locks gave way to a duo of rising horns at the apex of their curl, beginning to twist back in order to make a full circle. His hands were clawed, as were his feet, wrapped in a pair of cloth bandages. His body was in a physical state Fin’thori didn’t think possible... He worked his gaze up from his feet to his head once more, finally catching the man’s fangs, his mouth contorted into some sort of death grin.
He could see Fin’thori’s obvious distress as he attempted to scramble back further against the wall, his smirk changing into a blatant grin. He let out a quiet chuckle, resting his blade at his side. The Demon Hunter set his hands in his lap, watching Fin’thori, “You’re well enough to be scared. That’s a good sign.â€
The words did little to comfort Fin’thori.
“Consider yourself lucky. I’m not sure if you noticed, you may have been busy getting mauled... But the rest of your group was overwhelmed. You’re the last one, Scryer. It’s a miracle I stumbled on your fight, and managed to save you.â€
“Save me..? So you’re not going to kill me then?†Fin’thori seemed genuinely worried, his brow twisting into a look of confusion.
The Hunter smirked once more, “Not all of us are crazed, like The Betrayer and his followers, elf. There’s a fine line between devotion and madness, but it’s still a line. I have managed to stay on the practical side of it.â€Fin tried to run a hand through his hair, but found that both of his arms were wrapped rightly in bandages. “Both your wrists are broken, and your left forearm is fractured. The Sanctum of Stars, your base, is just around this bend. I would escort you, but the Scryers don’t take kindly to my presence.â€
Fin’thori, still looking at his hands, took several moments to register what was said. He simply stared at the man.
“That means leave, elf.â€
Fin’thori muttered a response of some sort, struggling to get to his feet. He tried to use a hand to support himself, but collapsed to his side as the arm gave way. On the second attempt, the Hunter grabbed him by the arm. His touch was surprisingly gentle for such a massive figure, but hidden strength was obvious underneath the tempered touch. Fin caught his eye for a moment, before bowing his head. The elf began to walk away from the small fire, and the ruined building.
At the edge of the fire’s light, he turned to face the Hunter once more. He seemed unsure of himself, still daunted by the figure, but managed to ask a final question, “What... What's your name, Hunter?â€
“Varanis. Varanis Sunblaze.â€
With that Fin’thori turned, stumbling back to The Sanctum of Stars. His head swam with thoughts, as blood swam beneath his bandages. He would never see General Starhunter again, nor his grizzled goatee. He would never drink with the men from his squad again, nor exchange stories. He would never try to get a one liner in again in the middle of a battle, even if it would make for a nice story some day. But one thought pierced itself through the inner layers of his mind to press against his foremost thoughts time and time again.
What was Varanis Sunblaze’s story?
It would be years until he found out.
Present Day
“So you’ve seen him?†Fin’thori asked, his patience wearing thin. He was normally an amiable person to say the least, but shady bartenders in the back of some no-name bar speaking in circles wasn’t the best way to start the day. Especially when the thing you’ve been hunting for years could be a mile away.
“Seen who now? I think I’ve forgotten what it was we were talking about. There’s a hole in my pocket here...†The aging elf patted his coat pocket, “That all my thoughts keep slipping through. Maybe if there was something to block the hole...â€
Fin’thori took a deep breath, shoving a hand down into his pocket. He knew something like this was bound to happen. Shoving a small purse into the man’s hand, he asked once more, “Where is the elf? The one who has the horns, and the tattoos under his robes?â€
The other elf furrowed his brow, fishing around in his coat pocket as he pushed the purse into it, “Just gotta find the hole... Aha! There it is. It’s all coming back to me now. He came by about a half hour ago, stopped in for repairs to his dress-â€
“Kilt,†Fin’thori corrected.
“- Yeah, sure. To his kilt, and took off. Went east of here, toward The Scar.â€
“Did he have a mount of some sort, or was he on foot?â€
“That hole seems to be getting bigger now, I just don’t know what to do about it, do you?â€
“I think so.†Fin’thori grabbed the handkerchief hanging loosely from his pocket and leapt across the table. Pressing his hand down against the man’s throat as they both toppled backward, Fin’thori began shoving the cloth into the other elf’s mouth and down his throat before they even hit the ground, “Maybe this’ll clog up that hole for good!†The elf struggled beneath Fin’thori, but he finally managed to get the entirety of the handkerchief into the bartender’s mouth before standing.
Scrambling up himself, before pressing his back to the wall the bartender yelled, “You’re crazy, you know that?!†Fin’thori was already walking toward the exit, “Absolutely nuts!â€
Fin shook his head as he opened the door, sunlight bursting onto his fair skinned face, “You have no idea.†With that, Fin’thori broke off into a run in an attempt to find the most dangerous man in all of Eversong and sway him into teaching a total stranger the way of the Demon Hunter.
“It’s my application, sir.†Fin’thori stood with the poise of a military man, hands clasped behind his straightened back. He pulled one of his fingers away from the nervous death grip he had his palms in, leaning forward to gently tap the top of the thick stack of papers, “A thirty-two page report on why I should be a Demon Hunter. It includes my confirmed kills, mission reports, list of medals received in the line of duty, and a separate list of seventy-six reasons, forty-five subreasons, and a handful of compelling arguments compiled along with it.â€
“You’re kidding, right?†The Demon Hunter took a jagged nail, running it from bottom to top as he flipped through the array papers. After a moment scanning the first page, brow pulled down low as he tried to decipher the text through his clouded vision, he handed to papers back to Fin’thori.
“But, Hunter Sunblaze, I-â€
The Demon Hunter let out a low growl, pressing the pages against Fin’thori’s chest, “I told you not to call me that. More importantly, I’m not interested in taking an apprentice. I told you that five days ago, I told you that the day after, and the day after, and the. Day. After. Just leave me be!â€
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Hunter Sunbl-†Fin’thori was cut off once more.
“One more time, Farstrider. If you call me Hunter Sunblaze ONE MORE TIME...†The Demon Hunter’s eyes lit even brighter beneath the black blindfold pulled tight around his face. The glow set small tendrils of smoke spiraling out from his eye sockets, leeching through the fabric.
The smaller of the two elves stepped forward once more, obviously not willing to back down, “Hunter Sunblaze, please... I have to insist that you take me as-†Fin’thori’s words were taken from between his lips as a massive fist met his face. The Farstrider tumbled to the ground, the green light from his eyes vanquishing as heavy lids closed down upon them. The Demon Hunter looked down at his hand, pulling his lip between massive teeth to lightly bite down as he thought. His covered eyes moved then to Fin’thori once more, grabbing him by the leg to pull him back to the camp Varanis had made not far off. Sighing, Varanis looked down at the other elf.
“I told you not to call me that.â€
***
“This seems to be a recurring theme between us, you waking up in my camp.†The Demon Hunter squatted down next to a small cooking fire, standing on the balls of his feet. He poked at a piece of sizzling meat with a stick, dark brown hair hanging into his face.
Fin’thori stood, rubbing his jaw, “That’s...†Rotating the joint to get used to the newfound pain, he continued to speak, “...My ultimate goal.â€
Varanis flashed Fin’thori a threatening glance, before looking back to the roasting animal, “Persistence isn’t always a virtue, Fin’thori.â€
“I’m with you in your camp right now, aren’t I? I’d be back at home sulking otherwise,†He scooted closer to the small flames, holding his hands out. The crisp night air was nipping at the uncovered tips of his arrow-notching fingers.
“You also wouldn’t have that bruise on your face.â€
“I think I can cope, especially since you’ll be training me soon enough... Varanis.â€
“Finally learned your lesson, then?†The Demon Hunter smirked, rather happy with himself.
“One of many more to come.â€
The contented smirk was short lived, turning into a frown beset with a simultaneous glare, “I don’t have time to read through your thirty-two page report Farstrider. Why is it you want to become a Demon Hunter?â€
Realizing he had actually gotten somewhere with his nonstop pestering Fin’thori lit up. The bruise on his jaw had nearly faded away in his own mind as the eager expression turned to one of recollection. Recollection of years full of sorrow and strife, “Should I start chronologically or alphabetically?â€
“Just answer.â€
Fin let out a sigh, taking his own stick to poke at the fire, “It started with my brothers. They died at the beginning of the First War when they went to investigate the Dark Portal. Orcs and demons overtook them, and they died. Years later the Dark Horde invaded my home, killing my parents in front of me. I joined the Alliance Expedition, and went to Outland. I fought my fair share of Legion aligned races at first, but it was after the portal closed that my hatred began to fester...
“Day and night I spent hunting the demons that remained, never staying in the same place too long. It was then that I found my brothers, after so many years... Their eyes green, telling me how to stop the suffering the destruction of the Sunwell had sent upon me. I was sick, and using demons as a sort of battery only added insult to injury. I joined the Blood Elves, and eventually went back to Azeroth... Kael turned to the very Legion I spent my life trying to destroy however, so I went to Outland and aided in his death. He survived however, so I was forced to enter the Isle of Quel’Danas and fight there as well. Even now I spend my time with the Farstriders as a Greenhorn, fighting demons. I can’t complete my task without the proper training. I don’t want what happened to Outland to happen here, like it already is in Desolace.â€
The Demon Hunter remained silent, pushing his hand into the flames of the fire to grab the meat within. He set it on a plate between himself and Fin’thori, the empty sockets on either side of his face aimed at Fin’thori’s green orbs, “And you’ll never stop hunting them?â€
Fin’thori’s voice took on the steely tone of vengeance, “Never.â€
“Your training begins in two days time. Ready yourself, and say goodbye to your loved ones.â€
07-24-2011, 12:43 AM (This post was last modified: 07-24-2011, 12:47 AM by Beltharean.)
Two days later
Gently waves lapped against the shores of Eversong’s quiet woods, forever assaulting the grainy sand thereupon. Fin’thori looked up from the leather bound text in his hands, easily four inches thick to let his eyes rest. Varanis sat several dozen feet behind his new apprentice, resting on the point where the swaying grass and the complacent sand met. He looked on occasion to check on Fin, and now was one of those times. Picking up a small rock from a pile at his side, the Demon Hunter threw it with all the force a demonic entity can have compiled in it’s lithe body. The small pebble hurtled through the air, making contact with the back of Fin’thori’s head, “Ow!” Turning, Fin looked back at his master.
“No day dreaming. Focus on the text.” Varanis took his gaze off Fin’thori, and let it settle upon a book in his own lap. This one was different however, only half full. A bottle of ink rested on the hunter’s covered knee, as a quill flashes between it and the page with uncanny speed. Scrawling text matching that of the book Fin’thori read spread itself out across the crisp whites of the new paper.
“Yes Varanis...” Fin’thori turned his head to inspect the pages once more. He took in page after page, word after word. From the inner workings of an imp’s anatomy, to a compiled list of all the true names for demons Varanis had fought, along with Varanis’ master, and his master before him. Fin had never been good with names, so he rather hoped he could get a copy of the list for himself.
He scanned over the schematics for mana-bombs, and peered into the face of a sketched Nathrezim. Ran a hand over the hide of a Felboar sewn onto the page, and smelt the faint sulfurous scent of ancient fel magic on a page describing the skills an annihilan could master. The student flipped through pages for days, only taking short rests. He had a constant supply of mana gems at his side, courtesy of Varanis, in order to keep his mind sharp. When headaches began to form Fin’thori would be brought a holy item of some sort. An Amani idol, a tauren carving, anything. As soon as the holy magic would enter his body, fatigue would wash away from his mind and he would have a newfound vigor for the knowledge within the massive books he was handed. All this, all these resources, eventually culminating in a test that would decide his fate.
***
One week later
Varanis sat across from Fin’thori, tenebrous bags stuck under his eyes. Constant studying did little good for his outward appearance, his skin whitened, hair a ragged mass of red atop his head. He rested his elbows upon the small table that had been placed on the grass, the sand still only feet away, and the ocean mere meters. The sky was overcast, and the water gray, “Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Varanis pulled a sheet of paper from within the folds of his kilt, folded into fourths. Unveiling it, he slid the yellowed page across the wooden table. Next, a quill and ink were set at it’s side. “Good luck Fin’thori...” Varanis clasped his hands together, staring at the elf in front of him as he began to write, “...No pressure.”
The Test
Spoiler:
Fin’thori Dawnspear
26 / 7/ 6939
The Demon Hunter Assessment
1.Who are the three Nathrezim brothers made famous by their actions in The Third War?
2. What is the body of an infernal made of?
3. The difference between Abyssals and Infernals.
4. What demon has been giving the Highborne their immorality, name and race?
5. Name the two subspecies of Mo’arg
6. Where was the first horse corrupted into a Felsteed?
7. Name the four known Doomlords.
8. What do the most powerful Felguards become?
9. What is the name of their signature weapon?
10. What is an imp’s greatest fear?
11. What is the quickest way to defeat a Felhound?
12. What creatures were formed with the power of stolen Runestones?
13. Why was Draenor torn apart?
14. It is speculated there is more than one Dark Portal. Where is the other?
15. Who was the first Satyr?
16. What is the highest rank in Shivan society?
17. Is a Beholder’s flight magical or natural in origin?
18. Which lesser demon has the greatest fel to weight ratio?
19. Who is the only known Annihilan to have had an arcane affinity?
20. The portal known as Death’s Door was only functional because of what demon?
21. Who is credited with being the first to shed demonic blood on Azeroth?
22. If captured by a demon, and in threat of imminent death, what phrase will grant you a quick death?
23. What are melee oriented Eredar known as?
24. What is the Dirk of the Beast?
25. What demon lives in packs, and is native to only Azeroth?
26. Who was the first Guardian of Tirisfal?
27. Who corrupted the Winterfall Furbolg?
28. What destroyed demonic relic held the true name of every demon?
29. What are the two most successful ways for cleansing a person of demonic corruption?
30. Why was Illidan driven to madness?
Answers
Spoiler:
1. Varimathras, Balnazzar, and Detheroc
2. Fel Stone
3. They type of Infernal Soul bound to them
4. Immol’thar, the Void Terror
5. Gan’arg and Felguard
6. Desolace
7. Kruul, Kaz’rogal, Kazzak, and Khanok
8. Felguard Elite
9. The Netheraxe, a massive unholy halberd
10. Rainbows
11. Cut off it’s tentacles
12. The Ogre Magi
13. The warlock Ner’zhul opened too many fel portals to other worlds
14. Under the sea, waiting for someone to reopen it.
15. Xavius
16. Mother
17. Magical, as it can be grounded in an anti-magic zone
18. Imps
19. Magtheridon
20. Baelmon the Hound-Master
21. Broxxigar.
22. Xar il romath da tidesbi
23. Wrathguard
24. Xavius’ enchanted dagger which will turn anyone it strikes into a Satyr, regardless of race.
25. The Darkhound
26. The half-elf Alodi
27. The Satyr Xandivious
28. The Book of Fel Names
29. Killing the demon that corrupted them, or being cleansed by a priest. The latter is excruciatingly painful, and may kill the person instead of cure them
30. Because of his loss at Ice Crown, and his consumption of the Skull of Gul’dan
Blood fell from his eyes in a torrent. The burning of tears, and fel, and steel were intermingled; All consuming. Unbearable. A blade covered in blood, -Red and black, his and it’s- shook in the elf’s grasp. If he could, he would see the tattered remnants of his flesh fall to the ground. Mix, and mingle with the pool of red at his knees. It was too much. A stream of bile filled his throat, exiting on the nearby ground. The blade fell to the cobbled stones as well, hands moving to steady himself.
Varanis was right, he thought, I was not prepared...
Fin’thori grabbed at the holes where his eyes had once been, trying to hold back the seemingly endless rush of blood. But it was not endless, a fact he knew all too well. Soon the flow would end, and he would go with it, to eternal damnation. What else could possibly await him, a novice Demon Hunter? A practitioner of Fel?
It’s too soon... There’s too much left to be done.
A pool of vomit began to rise once more, but was suppressed by the elf’s urge -Need, even- to speak. To call out for help. He tried, but no sound escaped his lips. He tried once more, managing a moan. Collapsing to his chest, the Fin’thori sat in the ever widening pool of warm red liquid, fighting as he may to muster a yell. His voice only softened as time wore on. As a different kind of darkness settled into place over his current vision. And as a light brighter than any he had ever seen broke through, and beckoned to him.
* * *
The freshly slain dragonhawk fell from his shoulder to the floor with a dull thud as Varanis happened upon the scene. Clouded vision, giving way only to the vaguest shapes, worked across the scene in an attempt to understand. It was beyond him. His apprentice of many months. His companion. His only friend, lying limp and lifeless in a pool of his own blood. His clouded vision blurred more as the impact of the situation settled, nearly causing his legs to buckle.
The demons they had faced. The cultists they had slain. What could bring Fin’thori to such an end? The Hunter rushed forth, falling to his knees next to the other elf. It was only then that he caught sight of the fallen dagger at his side. He rolled the body onto it’s back, the feeling of dread spreading through his whole being as his suspicions were confirmed. He had attempted the ritual on his own, and he had failed. Varanis slumped over Fin’thori, head bowed in sadness as much as shame, “...You fool...”
* * *
It had been many months since his recovery, and even longer since Varanis and he parted ways. After seeing to his injuries at the nearest town, the Demon Hunter had left his apprentice. Fin’thori could have pursued, and likely found him, but chose to let the Hunter continue his life of solitude once more.
His vision never returned, magical or otherwise, but he was more than happy to have come out of the ordeal with his life still in hand. To be able to look back on his life and realize that there was too much left undone... It only took his sight, for him to truly see. And so, when the clerics, and healers, and priests that had tended to him deigned Fin’thori ready to leave their care and hospitality for the world once more, he set out to do the undone. To experience life as he never had. Without the power to kill, or maim. But with the ability to live life as the common man, to see with new eyes. To walk the length of Azeroth not as a defender, but as the defended.
![[Image: Jonah-Hex-Counting-Corpses-Flaming-Leap.jpg]](http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff226/joncthree/Jonah-Hex-Counting-Corpses-Flaming-Leap.jpg)