Ouroboros Bladesong sat in front of the campfire before him - or, rather, he was a single figure amid the circle gathered around it - yet, only he still remained sitting, for the rest of the men had drifted off to sleep. He eyed the flickering flames with mistrust; for somewhere, deep within those golden-lit eyes of his, the flame of fear also burned.
As one of the Kaldorei, the esteemed protectors of the great Well of Eternity, his had been a place of comfort and superiority. Drawing from the power of their precious Well, the Night Elven race had been allowed to grow fat from their absolute authority over Kalimdor; as a result their egos swelled to match their society. Pampered and vain like the rest of his society, Ouroboros complacent in his life-style of overzealous guard officer chasing down crime wherever the Elven swordsman saw it. He, just any other Kaldorei guard, was trained to punish the coward.
Thus, when the Burning Legion invaded Kalimdor through the Night Elves glorified Well of Eternity, they were ill-prepared to face such a demonic host. Their hateful, burning evil left nothing in its wake, and a path of destruction lit the land aflame wherever they touched.
Brought together through strife and devastation, the Kaldorei banded together in a desperate drive to stay alive; a great Elven army formed to push back against the Legion invaders. Their continued success against the Burning Legion in the field eventually spread through all corners of Kalimdor, and the Elven army amassed into a single coalition with one goal: save Azeroth from total destruction. During those final days of that war against the vile demons of the Burning Legion, it seemed that victory would be utterly assured.
Still, as if the Elves of the night didn’t have reason to disdain light already, fire now held a new meaning for the Kaldorei people; for it’s often difficult to erase the horror of seeing one’s ancestral home burn into ash. Ouroboros Bladesong wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to survive until now himself, not when so many of those he once knew had already perished.
Staring at the tongues of flame licking at the cool night air, the Elven swordsman couldn’t take his mind off the legions of demon hordes that the coalition’s host had gone to battle against. There were so many moments where he could have sword death would come for him, but always fate showed that it had other plans in store for the Elf warrior. He’d always notice some flaw in how the enemy stood or charged, an ally would come to his side, or, it was simply that an archer would release an arrow at just the right time. Thus far, he told himself that luck had been on his side.
However, he knew that his luck wouldn’t last forever, and dreaded every upcoming foray into the demon tainted lands, such as the operation he now faced.