Rage of the Blade Song (Story)

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
((Since this is still ongoing and I only update the tale once a week, I will only be uploading what I have written thus far, at least for now. Admittedly, that works out just fine since this serves as the prelude for the rest of the story. Think of it as...an extensive character history.))

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.
With the main body of the host moving forward in a charge against the Burning Legion’s primary force, Ouroboros was lucky enough to have been grouped with a squad meant to stay behind the Elven Offensive. As of late, the swordsman and the soldiers he accompanied were assigned to camps skirting the edges of the lands retaken by the host, serving as a border of safety for refugees, and a barrier of death for the enemy. Yet, just earlier that morning, Ouroboros’ lieutenant told his squad that a raven had been sent with orders for them to push into the city of Suramar, and begin reclaiming it for the Kaldorei people.

The men would have been more enthusiastic about fighting to save their homes, if not for the green haze which settled over all that the Burning Legion touched. A green haze which now shrouded Suramar and hid it behind foul mist. The men were unnerved about making a patrol through such an eerie place, and they even recalled hearing word that the human mage Rhonin had discovered a coven of warlocks working to raise the dead. He stopped the foul sorcerers from completing their work, but what if some had managed to survive?

The Elven swordsman sat shaking his head, and the lieutenant, walking by to make sure the men under his command were resting peacefully, stopped to make sure Ouroboros was holding up.

“Sword Bladesong, is there a reason you do not sleep yet?” He asked. “We’ll all need to be at our sharpest tomorrow, and that would prove easier with a good nights rest.”

Ouroboros smirked humorlessly. “I guess old habits die hard, Lieutenant Eldre’thor; I still prefer sleeping during the day, sometimes it’s just harder than usual.”

“You’re worried about going into the mist tomorrow, aren’t you?”

The Elven swordsman nodded his head. “I guess that could also be what’s keeping me up.

Eldre’thor walked back over toward Ouroboros, and crouched down once he was at the man’s side. “Anything in particular that’s troubling you about it?”

“Well, I can’t help but worry about going into Suramar after hearing of tales of undead in the city; still, I do trust the report from master Rhonin that the warlock presence responsible for it was dispersed.” He sighed. “I guess I’m just nervous about walking into some place where I don’t even know if I’ll be able to see the man at my side.”

Hiding the smile on his face, Bladesong’s lieutenant placed a mailed hand on his subordinate’s shoulder. “I can understand that concern, it’ll be a different sort of battlefield should things take a turn for the worst, but you do need to bear something in mind son… We Elves don’t sound a thing like any of those demons, so if you take a swing at one of us you may want to get your ears checked.” Eldre’thor Featherfall assured the man under his command. “Besides, I’ve heard from some of the other companies that have been through there that the fog isn’t so bad. We’ll be fine should we stick together Ouroboros.”

The lieutenant then stood up to walk back over his tent, stopping only for one more moment. “Now, I’d get to rest a lot more easily knowing that all my men were sleeping fitfully, so I hope you don’t take too much longer.”

Ouroboros listened to the armored footsteps of his lieutenant fade over the crackle of the flames. He shook his head realizing that Eldre’thor was right - they had their orders, and nothing he did or thought of was going to change that - so he lied down for sleep, closed his eyes, and passed the time until he and his squad mates would set out.
Lost to the soft sound of crackling flames on a still night, Ouroboros couldn’t recall falling asleep, but at least it had been peaceful; a stark contrast to how he awoke the next morning. Though he could not recall specifics, the Night Elf warrior had been in the midst of a pleasant dream - at least he believed it to be pleasant since he had been feeling most joyous whilst resting - and he wasn’t too keen on waking up, especially to the glaring light of the sun. However, he found it nigh impossible to ignore being shaken by the shoulder, which naturally caused his armor to jostle about, and his golden eyes reluctantly popped open to see the Lieutenant kneeling over him, narrowing in on the other man’s slightly unkempt goatee.

“You get a good rest Ouroboros? I hope you did, because we’re set to move out in half-a-hour, so get up and gather your equipment.” As the Elven soldier groaned and started moving to make his own preparations for the march, Eldre’Thor stood and spoke aloud for the rest of the company to hear him.

“That goes to the rest of you as well. I don’t care if the front lines have been pushed several miles away from this position; it’s quite possible that there are demons who have holed up inside the ruins, and with that hellish fog covering everything I don’t want us to take any chances. Make sure you have everything you’ll need for a fight…and make sure that you’re all at your sharpest!”

After issuing his commands, Lieutenant Featherfall walked over to a group of trees that the squad of soldiers had left their mounts tied to for the evening. He went straight for the great saber-toothed feline which served as his personal mount - a magnificent animal with a coat of fur that was nearly a solid black, but for a single white strip over its left eye -which, for Ouroboros, always reminded him of a scar earned in battle. Such a mark of past bloodshed wouldn’t have been uncommon either. Ouroboros Bladesong had served under Eldre’Thor long enough to see the great feline come to his master’s aid, often fighting with such ferocity that even the demonic invaders were taken aback by its fury. After untying Swiftpaw - the name that Eldre’Thor picked for his animal friend - he swiftly jumped into the saddle with a single movement, which no doubt had taken years of practice.

Ouroboros sighed as he watched the Lieutenant from afar, and found himself unable to admire his superior. Whereas he had been tracking down criminals and locking them away from petty crimes of thievery and “disturbing the peace” - which were all but laughable when compared to their present predicament - Eldre’Thor had been one of the select members of Kaldorei society who subjected themselves with duties away from their pampered homes. While nothing could have prepared the peoples of Azeroth for the coming of the Burning Legion, the Lieutenant was at least fortunate enough to have served doing the next best thing.

Prior to the madness of a war fought against demons, Eldre’Thor had served the Night Elf people by dutifully patrolling the borders of their vast Elven empire. While things were relatively peaceful, for the Kaldorei were fortunate enough to have the Well of Eternity as their pride and joy, the occasional skirmish wasn’t unheard of. Whereas most other Elves had only dealt with infighting and politics, the Lieutenant was able to draw on the experience of past battles against foes such as the Tauren bull-men, rock-like Earthen, and, worst of all, vicious and cunning Trolls. These creatures were the least favorite of the Night Elves to encounter, for the Trolls had a long-standing grudge against the Kaldorei for bringing down their own empire, and their attacks were often fueled by a cruel hatred.

Though such a life would have certainly been radically different - and far more challenging - from the easy-going lifestyle of a city guard, Ouroboros Bladesong found himself wishing that he had made the decision to push himself to those limits as well.

Consisting of only six men - including Ouroboros and Eldre’Thor - the squad had little provisions other than what was needed. Any rations that the company had in their possession were kept in small pouches, which were kept strung to the saddles of the men’s sabers for safekeeping, as well as to give the soldiers less things to keep on their person. Thus, not a single one of them required the full half hour to ready themselves for the patrol through Suramar, but they took advantage of the time allowed them nonetheless; not that it did many of them much good, for they were far too anxious about heading into the tainted city to relax. Finally, once the thirty minutes were up and all the soldiers had mounted, they gathered around Eldre’Thor.

As the Lieutenant checked his men over to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the man to Ouroboros’ right spoke up, clearly unnerved about the task before them.

“Lieutenant Featherfall, might I ask how far we’re being sent into Suramar’s ruins?” His gaze turned toward the fog enshrouded city, where the tops of those tree-homes which still stood could barely poke through the miasma-like fog.

“Don’t worry yourself to death Anarian; our commanders recognize the possible threat these ruins may be hiding. Our group is going to enter through the western roads and make a lap to Moon Goddess’ temple, then we’ll start making our way back here.” He said reassuringly.

Until now, Ouroboros had been rubbing at his chin, lost in his own thoughts, but he stirred at something Eldre’Thor said. “Our group; Lieutenant, are there other squads going into Suramar as well?”

“Yes Bladesong, there’s about four or five if I’m not mistaken. The rest will be scouring the areas where homes were once setup while we patrol through the market. In fact, when we reach the temple, there should be another company waiting for us so that we may share reports of our patrol. So none of you need to worry about going in there without backup, we’ll have soldiers all around us.”

This new bit of news seemed to settle most of their nerves, but Ouroboros still had an uneasy feeling about venturing into the green fog. However, he didn’t have long to dwell on his thoughts.

“Well it seems that everyone is ready. Let’s get this business taken care of, and then we can all rest easy tonight.” With that, Eldre’Thor waved forward with his hand and spurred the squad onward.
Ouroboros could feel the cats claws sink into the soft grass with every leap and stride, the massive feline gliding over the land with grace representative of its species. Though the ride was quiet without bird or insect to sing the company a song - for the Burning Legion’s invasion had scoured away life from the land - the Elven soldiers rode on in tentative peace. A sense of calm settled over their minds, and for the present moment they seemed to forget the troubles of their world, becoming one with their animal companions. But such bliss was soon abolished as the company approached the outer edges of the fog enshrouded Suramar.

“Well would you look at that?” Eldre’Thor broke the silence. “The mist is already beginning to dissipate. Take heart men, the war must be going well for us in the East.”

“Tell that to those who died here.” Said one man, causing the Lieutenant to look over his shoulder in an attempt to figure out who the speaker was.

It was true, the green fog enveloping Suramar had indeed moved farther back, and the edges of Elven ruins could be seen poking through the foul mist. One such building, a toppled tree home, now stood halfway out in the open and half covered by fog. The wall and part of the roof had caved in when the building fell, and several branches that once supported the home had impaled the building during its collapse. The form of a Night Elf woman lied partially buried from the ruin, her arm outstretched as though she had died attempting to pull herself from the rubble.

Such a sight did little to ease the onlooker’s hearts, for the ravaged homes barely made visible, for they now appeared more fel and haunted than ever before - at least before the mist kept everything hidden from them. It seemed to the company that the ghosts of their fallen kin might rise at any moment and lash out at them for their failure to stave off the Burning Legion’s advance. That the mist was finally retreating, and made it easier for them to see, only helped the Elven group to realize this.

Sensing that his men were close to despair, Eldre’Thor Featherfall attempted to stir their spirits. “Tragic their deaths may be, we can’t put the blame on ourselves for their loss. This was one of the first places hit by the Legion, there was little we could do for the refugees who refused to leave behind their homes because they were ill-prepared. All we can do now is take it upon ourselves to bring justice to the fallen and put an end to the foul invaders.”

“Or perhaps we’ll meet ours in these ruins, as retribution for the dead.” Scoffed the same Elf as before.

“Still your tongue and keep silent! If you’re going to complain about doing what you can for our people then bow your head to the Burning Legion and be done with it. As for me, I’m going to continue to fight on until this war is won and our people are made safe! Those of similar heart follow me into the ruins and serve the Kaldorei well; anybody else is free to run and be hunted down for a traitor.”

The Lieutenant tugged on Swiftpaw’s reins, causing the saber cat to move forward into the green shroud. Looking at one another, it was Ouroboros who lead the rest of the party in after their leader, unwilling to disappoint the man he had grown to respect so much.

Once inside the fog, the company of Elven soldiers felt as though they’d been cut off from the rest of the world. While their vision was obscured from everything around them for several feet, the men were surprised to find that the demon fog brought about no bodily harm; while cold against their skin and eyes, there was certainly no stinging pain as was anticipated. Still, that didn’t mean the mist didn’t affect their senses in other ways.

From the moment they stepped past the threshold of fog on Suramar’s outskirts, the world immediately became deadened to the company, as if their feelings had suddenly dulled. The company could hardly tell whether or not their sabers were even moving, and had to constantly check their surroundings to make sure they still moved forward. Worse, sound seemed to be muffled as though pillows were being pressed to their ears, and the Elves - who normally possessed such superb hearing - didn’t take well to their sudden state of near deafness.

The loss of their senses mad the soldiers more paranoid than was necessary. They frequently turned about in their saddles to check on their surroundings, wary of the possibility they may find demons hiding behind every wall and upturned stone.

Trying to settle his own frayed nerves, Ouroboros looked to his Lieutenant, hoping to find solace in the other man’s demeanor, for he always seemed to be perfectly composed no matter the situation. Unfortunately, even Eldre’Thor appeared to be on edge, and a mailed fist clenched tightly at Swiftpaw’s reins while the other rested on the pommel of his sword. To see the Lieutenant looking so worried concerned the Elven soldier, but he didn’t lose himself, and remained confident that Lieutenant Featherfall would see their squad through the dark hours ahead.

In line with Archmage Rhonin’s report, there was an uncommon lack of bodies in the streets due to the efforts of the warlocks, for which the soldiers were actually glad for once. Seeing a single corpse crushed beneath the rubble of a fallen home had put a dour gloom over the group, but to ride through a mass grave of their own kin would have nearly been too much for the company. Still, this failed to lift spirits while they rode through the green haze, and not a single man dared speak.

Time eventually became a meaningless concept as hours seemed to pass by with little change in their surroundings, for everywhere they looked kept blanked the city in absolution. Just as the oppressiveness of the silence started to become unbearable, the men realized that they were nearing the point where they would soon be meeting with one of the other groups. As always, it was Eldre’Thor who took point.

“We’ll be coming upon the market and temple square soon. Since the other patrol routes were shorter than ours, the other group should already be waiting for us. Once we trade reports we’ll be free to return to camp.”

This was followed by several sighs of relief, and hope started to return to the company now that an end to this dull nightmare was finally in sight. Judging by their current position, the company only had another fifteen minutes before they’d reach their destination and could return to the free world.

However, as they reached the end of the market street and drew closer to the temple square, the Elven soldiers saw no sign of another group waiting for them.
Ouroboros Bladesong swallowed the lump forming in his throat as his growing sense of unease seemed to weigh down on him; a greatly undesired burden in the tainted city. The ride through Suramar’s hellish remains had been enough to shake the Elf’s heart, and now he resisted the voice in his own head which screamed at him to turn and flee from the heart of the city. Even as he sat atop his nightsaber alongside the other men of his company, a great wave of foreboding evil washed over him, and Ouroboros was sure beyond a doubt that the other soldiers felt the same way that he did.

Even Lieutenant Featherfall appeared to be particularly dismayed as he looked on at the empty square. From where the group of six currently stood stopped at, the first few steps leading to the temple doors were barely within sight. Toppled stands and ravaged stalls stood lining the sides, leading to the familiar circular square in front of Elune’s Temple. Such senseless destruction was far from befitting for a district which led to one of the revered moon goddesses’ temple, but the soldiers were too perplexed to warrant any anger.

Like taking that first step in a cold, black lake, the company stood petrified; fearful of moving deeper into the shroud of gloom. At length, the soldier who spoke of their deaths on the outside voiced his trepidation, not even bothering to quell the shaking in his voice.

“We should turn back…”

This time Eldre’Thor did not turn back to regard the man, but, like the others, he stared ahead transfixed. “We may have gotten here before one of the other groups…”

“Earthen’s !@#, there’s no way that’s possible, and you know it! You said it yourself, Sir, that we had the longest patrol route through Suramar. It’s not possible for us to have gotten to the Temple District before anybody else unless they’ve been attacked in this forsaken graveyard!”

“We can’t go back until we’ve at least checked for them. Their group could have taken refuge in the temple while waiting for us to arrive.”

“That’s $%^-, Lieutenant!”

Ouroboros’ ears perked up and he turned his head to the left. A few feet away from him was a ruined stall with an assortment of battered and overturned carts piled atop it; it had been the site of a pyre, for the wood was burnt black and the ground was scorched around the site. As the two Lieutenant and his subordinate debated over what their course of action should be, Ouroboros thought hearing the soft scrape of metal on stone from somewhere behind the charred pile.

The young soldier - at least by Elven standards - had fought against the Legion’s felhunters before. Foul and vicious, felhunters shared a nature similar to wolves, and moved about on four claws, seemingly wrought in iron and sniffing at the ground, ever hunting for their next victim to make into a meal. They often liked to attack those who were proficient in magic, gorging themselves off the power wielded by such sorcerous men and women with two tendril-like extensions stemming from their shoulders; but, like any dog, the mere desire to taste the meat of their prey was enough to provoke them into attack.

It crossed his mind that perhaps one such creature now roamed through the ruins, feasting on what remains it may be able to find in the ruins of the city. It made sense from the soldier’s perspective. As one of the Burning Legion demons, it would have no difficulties seeing within the dense fog clouding the city, not unlike its Elven foes. Such a foul beast would be able to scavenge around the city at its own leisure without fear of being attacked. Likewise, the demon may very well use the fog to its own advantage against any trespassers, and Ouroboros worried that one of the monstrous creatures would attack.

He constantly reminded himself that felhunters preferred prey who were proficient in magic, and since none of the men in the group had any talent in the arts, it would likely turn a blind eye toward them. Furthermore, there were six of them and - hopefully - only one of it. As feral as the felhunters might be, they, like any demon of the Burning Legion, were highly intelligent; against six trained soldiers there was no way it would be able to survive long to enjoy it’s meal.

Besides, as soon the soldier turned to look for the source of the sound, the area became quiet except for the two Elves who sat atop their sabers bickering with each other. Also, a fair breeze had started up, one strong enough to jostle the holstered sword at his side. Ouroboros Bladesong told himself that he had was imagining the sound and that it was likely to have been a sign being shaken in the wind.
“Why would a trained regiment of soldiers hole up inside a ruined temple when they were told to expect our company?”

“Well Kor’Thal, answer me this then. How long would you want to spend waiting in this fog for another company of soldiers to make their way here?” The Lieutenant asked.

Kor’Thal clenched his jaw, but he didn’t answer. Ouroboros had been with the group long enough to learn that the Elf was a magnificent pessimist, and his dour outlook on life was matched only by his arrogance. When asked a question, he would often return only a scalding glare that burned to behold.

“My point exactly; none of us want to be here Kor’Thal, even the other men who are waiting for us, so it makes sense for them to have gone someplace that has often been reassuring for our people. Remember, the fighting is taking place over a dozen leagues from Suramar, the Burning Legion has been pushed back without question.” He paused to look at the other men under his command. “We have a duty to the Kal’Dorei people, and if we turn back without checking for the other group, then we’re breaking from that duty.’

‘It very well may be that some of the Legion’s dogs have been left behind and are hiding out here, but if no one routes those monsters or gets word back to Command, then we’ll never know. Now, we have a duty to fulfill; let’s not waste our time. Move forward.”

Ouroboros shook his head and prodded the nightsaber to move on, just as the others did so as well. Their mounts had only taken a few steps forward when Kor’Thal spoke up, panic filling his voice.

“This is insane! I won’t follow you to our deaths! All this honor and duty !@#$ be damned!” Kor’Thal then tugged hard on his reins and rode off at break-neck speed, the growl of his nightsaber echoing loudly through the district. Eldre’Thor reined Swiftpaw to turn, but by time he was facing the other direction, Kor’Thal had become lost in the fog.

“Damn him!” The Lieutenant turned Swiftpaw back toward the temple while looking at his remaining men. “Does anybody else plan on following suit?”

Ouroboros looked at the faces of the soldiers he was with, his eyes lingering over the deep crevices in their faces, certain that his own looked much the same. Yet, as fearful as they were, one had but look in their eyes to see the steel of their resolve. Before even he realized it, Ouroboros was rising to the call.

“We’ll follow you through this war for as long as the Legion pillages through our lands, Sir! We’re ready to move at your command!”

Eldre’Thor Featherfall nodded his head in gratification for Ouroboros’ support.

“Truth be told, I’ve never been fond of leading men into battle, and I worry every time that I’ll make the mistake that costs one of you your lives. Thank you for your faith in me…” As if something in the wind bade him do so, the Lieutenant drew forth his sword, a straight, silver blade with a purple crystal set in the pommel. The men following him did likewise, and, for once, rather than fear, Ouroboros felt pride and admiration in brandishing his family sword. Like the Lieutenant’s, his blade perfectly forged and well maintained, the straight blade extending out to a terrible tip upon which many foes had been impaled, and, the Elf hoped, many more would be.

“Now let’s find out what’s going on.”
The group of Elves passed through the open courtyard, holding their breath and straining their ears for the slightest whisper. Yet, even the previous breeze was no longer present, and a deafening wave of silence fell upon the squad of soldiers. The clink of their armored plates shifting around as their sabers moved under them seem like thunder in the quiet gloom, and they could have sworn that the sound echoed back all around them. They felt uneasy walking through the temple courtyard, as if there was something out in the thick, green fog watching their every move. Yet no screaming horde of demons came charging at them from the mists; they were utterly alone, cut off from the rest of Kalimdor.

The squad dismounted upon reaching the Temple of Elune’s lower steps and left their mounts to remain waiting outside. They didn’t stop to bother tying their the highly trained felines to anything that could serve as a post for fear that they might require a swift flight from the temple district - besides, the sabers themselves didn’t seem too anxious to wander too far in the heavy fog. Even if the group did wish to have the sabers follow them into their revered Moon Goddesses’ temple, there was no way all of them could have packed into the narrow entrance all at once. Still, the men were remiss about leaving behind such valuable animal companions, and they parted from the sabers with a heavy heart knowing that they would be in great danger should there be enemies hiding within the temple.

As Ouroboros followed his Lieutenant up the cracked marble steps he looked up at the building. The temple, which had once served as a sanctuary for the Kaldorei people, now loomed as an ominous shadow from within the deep mist.

There were a couple bodies still lying untouched on the steps leading to the door of the revered temple: one lied face down with a terrible wound stretching the length of the figures back – it was blatantly deep enough to have severed the victim’s spine. The other body was face-up, and looked upon the approaching group with wide-eyed horror; there were a couple of stab wounds on the front, but the pool of dried blood around the head suggested that the victim may have died after cracking their skull on the stone steps. No doubt they would find more of the deceased inside – those who thought they may be able to find safety and protection from the demons through prayer to the Mood Goddess.

“How could Elune have allowed this to happen? Right on her doorstep no less!” He asked quietly as they came upon the gaudy doorway.

A few of the other men looked at him as though he had spoken in heresy, but Eldre’Thor gave him a look of understanding.

“It is not the Moon Goddesses’ place to intervene in the physical world, no matter how great our strife may become.”

“These people prayed for her in their desperation, right up until the moment they died. How could she have been so content as to watch those who loved her so die?” This time no one had an answer for Ouroboros, and they looked about sullenly. “Their chances would have been better off if they’d just abandoned the city…”

“Quiet now Bladesong and keep your wits about you.”

Eldre’Thor Featherfall pushed against the white door with silver streams and it slowly budged beneath him, within moment it had swung open on silent hinges. The Lieutenant motioned with his hand for the soldiers to follow after him, and proceeded on ahead with his sword at the ready.

Ouroboros silently cursed the layout of the temple entrance as the squad made their way inside. It was bad enough that the initial walkway was narrow, barely allowing for three people to walk side-by-side, but then the hall split into two with a wall blocking newcomers from seeing into the main prayer room. The trepidation was beginning to eat at the soldier, and he desperately fought to keep from becoming nauseated in front of his companions. Naturally, Eldre’Thor was the first to see what lay within the prayer room, and even he let out a gasp before turning to look away.

The rest of the soldiers trickled in and followed suit. Ouroboros thought he managed to overcome the sickness he was feeling, but, after entering the prayer room, he couldn’t remember if it was him or another who started throwing up. It certainly could have been him; after all, it seemed as though his world was turned upside down without warning and sent spinning.

The prayer room, a great circular space with an open roof so as to allow the gentle light of the moon to stream in during prayer – though now all that entered was a thin screen of fog, which cast an eerie, surreal feel to the whole scene. When the group of soldiers regained control of themselves they looked more closely at the carnage. The entire room was filled with the bodies of those who had been butchered by the demons, even as they prayed for help to come from their goddess.
Drawing closer to the mass of tangled Elven corpses, the soldiers looked through their fallen kin more closely. It was immediately apparent that there wasn’t a single body there that had been left in one piece, and the squad realized that these people had been mercilessly hacked apart by their foul killers. Those heads which hadn’t been removed from the shoulders were caved in, entire arms and legs had been severed from body and in some cases they even appeared to have been torn off. So much blood had poured out from the sickening pile of dead that the floor was all but lost, and no matter where the soldiers stepped they couldn’t avoid stepping in the sticky substance. A metallic stench filled the air so thick that it was as if they were forcing themselves to walk through some invisible barrier.

At length, after the squad had walked around the perimeter of the mess of bodies, Eldre’Thor pointed out what all had noticed. “None of these Kaldorei are wearing armor from the resistance…” All of the bodies were dressed like civilians, along with the occasional priestess adorned in robes or their traditional – and revealing – moon armor. “We have to move in deeper and check the rest of the temple. Ouroboros, you’re closest to the gardens so head in and check it out.”

“Yes Lieutenant Featherfall.”

The gardens were usually set behind the prayer room. Generally available for public use, the garden room was a place of tranquility and meditation, and the only sound was often the running of water which splashed into a small pond. Like the prayer room, it also had an open roof, for the Night Elf priestesses took great assurance from the moonlight, and it was a huge aspect of their lives within the temple. If the soldiers could be found anywhere, it would probably be in there, or the library.

Ouroboros turned around and his eyes immediately fell upon the closed door that led into the gardens, marked by the etching of a leaf and vines. His sword was still drawn, and he was only slightly aware that his grip on it was tight that his fingers had gone numb. One of his companions moved closer to support him in the event there was anything hiding within for ambush; he couldn’t tell who it was, but he was thankful nonetheless. Ouroboros Bladesong pushed on the door, which easily swung inward, and let out a yelp before putting a hand to his mouth.

“Lieutenant, come here, I think I’ve found them!”

Eldre’Thor headed over as swiftly as he could manage without stumbling over the tangled mess of corpses – easier said than done, and he periodically stepped upon a severed limb which threatened to throw his balance off. Ouroboros had stepped aside, allowing the Lieutenant to get a better view, though he continued to point inside. Within moments, the rest of the squad gathered around and tried to look inside over Eldre’Thor’s shoulder.

Ouroboros Bladesong had spoken the truth, inside was the group that had been designated to meet with them, though they were no longer in a position to carry out their assigned orders. The entire lot of them had been strung up and hung from the open roof in a circle around the small pool of water. Each of the soldiers had been disemboweled so that their guts could hang free. Lying face-down in the bloody pond was their leading officer, and, from out of a terrible gash on the back of his head, fresh blood still oozed into the befouled waters.

“This happened recently, those damned monsters could still be around!” Eldre’Thor turned around. “Be ready to defend yourselves, we’re getting out of here!”

Yet the demons must have been watching and waiting to see if the bodies to be discovered. Not a moment after the Lieutenant ordered his men to head out one of the sabers outside roared loudly, and it was answered by a guttural and challenging shout. All of the men there had heard that same scream before in past battles. It was a Fel Guard, vicious shock troopers within the demon armies, and, as they listened, more joined in the call.

The Burning Legion had been lying in ambush outside the temple.
At the sound of a second roar from one of the night sabers, Eldre’Thor perked up.

“We have to get out there, now! Before they kill the sabers and leave us stranded!”

The lieutenant quickly moved for the entrance, gracefully maneuvering among the bodies with grace as he was followed by the rest of the company. Ouroboros trailed behind last. His mind was ablaze with fear and it was only the adrenaline of the moment which managed to fuel him.

He cursed himself for not saying anything earlier after hearing the metallic scrape. Ouroboros was now certain that whatever made it had been no effect from the wind, but one of the foul demons lying in wait for them. Now they were cornered in a pile of their own rotting kin with the Burning Legion surrounding them on all sides. The ringing sound of the Fel Guards screaming for Elven blood was all he heard. The soldier tried to pick out how many foes they might be against, for surely their numbers could not be that great, but the constant echo of their howls mixing as one made count an impossible task. He desperately hoped that, maybe if he and the rest of his companions just stayed put, perhaps the demons would simply pass them by, but he knew this to merely be wishful thinking.

The five soldiers gathered at the hallways end, where the snarling of sabers and grunting of demon soldiers in battle came at them from the entrance. Eldre’Thor Featherfall put himself first, held his sword at chest level, and charged down the hall. Two more followed him and two more after them before Ouroboros was free to go to their aid as well. From where he stood the green fog almost seemed to be glowing as it filled the temple doorway; as he rushed forward, the soldier imagined that he just ran through a funeral shroud for death was all around him.

Battle between the Night Elves and the demon foot soldiers had already met, and the angry clash of steel rang in his ears. He couldn’t tell how many of the Fel Guard were there, but it was obvious their squad was outnumbered - it looked to be three for every Elf. Already one of the sabers lied dead already; the head, having been nearly hacked off entirely, lolled to the side as its body bled out and a hind leg kicked in wretched death throes. However, noting the two crumpled forms lying gutted near the carcass, Ouroboros wagered that the demons had lost two of their own against the ferocious felines. The Elves put up a valiant defense rushing to the aid of their animal companions, and managed to draw the demons’ attention onto themselves, but now they were forced to endure the full brunt of their attack atop the temple steps.

Fortunately, in their zeal to route the Kaldorei defense which dared show itself, the Fel Guard company turned their backs on the night sabers in a frantic rush to butcher the true enemy. Yet the great sabers, loyal to their Elven handlers, did not flee once ignored but instead hounded the Legion troops from behind and mowed straight into the back of their lines. As the demonic forces converged on the Elves they suddenly found themselves caught between two foes, and were forced to split their attention once more.

Ouroboros moved to lend his blade to the far right, alongside one of the men standing beside Eldre’Thor. The five of them formed a half-circle barricade along the steps and used the elevated ground to their advantage. They found it difficult to go on the offensive, but the group managed to parry a great deal of strikes aimed at ending their lives. Occasionally one of the Elves would find a break in the demons’ own defense, and they would lash out to claim a life of their own. Slowly but surely, the number of Fel Guards was dwindling.
Suddenly an agonized roar shook the fighters. In the back one of the demons managed to slip their blade past the sabers quick feet and stuck one in its chest. Rather than mercifully slay the fearsome beast, the Fel Guard was so overcome with blood lust that it continued to run the feline through until he managed to overturn the animal. The other night sabers quickly turned toward the vicious demon and shredded him beneath their combined claws, but they could do nothing to save their dying companion and the saber moaned mournfully.


The man beside Ouroboros shouted and a horrified look of anguish crossed his features. However, one of the demons up front took advantage of it’s foe’s shock and lunged forward.

“Look out!”

Ouroboros Bladesong attempted to bring his sword up for the man beside him, but he wasn’t swift enough. The Fel Guard’s own blade stabbed him through the gut, piercing right through his forest green armor while Ouroboros’ own swing came in slow and rebounded off the demon blade.

He desperately wanted to avenge his fallen ally, but in his rush to protect a fellow soldier, Ouroboros had placed his own life in danger. He pulled his blade back just in time to parry a set of swings from the Fel Guard before him. The foul creature savagely rained down a series of blows that threatened to force Ouroboros back up the steps. Yet, if he allowed that to happen then the demons would be able to encircle the Lieutenant, as well as the other two soldiers, and he refused to budge an inch. He finally found the reprieve he needed when the demon made a furious lunge which Ouroboros was able to deflect off to the side; using the Fel Guard’s own momentum against him, the Kaldorei soldier ran his family blade through the demon’s warped skull.

Just as he was moving to stand beside his lieutenant, the demon that killed his ally slashed him across the chest. As it’s own companion fell, the Fel Guard focused on Ouroboros while he was busy pulling his sword from the demon’s head. The attack had been an upward swing, and so strike not only cut through his armor and chest, but also lifted Ouroboros from his feet and knocked him to the ground. Faring better than the body he saw earlier, the soldier’s head came down hard on the flat side of the step rather than its edge, but the sudden impact and horrendous wound on his chest took the fight out of him and Ouroboros grew dizzy.

The demon let out barking laughter as it stepped closer and prepared to run him through. However, Eldre’Thor intercepted the Fel Guard’s path and blocked it from the fallen Elf. Lieutenant Featherfall struck out viciously at the surprised demon and cut its own chest in multiple locations; he finished by beheading the foul creature and kicking the corpse backward.

Ouroboros’ breathing became labored and he strained to prop himself up, only to fall back down. Even as his eyes went dim, they rested on the sight of his Lieutenant valiantly standing over him in defense. As the Kaldorei’s world went black the last thing he heard was Eldre’Thor barking commands to those that remained, though they were nothing more than a mumble.
Like being lost in the darkness of a deep cavern and finally finding light at the end of a long tunnel, Ouroboros returned to the waking world. Even before his eyes were open he could tell that he was no longer in the ruins of Suramar. For one, he no longer felt a cold chill running down his back; he couldn’t feel his armor and guessed that someone had removed it; finally he could hear birds chirping all around him. The sound was peaceful, as if the creatures of Azeroth didn’t realize that the Burning Legion had invaded their world and threatened to consume it in flame.

Curious to see where he was, Ouroboros Bladesong tried to open his eyes. However, he’d been asleep for so long that the bright light was momentarily overpowering, and he had to immediately close his eyes once again. Ouroboros tentatively attempted to open his eyes again, doing so very slowly so that the sunlight wouldn’t burn his sensitive eyes for a second time.

Lying on a makeshift cot, the Elf found himself beneath a tall tree. He must have been taken far from where the fighting was, because the leaves growing from the branches were green as emeralds, rather than being dull and faded. If it had been earlier there would have been shade over his face, but the sun had moved so that its light totally enveloped him.

Ouroboros tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but a piercing pain rang through his chest and forced him back down.

“Ugh! What hap-” The Elven soldier quieted as he remembered the events that led to the agony in his chest. With startling clarity he imagined the Fel Guard’s leering face glaring at him as it slashed him with its wicked blade. He also remembered how defenseless he’d been against the demon as it nearly cut him down and ended his life. A trembling rage came unbidden to him as he thought over how useless he’d been during the fighting in Suramar. He clenched his fists and grabbed a tuft of grass in each.

“Oh, you’re awake? That’s wonderful to see!”

Ouroboros released his grip and turned his head to regard the speaker. It was one of the priestesses of Elune dressed in the white robes that were custom of their duties. Upon realizing that her charge had awakened, the priestess stepped closer to him so that he could see her better.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well I’m not dead, and that’s all that matters.” Ouroboros once again tried to rise, grimacing through the pain as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Covering his chest was a bandage with blood already beginning to show through.

“Don’t push yourself so hard!” The priestess quickly knelt down to lend her aid to Ouroboros, and helped him move back so that he may lean against the tree. “As soon as your companions brought you to us we set to work trying to heal that wound on your chest. The demon’s weapons almost brought about a serious infection, but we were able to stave it off and prevent your injury from becoming any worse. Still, it would be best that you not move around too much until your wound has had time to close.”

All around him were soldiers and refugees who appeared to be in similar straits. Men and women were lying on the cots on the ground, most of them asleep, but some sitting up like him. Also like him, most of them sported a bandage on some part of their body.

“And where am I exactly?”
“We’re at the base of Mount Hyjal. We were forced to move from our old encampment some time ago. Oh, I’m so sorry!” Even as Ouroboros gave her an inquisitive look the priestess reached behind her into a pack and pulled out a skin of water. ”You must be very thirsty, drink this.”

As soon as she mentioned it, the Night Elf realized that he was thirsty, and hungry too. The priestess must have realized that as well; while he eagerly drank from the skin she also produced a pouch of nuts and dried fruit. He ate a small bit from the pouch, mostly picking out the fruit, but primarily he stuck to drinking the water. When Ouroboros finally had his fill he looked at the Elven woman before him curiosly.

“Do you know how long I’ve been out for?”

“Exactly one week.” The priestess told him.

“A week?” His eyes widened and he leaned forward before quickly pushing himself back with a gasp as a new wave of pain stabbed through his chest.

“Please Sir, try to take it easy!”

“I’ve been asleep for a week? That can’t be!”

“I hate to be the one to tell you so, but it is the truth.”

Ouroboros leaned his head back and looked into the sky. He could scarcely believe that a week had passed since he was injured in Suramar. The Elf brought his hand up and gentle placed it on his chest close to where he knew the wound was. He would have a scar once it was healed, a terrible one at that. Once before he may have shuddered at the thought of coming face-to-face with a demon, but now it was all that was on his mind. He almost wished that the foul creature had killed him rather than letting him live with the shame that he’d been bested. However, since he was still alive, Ouroboros wished for nothing else but to return the favor to the hellspawn of the Burning Legion.

“My Lady, do you happen to know what has become of my companions? Where are they?”

“I don’t know what’s become of them, but if I had to take a guess they might be up on Hyjal’s summit.”

“What would they be doing there?”

“The dragons were preparing for a ritual of sorts and they invited the Night Elven people to attend. A lot has happened since you were unconscious Sir. The war against the demons was won a few days ago. Those monsters will never trouble Kalimdor again.”

“We…we’ve won…it’s over?”

“Yes Sir, indeed we have. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I’ve talked long enough. There are other injured that need attending and there are only a few of us priestesses around to attend them at the moment. Forgive me.”

The temple priestess rose and walked away, leaving Ouroboros with a filled satchel of water and the pouch of nuts, but he paid them no heed. Her words rang like thunder in his ears. The war was over. It couldn’t be, how could he possibly exact his vengeance against a foe that was no longer around? Worse, the priestess said that they would never return to Kalimdor again. No, Ouroboros Bladesong refused to believe that, the Burning Legion had to return. He had to satisfy his anger against them no matter the cost.

With the weight of the coalition’s victory pressing down on him, Ouroboros Bladesong swore that he would some day exact a bloody toll against the Burning Legion, but he wouldn’t stop there. As the Night Elf lied beneath the evergreen tree he vowed to become the greatest swordsman that not just his people, but the rest of Azeroth would ever know.
10,000 years later

Moonbrook…probably one of the trashiest, dirtiest places Ouroboros Bladesong ever had the displeasure of being made to visit. The buildings were in shambles and disrepair from years of weathering wind swells and near constant exposure to sunlight, with little to no incentive on anybody’s part to patch them up. Those living in the shady town fared little better. Most of the people who lived there sat or walked around in nothing but dirty rags, rambling about a kingdom turned against them, and a bottle in their hand; those who were a cut of grain above the rest were cutthroats and thieves, brigands who fed on each other as much as those who passed by. Yet, no matter their method of dealing with the situation, the citizens of Moonbrook shared one thing in common with one another - all were poor.

And the Night Elf swordsman still found that, in some ways, it was more favorable there than Stormwind City. At least here he knew who to hide his coin-purse from and keep his eyes on, after all, it’s not like they did much to try and hide themselves.

Scanning the crowd currently walking about, many of those walking the street matched the scruffy look he was told to expect, but Ouroboros found himself unable to spot people he was looking for. He doubted that the gang members he was hired to track down would be wearing anything too out-of-place in the decrepit town, but the Elven swordsman was told to keep a lookout for any wearing red cloths.

The land of Westfall had always had problems, many that dated all the way back to when Stormwind City was rebuilt after the Alliance’s first war against the Horde; most of these problems were economical. A land with a community that mostly consisted of farmers and small traders, it was never an ideal trading hub and little money found itself into the region. However, as of late, the people living in the land had grown disgruntled with their poor straits, and, from this frustration, a brotherhood of criminals was born. In order to recognize one another these vagabonds had taken to wearing bolts of red cloth around their neck or fixed somewhere on their clothing. Their unity made them brazen, but, in the end, this brotherhood was nothing more than an organized group of thugs.

Being a simple mercenary, dealing with the group as a whole wasn’t his job, but a task for the military. Instead, Ouroboros’ search was more specific and the job more personal; all he had to do was find three men in the brotherhood. When he accepted the job he thought it would have been easy, but the Elf was finding the task a bit more difficult than first imagined. Still, there was no way in hell Ouroboros had any intentions of heading back, not when the pay was so good and he had potential to make even more. Besides that, the client was so livid when Ouroboros showed up that the swordsman was worried he’d be next on the nobleman’s hit list.

Those bastards think they can do whatever they want because they say they’re a part of the Defias. Fine then, we’ll play ball with ‘em. You’ll be able to recognize the sonsof!@#$%es by the red bandannas they like to wear around their necks. Hell, you might even strangle a couple of ‘em with their own ^-*!ing cloth! By the way, I’ll pay you an extra twenty-five gold if you bring me their cocks wrapped in those bloody bandannas!

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Ouroboros Bladesong pressed on into the throng.
Standing at the edge of Moonbrook the armored swordsman hadn’t garnered much attention from the disgruntled rabble as a mere onlooker, and why not? They were used to people staring at them like they were trash. However, walking into their midst was another matter entirely. Especially when the visitor was a tall, handsome Elf covered in a fine suit of plated metal armor - simple yet elegant for easy movement. Instead of a rough beard like many of the men in town sported, his was obviously well-groomed, and even the dignified way in which he walked made it seem as though his life had been bereft of hardship. As he passed through, many of the citizens eyed him with either disdain or a vacant expression, though they seemed to glower most at his flowing mane of dark violet hair. Yet behind all their eyes he thought he saw a great hunger with envy as its master.

Ouroboros did his best to ignore the stares, even when he noticed from the corner of his eye some of the folk pulling out knives and playing at them with threatening gestures. Still, he doubted that there were any in the town who would actually attempt anything against him, after all, his family broadsword, The Blade Song, was strapped to his back for all to see and was probably the greatest deterrent he had.

He instead kept his focus on the inn as he walked through the town. Aside from the warehouse and clock tower rising from the town hall, the inn was easily the largest building in Moonbrook. If the men he was looking for were hiding somewhere in town, it was very likely that the barkeeper would have heard something about them.


The inn was more empty than he’d expected it to be, yet still too crowded for the Elf to feel at ease. Most of the patrons sat huddled around small tables playing cards or some other game with each other, a few were drinking quietly at the bar, and there was a couple loitering by the stairs. Giving the tavern goers a quick glance, he could spot none of the red bandannas the client told him to be on the look for. Not that he was discouraged by that fact, Ouroboros hadn’t really been expecting the gang to be hiding out at an inn during the day, even if it was in Moonbrook. Standing behind a bar toward the back of the room and near the kitchens was the man who no doubt ran the place. Since stepping foot inside, the barkeeper hadn’t taken his eyes off the swordsman for a single moment, and Ouroboros thought it about time he talked to the man directly.

As he approached, the man greeted him with a sneer that suggested Ouroboros should back off, though he somehow continued to smile. However, he didn’t retreat, and Ouroboros continued to move closer.

Before he could say a word, the barkeep spoke. “An Elf? Fancy that…we don’t see too many of your kind ‘round these parts.”


“We’d figure as much though. Town must be too dirty for fancy folk like yourself, isn’t it? I hear your kind like ta live in the trees. Well…ain’t got too many of those ‘round here neither.”

“I’d only like to ask-“

“Then again, you don’t look like one of them pretty Elf’s most others go on about. The way I hear your kind described I’d have imagined that you would look a little more kingly, maybe with some flowin’ robes or a bit o’ that fancy leather armor with a great big bow on your back. Cause right now…right now you look like any ol’ grubby soldier to me.”

“I want to know where the three men are who attacked a noble woman the other day are hiding.”

The barkeeper shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Shame ‘bout that, I heard about it all the way out in these parts. Happened over at Sentinel Hill, eh? What makes ya think your bandits woulda come all the way out here for hidin’?”

Ouroboros smiled, a flash of white in his cropped beard. “Because I heard this is where all the trash likes to gather.”
“Is that so? Well perhaps you heard wrong then, can’t imagine how so with those long ears of yours, but I guess there’s a first for everythin’, ain’t there? Maybe you should take your question ta the mines…”

Ouroboros was getting tired of playing games with the man quite quickly. The mines, which were tunneled out beneath the Moonbrook warehouse, stretched on for several miles. Most people referred to them as the Deadmines, for that was where the Defias once made their home long ago before the band of brigands was broken up. They attempted to reform, led by their original leader’s daughter, but eventually she too was put to death just like her father. Now the mines served to give the less fortunate a place to rest, and those with ill-intent a place to cower. If the swordsman went chasing down there for answers he’d likely receive only silence, or, more likely, a knife in the back.

He slammed his plated fists on the counter top, startling the barkeep and causing his snicker to vanish. “Enough with the games! Tell me about the men I’m looking for, and where I can find them, or I’ll start taking heads in here as well! Do you honestly think anybody outside this miserable, rat infested town will miss any of you?”

The barkeeper swallowed and backed against the wall, close to the kitchen entrance, but said nothing. A few droplets of sweat formed atop his forehead as he cowed before the Night Elf’s intense gaze. Shocked by the sudden outburst, the patrons went quiet and stared uneasily at the swordsman threatening violence; one or two stood up to leave.

“So are you going to tell me what I want to know or what?”

The tavern owner had nowhere to go, though he did look at his options. If he ran back into the kitchens the farthest he could hope to go was the cellars, and possibly lose him amid the barrels of ale stored down below, but something told the man that he wouldn’t be able to lose the Elf so easily. He could attempt to make a dash past the swordsman, but…

“Hey Elf, word around town is that you’ve been lookin’ for my boys and I. That true?”

As Ouroboros turned around to face the person speaking to him, the barkeeper slunk around the corner to hide in the kitchens.

The man speaking was young, probably in his twenties, as were his friends on either side of him. The one who spoke, who stood in the middle at the forefront had on a light brown leather chest piece, with matching pants, boots, and gloves cut off at the fingertips. Wrapped around his neck was the blood-red bandanna infamous for the Defias.

“Well that depends… Are you the one’s responsible for the !%*@%%%@ of a noblewoman over at Sentinel Hill?”

“Rape? Is that what they’re callin’ it? Can’t say it rings a bell I’m ‘fraid, after all, we thought she was there for charity service… Thought she was all willin’ to serve the communities needs.” As the men started to snicker among themselves they pulled the bandannas up over their face, and also pulled knives from their belts and boots.

At the same time, Ouroboros Bladesong unsheathed his own great sword while the remaining tavern patrons abandoned the building. “You’re a disgrace to your people…”

He could hear the noble long before he could see the man.

“That mercenary better have good news for me! If he’s coming back to say he couldn’t find the men who did this I’ll have that whole stink hole burned to the ground!”

To the Night Elf’s surprise, his client had become even more foul-tempered than before he hired his services. After his previously unsuccessful attempts with the job, it wasn’t very difficult to imagine why, but Ouroboros still felt a sting that his skills were being doubted. Soon enough the nobleman who hired him to track down the thugs responsible for assaulting his daughter came whirling down the stairway.

“I hope- what the hell? You look like !@#$.”

Even before the noble was all the way down the stairs, he laid eyes on Ouroboros Bladesong. Standing in the midst of his entrance hall to await his payment, the Elven swordsman’s armor was splattered with dried blood. “Only covered in it sir.”

The noble finished walking the rest of the way and approached the mercenary. “My my… You look to have certainly been busy. I hope that,” he motioned to the blood stains on the armor, “belongs to those unruly pests who thought they could get away with hurting my family.”

“Indeed it does my lord, and they were most generous in giving it to me.”

“Really, I find that hard to believe.”

“Well it was easy enough to take at least.”

The noble laughed harshly. “Splendid! I can’t tell you how much it pleases me to hear that those filthy cretins got what was coming to them! You got all three of them, right?” He reached for the larger of pouches hanging from his belt and tossed it to the Night Elf, who deftly caught it with a single hand. “That’s a hundred gold pieces for you-“

“Hold on there Sir, I’d also like to cash in on the bonus.”

Ouroboros raised his other hand to hold up a bundle of red cloth, with even more red stains toward the center. He motioned for the manservant to take the bloody makeshift sack from him, but the man appeared hesitant until his Lord nodded for him to retrieve it. The butler sniffed in disdain as he took the weighty sack, and brought it to his master. The nobleman had him open it slightly; Ouroboros grinned with amusement as the servant turned his head away in disgust.

“Three heads… Fair enough, I guess you’ve earned the other seventy-five.” He unfastened the smaller pouch hanging from his waist next and tossed that too toward the Night Elf. “Try not to spend that all in one place, eh?”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

“Jockliue, show Mr. Bladesong to the door while I go and tell my daughter the good news.”

But Ouroboros had already walking back as soon as he had the entire payment in hand. Without waiting for the butler to catch up and open the door, the Night Elf walked out himself, leaving the door open for the manservant to close. Not far from the home he’d just left was the Cathedral of Light. He was in the richest district in Stormwind; no place for a mercenary with a poultry sum of a hundred and seventy-five gold pieces…give or take what he had stored away.

There was only a few places a guy like him had to go if he wanted to spend his gold after a hard days work, and that was Old Town.
Well that's it for now. The 10,000 years bit was what amounted to a prelude, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to put up the post that started off his present day journeys over here as well.

If anybody wishes to comment feel free to. I might put up the piece I just wrote for the hell of it, but I won't add to this regularly, not on the forums at least. I only update this story once a week and I'm sure it'd get bumped down in that time span.

Join the Conversation

Return to Forum