Nyx

"Little Bael, you were born to do great things."

His father smiled and hoisted him onto his shoulders, allowing him to see the horizon - the distant water, the trees swaying gently and the sun setting just overhead, melting into the backdrop.

"We have a past marred by turmoil, by corruption. We are lucky to be here. We must be grateful, son, grateful for everything we have. It will all be gone someday."

His father brought him down and looked him in the face, tears welling up as he grasped both of his shoulders.

"Great things."




Baelphias awoke and opened his eyes, staring absently at the ceiling for a few moments before sitting up. He had been dreaming about his father, of that particular moment for almost a straight week now.

His axe was propped up near the door. Though it had seen much bloodshed, all the use it had now was to cut wood. He cast a glance at it and smiled.

"Great things." He said aloud, letting the words swim in his head for a moment. "This is my legacy. I have no use for the past." He looked down upon his wife, still asleep. Her face was pleasant and relaxed, as if in a wonderful dream. She was a high elf, a priestess. Silvermoon was but a memory for her.. the politics, the posturing. She had left all that behind.

He hoisted his axe from its resting place and brought it easily over his shoulder. Baelphias had noticed a strange smell today, oddly alien yet familiar at the same time. He committed himself to travel into the city today to gather what supplies they would need. The trip was not far and he decided not to rouse Cire, his old wolf, from his sleep.

The odd smell became stronger as he left his home and set off towards the city. The birds, normally raising their voices in song, were silent today. No animals rustled, the world seemed dead. He cast off his worries and told himself he was thinking into it too much, that paranoia was trying to take over.

Not far in the distance, smoke plumes rose. The smell, he at long last realized, was the smell of the dead. Corpses. He had seen far too many of them in his lifetime.

Silvermoon was burning.

Baelphias slammed his axe into the earth. Best to go alone. She need not know, she would only insist on going with me. She's safe, here. We're secluded.

He returned quietly to the small workshop he had built outside of their home and opened the storage chest within. His old breastplate, beaten and blackened by battle was there, as it always was. There was no fear or anxiety, all that gripped him was anger. Battle would tear his life apart once again.

Strengthened, he strode back out towards his axe. Cire awoke and ran for him. He had always been intuitive, and he knew the look in his master's eyes.

Baelphias eyed his axe for a moment before pulling it from the earth. He looked back at his home and motioned for Cire, who had retrieved his war collar from the workshop instinctively. He suited Cire and took the reins. The smoke plumes were larger now, the stench.. overbearing.

The sun became obscured, darkness prevailed and he muttered a word to himself.

"Death."

Cire howled and took off, tearing the earth beneath his feet.

The ride to Silvermoon was not far and Cire had taken it many times before, bearing his master and sometimes even his beloved back to the city for supplies and visits to old friends. Baelphias had parted from his regiment of fellow orcs some time ago, all for a singular purpose. He had put his faith into one woman, he had put the war and the blood and the steel behind him for reasons that were certainly not commonly accepted within his culture. There was a part of him that had always longed for it, had always missed it despite his choice. He was leaving because he felt bound by honor and by his good will to aid the elves, for his wife, for her people. All of this was true, but inside he felt a desire to rejoin battle. The rush, the thrill, walking with death each day and laughing in the face of it as each foe fell before him. There was still a large part of him that would never stop hungering for that.

What he found in Silvermoon was a slaughter, was death. Undead soldiers had ripped through the gates, showing no pity or remorse. Corpses were piled upon one another. The sun was obfuscated by smoke, casting an eerie red haze over everything. Baelphias took his axe from his back and bore down upon Cire as he leaped forward over debris and tore down the streets towards a large structure that was being breached.

Without hesitation, Baelphias was off Cire and into the thick of it. His azure eyes gleamed and narrowed, his axe fell quick, fell hard. They had shown no mercy, were not capable of it and now, neither was he. He felt alive. Fire was sparked in his muscles. Elation filled him with every stroke, with ever monstrosity killed. The remaining elves in the area were taken aback, not knowing whether to turn their weapons on the orc or join in battle with him. Their minds were soon made up for them as he yelled, bolstering their morale. A necromancer not far from the fray turned his attention towards the orc and began to chant, dark runes gathering around his feet, his hands surrounded with energy. In an instant, Cire was upon him, knocking him to the ground and pinning him. Baelphias let his axe fall to the floor and walked over to the necromancer, motioning Cire off.

"Your purpose! Why do the damned come? Why are you here?!"

The human was too far gone. He would only close his eyes and start to grin, cackling to himself. Baelphias lifted him up by his throat and questioned him again. He was met by the same mad grin, the wild eyes.

Disgusted, Baelphias tightened his grip around the human's neck and broke it in one motion. The eyes went dim, but the grin stayed. He flung the corpse to the ground and walked back towards the building. Inside, several elven priests and priestesses were gathered around one priestess.

"N.. My lady. Go." Baelphias murmured. A look of recognition crossed his face. "Take Cire. You know where it is."

The priestess smiled and walked over to him, placing her hand upon his shoulder. Without a word, she would walk by him. Years would pass before he would ever see her again.. and she would never see him again as he was today.

Baelphias walked back outside. A chill was in the air, one he could not recognize. He mouthed to Cire, "The back. Take her."

He was clad head to toe in ebon armor. Human in appearance, he sat atop a horse. The corpses belonging to his own army were strewn among the ground around him, but he did not fear, he did not falter. He raised an arm and the bodies began to shamble and rise again. He dismounted and began walking towards Baelphias, who gripped his axe.

"You are far from your people, are you not, orc? You are strong, it would be a wa..."

Baelphias would not wait for the knight to finish, he hefted his axe and brought it towards his foe, striking him off guard and knocking his helmet to the ground.

The knight would only laugh. ".. a waste." He brought up his sword, emblazoned with runes, terrible in power. Baelphias would bring up his axe, but it would only shatter beneath the blow, falling uselessly.

Baelphias thought of his father.

".. great things."

His thoughts, as they often did, returned to her. He thought of the cliffside where they would watch the water. Of her asleep, her head resting on Cire. He would be watching the sun set.

The sun would set. The runeblade tore through his chest, blackening his world. There was no lust for battle nor love. No hope nor fear, only the dark.

Baelphias would dream of slaughter and death, of blood. The dreams were long, and he could only watch. He could not rouse himself. There were no dreams of his love or his life. In his dreams he would murder one of his trusted old friends. He would murder countless. Blood poured from the sky. He would gain dominion over the dead. He did not feel pain, he did not fear. There was merciless slaughter, and there was one other. There was the knight who had killed him, but he only seemed stronger. He held the same blade by his side.


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Back near Silvermoon, a lone elven woman sat atop a wolf. The sun was setting over the water, the rays lit up her eyes and cast their fading light down on the world. The blade of an axe, broken, sat on the ground in front of a lone headstone.

The wolf howled.