CURSE OF THE SATYR

“The Burning Legion invaded our world with an onslaught of demons. Through trial and tribulation, we cut the head from this great leviathan. The generals, commanders, and even the god of this demonic horde succumbing to our will. Disorder and chaos swept through their ranks, scattering the demonic host to the wind. Like shattered glass, the Legion’s fragments remain capable of wounding this world.”

A gloom settled over the forest, clustered away within the Glade. The last embers of the hearth steadily diminishing, the scant warmth they offered being lost to the wind. The scent of the Alor’el left to burn within the fire, wafted through the forest, Alor’el was better known as the Lover’s Leaf. To the Kaldorei legends dictated the flower will only bloom for a couple who share perfect love. Any hunter knew of its more practical application.The metallic aroma emitted from the flower mirrored the scent of blood. It acted as a perfect lure for any bloodthirsty predator, or better yet, a demon. His legs crossed, the ravencrest blade astride his lap. Still, the hunter sat before the dwindling fire, his senses attuned to the song of the forest. Its rhythm, its breath, its beating heart, all known to him as he’d learned over the years that the forest was a living, a thinking, and ancient thing. He felt more than heard its disgust, its revulsion as two individuals touched by the beyond stalked its forgotten growth.Crunch...The sound of crackling leaves, the rustle of brush, and a few twigs snapping. In the winter, foliage inundated the ground, creating a carpet of debris. The approaching figure was capable in hunting. Their footsteps were faint, their missteps and mistakes fainter still. Detection would have been beyond the hearing of any Kaldorei, yet the hunter wasn’t truly one, at least not anymore.Crunch... The distance of the individual meant they were out of range of his sensory ability, spectral sight while potent still bore limitations for the hunter this was primarily the radius of detection. The figure skirted the boundary of his perception. Giving him the distinct impression they were circling his encampment. The rustle of branches, the crackle of leaves, and the disruption of their form passing through the brush allowed him to mostly determine the predator’s location. Crunch...*

• Next Page →

• ← Prior Page

CURSE OF THE SATYR

Closer they came. Step by step, he felt the demonic energies permeating their being in a chaotic frenzy, as Lover’s Leaf incited bloodlust in the entity, the metallic aroma still heavy in the air. Eyelids snapping opening his hand rushing for the sword, fingers wrapping about the worn hilt of the ravencrest claymore. The clearing was large enough to allow for a pitched battle, the length of the cleaver-like blade being approximately six feet; the diameter nearly thrice that of any conventional broadsword, the scale of the weapon forged to combat demonic foes.Rising in a fluid motion, the claymore like a bolt of lightning within his grasp, the hunter whirled about to face the demonic being. The dark cloak cascading about his wraith-like frame, crimson orbs ablaze with zeal and the thunder of battle. What he encountered was entirely unexpected. ".. Please, just end me, demon hunter ..” A hoarse demonic voice rasped, struggle warring upon the satyr’s expression as it fought against the bloodlust. That the aroma of the Lover’s Leaf incited the whisper of the forest, scattering it about their clearing, as the wind’s frenzy increased the crackle of branches and the sway of trees ushered in a storm.To his surprise what he gazed upon was a satyr, and instead of attacking the hunter, it collapsed to its knees before him, staring down the length of his blade while begging for death. Immediately, his blade flicked up to find the hollow of his throat and drive the weapon home. The tip grazed against the satyr’s fur when a voice echoed in his mind 'Never underestimate your enemy’. It was Maralon, his long-dead Shan’do whispering in his head. With most demon hunters they’d hear the voice of the Demon, over time it would become their own voice, however for the hunter since Maralon’s demise it had always been the voice of his Shan’do.Perhaps it was the insanity innate to his kind, he couldn’t say and truly didn’t know. It was only the voice that stayed his blade. A breath later and the hunter would have driven the weapon into the satyr’s throat, snuffing out the life from the creature. Keeping his blade at the demon’s throat, he’d flare his senses, allowing them to extend about the area as he’d listen. Neither his hearing nor his spectral sight picked up no other hostiles nearby. Though, it didn’t mean the satyr was alone. “What’s your ploy, demon?” the hunter demanded in a flat voice, accusation, and steel colouring his tone.

• Next Page →

• ← Prior Page

CURSE OF THE SATYR

Staring into the depths of the satyr’s eyes the hunter could see the boiling bloodlust, the want to rend the Demon Hunter flesh, to sink its talons into him and soak in his blood. An impulse of the uncontrolled demonic energies welling within was maddening, the purest form of chaotic insanity. However, despite this to his surprise, with considerable effort, the satyr remained knelt awaiting death, somehow the satyr persevered. ”No, ploy. Just end it. I ..” The words were spoken in a feral tone, with the usual bile associated with the satyr oddly tinged with a note of despair as the demon continued.”Kaldorei, I am no more. And the hunger. It .. its. ENDLESS” The satyr drew in a gasping breath as it fought down the mounting bloodlust, the desire to kill the hunter, to break his bones within its jaws and hear them snap. Keeping his blade at the throat of the Demon, he’d raise up his free hand, purple energies flowing over his fingertips as he’d weave a sigil of silence into the air. The fabric of the spell would slowly pull together, before bursting to life as a silencing spell appears directly under the satyr. Purple energies flowing about his fingertips, as the hunter is forced to maintain the spell for it to remain the mystical energies permeating through the satyr. Intent completely focused upon theDemon, looming over the creature, he utters clearly. “Speak” Under normal circumstances, he's not would not have allowed a demon to even commune with him, so cunning and insidious were the creatures. However, the voice of Maralon gave him pause and his institution told him there was more to this at the least he would discover what sect this satyr belonged to. The demon regarded him with the expected bloodlust for a few moments more, though as the sigil of misery wafted over the creature, quelling some boiling demonic energies within the creature, the lust for blood bleeds away.Replaced with unerring despair, sorrow, and defeat brimming within those orange eyes as it gazed up at the Demon Hunter, the hoarse of its tone still present, though the lust for blood and insanity was lessened. It was only a temporary effect. The sigil could draw forth a plethora of emotions, terror, fear, anger, in this case, despair. “I am Hathor Starblood,” ”Is that your given name, or your sect name?” the hunter cut in. ”Given,” the satyr replies, continuing “Hailed originally from Feralas, my lineage, so my mother told me was a Highborne.

• Next Page →

• ← Prior Page

CURSE OF THE SATYR

She fled Eldre’thalas while the Prince's madness was setting in, I grew up in Ashenvale, became a huntsman since I had little ability in the druidic arts. So I roamed far and wide hunting for the village” Internally, the hunter commented to himself, ‘it explains the satyr's unusual ability at stealth’ he’d rationalize merely nodding his head at Hathor, his intent roaming the forest briefly keeping his blade at the throat of the satyr. After a brief pause, the satyr’s tale continued and with it a note of sadness, sorrow, and despair entering the demon’s tone.“I was prowling forest song, it was near to a satyr encampment. The winter prior had been difficult on the community, with the war and other horrors game had been scarce around our village.” He’d exhaled, before continuing in a rush of breath. “It meant huntsmen had to go further afield. My family nearly starved the winter prior. I wanted to make sure they’d live like the High Priestess herself this year, with full bellies and bright smiles.” A mournful forlorn smile twisted the satyr’s visage it was strange for the hunter to see upon the face of a demon, though he’d listen intently to the tale of Hathor, touched by the creature’s words.While the nagging sensation of wrongness plagued the back of his mind. “Fel, I remember it like yesterday. I followed the road west. Came across a healthy-looking stag, felled by the beast within a few moments. I scouted the area prior to ensure there were no satyr nearby, but despite my efforts, one creature seemed to manifest from the shadows itself, almost as if it was a ghost. I remember little, I spun about raising my arm instinctively, I was a huntsman not a warrior.. and it was my arm where its blade sliced my flesh. A not deep wound, almost superficial, but enough to curse me.” Breathless the satyr’s words coming to the Demon Hunter in a rush, the creature continued.“So I fled. I ran, left my bow, my kill, and fled. I’d planned to stay out that night and until the early hours of the morning, Forest Song was far from the village, so I lost a day to travel. I knew a Priestess was visiting the town, she could cleanse me, surely she could help me? I was frightened, I didn’t tell the other villagers the last one to be touched had been killed. I didn’t want to die. I just. I just wanted ..” Hathor pauses briefly as he’d breath heavily, the effects of the sigil were lessening by the moment, the satyr becoming used to the effects of them.

• Next Page →

• ← Prior Page

CURSE OF THE SATYR

The Demon Hunter frowns as more magical power would flow into the sigil. He’d kept his blade at the ready, fingers tight about the hilt as he would cuts in during the satyr's pause. “Do you remember anything about the satyr who cursed you?” The hunter was aware that finding satyrs who could spread the curse was essential to its eradication, not all satyrs were capable of passing it on but, usually only those that were sect leaders or highly ranked amongst a satyr sect.Hathor responded. “I’ve never seen a satyr like it. Black fur with golden eyes. I couldn’t ever forget those eyes, the eyes that damned me,” The bloodlust boiled within the satyr, the hunter could see it as he’d fuel the potency of his sigil further cutting in calmly. “What happened next?” “Well,” Hathor hesitated, the despair returning to the satyr, the bloodlust bleeding away. “I returned to my family, I should have told them what happened. I played it off as I’d been attacked by a wolf.”Hathor’s head shook a clawed hand coming up to rub its face, the hunter would look on impassively narrowing his gaze as he’d watch the satyr for any sudden movements. “While hunting, they seemed somewhat skeptical, though trusted what I’d said. The day marched on like normal, as if nothing had changed I even thought perhaps I’d just overreacted? Surely, it wouldn’t happen to me, of all people the tales of becoming satyr’s that happened to other people but.. not me. Surely..” Hathors words trail off as the satyr collected its thoughts gazing off into nothingness for a few moments, before continuing.“Later that day, I’d come down somewhat sickly I found it difficult to think my mind was cloudy as if a fog obscured my thoughts and feelings it was a strange sensation. I chalked it up to stress, as I’d convinced myself surely I’d not been touched not me?.. Of all people, I was a fool.” A pained expression shifts across the satyr’s features and the Demon Hunter frowns slightly at the sight of it, as an almost heart-wrenching sound a whimper would escape the lips of the twisted beast.It was such an unexpected eventuality the Demon Hunter, found himself staring at the satyr, the monster in pure bewilderment as it would seem to fight back tears of grief and frustration. “I don’t know what truly happened that night, the first thing I remember is the bodies. Twisted, claws splitting flesh, blood so much blood.

• Next Page →

• ← Prior Page

CURSE OF THE SATYR

It bathed the room hunter, dripped between the floorboards, their limbs were thrown about the place, while their skulls were caved in. I thought it was a nightmare until I looked down and... and...” The satyr chocked back a sob, motioning at its visage. “Saw this, I fled... I ran... I...” A shuttering breath was drawn in by the satyr, as it continued. “I’d killed them, all of them. I hid in the forest, fought against this, against what I am, until I saw you. I know the only escape from this is death, so please just grant me that.” The satyr stared up at the man imploringly. The hunter found himself sceptical as he’d narrow his gaze, he’d heard plenty of sob stories in his time and had become cold to them, with a rational understanding that it could and would be used by his enemies.His spectral orbs checked the area once again, to no avail as his intent was drawn back towards the satyr stating in a harsh voice. “Why talk then? Why not rush out of the woods like a mad beast, claws, and fangs at the ready. Seeking your death, why this? Answer me that, Hathor.” The Demon wasn’t the largest of its kind in fact it lacked the bulk associated with most of such creatures, almost seeming as if it was starved, a brittle crown of horns atop its head, crimson fur ragged, matted, and unkept as the bloodlust boiled below the surface. He saw a Kaldorei man struggling below the surface, trying to get free from the fleshy husk that bound him.It was not just a satyr but once a person the hunter would reflect, this was different he felt his own zeal fade replaced with a dogged responsibility for he knew what was to come as the satyr responded to the demon hunter, staring directly into the hunter’s crimson spheres. “Because, at least now. Someone will remember I existed.” Drawing in a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words, as he responded clearly.“I’ll remember.” His blade would plunge into the satyr's throat, he’d meet the eyes of the demon as it died.Transcribing it to memory, his blade had killed the satyr instantly as he’d step back, allowing the corpse to fall onto the ground. Staring at the body for a few moments, the aroma of the lover’s leaf replaced with a more distinctive scent of blood. The wind howled as the storm finally arrived, tree shaking, branches crackling and leaves caught up in the cascading spiral. Sulfar, the hunter turned, disappearing into the forest, thoughts of a satyr with black fur and golden eyes plaguing his mind.*

• Return

Lost to Antiquity - Adolescents

The heritage of Sulfar Nightfall is well documented amongst the Shen'dralar Archivists born a thousand years after the War of the Satyr. His upbringing was noteworthy as the boy’s parents disappeared under mysterious circumstances leaving Nightfall and his two siblings orphaned. An upstanding Highborne family, the Starlances took pity on the plight of these orphaned Highborne, and brought them in as servants. This provided them the means to avoid utter poverty or worse. Sulfar was the eldest of the boys and the same age as the heir of this house, Edaran Starlance, and hence he was stationed as the heir’s companion and later his bodyguard. The necessity of 'duty' was instilled into Sulfar at a young age by Edaran's father Zetarian in particular.Instructed alongside Edaran, Sulfar stood as his constant company and ever in his service, though inwardly this grated on the youth because his younger siblings were made mere house servants. Unbeknownst to Nightfall, his unique treatment was due to his latent magical ability and him coincidentally being similar of age to Edaran, making him an ideal companion. During this period much of Sulfar’s time was dedicated to the instruction in the mystic arts. The mastery of weaponry was out of reach Sulfar, the frail nature of the youth made him unfit for combat in Zetarians mind. On the other hand, his son Edaran excelled in both fronts and despite the inner internal resentment Sulfar bore toward Edaran, they became fast friends.Time passed, and Sulfar gradually grew to accept his place at Edaran’s side, the flames of resentment all but extinguished; the duo’s camaraderie being stronger than ever before. This tranquillity ended when Sulfar discovered his parents were killed in some mysterious ritual in the depths of Eldre'thalas, and due to his arcane affinity it was likely he'd eventuallyfollow in their footsteps. The liability provided by his existence caused the Starlances, specifically Edaran, to aid him in escaping from Eldre'thalas and disappear into the wilds of Feralas. Fraught with fear, the only world the Highborne knew was shattered, and terrified he was forced to plunge into the unknown. The looming city of Eldre'thalas became a haunting shadow at his back, as in truth he abandoned even his siblings within its blood-soaked walls.The destiny of his siblings played on the back of Sulfars mind, though ultimately it was the realization of his powerlessness and cowardice that tormented him for many nights to come. Survival, the raw instinct to live was his only constant companion. This nativity lead him to find solace in an abandoned cavern on a night when storm clouds shrouded the heavens, stepping inside unaware of the demonic symbols imprinted upon the cavern walls. The Highborne stumbled unknowingly into a demonic feeding ground. Unspeakable beings of the nether soon loomed before him, the promise of death dancing within their emerald orbs. Using what little magical ability he had, he flung spell after spell, trying to flee, to escape, to survive. There was so much to do, so much to live for, he wasn’t ready to die yet. But it was all for naught as his lifeblood spilled upon the cold stone floors, and the embrace of darkness captured him.Memory flicks in his unconscious state he shifted from nightmare to nightmare, his worst fears were laid bare before him, the dreamscape offering little solace while his body broken by the demons was revived from the brink of death. Countless weeks passed while a menacing foreboding figure tended to him. Sulfar’s mind kept flickering between the dreamscape and the waking world; in his crippled state fleeing was impossible. Within his brief moments of consciousness, he shared his story with this figure, told him his worries, fears, hopes, and shattered dreams. The figure said nothing, merely listened and Sulfar nearly went mad in that silence. The figure saw a broken vessel, ready to be moulded in its vision and used to enact its vengeance and a deal was offered. With little purpose, aspirations or life left in Sulfar he foolishly accepted the Pact.At the time it had felt like the first decision he'd ever made for himself, even if it was a lie. Sulfar came to learn of this falsehood the further into the depth of the hunter he sunk. The figure's name was Maralon Rageheart and he was a Demon Hunter, a catalyst of change, and Sulfar found himself following in this man's footsteps. The training, the instruction, the burden of this duty was almost overwhelming. Maralon broke him, rebuilt him, then broke him once more, shaping him like clay. Tthrough the harsh guidance he slowly turned Sulfar into a tool break the hands of fate. The youth having naught to return to in Eldre'thalas he embraced this bitter fate and even though the road to becoming a Demon Hunter was tedious and inhospitable, this was the first step in that direction.

Disclaimer: This work summarizes my character's history and isn't fully representative of all RP associated with his history. It's subject to change, correction and or alteration, as the Warcraft Universe expands upon its lore or given I notice an error. All the artwork above was commission by me and created by this fantastic artist.

Lost to Antiquity - Demonic Descent

The theoretical was of extreme importance to Shan'do Rageheart, power without purpose was to not be abided thus Sulfar had to learn; why a Demon Hunter walked the path. This mentoring took many forms, tales, visions, and histories were a constant companion, Shan'do Rageheart disappeared for months at a time; leaving Sulfar to pour over the vast quantity of information his Shan'do gathered on the Legion. Physical instruction was dependent on Sulfar, Maralon left him a regiment to follow the theoretical and physical worked hand in hand; as the texts shaped his mind the training shaped his body. Preparing him to become a vessel ready for ascension, if Sulfar couldn't surpass Maralons regular expectation he would be abandoned or worse; failure was not an option.Unbeknowsted to Sulfar the sight lighting his way, would soon be snuffed out by Maralon as he made preparations for Sulfars demonic ritual; an unenchanted blindfold covered his eyes blinding him. It started with learning your surroundings, to completing mundane objectives, to training physical his eyes constantly blinded by the foul cloth. Mastery of weaponry came next between the moments of freedom from the blindfold, the intensity of the training increased Maralon growing more and more present. Years, decades passed them by, the instruction was exceedingly meticulous each step was precisely placed by his Shan'do as a stepping stone. Repeating his weapons training blind was the next step, this was the most difficult section of the training for Sulfar. As time passed he was gifted an enchanted blindfold offering pseudo, spectral sight it took decades to truly grasp the depth of this lesser sight.Instruction on how to counter, disable and kill each abhorrent entity known to Maralon was instilled in Sulfar, along with controlled lessons on facing these creatures. Maralon would capture various entities to test upon his Thero'shan, this trial by fire honed his combat ability unlike anything in Eldre'thalas could have; forcing him to adapt or to die. Sulfar barely survived this instruction, each day was a living hell but, he was now caught in the cycle. Overcoming Maralons trials was the first step, this prepared Sulfar in becoming a vessel for the demonic essence he'd be required to wield against the Demons. As prior the theoretical application superseded the practical aspect, these core foundations along with his previous studies as a Magi allowed him to excel in the control and use of the fel. Maralon branding him with the arcane tattoos necessary for the demonic ritual.With the trials of the body and mind overcame Maralon deemed it time for the final step, a ritual was prepared these events are blurry the method of the demonic ascension lost to the annals of time. Through what remains as clear as day, is three things firstly the inner demon Sulfar encountered, secondly the vision of the Burning Legion and finally the last sight his azure eyes beheld before his light was snuffed out for eternity. The inner voice plagued him, over time he grew to grasp that this wasn't the Demon at all no; it was his inner machinations. An innate trauma of this day still scars the psyche of Sulfar, fortunately by either elunes light or some twisted fate this memory is shadowed by the torment and sacrifice endured. Ultimately, causing the memory to be lost to the cognitive realm.Upon the completion of the ritual runic tattoos were inked into his flesh a second time, sealing the demonic energies and perhaps subduing the darkness within. After such trauma, healing was required months flickered by before Sulfar was himself once more beholding the world with a new sight. Oddly he adapted quickly to his new demonic form as if he was born to become a Demon Hunter, Maralon spent years honing Sulfar's talents teaching him higher forms of wizardry and the true extent of the power he now wielded. The hunter took a special liking to his spectral sight, learning to utilize it in harmony with his bladework; this approach unorthodox yet encouraged by his Shan'do. Sulfar began to forge his path, the time that Maralon and Sulfar shared steadily coming to an end as the decades dwindled. A true kinship forming between the duo as a millennium had passed them by.

Disclaimer: This work summarizes my character's history and isn't fully representative of all RP associated with his history. It's subject to change, correction and or alteration, as the Warcraft Universe expands upon its lore or given I notice an error. All the artwork above was commission by me and created by this fantastic artist.