Balyon's Gift

They ran. 
  
Their legs pumping; increasing the distance between the four of them

and the Orcs, while rapidly decreasing the distance between their tiny

group and the troops outside of the Black Temple; as fast as they could.

The corridor was slick and dark. The wet- rot smell emanating from the

slime of this underbelly filled their lungs and permeated their clothing.

The sweet, sickening stench of Orcs filled the air. 
 
Run- they did indeed! 
 
Speeding and rounding the curving inclines of the intestine-like hallways, all the while dodging and evading the orcs arrows and shots as they pinged and splintered pieces of old dark brick; merely inches from their heads and bodies. Shards of ancient masonry were shattering everywhere, the fragments dusting them as they raced for the light; the rose -colored, hazy light, of Shadowmoon Valley.  
 
 
They raced toward life.  
 
‘Dantebree was in front, as usual, racing like a thoroughbred filly, eyes focused straight ahead- oblivious to the scraps of brick exploding and cascading around her. Ito, next in the short line, muscled legs and surging blood coursing through his veins like miniature red rivers overflowing from too much rainfall. Tazeria, her sure-footed graceful feet, finding each yard, like rapid fire, each step landing faster than the one before, her long lavender hair whipping ribbons behind her. Her heightened perception however was as though the group were all moving in slow motion. Then there was Odage, at the rear, blade on his back, nostrils flaring, his red and gold tabard streaked with the grubby slime from the interior walls, pounding the ground with lean, even strides. 
 
And then it happened. 
 
“Bree was zipping and sliding a narrow curve as the hunter’s arrow made its way into her hip bone. She doubled down as it pierced her flesh.  Ito grabbed her arm to prevent her from falling but dragging her a foot too far he lost grip and ‘Bree went down.  
 
Taz leaped over the two of them. Odage then began his skid and collided into Ito’s shoulder. The impact was too great to avoid the slide, Taz turned and watched as Odage fell to the ground. As he fell, the rogue vanished, as he vanished Taz watched in slow motion as the Orc hunter released his flare directed at the spot where Odage had just fallen, exposing the rogue from the anonymous safety of the shadow.

The Orc Hunter’s savage pet ravager was on the fallen rogue in a split second, rendering and tearing, ripping and slicing the masterful rogue’s skin and muscle. 
 
“NOOOO!!!’ shrieked Taz.

She pulled her dagger from her waistband and dove onto the orc’s pet slicing its throat from right to left nearly decapitating the creature in one deadly lunge of her hand. From the side she saw the bloodied Odage swing the massive glaive in her direction to finish the job, and the beast’s head fell to the ground. The warm blood of the ravager splattered and ran down her chest in thick lines as Taz turned to face the hunter. 

The Hunter was not alone.

Not that hunters were ever truly alone. 

What stood with him was no pet.
 
 Tazeria had heard of Deathknights but had never actually seen one until this very moment. The massive Orc strode behind the hunter with eyes like blue flame. He had bones clanking around his waist and with a piercing, inhuman wail that sounded like tin metal on slate turned the ground beneath him a bright red. Then by some unknown magic, pulled and sucked Odage into the red, rapidly spreading area and began to suck the life from the masterful rogue. 
 

The Hunter laughed and turned his attention to Tazeria, one shot of the poisoned serpent sting was all it took - Taz went down. The hunter pulled his axe from its sheath and as he raised it over his head grunting, low chuckles issued from his throat, filled the nightelf’s ears.    
 
Suddenly, the ground began to quake and a deafening roar filled the cavern around the four. The hunter recoiled and looked hard in the semi darkness.

It was the last move the hunter would make in that life.

The roar of the raptor was deafening as it rolled off the dank walls like a tidal wave of terror running headlong toward the hunter poised to kill Tazeria.

The stunned rogue watched it all in slow motion.

The Orc hunter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his chin slacked open, his body frozen with the sight of Triceptaplot bearing down. The raptor was single minded in his target, sinewy jaws snapping and strung with drool. Its huge head leaving a trenched, gouge- (which was slightly lighter in color then the slippery walls) across the ceiling of the dark corridor. Ancient, crumbling dust went like spiraling clouds in the massive beasts wake.

As the crazed animal bore down on the hunter, the many rows of spiked, terrifying teeth glistening in the feint light of the dungeon hallway; it opened its horrific jaws wide. Then, in one tearing lunge, the beast ripped the head whole from the Orc’s shoulders, his torso crumpling to the slick floor, legs jerking with nerve reflex.

Like a broken rubber band, a long strand of bloodied, torn orc muscle whipped out and snapped the short space where the hunter had stood. With a THWACK! It struck Tazeria’s stunned features, snap-shocking her out of the frozen state which held her prisoner, leaving a thick, deep red, wet line on her cheek, like native war paint.

That was all it took and she was on them.

The deathknight stood proudly over Odages limp form, which was unmoving and splayed unnaturally upon the red stained floor at his feet. The huge knight’s icy glare focused on the Nightelf as he raised his hand to conjure yet more unknown, magical horror to suck Tazeria into the circle of death.

It wasn’t sinking in…Taz was vaguely aware of the mayhem taking place behind her…..

….Zelis’s whistled orders for Cassana and Sheba to attack the throng of advancing Orcs from the front…. the pounding and shaking of the ground as the raptor plowed forward….Ito yelling (no ORDERING) for Tazeria to fall back….“Bree cursing as she pulled at the arrow shaft in her hip….the sound of approaching troops from behind….a solid bear’s growl…the PLOP! of a totem being planted on wet ground…the whoosh of Dynamic’s ice sheet whizzing past in an attempt to slow this new being….

But, above all this- a growl ..A growl of pain and anger so loud and all consuming.. so massively heart rendering… pulled up from the deep recesses of Tazeria’s gut toward the escape of her throat…toward a light of it’s own….

….“ODAGE!!! ODAGE!!! OH GOD!!! ….nooo…nooo…ODAGE!!

She didn’t recognize her voice as the words flew from her mouth…Tazeria scrambled on hand and knee toward his lifeless form on the dark-red bed of death that spread under Odage’s body at his assailant’s feet. She threw her body into the circle and grabbed for her friend- mindlessly tearing and grasping for his remains. The red burned her legs, burrowing like tiny mites into the pores of her skin through her beaten leather britches scalding her knees while she grappled to grab at her dead friend.

Suddenly, a bright flash of light covered the poisoned ground and stamped out the red. Frigne, encircled by The Light stood between the Deathknight and the rogues as the Nightelf secured the hold on the master rogue’s body, snatching at his stained tabard to find a grip to drag him to the side of safety. Taz looked at Frigne and he smiled at her then turned his attention to the abomination before him.

She dragged and pulled the heavy body toward the throng at the top of the incline, gasping for breath, slipping a foot backward on the bloody surface, then gaining two feet ahead, nearly collapsing under the weight of the once mighty rogue and his massive Glaive. The Glaive of Illidan Stormrage.

“RAW! SARI! RAW! SARI! STEEN!! SOMEONE!” Tazeria screamed and yelled until she thought her throat would bleed with effort, “I need a HEALER! ODAGE NEEDS HEALING!”

Then she reached them.

Ito’s hands were on her in an instant, helping her drag the lifeless Odage toward the rose- lightened end of the tunnel and in a voice only she could hear he spoke clearly,

“Taz get a hold of yourself! Odage is gone. Stay with me and get a grip. Focus, we will take him home when this is done”

Taz was furiously ripping at Odage’s tabard and stopped dead returning Ito’s order with a murderous glare in her eyes…shaking her head a bit too fast.

”NOT DEAD- NOT DEAD!! Can’t you hear me?! HE Needs a HEALER!! A HEALER- YOU FOOL!!  HE’S NOT DEAD!!” Her voice was unnaturally high…

Ito fought to control the urge to smack her face back to sanity; he shook his head ever so slightly and silently softened his eyes, then turned his back to Taz and threw himself into the fray before him in the tunnel, with the Glaive in his hands.

Her hand flew to her burning throat, and she felt it……. and she REMEMBERED.

The stone… THE SOUL STONE! The wondrous amber stone Balyon had gifted to her on her birthday those many years ago in the kitchen of the Stormwind Orphanage, the day she sought to start her life….

Quickly and with jerking movements Tazeria grabbed the Mithril chain and snatched it from her neck, pulling the small gift from its home around her neck; a home where it had lain safely for the past 15 years. She raised the smooth stone above her head and said “by the Gods...” she then thrust the object to Odage’s chest and pressed her palm flat against it searing and sealing it to his body. The spark shower flew everywhere, like a blinding firework during the celebration of elders.

At that very instant.. At the front of the tunnel, Balyon threw back his head in agonizing pain, his teeth snapping shut. His face a contortion of fused features melting down upon one another, eyes into cheekbones nose into lips, lips into chin, all running down his face. Balyon’s knees hit the rock, a solid thud racking his body with the impact.

Swill turned to look at the warlock, fear gripped his gut. Astonished, the commander watched, helpless as Blayon’s robes turned black as the blackest night, a shadow darker than any shadow Swill had ever encountered before. It spread from the center of Balyon’s chest and creeped, like decay, from the center of his chest to the bottom of the hem of his flowing garments.

Balyon turned to Swill, his face unrecognizable as the man Swill had always known, Swill stared into the eyes of pure evil, yellowed and red-streaked melting eyes that bore into his soul.

Eyes that KNEW what frightened him most.

Balyon was gone-and this devil had his soul.