Stormwind, Eastern Kingdoms of Azeroth, the bell rings twelve from the Cathedral. But if one with good eyes looks upon the bell tower, they see an Elf, but not an ordinary Elf, it is a Kal'dorei with two sides to him. At night, he starves for blood. He is an assassin who goes by the name Nathair Oiche, or its' translated mean: Black Sperpent. But by day, he is a Demon Hunter, his powers granted to him by the infamous Feronus Sindweller to end the Burning Legion.
He travels through the roof tops, the moon guiding his every foot step. Tonight he has a contract for a life of a noble, a Mr. Runise. He has spent the last night studying this man. A warlock by skill, but a corrupted soul lays in his heart. He steals from the poor, and gives nothing back. He is paying his way through politics, Celendrin despises politics, they are always corrupt. But tonight he brings another end to another such corrupted men amongst Azeroth, something he enjoys most.
As he finally reaches the house of the Warlock, he takes a moment, waiting atop the roof to poison his blade, he is very fond of poisons, they could kill however you like, very slowly, quickly, painless, or excruciating. This time he has selected a slow working poison, it enters the body, cripling the senses first, then it begins to shut down vital organs. He hums a melody to himself as he adds the poisons to his dagger. Then, he makes his entrance into a window.
As he enters, his body vanishes amongst the darkness, he whispers to himself," Darkness hold my hand when light is fray, Darkness guide my weapon to allow me to slay". He reaches the room of the Mr. Runise. He walks up slowly to the bed, making no noise at all, he brings out his dagger, knowing the next part is the most difficult. He makes a small incision on the mans arm. Carefully, he must do this as to not wake him up. The man begins shaking, he rambles words of treachery.
Cel' whispers out," Sshh sleep softly, let your dreams be the last memory of this world. There is nothing more to fear, other then death, but I hear he has been accepting your kind lately. Filthy demons."
He goes over to a nearby chair, taking a relaxed position as he sits down on it. He was always fond of watching others die in their sleep, nothing better then watching a man's soul be ript apart slowly in the dead of night. As he sits, memories begin to fill his mind, memories he wished to never think of again.
His mind shifts to a night a hundred years ago. He sits in a dark alley, next to a child. The child is screaming, not wanting to cooperate. Cel' tries to calm the child, but nothing seems to work. That is when it happens, out of the blue the child's body begins ripping itself apart, flashes of light begin erupting from its' body. Soon, the child is no longer a child, but a phantom of some sort, a demon. He is more then a dreadlord, but yet Cel' couldn't wrap his head around it, his mind completely blank as he thinks to himself," What....what is this dark magic.." He soon feels something he has never fealt in a long time. Fear.
He quickly stabs at the Demon, but his blade gets stuck within its rough skin, blood oozes out of the wound, sliding down Cel's hand. He pulls the dagger out, and gives the blood a taste. It is an unknown taste, a demons' Bblood, but which kind. As he thinks, it reaches its' arm out and grabs Cel' by the throat. He gasps for air, calling for help, but what is the point, he has no firends, no allies, he would only be calling out to simple strangers. He stops his struggle, and focuses his mind.
He remembers what he is." I am Celendrin Sahdowstalker, one of the greatest Demon Hunters, I shall surpass Illidan and even my own teacher. I am an assassin of the dark, a serpent of the shadows, let my fear fuel my blood!" As he finishes his statements, his mana tattoos begin glowing every so brightly. The Demon looks down on his chest, a somewhat puzzled look on his face, but making a mistake of loosening his grip on Cel's Throat. He takes the opportunity to thrust his blade through the Demon's wrist, slicing it apart.
As he falls to the ground, he uses the momentum to jump back up, and slice the Demon's throat, and stabs the other dagger into the Demon's chest. It falls back, crying for mercy, but Celendrin shadowstalker, the great Nathair Oiche does not give mercy to the corrupted. He stabs the dagger right through its' forehead.
His vision disperses, and he sees why it came about. On the shelf next to him lays a portrait of a child. Cel' no longer gives sympathy for children. He fears them, but yet ruthlessly hates them. So easily corrupted, so easily pursued. He was close to meeting death itself because of a child, no longer will place compassion in his heart for them.
He travels through the roof tops, the moon guiding his every foot step. Tonight he has a contract for a life of a noble, a Mr. Runise. He has spent the last night studying this man. A warlock by skill, but a corrupted soul lays in his heart. He steals from the poor, and gives nothing back. He is paying his way through politics, Celendrin despises politics, they are always corrupt. But tonight he brings another end to another such corrupted men amongst Azeroth, something he enjoys most.
As he finally reaches the house of the Warlock, he takes a moment, waiting atop the roof to poison his blade, he is very fond of poisons, they could kill however you like, very slowly, quickly, painless, or excruciating. This time he has selected a slow working poison, it enters the body, cripling the senses first, then it begins to shut down vital organs. He hums a melody to himself as he adds the poisons to his dagger. Then, he makes his entrance into a window.
As he enters, his body vanishes amongst the darkness, he whispers to himself," Darkness hold my hand when light is fray, Darkness guide my weapon to allow me to slay". He reaches the room of the Mr. Runise. He walks up slowly to the bed, making no noise at all, he brings out his dagger, knowing the next part is the most difficult. He makes a small incision on the mans arm. Carefully, he must do this as to not wake him up. The man begins shaking, he rambles words of treachery.
Cel' whispers out," Sshh sleep softly, let your dreams be the last memory of this world. There is nothing more to fear, other then death, but I hear he has been accepting your kind lately. Filthy demons."
He goes over to a nearby chair, taking a relaxed position as he sits down on it. He was always fond of watching others die in their sleep, nothing better then watching a man's soul be ript apart slowly in the dead of night. As he sits, memories begin to fill his mind, memories he wished to never think of again.
His mind shifts to a night a hundred years ago. He sits in a dark alley, next to a child. The child is screaming, not wanting to cooperate. Cel' tries to calm the child, but nothing seems to work. That is when it happens, out of the blue the child's body begins ripping itself apart, flashes of light begin erupting from its' body. Soon, the child is no longer a child, but a phantom of some sort, a demon. He is more then a dreadlord, but yet Cel' couldn't wrap his head around it, his mind completely blank as he thinks to himself," What....what is this dark magic.." He soon feels something he has never fealt in a long time. Fear.
He quickly stabs at the Demon, but his blade gets stuck within its rough skin, blood oozes out of the wound, sliding down Cel's hand. He pulls the dagger out, and gives the blood a taste. It is an unknown taste, a demons' Bblood, but which kind. As he thinks, it reaches its' arm out and grabs Cel' by the throat. He gasps for air, calling for help, but what is the point, he has no firends, no allies, he would only be calling out to simple strangers. He stops his struggle, and focuses his mind.
He remembers what he is." I am Celendrin Sahdowstalker, one of the greatest Demon Hunters, I shall surpass Illidan and even my own teacher. I am an assassin of the dark, a serpent of the shadows, let my fear fuel my blood!" As he finishes his statements, his mana tattoos begin glowing every so brightly. The Demon looks down on his chest, a somewhat puzzled look on his face, but making a mistake of loosening his grip on Cel's Throat. He takes the opportunity to thrust his blade through the Demon's wrist, slicing it apart.
As he falls to the ground, he uses the momentum to jump back up, and slice the Demon's throat, and stabs the other dagger into the Demon's chest. It falls back, crying for mercy, but Celendrin shadowstalker, the great Nathair Oiche does not give mercy to the corrupted. He stabs the dagger right through its' forehead.
His vision disperses, and he sees why it came about. On the shelf next to him lays a portrait of a child. Cel' no longer gives sympathy for children. He fears them, but yet ruthlessly hates them. So easily corrupted, so easily pursued. He was close to meeting death itself because of a child, no longer will place compassion in his heart for them.
