Aelfrik

"I don't give a fuck." Sin'dorei Demon Hunter Wymrest Accord In-game Name: Aelfrik

[aelfrik-blog]

Kindling

The sky was a morass of dull green and turgid brown. The fel craft hung heavy over the Barrens disgorging its demonic forces and hellish artillery. Aelfrik was walking towards it through the waist high grass of the plain. The locket he held was battered and tarnished. The damaged shell protecting the pair of images inside. Aelfrik’s finger ran across the one on the left. The haughty, ethereal image of Illenia in her finest dark gown stared imperiously back.

“Simple man…” she sighed as she checked her appearance in the standing mirror. Turning to and fro to watch how the dark silk settled around her with a perpetual look of not being quite pleased. Aelfrik yawned from the bed, choosing not to inform her of the patch of ebony hair on the back of her head still ruffled from the pillows. He smirked and replied, “I’m simple for enjoying a single day off?”

She made a show of giving him a pitying look. Her eyes had gotten brighter again. The magistrix had grown even stronger since starting her studies of the Burning Legion. Stronger in service of their people. And their Prince. It was easy to forget the ruins of Draenor outside when he was here with her. Her eyes reminded him. She looked briefly distraught when she noticed her own patch of bed hair and grabbed a brush while chiding him, “Some of us are very busy. Some of us are very important. Too important to have the luxury of a holiday. We’re not all…” she cut herself off, looking a bit guilty. Aelfrik laughed however, “We’re not all just some big dumb brute? Or were you going to go with ‘more muscle than brains’ this time?”

She laughed. And look relieved. She lapsed from time to time. To a time before she had fallen, kicking and screaming in denial, in love with a no-name warrior like himself. It had become a joke, but he could tell it worried her still. As though he had never let his own thoughts on her social status slip from time to time. The stuck-up assholes. She set the brush down and sniffed, “The latter. Don’t think you can just lay in bed all day dearest. Taliah won’t stand for it.”

She left and he let his grin fade into a frown. Familiar joking or not, she looked worried.

The younger, though mature beyond her years, elf in the second picture looked out at him as well. Delicate in features like her mother, but with the strong edge and sharp eye of her father. Like a filigree egg made of iron. The wayward lock of blonde hair she had struggled with in childhood hung loosely over one eye even in the portrait. She had hated that he insisted the painter capture it.

“I haven’t even formally finished my training father. When I’m ready I’m sure mother will be more than happy to guide me. It’s all she talks about when we work together.”

Aelfrik watched lightning crackle across the purpled sky as he and his daughter walked one of the crystalline balconies of the Naaru fortress. It hovered above the ragged, shattered edge of the land they had taken to calling Netherstorm. The smell of ozone was sharp in his nose. He grimaced, “Is it now?”

Taliah stopped, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. She was a bit shorter than he was but he still felt smaller. She raised a brow, “You don’t approve.” It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head, “It’s not approval. Bleeding sun Tali how can I approve of something I don’t even understand? All I know is when something smells demonic I’m used to sticking a damn sword in it. And now it’s something great?”

“I’ll make sure to tell mother you think she smells.” she tilted her body and head briefly with the joke before letting it pass. She gestured over the edge of the balcony, the wide pastel sleeve of her robe trailing behind her, “You might not understand magic like mother and I do, but you’re not as clueless as you pretend to be. I’m on to you. If there’s power available we have to use it don’t we? After what happened to…” she had to pause, the memories too fresh. She gathered herself, “…it’s just us now. You, me, and mom. His Majesty is doing his best to save what’s left but there’s still so much danger. If using the Legion’s power keeps us safe then why wouldn’t we? And stronger mother and I become the better position we’ll be in when we finally get home.”

Aelfrik didn’t like it. He understood power. And status. And even safety, which was in short supply since the Sunwell fell. He’d just done his best to avoid getting embroiled in the first two for so long. His fault for marrying above his station it seemed. He ruffled Taliah’s hair. She hated it as much as she loved it. So he did it as often as possible, “When’d you grow up and start trying to look after me huh?”

She looked about ready to blast him with flame or freeze him solid. She glared at him instead, “About a century ago father. You should be grateful. Once you’ve gone dumb from one too many head wounds I’ll make sure to set your rocking chair up somewhere sunny.”

“You’re too good to me.” Aelfrik said wryly. He nodded towards the door.

An acrid smell warned the demon hunter of the incoming mass of felfire. It crashed into the ground with a muted roar a distance in front of him. Large, muscled shapes moved in the crater. Gripping weapons and growling orders to one another. Aelfrik snapped the locket shut but hesitated. The hand holding it tightened around the metal keepsake. The arm grew tense. He should throw it. Or drop it to the ground and be done with it. The damned, fucking thing…

“You’re out of your mind!” “You’re not this stupid dearest! You have to see the obvious truth!” “It’s the damned magic! It’s making you…act different!” “It’s power idiot! It doesn’t make me do any…can’t you understand reason?!” “Father…she’s right. What we’ve seen…” “I’ve seen it too Tali! Closer! They’re fucking monsters! There’s no future there!” “It is our only chance at a future dearest. They have never been stopped. Whole worlds have failed. What can a mangled Kaldorei and the remnants of our people do in the face of that? Nothing. Please. This is for us.” “Bullshit. It’s for the power.” “Dearest one..” “It’s always been for the fucking power!” “Father you’re being…” “You think I can let you do this? Betray us? Betray me?!” “Fath..” “Taliah. It’s time.” “Time for what? Neither of you are taking a damn step out of this room!” “I’m afraid we are dearest. I’m so sorry.”

He felt the spidery tingle across his body and smelled the sharp odor in the air. Then nothing.

Sharp pain rolled down his back and arms and the tips of curved spikes began to puncture the skin. Flame flickered, ignited, and sputtered along his body. The demons had noticed him and welcomed his approach with bared fangs. His grip loosened on the locket, and he stowed it away. The reminder was needed. The memories were fuel added to the fire that was his strength. He hated the Legion. And he hated them.

[aelfrik-blog]

Bars and Bastards

Water echoed in the underbelly of Dalaran. Plank bridges constructed just above the winding waterways of the sewers. Moisture collected on the cold stones overhead and dropped in a slow, languid rain onto the rooftops of the makeshift city. Where alabaster spires and glimmering golden accents celebrated the power of magic above, a different sort of power was celebrated down below.

Ten years. Aelfrik curled a hand around the crude mug in front of him. Broad and built for a Sin’dorei he loomed over the bar from his stool. Ten years. Not so long, all things considered. Could’ve been longer. The fucking Wardens didn’t blink an eye at ten thousand before. But damn if Azeroth hadn’t done its best to give the Illidari something new to walk into when they awoke. Much as things change though…world still hadn’t shook off its blasted demon problem.

Ten years changed a lot. But Aelfrik had at least found one thing that gave the comfort of familiarity. Shitty ale in a shitty bar. He drank, grimaced as his body did its best to reject the vile poison he was subjecting it to. Ale had gotten even shittier with time. Good.

He’d been at the bar for a few hours now. Waiting. When he finally heard the grate of an uneven chair grinding against the rough floorboards he made a low sound. About fucking time. He listened to the hollow thunk of boots approach him. Felt the aged, experienced bartender smoothly move somewhere else. Smelled oily skin and poorly washed feet. The man had a mean voice when he spoke, “You’re one of those ‘demon hunters’ aren’t you?”

No. He was just your average shirtless, tattooed, scarred elf wearing a blindfold that only partially obscured the green flames that burned where his eyes used to be. Fucking idiot. He answered by finishing his ale, and pretending that the row of dusty bottles across the bar was worth his attention.

The man played his part The silence annoyed him. He couldn’t bear it so he opened his mouth again, “Even we got standards. Word is you all’re more demons yourselves than hunters or anything else good. We don’t want your kind down here.”  

Aelfrik looked into the dregs of his ale. He had a deep voice, with the tone of gravel being ground to dust. He didn’t look up, “Shame.”

He looked to the side. Not far back enough to actually see the asshole. Just enough to study the grain of the bar a foot or so further down, “For you.”

He felt confusion. Then irritation. Then anger waft from the man as clear as his musty scent. The rest of the bar’s patrons were watching. An indistinct mutter here or there. This was a production. The roles as clear as any script set to stage. It had just taken a bit longer than usual until the right mix of stupidity and bravery had walked in. If he wanted a place here it’d go down one of two ways. The easy way was settling in below the bullies and thugs and buying round of drinks bought to ease doubts. That wasn’t an option. Not with how Aelfrik looked. Not with how Aelfrik felt. He waited for the grubby hand to settle on his shoulder and for the sound of the knife being drawn.

Shhhikt

Aelfrik stood and turned abrupt and hard with the motion, shrugging the man’s hand away. He grabbed the wrist of the knife hand. A curved sable spike erupted from his forearm in a spray of blood. The spike went into the crook of the man’s elbow and twisted, shredding tendons and muscle and all that made the bits below it work. Boots skidded against wood. The man hung a foot off the ground, back against the wall, Aelfrik’s hand around his neck.

The black of Aelfrik’s tattoos parted for malignant fel green like a cloth burning away from an ember fallen on it. The last bits of his blindfold floated over the edge of a nearby railing into the rushing water below, burnt to cinder by suddenly burning eyes. Aelfrik let the man struggle against his grip with his one working arm, his phlegmy eyes furious. The idiot was to fucking stupid to even look scared. Aelfrik ‘looked’ over the rest of the bar instead. Let them see the fire burning where his eyes should be. Let his message sink in. You leave me alone and no one has a goddamn problem. Make a problem, and see what fucking happens.

He gave the fury and anger in him a way out. The struggling man became a bonfire of screaming, hungry fel flames. The searing heat felt good this close. The smell of cooking meat felt right. When he began to smell wood starting to smolder he threw what was left in his grip over the railing after his blindfold. It splashed into the water and was carried away to be forgotten.

In the silence Aelfrik went back to his stool and sat down. His eyes dimmed to a smolder. A coin hit the surface of the bar for his next drink. He let the muttering continue behind him while he waited for the bartender to scoop another mug out of whatever piss barrel he was using today. The old man dropped the mug near Aelfrik’s first. He mused at something behind the demon hunter, “…gonna be mighty hard to clean that off the wall I reckon.”

Another pair of coins joined the first. Aelfrik took a drink and bore through the agony of it. This place. He fucking hated it.

It was perfect.