To Bind the Hand

To Bind the Hand
 * -Written by Tharion

The choking smell of soot and sulfur filled the room, the flame of the bonfire casting the place in a deep reddish glow that intensified the brownish coloring of the wooden panels that lined the walls. The floor and ceiling were made of stone, usually cold but now reflecting the recent warmth of the blaze that was now shrinking back into the pit from which it was called forth.

Everything was silent now save for the crackling of that fading summoning fire. The small gathering of humans who performed the ritual stood perfectly still, the news they had just received still sinking into their collected consciousness.

"Well, this could be a problem," spoke a tall man with long black hair tied into a pony-tail. He let out a low, long sigh and ran his fingers across his scalp. "Definitely a problem."

Arkand turned to two women who stood near him. One, Astria, stood out alone, further from the others. She was clad in a long flowing red swath of cloth that revealed little of her feminine figure. Her hair was a light shade of red, almost brown, and it was cut to near her neck. Her face held eyes that were locked with Arkand’s.

The other was standing near one of the other male bystanders for the ritual. A bit too near for casual acquaintanceship, but that was Cordeilia’s way. Her attire was worn about as open as her personality, a thin brown robe that hung loosely in some places and tighter in others. It was low cut and revealed more of her pale skin than Arkand thought proper for one of them. Her hair was long and worn loosely, the dark strands flowing across her shoulders like liquid obsidian and draping lazily across her exposed shoulders. Of the two, it was most apparent that there was a blood relation between Cordeilia and the dark haired Arkand. But then again, Astria had always been the different sister, closer to the Master sometimes than even Arkand himself.

Astria tilted her head to the side as he continued to keep her gaze on her brother.

"We cannot afford such a delay as this.  We are already behind the schedule the Master wished to keep." Her words were simple, but they filled the room with a presence not indicated by the volume. Indeed, she was His Voice. It was her aspect.

Arkand nodded and began to pace around the open pit where the fire had just raged. It was calm now, a simple pit fire that smoldered and lapped lazily at the stone siding on the edges of the circular depression.

"Can we seek a replacement?" asked Cordeilia, whose arms seemed to have further snaked their way around the man she stood against. "If Sikar is missing, we will need someone to replace him, right?" Her eyes seemed to be exploring the torso of her object of interest, a man who still stood rigid and tall despite the extra attention.

"Yes, it is the only way for us to complete the ritual," Arkand nodded his head and stopped his pacing, looking around the room of gathered humans. None of the others moved, but they merely stood perfectly still while they stared into the pit fire.

Lively bunch, thought Arkand with heavy internal sarcasm. None of these will do...

"What of the human fighter I spoke to you of before, brother?  What of Rejald?" Astria seemed to sense Arkand’s disappointment in the others gathered in the room.

"No, he will not do, either," Arkand grimaced. "It will take too long to cleanse him of his taint."

"He is nothing more than a student of the church, Arkand, he can be useful to us."

"I do not debate that, dear sister Astria, but I debate the speed at which he can be made to fit this specific need." Arkand took a deep breath as he let his mind wander to other possibilities. "Worry not, though, we may have a use for him later."

Astria merely nodded her head and continued to watch Arkand with her searching eyes.

"Who can we use, then?" Cordeilia was still tangling her arms around the unresponsive human man. "We have two tasks here, and both cannot be completed without the fourth.  Sikar is our fourth.  He is the Hand."

"Cordeilia, you do not need to lecture me on our duties here.  Do not forget the aspect of Him to which I am linked." Arkand tapped his temple to indicate "mind."

"But brother, we cannot summon the Master without the fourth.  And with only three, hunting the Broken One is difficult, too."

"Daeloth’s recovery will need to fall by the wayside, Cordeilia.  The master wants him near, but He will need to be present before we--"

Arkand paused, an odd smirk crossing his face.

"What is it, Arkand?  What crossed His mind?" Astria tilted her head to the other side, observing Arkand’s change in expression.

A slow smirk began to cross Arkand’s lips, a sight that those who were not of the Sraathi family had learned to fear.

"Come, sisters, we have some business ..."

And with that, Arkand strode from the room and up the steps into the common room of the Slaughtered Lamb, which was as barren and empty as always in these late spring days.

Glancing briefly at each other, both Cordeilia and Astria followed him. Arkand had been named the Mind of Sraath for a reason.

The thickness of the Ashenvale forest did not hinder Daeloth's sloppy movements as he trudged over broken and soaked foliage. It had just finished raining, and a heavy sheen of water clung to the leaves and logs all about him. His red cloak was now soaked, however, becoming much heavier as the thick woolen cloth absorbed the droplets that still seemed to fall from everything around him.

Blasted weather... thought Daeloth with disgust as he continued forward. A log he had just used to vault himself up a rise rolled out from behind him and caused a renewed shower from the tree that it struck.

Daeloth's armor was heavy, doubly now that his cloak and underclothes were burdened with moisture. The black and red scales were dulled from daily wear, but they still showed up noticeably against the stark greens and purples that Ashenvale was known for. Daeloth's large figure hunched under the weight and his weariness, making him appear shorter than he actually was.

Daeloth appeared to be kaldorei, tall in height, long of ears, and dark in skin. But one did not have to look at him for too long before realizing that things were not quite right. Daeloth's hair was a near glowing green that erupted from the top and sides of his head and continued to flare upwards. Even his face was wreathed in the felfire colored strands, which seemed to waver in the wind, even when the air was still. Some who had seem him would claim that it was no illusion and that his hair maintained the nature of living felfire.

And his face was also unnatural in appearance. Slightly bloated, Daeloth looked as though his skeleton did not quite fit his skin. He almost seemed to be perpetually scowling, and the normal golden eye glow of kaldorei males was supplanted by a sickly green tinge. Anyone who had the misfortune of getting too close to Daeloth would notice that he maintained a constant odor of soot about him. A fact that most found peculiar.

In addition, Daeloth was also somewhat taller than the average kaldorei male, standing perhaps a good nine feet in height. His shoulder width was noticeably broader as well, giving his physique a decidedly top-heavy appearance.

The awkward night elf continued his lumbering trek through the tree choked forest, snapping branches and crushing plants along his path. He was determined to reach a new place today, tired of keeping himself hidden in the depths of that wood. He was heading south to the Stonetalon mountains, and then eventually to the scoured lands of Desolace.

A flash of red caught Daeloth's attention and he stopped in his tracks, turning to face where he thought he saw the color. There was nothing there aside from the green depths of plantlife. Grumbling deeply, Daeloth continued on his way, until the same flash made him spin in the opposite direction.

"Who's there!" he shouted. His voice was a deep rumbling of a growl, much more powerful than natural for a kaldorei of even his size.

There was no response outside of a faint rustling of leaves shaken by the wind.

Daeloth growled again, loud enough for his would-be stalker to hear. He was answered only by another windblown rustle of leaves. He stared for a few moments at the last place he thought he had seen the shape, but nothing out of the ordinary made itself apparent. Spitting on the ground beneath his feet, Daeloth turned to continue along his way.

And came face to face with the demon hunter known as Tharion Greyseer.

The golden fire that burned through the demon hunter's blindfold was tinged slightly with green, marking the felsight of the eyeless warrior. His lower face was masked, his upper torso wrapped in leather straps that held twin demon skulls to his shoulders, and his hands and wrists were bound with demon bones. From around his waist hung a purple and red kilt, loosely concealing his muscular legs and sandaled feet. Strapped to the back of the demon hunter was a large glowing blade. Daeloth recognized the weapon as the same one that had cursed him to live the rest of his days stuck in his unnatural kaldorei form. It was the demon charged blade known as Felborne, the weapon that had pierced Daeloth's once thick hide.

"What do you want, hunter?" Daeloth sneered at Tharion, an attitude he commonly took these days.

Tharion merely stood silently, watching the once-pit lord with his eyeless gaze. He said nothing nor made any other motion.

"You did not stalk me throughout this damned wilderness just to stare at me, Greyseer," Daeloth chided. "Tell me why you came. I have done nothing to deserve a visi--"

Daeloth's breath was shoved from his lungs as he was unexpectedly slammed into a nearby tree behind him. Tharion had somehow swiftly drawn Felborne and now held the glowing white blade up against Daeloth's exposed throat.

"That is why I have come, demon, you have done nothing," Tharion's voice was harsher than usual and the spectral glow of his vision burned more intensely. "You languish here and wait for them to come for you. WHY?"

"Why WHAT, hunter?" Daeloth scoffed a growling laugh. "What am I to do against them? What am I to do against the aspects of my once master, now here to hunt and kill me?"

"You do not even try to fight them?" Tharion pressed the blade against Daeloth's neck, threatening to break the skin. "I have seen one of them, they are but human."

"Human, yes," Daeloth began, his body only slightly tensed from the weapon head threateningly against him. "But they are linked to Him, Greyseer. They are linked to the one you know as Sraath.  As I told one of your students, to kill them here and now would only delay His summoning.  One would still have to face Him eventually.  Why delay the inevitable?"

"You wish to see them summon your old master, Daeloth? Knowing that when he comes, he will seek to kill you first for your failures?"

"My failures were due to you, demon hunter. The fact that you are here now threatening me with ... that," Daeloth's eyes flashed briefly to the blade, "...shows the depths of my failure.  After Sraath kills me, He will kill you and the entirety of your school."

"You underestimated me then just as you seem to underestimate my students now. Perhaps I should just save this 'Sraath' the trouble and kill you here and now..."

Daeloth began to laugh, a dark and gutteral sound that even made Tharion move a few inches back.

"I would welcome it, Greyseer. Kill me now I won't have to deal with Sraath when He comes.  You would be doing me a favor."

"Indeed," snarled Tharion, "then I will leave you be for now."

Daeloth's face seemed to express a measure of both relief and disappointment at the statement, and he began to visibly breath easier as Tharion removed Felborne and resecure the blade to his back.

"That is why you came, Greyseer? To threaten me and ask me to answer a question you already knew the answer to?" Daeloth absent-mindedly rubbed his neck where Felborne had sat against his skin.

Tharion spun quickly and silently and took a few bounding steps into the forest. He did not turn around to speak his last.

"No, Daeloth. I came to tell you that these 'Sraathi' are on the move. They were seen leaving Stormwind a few days ago..."

Daeloth frowned heavily as he watched Tharion Greyseer bound away into the woods, leaving four whispered words on the wind.'

"They come for you."

A few days later.

Arkand dodged to the left as Daeloth's spear plowed into the tree behind him, splintering the wood and showering both of them with shards of tree bark. Arkand's loose flowing robes fluttered in the wind as he regained his footing.

"You still have the fire within you, Broken One," said Arkand as he watched for Daeloth's next move. "One would believe that you do not look forward to the Master's return."

Daeloth growled loudly as he ripped his polearm from the tree, showering both of them once more with splintering wood. He sneered at Arkand's comment and braced himself for another lunge.

"You haven't even listened to what we have in mind for you, Daeloth," sneered Arkand, silently gathering his fel energies while he watched the former pit lord brandish his weapon. "You have no idea what the Master has in mind."

"I know ENOUGH!" Daeloth's voice flooded the forest with its echoing volume. "I know that Sraath wishes me dead for my failures."

"Perhaps He does," Arkand smiled. "Perhaps He does not. It is not my place to speak.  But I do know what He intends." Arkand thrust his hands forward, forcing the shadow energy from his fingertips in a black blast aimed squarely for Daeloth's chest.

"I do not want to be a part of your GAMES!" Daeloth lunged forward once more, thrusting the spear towards the heart of the frail looking human. The shadowblast struck his scaled armor directly, but the darkess crackled off the black and red metal like some sort of light-absorbing lightning.

Arkand moved to the side swiftly once more, allowing Daeloth's weapon to fly past him and strike another trunk.

"CEASE THIS!" Astria's words thundered between the trees, shaking leaves from their branches and causing both Daeloth and Arkand to stop their fighting. She stood atop a nearby ridge, her loose fitting red robes hanging around her thin frame. "Brother! Do not provoke him!  And you, demon, you WILL listen to what has to be said."

Daeloth's face twisted in an ugly parody of acceptance as he yanked his weapon from the tree once more. He watched Arkand suspiciously, but slowly turned towards the young human whose voice rang right through his very being.

She must be His voice, Daeloth thought, recognizing that a human of her size could not normally achieve the amount of volume she was achieving. She certainly does not look the part...

The thin woman took a few steps forward, walking down from the ridge upon which she was perched. In the sudden silence the soft crumpling of leaves and foliage could be heard as she walked. A weak breeze caused her reddish hair to flutter around her face, which was locked in an expression that seemed to indicate her irritation.

Arkand moved from his half-crouched combat stance to stand beside his sister, still eyeing the former pit lord with a measure of caution. He smoothed his own robes with his hands, brushing away a few clinging leaves that had found their way onto him from the recent confrontation. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"We have not come to kill you, Daeloth," Arkand spoke simply, making certain that his words were clear. He turned briefly to look at his sister, as if getting permission to put into sound the thoughts that he knew to be true. She merely nodded her permission. "We have a problem, you see. An issue that has only recently come to our attention, and one that needs to be corrected before we can move forward."

Daeloth said nothing, but instead leaned against his spear and watched the two as the Mind spoke.

"As you may know, the Master needs four for a summoning." Arkand continued, opening his arms to indicate himself and Astria. "We are but two here and one back in Astranaar, awaiting our return. If you are capable of counting, this is only three."

Astria stayed silent at Arkand's impromptu verbal jab, but watched Daeloth's reaction closely.

"Our fourth aspect, the Hand, seems to be missing."

After a few long moment, Daeloth responded.

"What do you want of me, then, if not to kill me? Surely you don't need me to find this lost one of yours?"

"Don't misunderstand, Daeloth. We are not asking you to become a bloodhound to find Sikar for us.  That we will do in time on our own.  We are asking you something different."

Arkand stopped speaking and turned toward Astria, who took the cue to continue the explanation. Her voice filled the forested area, causing a flock of nearby birds to take flight into the evening sky.

"The Master's first priority is His own summoning. His second priority was seeing your 'return'.  And His third was seeing the death of those that caused your fall."

Astria grinned slightly at the twisted frown that spread across Daeloth's bloated face at the mention of Tharion Greyseer and his followers.

"We cannot do any of this until He is here. So we need a fourth."

Astria paused, seeing if Daeloth could complete the equation in his head. After a few agonizing moments, she sighed and concluded her explanation.

"Master Sraath would be willing to reward the one who helped Him arrive, even if this one were...at odds with His plans once in the past. He may even be willing to restore those things which were taken, and perhaps even give a chance for a kind of redemption."

She paused one last time, allowing her words to filter into the once pit lord's consciousness.

"Daeloth, once called The Silencer, we are asking you to become the new Hand of Sraath."

Arkand gripped the runestone tight. Only when he held the stone did Cordelia's voice enter his thoughts, soft as a whisper upon the wind. Daeloth was standing next to him, the misshapen kaldorei form standing awkwardly near the large opening in the stone earth by their feet. Astria was near as well, standing off to his right at the edge of a rather large opening in the ground.

Arkand, came Cordeilia's whispers. ''We are ready here. The vault is sealed and the circle ready for your command.''

"Very well, sister Cordeilia," Arkand responded, speaking clearly. He knew that the runestone he held would transmit his voice directly into her thoughts despite the fact that he stood deep within the depths of Felwood and she deep beneath the catacombs of Stormwind city. "Astria will begin the chanting."

Not but twenty feet from where he stood, his other sister, Astria, the Voice of Sraath, began to speak in a loud and clear melodic chanting. The words were ancient, known only to a few who had studied the language of demons. Her words danced from her lips and filled the air with their deliberate sound, putting all those near her into a near trance.

The three of them stood deep beneath the earth, down the twisting caverns of Jaedenar. Before them was a large circle, roughly forty feet in diameter and lined with hundreds of tiny, burning, ritual candles. The circle had no bottom, instead opening to a room below filled with angry felguards.

Arkand closed his eyes and concentrated his thoughts upon the task at hand. The raw organic materials to be used for the summoning existed below Stormwind, where Cordeilia and another warlock started their own ritual spells of transportation. It was Arkand's job to mentally summon his master and guide his spirit through the veil between realms. He would then draw upon the materials being pulled into the Stormwind summoning circle to assist Sraath with the reconstruction of his body. It was a fragile task, with each participant performing a vital role.

Astria, as the Voice, was the power behind the words. Her job was to continue the ritualistic chant, feeding the words of power into Arkand's mind as he pulled their master from afar. She did this now, the the volume of her voice increasing as she repeated each phrase.

Cordeilia, the Heart of Sraath, performed her duties on the other side of the world. Her job was to infuse the very matter that would give Sraath his life. The warlock she had assisting her was charged with making certain that the infused material made it to the other ritual casters in Felwood.

The last participant, the new Hand of Sraath, Daeloth, stood near Arkand within the caverns of Jaedenar. He was the shaper, forming the organic material into Sraath's new body. Such things were not his strength, but Arkand had assured him that he need only be present for the ritual.

"Sraath Himself will guide your hands," was what Daeloth had been told.

Astria's chanting reached the height of her volume, and the firelit room began to glow a pale green. Arkand had begun to chant as well, different words but the same language. The candles intensified and their flames burned brighter. Daeloth stood silently, watching the activity around him.

Suddenly, something began to form in mid-air above the opening of the large circle.

Daeloth's hands began to move on their own, and the former pit lord screamed.

A shadow fell over Felwood that night, darker than the pall that currently hung over the forest. It spread two great skeletal wings, the leathery skin gone, the capability of flight lost long ago. The shadow flexed its massive hands and worked its massive jaw.

A scream from the darkness caused even the infernals of the area take pause. The satyr cowered within their huts, and the corrupted protectors withered at the sound.

The shadow known as Sraath stretched its finger-like wings and strode south towards Ashenvale...

Daeloth awoke with a start, his body covered by a light morning dew. He opened his eyes to survey his surroundings, not having remembered where he was. The area around him was grassy. Well, it was grassy once before, at least. Now it was withered away, almost burned, as if some massive heat blanketed the patch of ground and caused it to die away. He stood slowly before realizing that his body had left an imprint of his shape where he had apparently slept.

IT AWAKENS, boomed a voice both in his head and throughout the trees. Daeloth recognized the shattering noise, a sound which he had become accustomed to hearing often. It was his master, the demon known as Sraath.

THE SILENCER NOW SILENCED BY SOMETHING AS MUNDANE AS SLEEP. The words "mundane" and "sleep" were laden with enough hatred and contempt to sunder the world once again.

Daeloth felt a wave of heated air rush by him, rustling the dead blades of grass and leaves within the small withered copse. They were in Ashenvale once more, Daeloth thought. The place's smell was recognizable, even with the oppressive taint of his master breathing so near. Where within the deep woods, Daeloth could not tell, however.

'''DO NOT IGNORE THE ONE WHO HAS GRANTED YOU A NEW LEASE ON LIFE, DAELOTH. I HAVE YOU NOW, AND YOUR EXISTENCE IS WITHIN MY POWER TO TERMINATE.''' The massive words held no remorse or uncertainty. Sraath spoke the truth.

"I hear you, Lord Sraath," Daeloth spoke simply, almost quietly, as he turned around to face the massive doomguard that stood behind him. For the first time in what seemed liked ages, Daeloth glanced upon the gargantuan visage that was Sraath the Reborn, the once defeated leader of the Shadowed Sun, now returned to his position of power within the Burning Legion.

Sraath was huge, taller than most of the slender trees that made Ashenvale as dense as it was over the millenia. His head was as tall as Daeloth's entire bloated kaldorei body, and his long twisted horns extended forward nearly ten feet from the demon's face. Each of his thick teeth was longer than Daeloth's arms, and the beast's eyes glowed with an intense glow of felfire.

Sraath's skin was a deep red, mottled with striations of decaying flesh and flaking chunks of once living tissue. Daeloth had remembered Sraath before the change, he was nearly as large, but his skin tone was a rich and fiery red. Now it was appeared to be as decaying as the organic material used in the summoning ritual.

The wings of the immense doomguard sprouted from its back like two massive spindly claws that reached into the darkening sky. The leathery skin that normally stretched between the bony grasp had long been torn away, leaving only the skeletal spines of the wings itself. The back of the beast was thick with muscles, his torso broad and heavy, marking the doomguard as a strong warrior in his own right.

He was crouched low, head close to the ground as he stared at the relatively small form that was now Daeloth as a child does an insect--in sadistic curiosity.

Daeloth stood his ground, not withering under the intense stare of his master. He straightened his posture before speaking.

"I have done what was asked of me, Lord Sraath. If you have no more use ..."

I DO, DAELOTH. Sraath's voice cut the former pit lord's words short. '''AN AGREEMENT WAS MADE AND YOU FULFILLED YOUR END. NOW I SHALL FULFILL MINE.'''

Before Daeloth could respond, Sraath moved quickly, lancing one of his black claws through the heart of the bloated kaldorei form. Daeloth screamed as the single claw tore through his misshapen rib cage and burst from his back. His bloated face held a look of unexpected shock as he felt himself weaken.

The world faded through Daeloth's felfire green eyes as he felt the twisted lifesblood flow out from his wounds and around Sraath's claw. The sounds of the world also faded from his ears, the sounds of the wind through the trees, the distant growling of patrolling felguards, the heavy chanting of Sraath...

...the heavy chanting of Sraath...

...nI MELAR! Sraath's voice flooded back into Daeloth's mind with the force of a falling mountain and he gasped. He felt his body slide painfully from Sraath's now elevated claw, and with a heavy impact he hit the withered ground. Daeloth found the energy to scream once more as he slammed into the earth forcefully. He writhed in pain as and cluched the open wound on his stomach.

Only there was no wound.

Daeloth scrambled to his feet at the realization that even the pain had faded from him, replaced by a renewed feeling of energy and life.

'''THE BARGAIN IS EVEN NOW, PIT LORD. DO WHAT IT IS YOU KNOW YOU WISH TO DO.''' Sraath turned his huge form and lumbered heavily into the trees as the green foliage that he stepped over withered at his passing.

Daeloth looked down at his body once more, still appearing as that of a misshapen night elf. But he knew the truth once again, he could feel it.

And he began to laugh.

(( For a continuation of this story (and guild-related information) please read "The Veiled Distress"...

Thanks! ))