Evenin'. This is my story for my roleplay character, Tywrathiel, on Moon Guard. You will learn more and more about him as time goes on, of course.
All Warcraft use in the story belongs to Blizzard.
I will not use the document for money.
Tywrathiel's POV
The night was still, chilling almost. Completely silent; the only thing separating that silence was the distant murmuring of murlocs that were arguing over the corpses of frail humans who fell prey to the fangs and jolts of the vile creatures. Still, I lay buried beneath the sand, near death, they left me alone. Somehow, I wished that they would come and feast upon me, end my misery, end my memories.
The wind was like razors slicing through my skin. I didn't make a sound, didn't tune my body to a movement; just laid there, regretting, wishing, hating…
It was like it happened yesterday, and not four thousand years. Perhaps because in that damn confinement, the memory was the only picture that constantly danced in my mind, enjoying the sadistic tone my mental wincing gave. It was haunting me, ravaging and taking in all that was me; killing me slowly, painfully…
"Naomi, my beloved! I'm home from… training…" I had yipped cheerfully at first, bursting through the door. My amber hues flickered over the red trail that was the horror of my home. My wife impaled to the wall, my child, intestines decorating the floor, the windows. I could only stand, ears twitching to the sound of the wind.
The wind.
Is that why I had done what I had to? Why I sought the people who killed my wife, my child, destroyed my life?! It had to be, it was a perfectly valid reason… perfectly…
I remembered all. I remembered searching for minutes that dragged on to hours, to days, to weeks until I found them. I found the murderers, a distant band of human assassins. I took them by the shirt, I brought them so close that we were sharing breath, and tore the throat from their being with my teeth.
My first taste of blood.
After that, it was all a blur. A killing spree set on Darnassus.
"Sentinels, he's out of control!"
A female screeched from the distance, carrying her spiral weapon and charging towards me, as well as many others. I was vigorously attacking my own kind; women, men, children, husbands, druids. Anyone I could set my plated hands upon.
"Sentinels, come to my defense!"
I was against the ground in a flash, laughed at, trialed, and thrown into a prison for four thousand miserable years. Only to be released here; and banished from Kal'Dorei lands.
The shores of Westfall.
Danté.
[[No POV]]
The wind was brilliant; truly a magnificent thing, like razors gliding in the wind that would cut the flesh of everyone and anyone who happened to wonder idly by. The moon was radiant, a sacrifice to the black sky that was covered with thick, brooding clouds. Not a star was seen in the glorious night--not a single shining glimmer. Just the night for the notorious Night Elf who couldn't be more joyous.
Heavy black armor crashed into the mud as he walked skillfully through the night, sinking where he stepped. A low laugh, like a howl could truly be heard from his lips. His sword was a glimmer; like fire on steel; like ice on rods. It stung the eyes of those who would linger their eyes on it for too long, but the sadistic male enjoyed that. He would, however, much rather carve the eyes out and devour them like a delectable dish. Long, white hair cascaded over dark shoulders and gleamed with the hallow moonlight, crimson eyes glittered in the sockets of the male who took his time across the empty plain.
It's in the wind... can you hear it?
He raised his hand, a blood trail cascading up in circlets like it was dancing to some sadistic melody that only a night as such could play. Only a night as such would have blood as wondrous as this; as delicious. Thin, elegant eyebrows raised over blood stained hues in interest as the red life fluid danced a deadly beat to the rhythm of his fingertips. A laugh rippled from a white mask that was… Danté.
Come, dear child; I'm only slightly sadistic. Come, play with Danté…
His eyes would glimmer as the rain would finally pour; pour onto the heads of his next victims, onto the heads of the weak and those who cower. Those who have no life, no home, nothing. His lips pulled back over his teeth in a devious grin, his hand clenching into a fist as the blood poured into a puddle, and he turned--a black cloak billowing behind him.
Come. Come play With Danté.
The shores of Westfall. How idiotic to one such as he; to one such as deadly as he; he found no use for humans, they were merely pawns in his game. His vision for that matter. The vision of creating a new and better world. Paradise, paradise. It's all he needed out of anything.
He growled to himself, shaking his head to the chatter of the murlocs who ran from the sight of him, tail between their legs. He took a step onto the sandy shore, another…
Crunch.
A hand. He looked down, only to raise an silver brow over a crimson eye. He knelt slowly, eyeing what he had found. A dead man, no doubt. No use. Growling, he stood, and continued on.
"Wait, please…" A voice whispered. Danté turned, slightly curious. "Help…"
"There is no help for one so pathetic as yourself." Danté hissed.
"Please. I beg you…" The voice croaked, dull amber orbs looking up hopefully.
"Which is why you are pathetic. Do not waste my time." The white mained male urged, turning away.
"I… I can serve you."
This made him stop. A grin twitched its way across mangled lips as he plucked a black rose from the wilted earth, studying it for a moment.
"Can you live, boy? Can you even walk?"
"I… Yes." The voice whispered, the sound of sand rustling behind Danté was unnerving.
"Your name." Danté ordered without hesitation.
"T-Tywrathiel Darkwind…" He pleaded, the sand still covering his lower half like a blanket. A rose was tossed behind the shoulder of the white haired man, and Tywrathiel reached up and caught it.
"Merely a cliché token… Welcome to the Syndicate."