Home.
That is what he used to call it.
Home.
His eyes, lit like smoldering embers, peer into the darkened streets of Redridge's bustling heart. Street lights flicker illuminating the small children at play. Both seem to work in unison in such a way you could almost say the light and the little-ones were one and the same.
The master need his army, Son of the Burning Mark, spews a sinister voice into Denton's mind. The master needs his army!
His eyes, spewing flares as if a raging inferno, sweep the blackened abodes, their walls dark say for the streaming light which flows from open windows - beacons of hope amongst a sea of uncertainty.
Shadows lurk everywhere!
Do not let them consume them first!
Do not -
Denton takes a deep breath before he grinds his boot across a rough stone, releasing a shrill screech. It is a horrific sound, but it is exactly what he needed.
"Denton, my boy," barks Denton's superior, Zan. "Why must you do that?"
He points at the boy's boot as he wraps his arm and the back of his neck, the cold steel almost drawing sensation to Denton's flesh. Almost.
"You know it bothers me so. And what about the people, Denton? One can hear that noise of yours from miles away." Zan gives Denton a friendly shake. "You know it doesn't help any, boy. Such hunger can only be quelled by sheer satisfaction."
Denton sighs heavily before calmly removing himself from his superior's grip. He casts a disgruntled gaze back at the smiling, pale-fleshed, man. A sense of nausea grips Denton as he peers into the hallowed orbs that were once called eyes. Zan's bald head also draws Denton's attention, its sheen a disgusting sight when coupled with the old man's flaring eyes.
"What do you think, Denton?" Zan spits with rather unnerving glee. "Do you think they will call us Death Knights again?"
A crackling laughter, only describable as insects popping within burning wood, is emitted by their third member, Tolvin. The boy heartily replies in Denton's stead. "Oh, they will scream it for certain!" He cackles his vile cackle once more. "The big bad Death Knights have come to get us! Ha!"
Denton peers with utter disgust as Tolvin comes into view. He has never liked that man. Boy. Child. Whatever you want to call that thing. Sometimes he cannot help but wonder if the boy developed his current state from their masters or if he was simply born this way.
"Insulting, really," Tolvin groans as his once joyous smile fades into a frown. "Death Knights don't wield fire. Those infants use their chill and death as if it was something impressive." The boy spits at the ground, the fluid burning the area as it fests like a soar upon the soil. "How I hope a few show their faces. I want to sear the fear into their flesh!"
Once more, the boy releases a sickening cackle. Denton cannot help but smack his lips as one might after sucking a lemon or partaking in a rotting carcass. He doesn't know why he hates that boy so much. He just knows, one day or another that is going to wipe that smile off his face.
Tolvin notices Denton's stare, yet heeds not its deeper meaning; instead he simply smiles a greater smile and gargles forth, "Denton, what do you think?"
Denton waits for a moment, hoping the boy will continue on. Sadly, Tolvin stares, rotted teeth and soot-soaked gums exposed, as he waits for a response.
Denton sighs, "About what, Tolvin?"
"Do you think she will be here?"
"Who?"
"Who? Don't you pretend you don't know. That harpy."
Denton peers deeply into the boy's empty pools. He cannot help but feel a bit uneasy when he looks into them. Everyone here has the same void eyes, but Tolvin? There is something about that boy that seems extraordinarily sinister.
"I hope she is!" Tolvin continues. "I want to be the one taste that look in her eye. The one we all know all so well." He groans as one might after partaking in a fine apple pie. "I shall feast upon it! That terrible, horrified, scrumptious look one gets as they are dying. Mmmm."
The boy shivers and groans again. Denton knows he would be lying if were to say that the slaughter didn't appeal to a part of him, but to savor it as Tolvin does? Well, that seems a bit…unnecessary.
Tolvin cackles again, "She will be here, Denton. You watch."
Finally, as Denton hoped the minute the boy turned his attention towards him, Tolvin looks away. His attention at long last lost. Sadly, the boy's words dance within his head. He, honestly, hopes the woman doesn't show. Besides the fact the wench and her crew of banshee women have slew a handful of their brothers, she makes him feel uncomfortable.
The way she moves. The way she fights. The way she even smells draws back old memories he would rather let rot within the back of mind. Every time that wench shows up, bow in hand, fury at the ready, he cannot help but remember a life long lost. Of days that seem so very long ago. Of his family. His friends. And his love.
But knows they are all but memories.
He was, after all, the one that killed them.