Through the Dark Portal

The skies were weeping, echoing the sentiment of the people on that dark day.
All around the Portal, men were hugging their sobbing wives, and embracing their children, whispering their promises to return one day.
There was one man however, who did not see any relatives, he wasn't sure if he even had any.
This man's name was Twyk.

Twyk was tall for a Human, nearly as tall as a Night Elf and broad shoulders. With black hair that swept down to the small of his back, and green eyes, one minute bright, and the next minute cold and distant. Some might have called him handsome, if not for the scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye down to the edge of his face. He was a young soldier, only having 27 years to him, but he had seen things that would rack the nerves of any man twice his age.

You see Twyk was one of the only Humans of the great land of Lordaeron left. The land that was ruined and utterly destroyed by hordes of Ghouls and other Undead.

He sighed, and gazed out upon the crowds of milling soldiers, and he felt a great pain. Not at the fact that he had none of his own people to bid farewell to, he had come to terms with that long ago, but the fact that despite their loving promises to confused children and teary eyed wives, not many would return to Azeroth. They were just another load of soldiers, not nearly as ready for the horrors of Outland as they thought themselves as. Nor was he, coming to think of it.

Crouching, he pulled his shortswords from their scabbards on his back. The one in his right hand was a sword made by the great Hanzo, an ancient swordsmith who died long ago in the smoky tendrils of the past. His other sword was slightly shorter and jagged, with blood red troll runes on either side. They spelt out 'Firebreather', a legendary sword that was given to him by a Mage, claiming that it was from the belly of a Drake of the Green Dragonflight, named Morphaz. Twyk was not sure he believed this, but he liked the design on the sword and kept it close at all times.

He danced the blades for a while, something he figured that he didn't do enough these days, and attracted a small crowd of admiring onlookers. He smiled, They don't know that they're witnessing a dance not seen in a hundred years or so, he thought dryly, and finished. Resheathing his swords, he turned to face in the direction of the Portal; the green starry void staring back at him, almost challengingly.

Twyk gasped as two slender hands covered his eyes, and he heard a female voice say,
"Guess who?"

"Hmm.. I'd have to say.. Calama!" He said, laughing as he pulled the deep red haired High Elf woman round to his front.

Sun tanned skin, with bright blue eyes marked her different from her Horde cousins, in that she wasn't addicted to Fel magics. She wasnt even a magic wielder; she was a Huntress. Twyk was genuinely surprised to see her, he hadn't done so in 5 or there abouts years.

"I haven't seen you in ages, Twyk," Calama breathed, "Not since we got sent to 'sort out' that Stalvan.."

Stalvan.
The name ran through Twyk's head like water down a stream.
He remembered that.. thing, a monster, killing all who came close because of his lost love, eventually succumbing to madness.
He also remembered how that creature's Undead eyes widened in stark terror, as Twyk's sword was plunged to the hilt in it's chest. A very human terror.

Undead.
Like his family.

"Twyk? Twyk?" Calama said, her face close to his, she was staring into his eyes. They were bleak and almost dead looking, like rotting foliage. As Twyk flinched, she gave him a sympathetic look, "The Plague again?"

He nodded shortly and she embraced him, a sister's hug, and it comforted him somewhat.

"I... I'm sorry Calama," Twyk began, his deep baritone sounding pained, "Reunions like this shouldn't be ruined by memories of the past..." He sighed, and looked up suddenly, his eyes back to their usual brightness, glinting emeralds once more, "How have you been?"

"As well as to be expected I guess, times have been hard since most of my brethren joined the Horde," Calama said, a slight edge in her voice, "I mean.. The thought of Trolls in Silvermoon... It just goes against all that we Elves have strived to accomplish in our time here. Anyway, where have you been, young man?"

That made Twyk smile. Calama may have looked Twyk's age - or even younger! - but she was at least 130; long lived were the elves. She had been there, in Quel'Thalas as the Undead Scourge destroyed her country around her, killing her friends and family. Twyk felt a kindred spirit in her, almost like a sister. She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that, most Quel'dorei, or Sin'Dorei as he should now call them, had figures of exaggerated perfection, but even she was remarkable among Elves.

"Travelling. When my old master died, he told me to seek another to teach me the blades, yet I haven't found that man yet, however hard I search." Twyk said simply. Calama's eyes widened in realisation.

"You're going to find him in Outland?" She asked, confused, to which he nodded, "Why would he be in Outland? Everyone that was left from the Second War is old now, the wouldnt be able to teach you."

Twyk looked toward the portal, the rippling green vortex reflecting in his determined eyes, "I will find him there Calama. You're forgetting that Master Shin was 80 when he was killed, and taught me the swords till the day he died." Twyk then gave her one of his wry grins, "And plus, I hear there are Orcs called 'Blademasters' there... I intend to put that name thoroughly to the test."

Calama nodded slowly, resolve gradually building and spoke, "Well, if you're going to Outland, I'm coming too. It's not things like kobolds there, my friend."

Twyks head snapped round to hers, and he spoke firmly, "No, this will be a long and dangerous journey, and I would hate myself if something happened to you."
Hate myself more, he thought, grimly.

"Too bad, boy," Calama said adamantly, "I am coming, and for my own reasons."

Twyk scowled and turned to face the suddenly silent crowd of people. An Alliance General was currently giving an 'inspirational' speech the the soldiers, and he knew that he had to leave soon, so he had to come to a decision quickly. Calama looked at him expectantly, the faintest twinkle of defiance in her deep blue eyes.

Twyk knew better than to argue, and it wouldn't be that bad having a companion. Even if she did get under his skin occasionally. Sighing, he said,
"Fine. You watch my back I watch yours." He slit his palm with his belt knife, and she did the same, smiling. They clasped hands and both turned to the Portal.

"ALL IN!" A voice bellowed, and Calama looked to Twyk. Now that the time was near, fear rippled through him, and he could see by her face that she was feeling the same. What horrors awaited them there? Would they return? Would she die for him? Pushing these thoughts firmly to the back of his mind, he turned to face her.

"Ready to step into the unknown?" She asked, her voice serious.

"No. But then I'd need years to become fully ready. Now is the time." Twyk said, his voice just as serious.

They walked silently until they were just infront of the great swirling maelstrom that would take them to a broken, hollow shell of a world. He gripped her hand, and she his. She was shivering with fear, and he must be doing the same. With one last reassuring look to his companion, he took a step forward just as she did.

Everything faded to black...