To Hunt a Demon – Part II
Gareth woke from another troubled sleep. He disliked sleep, because as he slept, he dreamt, and his dreams were of happier times. But always, before he awoke, those dreams were banished, and the figure of the demon emerged. It laughed mockingly at him while he cried out in anguish and despair, watching his family being tortured and killed before his eyes. He awoke to the fading sounds of his wife screaming…
Shaking himself, he stood up and looked around. Though he was blind, a simple spell allowed him an illusion of sight, just enough to successfully know in which he was heading and whether or not there was a tree in front of him. Wryly he wondered how he would feel if the spell gave him perfect eyesight – the entire ritual of initiation would be completely pointless.
For years, he had hunted in the wilds, following even the most unlikely clue that might lead him to the demon he sought. He left no path untravelled, no clue unsought. But it appeared the demon was nowhere on Azeroth.
So be it. He would hunt him to whatever Legion world he had fled to.
As always, he glanced around the camp to be sure nothing was out of place. Everything was as it had been when he had gone to sleep the previous night.
Except…
Turning cautiously, slowly, to avoid alerting the enemy that he was aware of its presence, he glanced backwards. Sure enough, there, the telltale glow of arcane energy. He smiled mirthlessly. The ritual may have been painful, but it did have its uses.
Then he frowned slightly. If it was an enemy, why would it wait until he was awake? It would have been much less difficult – futile, of course, but still much less difficult – to try and attack him in his sleep.
Curious now, but still wary, he called out in his bleakest tone, "It's not a good idea to try and sneak up on me, stranger. Taking a Demon Hunter by surprise isn't really a smart thing to do."
The unseen visitor was silent. Then the bushes rustled, and out came a Blood Elf, glancing nervously back towards the questionable safety of the underbrush. "Are you Gareth, disciple of Bloodwrath?" He asked.
"That depends entirely on who's asking, stranger."
"I am a messenger from Bloodwrath. I was told to instruct Gareth to return to the temple at once."
"Your message has been delivered, initiate," Gareth answered curtly. "Tell Bloodwrath I will return as soon as it suits my fancy."
"You don't understand, Gareth. I was told to mention the name of Malchezaar to you."
Gareth froze in the act of turning away. "Malchezaar? What does he have to do with this?"
"I think Bloodwrath has found some information on this Malchezaar person… that is all the information I was given."
Gareth thought for only a moment before responding, "Very well… we will return to the temple immediately. You have carried your message well, initiate."
The Blood Elf smiled faintly, then turned and led the way back through the underbrush.
Gareth sighed. He had been close on the tail of what he believed to be a Satyr cult devoted to the worship of Malchezaar, but this was far more important. If Bloodwrath could tell him where he might find Malchezaar, he could be saved months of traveling and hunting.
Resigning himself to a long trek back to the Demon Hunter temple, he followed the initiate into the forest.