Fal'thalas



Appearance
Fal'thalas stands at a staggering nine feet tall. Contrary to the average Elven build, he is a hulking mass of muscle having little to no curvature to his sides (resembling that of Illidan). His skin has grown a darker, greyish purple and is strewn with numerous scars. His crude, green runes shine dimly upon his chest and biceps. A series of small spines protrude from his forarms, receding in length as they travel downward to his wrists. Where his fingernails once were lays long, sharp claws. His feet bare similar traits to his hands rather than the more common, cloven hooves. Two large scars lay just beneath his shoulderblades where a pair of vestigial wings had once grown. Due to their lack of a good use, he saw it fit for their removal. Among that is a long tail, not too dissimilar to a Sayaad's, that has extended downward upon his Coccyx. A pair of large horns protrude from his wrinkled forehead and from the sockets where his eyes once lay, a feint red glow radiates. His figure is undoubtedly a nightmarish one, rivaled only by other unholy entities.

Fal'thalas' garbs, when not disguised, consist of crude wrappings upon his wrist and ankles and a tattered, but once fine Elven kilt. He carries none but his twin Felbane Warglaives and some rations.

Personality
Fal'thalas is quiet and keeps to himself. He has not forgiven himself for many things he has done and has had thousands of years to dwell upon his actions. He has spent the majority of his life feeling detached from the rest of his brethren, even during the wars. His burning anger and fiery hatred for the Burning Legion for what they've done grows stronger in every waking moment.

Ever since the death of his beloved mate, Lorai. Fal'thalas has become a shallow, bitter shell of his former self. He is highly irritable and has little patience for unnecessary situations.

War of the Ancients
Zin-Azshari, Circa -11,300 thru -10,000

Fal'thalas was born an only child in the capital city of Zin-Azshari to a family of moderate wealth. His childhood was filled with both happy and sad times, playing with other children and spending time with his family. As Fal'thalas began to age into a man, it was time to find a place among the Kaldorei people. He would begin by searching for a profession. If he could aid his people by creating simple things, then that was what he was going to do. He would search and after a short while he found a place among the Leatherworkers. Fal'thalas was relatively happy with his new profession. He was able to converse with the hunters of Zin-Azhari as they would bring their collected pelts to them to make into clothing, satchels and other helpful items. This new vocation kept him plenty busy for years to come.

His life continued on in this fashion rather uneventfully until one day, he woke to loud crashes and chaos. He immediately jumped out of bed and approached his window, but as he did a ball of flame projected closer and closer. His instincts told him to duck, so he did. The fireball blasted through the glass sending shards everywhere. He rushed to grab the sheets from his bed to smother the flames, but to no avail. The flames only became larger. More crashes and loud rumbling could be heard. Fal'thalas quickly ran outside only to see utter chaos. Demonic creatures were patrolling the city, destroying everything within reach. He ran back inside and grabbed a pair of swords, then returned to the chaos ready to fight. With little prior combat training, he was unable to hold his own. He was struck in the abdomen by a searing blade and was thrown dozens of feet away. The pain was unfathomable. He knew he could not continue so he fled at the first chance he had.

Fal'thalas drifted in and out of consciousness. Minutes turned into hours, hours to days. When he had finally came to, he found himself on a gurney, surrounded by other refugees. He stood and stared at his surroundings. He could smell the burning of natures finest vegetation. Ash fell from the black sky like a calm winter snow. It was quiet. He was lost for words. All he could think about was his parents. He then began patrolling the refugee camp in search for them. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he knew they had not made it out in time. He quickly became crippled with sorrow. He slumped down against a tree and held his abdomen. As he did, he noticed the bandage that someone must have dressed him with. He peeled it off slowly only to see a large, but quickly healing gash. He sighed and leaned back as a small tear rolled down his cheek. He soon became lost in his thoughts.

Many weeks had past and the camp had received word that Malfurion and Illidan Stormrage had begun seeking out the Demigod Cenarius to form a resistance against the Legion and to reclaim their lands. This news had brought hope to the remaining Kaldorei. Fal'thalas, angered by the Legion and it's actions, began to train with the Soldiers that were left from the attack. Years would go by before the camp had migrated far enough to meet up with the rest of the resistance. In this time, Fal'thalas had been training and was ready to fight with the Kaldorei people against the Burning Legion.

A few weeks were spent in preparation for the battle to come. The Demigod Cenarius had summoned colossal Tree-Men and requested the aid of the Dragons to destroy the Legion. Meanwhile, Fal'thalas was in his tent readying himself for battle. He strapped on his armor and equipped his swords. He soon found himself on the front lines of a titanic battle. He weaved his way through the Demons of the Legion, slaying as many as possible. He would take many hits as well, swearing left and right and roaring beastially. Battle horns sounding, flames and shadow magics burning through the sky. Fal'thalas began to realize that the resistance was faltering. He pushed forward with all of his strength as Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind convinced Cenarius to send his allies to storm Azshara's Temple. It was thought that the Well of Eternity was the possible source of Sargeras' link to the physcial world. Even though it would bring an end their immortality and destroy their power source. Illidan, however, was not on the same page. He abandoned the group and set out to warn the Highborne of Malfurion's intentions. Fal'thalas, oblivious to the betrayal, kept pushing forward, attempting to fulfill Malfurion's bold plan along with the rest of the resistance. Minutes passed before the resistance reached the walls of Azshara's Temple. The colossal Tree-Men smashed at the walls until they crumbled. Fal'thalas, along with the other soldiers, charged into the Temple only to find that the Highborne summoning ritual was nearly complete. Unfortunately, Queen Azshara was prepared for this. Many of the resistance fell to the wrath of the Legion's power. Fal'thalas pushed with all of his might, piercing his blades into anything and everything. Just then, Tyrande Whisperwind attempted to attack Azshara from behind. Azshara's guards did their job and protected their Queen. Tyrande had received mortal wounds and was unable to continue the fight. Malfurion was thrown into a diabolical rage at the sight of his love's apparent fall and attacked Azshara. As he did, it threw the Highborne ritual into a cesspool of chaos. Fal'thalas knew the battle was lost and began to retreat. He was no good to his people dead. Many others retreated from the Temple as well but as they were just feet from the entrance, the Well of Eternity erupted into a cataclysmic blast. Fal'thalas was instantly knocked unconscious and was thrown from the temple.

Fal'thalas continuously gained and lost consciousness. Each time he awoke he could hear docile waves and feel the cool ocean spray. In his fatigued state, he could not piece anything together. An indefinite amount of time had passed before he fully awoke. Fal'thalas rose to his feet to find himself on a boat. His weary eyes glanced about, spotting only very few Kaldorei. As he would look outward toward the seas. He could see many other crudely made rafts and boats. As Fal'thalas was looking about, a Kaldorei cried out. “Land!” The sudden shout startled him. He peeked over his shoulder as he spotted the great mountain that would later be known as Hyjal. A weak smile spread across his face.

Hyjal, Circa -9,999 thru -9,998

The Elves landed ashore and began to set up camp with the little materials they had left. Fal'thalas was mesmerized to be in the presence of Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind, especially after the previous events. He was relieved to see them alive. Shortly after their arrival, Malfurion decided to round up the remaining Elves and climb to the summit of Mount Hyjal to claim their new homeland. They weathered the twisting peaks of the mountain all the way to the windy summit. From there they would travel into the heavily wooded crevice between the mountain's enormous peaks. The band of Elves came across a large calm lake. Fal'thalas released a sigh of relief at the sight of the tranquil body of water, but soon he came to realize that there was something wrong. There was a mystical essence to it. Somehow someone tainted the waters. Malfurion and Tyrande knew just who.

For the years to come, Fal'thalas would work diligently with the other Kaldorei to rebuild their homeland. Other ruins were left and new buildings were constructed.

Ashenvale, Circa -7,300 thru -6,800

Just under two millennia had past since the dragons granted the Kaldorei immortality once again. During these years Fal'thalas had been training as a soldier. He had become a tougher, stronger and wiser version of himself, but peace had finally been restored. Or so it would seem. The remaining Highborne became restless and began causing insurrections, protesting the ban on Arcane magics; calling out the Druids and publicly mocking them.

Fal'thalas had witnessed the many insurrections caused by the Highborne and was forced, along with many others, to usher them out of Kaldorei lands. With the departure of the Highborne. The Druids began their hibernation as they promised to the Emerald Dragon, Ysera. As Fal'thalas was but a simple warrior, he felt he had little place among the Druids in the Emerald Dream and assumed the role of a Blacksmith. With prior knowledge of Leatherworking, the craft should come naturally to him. It did, Fal'thalas took to Blacksmithing greatly. Churning out weapons and armor in great numbers for the newly formed Sentinels. This is what lead him to ultimately cross paths with his soon to be mate, Lorai. A training Sentinel.

War of the Shifting Sands
Silithus, Circa -1,000

“Hold the line!” Fandral Staghelm barked at his Soldiers.

The deafening buzzing noises of the airborne insects all but muted the battle-cries of the Kaldorei warriors. The insects outnumbered them by vastly incomprehensible numbers. They could not hold back the buzzing horde. Fal'thalas, bloodied from battle, grew weary. Countless hours of fighting had fatigued him so greatly that his vision began to blur. The insects, on the other hand, appeared to have an unlimited supply of dexterity. In one last burst of adrenaline drenched rage, Fal'thalas threw himself into a flurry of might and power as he sliced his way through the insects.

Just as Fal'thalas' rage induced high of adrenaline began to fade; a blinding light caused him to turn his face away and drop his weapons. The buzzing seemed to have faltered. For a moment the battlefield was silent. As the light began to dim, the buzzing returned as the Qiraji sent one last air assault down unto the soldiers that blotted out the sun. Fal'thalas simply watched, like a prisoner in his own body, as an insectoid creature impaled his left shoulder and lifted him into the sky. Fal'thalas reached up with what strength he had left and gouged his thumb into the creatures' left set of eyes. It immediately released him. He fell a good number of feet until he hit the sand with such great force that it knocked him unconscious.

When Fal'thalas awoke, he found himself on a crudely made bed. He looked around the small tent. There was a bowl full of bloodied rags. He held his breath as he looked to his left arm, it was slung in a large white bandage. He managed to move a few of his fingers and let out a loud sigh of relief. When he stepped out of the tent, he saw the soldiers, Sentinels, Keepers, Druids and Priestesses readying for yet another defensive.

Descent unto a Dark Path
Ashenvale, Circa -823

Fal'thalas and Lorai had survived many a war and had more or less retired. They had found themselves embarking on and abundance of travels as of late. These travels had taken them as far as the Eastern Kingdoms, through Deadwind Pass.

They were making good time; striding along on their Nightsabers when suddenly, a blast of flames erupted seemingly beneath their feet as a pack of Felhounds emerged from the dark corners of the Pass. Fal'thalas jumped to his feet grabbed his blades off of the mortally wounded Nightsaber and unsheathed them. He backed up and stood in front of his unconscious love, Lorai. The Felhounds began to encircle them until Fal'thalas was standing over Lorai. Every step, closing the circle even tighter. In the distance, a tall, dark figure could be seen. Fal'thalas roared at the man. “Begone!” The sudden sound startled the Felhounds and they lunged at him. One tackled him to the ground and begun sinking it's teeth into his skin. He roared and swung his blade across the Hound's head, severing it cleanly. He then stood up only to be tackled by another. His blades were knocked from his hands and he began to wrestle with the creature. Amidst the chaos, he managed to get atop the creature, pinning it to the ground. In one quick motion, he grabbed either end of it's head and twisted with all his might. The bones within the Hound cracked loudly. He jumped to his feet and was horrified at the image that lie before him. The other two hounds had all but devoured Lorai. Her mangled body lie limp in the middle of the pass. Grabbing his blades and charging the two hounds, he swung them frantically in an attempt to remove them from her carcass. It was a success, one hound was sliced along the neck and the other's spine was severed.

Battered and broken, Fal'thalas approached Lorai's lifeless body and dropped to his knees. He scooped her up in his arms and began sobbing uncontrollably. Tears began flowing from his eyes like blood from a severed artery.

The shadowy figure approached him from behind, arched it's blade back—but before he could swing, Fal'thalas pivoted on his knees and sliced the figure's abdomen open. His intestines unraveled onto the pass as he dropped to the ground. Fal'thalas roared with such vigor that it echoed through the pass like a fierce storm. In a flurry of adrenaline, he raised his blades and begun chopping violently at the severed corpse repeatedly...

His hands loosened allowing the blades to freely fall from his weakened grasp. He sat there in silence, his heavy breathing the only audible noise. After a few moments, he turned to Lorai's mangled body. Gently scooping her up in his arms, he began to weep.

A few moments had passed before a large figure approached from the darkened passage. It spoke with a dark, demonic tone. Fal'thalas was depleted. He simply stated to the being that if he was there to kill him, to just end it quickly. The being simply replied: “No.” Instead, the dark being had other plans...

After returning to Ashenvale to bury his mate, he sought out the training of this dark being. His anger and hatred toward the evil of the Burning Legion and it's affiliates was the only thing left within his core. The dark being, impressed by Fal'thalas' performance with the Felhouds, agreed to train him. They started immediately.

The first few weeks were spent learning about the various different Demons. Their weaknesses, their strengths and everything in between. He was given various different verbal assessments to prove his knowledge. The next stage was weapon training, specifically the use of Warglaives. Little time was spent during this stage as Fal'thalas was already quite adept in the use of these intricate weapons. What followed was extreme physical conditioning. He was to run from Azshara to Tanaris, only stopping for nourishment and to relieve himself, though rarely. His mentor following every step of the way. If he was to so much as falter in speed without permission, it would be over and he would not be allowed to train further.

The next stage of his training was spent learning the combat methods and tactics of a Demon Hunter. Fal'thalas took to this quite well given his past as a Warrior, impressing his mentor further. It was deemed Fal'thalas was ready to undergo the more serious trials of a Demon Hunter. His master came forth with a Fel imbued dagger and began to carve ritualistic runes into Fal'thalas' torso and biceps. He was not to show any hint of pain or he was to face punishment or even removal from training. However, his mentor did give him the choice of finishing the runes in one sitting or splitting it up over the course of a few sessions. Fal'thalas was in no mood to wait and requested that he finish it in one sitting. Due to this, Fal'thalas fell ill for about a week due to the intense exposure to Fel energies. This was the only part of his training where he was given lenience as there was no choice but to rest and allow his body to adapt to the new changes. However, if he was not to awake after the length of a week, he would be swiftly killed as he would be seen as too weak to continue and could not be released from training with such Fel corruption.

On the eve of the fifth day, Fal'thalas awoke ready to continue his trials. He was now to track and kill several Demons without the help of his master. This deemed a tough trial as Fal'thalas was completely on his own and his mentor would not intervene even if Fal'thalas was to be overwhelmed. If he was not able to hold his own, then he did not deserve the title of Demon Hunter. Fal'thalas returned from this trial victorious, tracking and slaying the Demons assigned to him by his master.

Fal'thalas was given one more task to complete before ascending to the next stage of his training. His mentor had been tracking a group of Warlocks attempting to summon a Void Terror into Azeroth. If Fal'thalas was able to defeat this rumored Void Terror, than he was to capture the essence of it in a ritualistic dagger and return.

Fal'thalas set out to find this small occult of Warlocks only to find them missing. He ventured into the cave he'd arrived at and sure enough, deep into it's bowels, he came face to face with this Void Terror. It was a lot smaller than his mentor had lead on, but no less intimidating. He quickly attacked without hesitation only to be knocked aside by the two-headed beast. This continued for about fifteen minutes before he was able to get atop the large creature and begin viciously slicing at it's multiple heads. Successfully he had slain the creature, though not without suffering injuries. He quickly pulled out the dagger given to him by his master and forced the wicked blade into one of the creatures numerous eyes. The dagger glowed a wild assortment of purples and greens as the demon's carcass appeared to shrink and contort. Fal'thalas removed the dagger from the creature's empty carcass and left the cave. He returned to his master and explained the situation. He was now ready to continue.

Upon handing the dagger to his master, he simply handed it back and told him that he was now to remove his own eyes to obtain the 'hunter's vision' as he called it. Fal'thalas took the dagger without hesitation and angled it toward his face. He sat upon his knees and quickly jabbed out the first eye and twisted. The pain was unfathomable. His face curled into a grimace, but nothing more. He quickly removed the dagger and did the same to the other eye. His mentor crossed his arms and marveled in Fal'thalas' dedication. For him to do such an act without hesitation was impressive. Fal'thalas slowly stood and dropped the dagger to his feet. His mentor slowly stepped in and placed a thin cloth blindfold upon the mangled, empty eye sockets. Fal'thalas was told to rest as there was one last task he was to achieve.

It took Fal'thalas about a month to get attuned to his new vision. The lack of sleep did not aid in his adapting to the flurry of new colors either. The Demon trapped within him haunted his dreams to seemingly no end. Once he was able to function properly, he was told about a material called Felbane. It is forged from Crystallized Azsharite and is more effective for fighting Demons and other Fel using entities. Hence the name 'Felbane'. He was told where to search for this material and set out to find it.

Upon arriving in Azshara, Fal'thalas had no trouble locating the indigenous Rock Giants that traverse the lands. He stalked them quietly, not wanting to alarm them as to avoid any sort of confrontation. Long hours of patient waiting and wading through the excrement of the Rock Giants finally payed off. He had collected enough Crystallized Azsharite to forge two Felbane Warglaives. He quickly made his way back to Ashenvale to his mentor to have his weapons crafted. It wasn't long before Fal'thalas was granted his final pair of Warglaives and was dismissed from his master's training. The last words spoken between the two were of the mentor's: “Farewell and may our paths never cross.” And they haven't since.

Currently, Fal'thalas spends all of his time tracking and hunting Demons, after all, it's what he now does best. Every once in a while, he finds himself in the Forests of Ashenvale visiting the unmarked resting place of his beloved mate.