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Scars	By : RotSeele Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 826 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Scars
- 1
Spiderbite wrung out the washcloth and watched the cold water drip from his fingers. Finally, he turned to the prone form in the bed and, once again, laid the chilled cloth over Nyrrimath’s scarred eyes. He sat staring at the paladin – his paladin – and didn’t know what to think – or what to say. It was his fault Nyrrimath was lying here, unconscious. It was his fault Nyrrimath’s eyes were burned and blackened, useless in their sockets, but Spider hadn’t let the healers remove them. He hadn’t let anyone near his mate once he got confirmation that leaving Nyrrimath’s eyes where they were would cause no further damage. But it was his fault. How could he apologize – no, atone – for causing Nyr such pain? The worst part was, he knew, that Nyr wouldn’t blame him.
He heard the bedroom door open and close, and smelled the sweet scent of broth and the wild scent of the one who carried it. He glanced up at the night elf girl whose normally jovial face was somber and sullen. Epheria set the tray she carried beside Spider. “They said you should try to feed him that,” she whispered. “To keep his strength up.”
Spider nodded. “Thank ye, lass.”
Epheria reached out to touch his shoulder. “He’ll wake up soon. I know he will.” When Spider made no response, Epheria sighed and left. When Spider heard her footsteps retreating, he shifted out of his chair and settled beside Nyrrimath, sliding his right arm beneath Nyr’s head and neck until the older man was cradled against him. Spider flexed his metal arm and stared at the iron fingers of his hand.
“Have I ever told ye how I lost me arm and eye?” Spider asked Nyr softly. “Ye remember the war against the Scourge? Ye fought in that war, didn’t ye?”
Nyr didn’t respond, save to take a breath and let it out. Spider smiled wanly.
“I bet yer curious,” he continued after a moment of watching Nyr breathe. “I’ll tell ye…”

Then, Stratholme, one day before the Culling

Darius Siabi threw himself to the side as the sword came at him. He hit the floor and rolled, coming back to his feet just as his opponent was recovering. He quickly crossed the floor, his knife held ready. He saw the panic in his opponent’s eyes, saw the moment his enemy knew he was dead.
Darius tapped Mordel on the ribs with his wooden knife. “I win. You have to stack the boxes.”
Mordel heaved a sigh. “You always win.”
“Because I’m smaller and faster than you.” Darius grinned at his older brother.
“By the Light! Can’t you pretend to lose?”
“Nope!” Darius said with a grin. “Make sure not to spill the tobacco either.”
Mordel pushed black strands of hair out of his face. “And where are you going?”
Darius grinned. “My secret.”
With that, the ten-year-old spun on his heel and headed out of the storeroom of his uncle’s tobacco shop and into the summer-laced streets of Stratholme. He took a deep breath – smells assaulted him: baking bread, woodsmoke, burning coals, metal, horses. People moved about the streets, going about their business, stopping to talk with friends or others they knew. Once in a while, Darius saw a flash of armour, meaning a paladin was making his rounds. The city was at peace.
Darius quickly made his way through the streets, waving at his friends as he passed them. Giggling, they joined him as he led the day’s adventure. He decided he’d bring something back for Mordel as an apology. Besides, where he wanted to go today would be too dangerous for him. Mordel would stop him, if he knew. He and the others assembled before the gateway of the secret exit out of Stratholme. Darius grinned at his friends. “Today, we’re going to the Dark Forest,” he said, “and we’re gonna catch us some bandersnatches.”
“What?” asked a girl. Her friend elbowed her and whispered something in her ear. “Oh. Frogs.”
Darius rolled his eyes.
“My mom said we shouldn’t leave the city.” A little boy piped. “She said something bad is happening.”
“What are you, chicken?” Darius asked.
The boy’s shoulders squared. “No!”
“We’re not going far,” Darius said. “Just to the lake. Nothing’s going to happen.” Darius shifted to open the gate, leading his pack through.
The woods were quiet when the children emerged from the tunnel. Darius glanced around. “Okay. Forward, march!”
He ran toward the lake near the secret entrance, followed by everyone else. Frogs hippity-hopped from bank to water and back again, croaking when they were man-handled by the children. Darius managed to get his hands on a giant bullfrog and held it up proudly. It croaked balefully and glowered at him with bulbous eyes.
“Mordel is going to love you,” Darius told the bullfrog. It croaked pitifully.
“Darius! Darius, you gotta come see this!”
Darius looked away from the bullfrog at the visage of his friend Daron waving frantically. The bullfrog kicked in Darius’ moment of inattentiveness and it fell back into the lake with a splash.
“What is it?” he called irritably.
“Just come look!”
Huffing, Darius hurried to catch up to Daron, who led him to the others. They were all staring at something below the hill they stood on. Darius pushed his way to the front and felt his jaw drop open at the sight of the dead paladin. He picked up a stick, then cautiously began to slide down the hill.
“Darius!” Daron called. “What are you doing?!”
“Seeing what killed him!”
“Idiot! What if it’s still here?”
Darius shrugged and landed lightly by the corpse. It didn’t look more than a few days old, but it was already rotted. He used the stick to pry the helmet off and turned green when the entire head came off. It didn’t look like an animal had gotten him, but swords. Darius recoiled and stood straight. He’d heard the stories about the orcs, the huge marauding horde that had destroyed Stormwind and had nearly overtaken Lordaeron.
The sound of hoofbeats had him scrambling back up the hill. Already frightened, the children ran back toward the secret tunnel, but Darius lingered just on the edge.
“Darius!” Daron hissed.
Darius swallowed and hurried after his friends. He returned to his uncle’s tobacco shop and found Mordel still there, sitting against the wall with his ear pressed to it.
“Shh!” Mordel hissed. “I’m listening!”
“To what?”
Darius pressed his ear against the wall, hearing voices on the other side.
“Some kind of sickness,” someone was saying. “It’s those Dalaran mages, I bet.”
“You don’t know that.” Replied Fras Siabi, the boys’ uncle.
“I saw the body myself.” Said the first voice. “It was one of Prince Arthas’ men. I bet it was the witch who did him in.”
“When you talk of Lady Proudmoore, be respectful.” Fras snapped. “If it weren’t for her noble father, we’d all be orc food.”
The first voice snorted. “At least my grain arrived safely. My cousin’s place was burned to the ground, and I haven’t heard a word from him and his.”
“Strange things are happening, aye. Just yesterday, that young leatherworker and his family fell sick, and the day before that, a messenger from Corin’s Crossing came up to get medicine. Said the children were sick. All of them.” Fras said. There was a long pause. “Let’s go make sure the rats haven’t gotten to it.”
Mordel and Darius pulled back from the wall.
“Do you think it’s true?” Darius asked in a hushed whisper.
“What do you mean?” Mordel asked.
Darius swallowed and told his older brother about the body. Mordel’s eyes grew wide, but before the fourteen-year-old could say anything, Darius bulled ahead. “It was a fresh kill! But it was about a week rotted, and is it true? That people are getting sick?”
“Yeah, that’s why we had to work in the store today. Uncle’s apprentice is sick.” Mordel rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, little brother. Maybe it is the orcs. But I guess we’ll find out.”
“What do you mean?” Darius asked, curious.
Mordel smiled. Shrugged. “News will travel.”

Now, Nyrrimath’s room

Spiderbite dribbled a little broth between Nyr’s lips. “I wish I’d never said those words.” He whispered. Nyr didn’t respond.
Spider set the bowl of broth aside and adjusted himself, making Nyr a little more comfortable. He refreshed the cool rag and ran his flesh fingers through his paladin’s salt and pepper hair.
“Mordel and I were still asleep when the first warning went out.” Spider whispered. “Then, when the screaming started, Mordel grabbed me and hauled me out o’ bed.” Spiderbite took a deep breath. He suddenly could smell smoke, feel the heat of fire against his skin. He glanced at Nyrrimath and focused on the paladin, breathing as evenly as he could.

Then, the Culling of Stratholme

Darius clutched Mordel’s hand as the older boy led him out of their house. Their mother stood in the street, hands pressed to her mouth. Darius looked up at her and reached for her hand. She jumped at his touch. Then she turned to Mordel.
“Take your brother and run.” She said hurriedly.
“What’s going on?” Mordel asked.
A woman’s shriek split the air and was suddenly silenced.
“Arthas has gone mad.” Their mother whispered. “His paladins are–”
Her voice cut off as the thundering of hooves sounded over screaming. She turned from her sons – Darius saw the armoured charger first, its teeth gnashing at the bit, bloody foam coating its lips – and then he saw the paladin. The man’s face was hard and emotionless, his armour stained crimson, and his sword gleamed red and wet. Behind him, people ran screaming. Something soared through the air as the ride passed a fleeing mother and child.
Someone started screaming as the mother’s head hit the ground at their feet and the destrier’s powerful hooves trampled over the fragile skull of the child. When Mordel shook him, Darius realized the person screaming was him.
“Run!” their mother screamed at them, grabbing a bucket. Mordel hauled on Darius, pulling him with the fleeing crowd.
Darius looked over his shoulder in time to see his mother throw her bucket at the destrier’s legs – and in time to see her head fly from her shoulders as the paladin dismounted as his horse fell, sword leading.
Why is this happening?! Darius felt the tears falling from his face, even as Mordel pulled him toward Stratholme’s main entrance.
Smoke and blood burned Darius’ nose and he saw paladins moving among the people, killing mercilessly. Mordel broke out of the crowd and crouched behind boxes, holding his hand over Darius’ mouth. Darius still could see the paladins, still saw the prince, Arthas, moving among the dead and dying, issuing orders. A boy ran toward him – Daron! – and Darius watched in numb shock as Arthas plunged his sword into the boy’s chest. Daron slid to the ground, sightless eyes staring at Darius as if this was his fault. An arrow clattered to the ground by Darius and Mordel, wet with blood. Darius reached for it and held the shaft in a white-knuckled grip.
“Can’t get out the front,” Mordel whispered. The sky darkened briefly with the deadly rain of arrows. The citizens caught between arrow and sword screamed.
“Secret passage.” Darius whispered.
Mordel took a breath and nodded. “Run.”
They bolted from their hiding place, past people still surging toward the gauntlet and sure death. Mordel clutched to Darius’ hand as they ran, shoes and pants soaked in blood as they ran through the streets. Here and there, there was a pocket of fighting, villagers bravely trying to fend off armoured and trained warriors. There were people simply standing in the street doing nothing, covered in blood, pallid and silent as the dead. Once in a while one would move, unerringly toward the fighting instead of away, and the movement was jerky, as if they weren’t completelt in control of their limbs. Darius saw these pallid creatures turn toward the people running toward them, reaching out spindly fingers toward the fleeing villagers. He saw one pallid man reach out to a woman, as if he knew her, and she suddenly screamed. Mordel pulled Darius around the corner before he could see what was about to happen. The woman screamed shrilly and then was silent.
As they reached the gate that would take them into the district that housed the tunnel, a paladin suddenly lurched out of the shadows toward Mordel. Darius dug in his heels and used his sudden heavier weight to pull Mordel out of the way of the man’s sword. Overbalanced, the paladin crashed to the ground. Before he could recover – before Mordel could stop Darius – the ten-year-old drove the steel head of the arrow into the soft tissue under the man’s chin, through the soft palate, and up into his brain.
“Darius,” Mordel said in the quiet.
Darius looked up at Mordel, fresh tears streaming down his face. “They’re killing everyone!” he screamed. “Mom, Dad, Daron – everyone! Why won’t anyone stop them?!”
“I don’t know, little brother,” Mordel took a breath. “They know, but they refuse to stop it from happening.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong!”
Mordel drew Darius into a tight embrace. “I know. It seems bad now, but we’re almost free. We’ll escape, get help. We’ll tell the world what happened here. No one will let Arthas get away with this.”
When Darius pulled away from Mordel, the boy bent to pull the arrow from the paladin’s head. Both looked green as Darius shook grey matter off the arrowhead. Mordel glanced behind them at the empty streets, still able to hear the shrieking of the citizens and the silence of the paladins. He took hold of Darius’ left hand and pulled him out into the empty, silent open. The secret tunnel out of the city loomed before them. Mordel let go of Darius’ hand to try and lift the gate, but it was locked tight. He looked at Darius. “You have to squeeze through the bars. See that release? Pull it and I’ll crawl under.”
Darius took a shuddering breath. He gave Mordel the arrow and placed his hands on the bars. First his right shoulder. Then his right leg. His head, then his left shoulder – and he was through! Darius sprawled on the cobblestones for a moment, then hurriedly picked himself up and ran for the switch. His small hands grabbed the release mechanism and he pulled with all his strength.
He would never know if it was the creaking of the gate or the strange, eerie howls that alerted the small search party of paladins. Darius saw Mordel on his stomach, crawling through the small space between gate and stone and then Mordel was being hauled by his legs backwards. Darius released the latch with a panicked yell of his brother’s name and lunged for Mordel’s hand. Mordel clutched tightly to Darius’ small hands and kicked at the face of the paladin who held him. But then it was the strength of a ten-year-old boy against three full grown men. The fourth stood at the gate with his sword raised.
“Darius!” Mordel yelled. “Let go!”
“No!”
Before the word was even out of his mouth, Darius was suddenly pulled forward. His left shoulder crashed against the thick metal of the gate and suddenly he was falling backwards. He heard Mordel scream and tried to push himself up. Darius fell on his left shoulder, face mushing into a growing puddle of blood.
Where was his arm…?
Darius looked toward the gate, saw Mordel staring at him, clutching still to Darius’ hand. The boy stared as if in a trance. His right fingers reached for his left shoulder.
Pain exploded as his fingertips touched raw open flesh. He saw the bone of his shoulder, gleaming red and white. He screamed at the sight of blood pouring from the wound, looked toward Mordel.
“Run, Darius!” Mordel screamed, fighting against two men as the other two fought to get the gate open.
Darius froze where he was, in too much pain to move. The metal gate whine as it was finally forced up. Mordel swung with the arrow in his hand and caught one paladin in the eye. The man released Mordel as he clutched at the arrow, on the ground, writhing in pain. Mordel scrambled to his feet and shoved past the second paladin.
Darius heard Mordel screaming for him to run, but he couldn’t make himself move. The two paladins advancing on Darius turned.
“Mordel… Mordel! Mordel!” Darius screamed. Somehow, he got to his feet. Somehow, he took a step forward. He reached for Mordel and his fingers barely brushed his brother’s before the red-stained sword slammed into Mordel’s back. The momentum of the thrust knocked Darius back to the ground and he watched Mordel’s body crash into the cobblestones, his hand still outstretched toward Darius. The paladin’s sword slowly ceased its quivering and rose above Mordel, casting an eerie black shadow on both him and Darius.
“Dammit,” a paladin cursed. He reached for the sword. The blade caught on Mordel’s ribs and stuck. With a grunt and a wet splorch the sword came free. He shook the excess blood off the blade and looked at Darius. “And this one?”
“He’s on his way out.” Said one of his companions. “Leave him.”
The paladin glanced at his companion then back to Darius. “Too big a chance he’ll escape.” He started forward.
Darius shrieked and scrambled backwards, trying in vain to get to his feet. He managed to doge the paladin’s first strike, gaining his feet and running down the tunnel, away from Mordel, away from home, away. Armour clinked as the paladin gave chase, his longer legs quickly closing the distance between him and Darius. Darius saw the light and the end of the tunnel; nothing but woods greeted him. He was almost there! He yelled as his left shoulder was grabbed and he crumpled, tears streaming down his face. He was thrown against the wall of the tunnel and slumped. He sat there, panting, staring up at the paladin with red-rimmed eyes.
The paladin’s face was blank, but his lips were quirked in a smirk. He raised his blade and Darius closed his eyes.
A shriek sounded down the tunnel.
The paladin hesitated. Darius cracked open his eyes and looked down the tunnel. The paladin took a step away from Darius, and called out for his companions.
A shape lurched out of the darkness.
The paladin shook his head. “Stop goofing off!” He turned back to Darius, who was still staring at the shape lurching closer. Then the paladin blocked his view.
“Why?” whispered Darius.
The paladin laughed. “Orders.”
Darius braced himself for the sword – the shape lurched out of the shadows and launched itself onto the paladin.
Darius stared as Mordel bit into the paladin’s neck. The man shrieked and grabbed onto Mordel’s hair, trying in vain to dislodge the boy’s mouth. Mordel released the paladin and pulled him off his feet. The man hit the ground, his sword clattering away. He screamed as Mordel descended on him again. Darius stared, frozen in place, as the paladin’s scream slowly died. Only then did Mordel rise and turn to face Darius.
“M-Mordel?” Darius whispered.
Mordel took a step forward. Then another. He reached for Darius, who finally stood up, pale and shaking, watching his brother.
Blood suddenly spurted from the sword wound in Mordel’s chest, a black ichor mixed with red. Darius took a step back, then another, eyes wide and heart racing. Mordel’s eyes were cloudy, his mouth, chin, and neck covered in blood.
A tendon hung unnoticed from his teeth.
Darius couldn’t muster the strength to scream. His mind shut down, turned numb. Animal instinct flooded his body and he turned and ran. He hit the bars of the closed gate and forced his body through. He felt fingers scrape against his leg as he pulled it through and screamed an animalistic, primal scream. Then he was free and running, not once looking back. Stratholme sat silent behind him, but ahead, the trees came alive. Darius was blind to it, veering away from the roads and simply running without any direction.
Something launched out of the growing darkness at him. Darius screamed and ducked. The creature landed lightly and turned.
It was human – or had once been. Now it crouched on all fours, nails like sharp knives, face rotted to almost nothing but bone. Darius bolted, running as fast as he could. The creature launched itself at him, howling eerily as it chased him. The terrain slowly started to change, making it harder for Darius to escape his pursuer.
As the sun rose the next day, Darius fell. It was blood loss, exhaustion, his injuries. He crawled until his hand was scraped raw and bruises littered his legs. And then the ghoul was on him. Darius grabbed a rock and swung. He missed and the ghoul hissed before its knife-like claws swiped at his unprotected face. Darius screamed as those nails bit into the skin over his right eye. He felt a sudden pain, far more intense than his lost arm, and stared as his right eye came free from the socket, stretched to the limit by the optical nerve. Darius swung with his rock and this time connected. The ghoul shrieked and rolled; Darius had no choice but to roll with it.
Again the rock came up and went down, over and over. Rage, hate, fear, everything welled up inside Darius and came out through that rock. He didn’t stop until his arm grew tired. He didn’t notice how bloody they rock was or how little was left of recognizable features on the ghoul. He dropped the rock and reached for his eye, fingers shaking as he pulled it from the nail it had caught on. He tried to push it back into his head, but gave up. It kept falling out, anyway. Somehow, he made himself move. Somehow, Darius put one foot in front of the other.
Time went unnoticed. Hunger was kept at bay with mushrooms or berries. Sleep was kept at bay by sickness. He just kept moving.
Darius stumbled out of the mountains into a lush green forest. He didn’t know it, but a week had nearly passed since his escape. He slipped and stumbled down the path and collapsed into lush green grass. His entire body burned and Darius finally gave up trying to move.
Three shadows suddenly covered him. One of the shadows squawked shrilly.
“Moradin’s beard, it’s a boy.”
“Go back tae th’ Aerie. Get th’ healers. Go, woman!”
Two of the shadows abruptly left. Darius felt himself lifted by the third. He caught a glimpse of a weathered face and an orange beard, then let darkness take him.

Now, Nyrrimath’s room

“I was out of it for two more weeks,” Spiderbite said softly. “Fightin’ infection, pain, harsh memories. Damn near passed out when anythin’ in armour passed by. Now look at me.” He chuckled as if it were a joke.
He slowly lowered Nyr back to the bed as he slid out, stretching and moving to refresh the basin of water. “I lived, an’ everyone else died. If I hadn’t of hesitated, if I’d run when I should’ve…” Spider clenched his hands.
“It isn’t your fault.”
Spider spun around to see Nyrrimath. The paladin sat upright, one hand to the cloth over his eyes. “You survived,” he continued, “survived what would’ve killed lesser men.”
“Nyr, don’t! Yer eyes!”
Nyrrimath pulled the cloth away and opened his eyes. He looked toward Spiderbite. The rogue stopped mid-lunge and stared at the flawless tanned skin of Nyr’s face. His gaze finally locked with Nyr’s; pale sky blue eyes didn’t focus on his face. As Spider drew close, he saw a thin film covering the orbs.
“It isn’t your fault,” Nyr said again. “I’m not dead, certainly not useless. Don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over.”
Spider reached out and touched Nyrrimath’s face. “How did ye…?”
“I’m perfectly capable of healing a few burns,” Nyrrimath replied.
“But…”
“No buts. We’re survivors, you and I. The scars we carry are nothing to be ashamed of.”
“But yer blind now.”
“Not as blind as you seem to want to believe. Yes, I can’t use my eyes anymore, but there are other ways to see. Or haven’t you been paying attention to your own story?”
Spiderbite paused. Nyr sighed and continued, “Our scars make us who we are. And in your case, scars and tattoos.”
Spider slowly came closer to Nyr, slowly becoming aware of Nyrrimath’s head turning to follow him. As he settled on the bed, beside his paladin, he heard Nyr chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Spiderbite asked.
“Just that you can use your eye, and yet you’re still so blind.”
“What’s that supposed tae mean?”
Nyr smiled. “I love you, you oversized dwarf. And nothing –not even the idiotic stunts you pull – will change that. So don’t make me kick your ass.”
Spiderbite smirked and pulled Nyr against him. They laid there silently for a while, then Spider propped himself on his elbow to look down at Nyrrimath. “It’s yer turn tae tell me a story now.”
Nyr laughed quietly. “Is it now…? Well, let’s see.”
- 1
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Scars