Netherbane

Demon Hunters in the World of Warcraft

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Shatterbound: Endgame

“Taldarion, if you are about to do something stupid, we are going to have to throw you like we did that demon,” Fethas snarled.

“Stupid, Fethas? When have you ever worried about me being stupid? You know me better than that.”  Ushering her quickly through the closing door, Taldarion called ahead to his mate. “Remember, love. Find Greyseer. Stop the ritual.” He turned back and spoke to himself more softly. “I have a bomb to fix.”

Then the door closed between them, and he was alone with an unconscious demon lord.

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A Question of Duty

Ten hours ago...

There is that touch on Sedra's consciousness, familiar, intimate, possessive...a master's caress. Her thoughts, recent memories, emotions are perused, combed through, considered and put aside almost idly.

"A task for you, Desire, as you save your pet." The voice within her mind is darkly rich and husky, that of a predator aware of his own power. A night hunter in deep shadow. "There is something I would have you procure." Tza'kiel's mental presence weaves about her mind like the hands and arms of a lover. "Your Sraath has appropriated something of mine that I would like back. A well-honed blade. Return Daethior to me and you will be well rewarded."

The demon's tone carries promises, seductive and needful. An image of a felsworn, once demon hunter and void-tainted, emerges, vivid, in her thoughts. "And, if you can, Desire, a sample of your past master's vitae. A minor thing, though. Daethior is foremost. Do not disappoint me." Just as quickly, the demon lord withdraws leaving behind a brief, aching, emptiness.

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Arrival

"Remain here," Tharion said to the others shortly after the Umbral Eclipse had slid its way into that space between planes. "Guard the device. We cannot let him or any of his minions disarm it."

Araatris frowned at him and opened her mouth to protest, but Tharion shook his head and held up a hand. He cut her off with the motion. "I am going to find Eraelan. Then, after that, perhaps find the others."

The huntress frowned even deeper, her features turning down in an expression of disgust, but she did not say anything after that.

Fethas just growled.

"Sraath is aware that we have done something, so we have lost the element of pure surprise. However, we may be able to use his curiosity to our advantage. If he comes here to investigate, we want to be here to face him. If only a fraction of our number is here, however..." Tharion let his voice trail off.

"Fine, Thar, go." Araatris mumbled and turned her attention back towards the device itself. It had successfully been connected to the Umbral Eclipse's systems, and was now pulsing with a thrum that was more felt than heard.

The Greyseer nodded once, then vanished down one of the adjoining corridors.

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A Call to War

The blood-red and black bird circled the Netherbane Site of Lessons, as he did on many days. His shadow passed over the roofless ruins, casting a deeper darkness wherever his wings blotted out the moon. His screech, while familiar to most, was still jarring to those who had never fought alongside him.

On most days, his presence was a comfort--a silent sentinel that patrolled the skies above the Netherbane camp. When he was above them all, there was little need to worry. Only when he descended upon the ruins was there a reason to fear.

Today, the massive carrion bird, much larger now than he had ever been, alighted onto one of the massive branches of the Tree of Remembrance, the tree that marked the bodiless graves of the fallen members of the Netherbane. Its beak, black and razor-sharp, opened.

The scream could be heard for miles, a piercing shriek of announcement, of warning, and of command. Its echo bounced between the trees of the Ashenvale, startling the citizens of Astranaar. It soared its way to the north, forcing the lesser demons of the Felwood back into hiding. It crawled its way south, deafening the orcs who still clung to the Warsong Lumber camp's crumbling defenses. The screech even crossed the turbulent waters surrounding the continent of Kalimdor, piercing its way through portals of both arcane and fel and roaring through the laboratories of both mages and warlocks. It could be heard in Darnassus, Stormwind, Ironforge, and even from within the Exodar.

For those far away from the dense woods of the Ashenvale, the screech was just another sound of nature--just another bird of prey announcing its dominance of the skies. For a very select few, however, it meant something entirely different. It was a call to action; an invitation to death.

The call to war had been sounded. The assault on the Umbral Eclipse was to begin.

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