Tharion hit the massive tree with incredible force, shattering pain searing up and down his spine as his back bent unnaturally around the trunk. He felt shards of metal dig into his skin, embedding themselves into his arms and chest as the slivers of his former weapon rained down upon and around him. His felsight dimmed, slowly darkening the grey swirling world around him.

Tharion Greyseer, night elven demon hunter of the Netherbane, faded from consciousness. He never saw the doomlord, Sraath, gather up the largest chunks of the Greyseer’s sword, Felborne…

* * *

More Than Two Years Later

Many months had passed since Tharion traveled across the sea to join the war to the north. Many months had passed since he has stepped foot in Darnassus. He was still only barely tolerated here, and he could feel the gaze of every Sentinel around him. Even the wisps seemed to take a roundabout path to avoid the demon hunter.

It mattered little, however, for he planned not to stay long. He merely had some business that needed tending further into the hollow world tree known as Teldrassil.

The Greyseer’s attire had changed these past few months. He had abandoned his usual reds in favor of blues, which provided him a better chance to blend in with the frozen landscape of Northrend. Surprisingly, he kept himself even more lightly armored than when not in freezing climates. He had discovered that heavier armor collected water and ice far more quickly than skin, and thus he chose to forego his usual shoulder armor and thick gauntlets.

When asked how he did not freeze, Tharion merely grinned beneath his black mask and danced a controlled felfire flame across his arms and torso in a simple demonstration. “Immolation,” he would say, “is more than merely a weapon.”

Even the Greyseer’s weaponry had changed. Garikhan’s warblade was too cherished an heirloom to risk losing to the ravages of metal shattering ice. And thus he had learned to make use of a variety of weapons on his new hunt, choosing that which suited the situation best.

Strangely, however, the weapon upon his back as he walked towards the gates of the city had found its way to him. Be it coincidence or otherwise, Tharion Greyseer knew not—all he knew was that the polearm felt familiar somehow, as if an old ally had returned.

There is a reason…

Tharion paused at the alien thought in his head. Too long his mind had been silent. Ever since Felborne had been shattered by Sraath so many years ago, the semi-sentient weapon’s presence was gone. Even when he was able to reforge what few fragments he had left into the new Netherborne, the blade remained silent.

This was my choice…

The words troubled the demon hunter, because he knew they were not his own.

Years it took to find you once more…

But the words were familiar somehow. They were those of a former ally—a former enemy.

Years … to return home…

Tharion grabbed the skeletal scythe from his back and held it at the ready, feeling the familiar weight and balance. The weapon began to glow with a pale aura; both new and old at the same time.

“But how?”

Felborne’s chittering laughter filled Tharion’s mind for the first time in over two years, chilling his soul.

You will learn soon enough. For now, let us hunt…

* * *

((

This short snippet was written to commemorate the acquisition of a new RP weapon for ol’ Tharion Greyseer. During the attempts to assist a friend in obtaining the rare pet drop from Frost Lord Ahune, his scythe dropped. Knowing that it was useless to the over-level group, I was able to snag the weapon for RP purposes.

It fits surprisingly well, so I made up this quick wallpaper from a screenshot taken from within the game. This can also be found on the Files page:

800 x 600, 1024 x 768, 1280 x 1024, 1400 x 1050, 1440 x 900, 1600 x 1200, 1680 x 1050, 1920 x 1200

))