Jeremiad

The jungles of Stranglethorn were just as hot and sticky during the night as they were during the day, but nightfall brought a certain relief from the sun, which seemed to sear your flesh right through the thick jungle canopy. It was such relief one would surmise, that brought out all manner of jungle inhabitant to roam the forest floor.

Though the steep hills to either side of the riverbank did afford some measure of seclusion, the stream was still bristling with activity. The water seemed almost choked with fish, and occasionally a jet-black panther would slip down the banks to grab a meal, skulking about as if it were a shadow given a muscular corporeal form. In the distance, one could also hear the caterwauling of Murlocs, vile humanoid fish creatures that regularly patrolled many of the beaches of Azeroth in recent times. Far down the riverbank sat a lone figure sitting silently in the shadows, he pulled his arm back, thrust it forward suddenly and a fishing lure landed in the river with a soft plop.

Jeremiad stared intently at his lure bobbing on the surface of the water with great focus, yet his mind wandered regardless. His mind sometimes wandered to his past, but his memories were as fuzzy and clouded as a dream becomes during the mid day. He knew he was happy, that he had a pretty good life. He had a family, a wife, a pet, a child, and a large estate that the king had bestowed upon his family for his meritorious service in battles long past; defending a nation whose identity was long since forgotten to him. He knew he was human; a glorious defender of his homeland and his people, admired by his brothers of battle, and praised by his protectorate. He also knew that one fateful day demons had descended from the sky in fire, burning everything he had ever loved to the ground in mere moments. Giant golems carved of black stone wrapped in a dark green searing demon flame. Though shaped like men, they were several times as tall and wide. Their footsteps shook the earth beneath them, leaving nothing but fire and ashes in their wake as they smashed through homes and regiments of soldiers as if they were in a model city full of toy soldiers. As bravely as his men fought, they were only human. Three dozen men could have held a vague hope of defeating one of these horrible beasts; Infernals as they would later come to be called, but there were dozens of them, and they were not alone, these Infernals were merely the first in what would become waves of even more horrible creatures. One by one his brothers fell in battle, trying desperately to save their home. Jeremiad himself would finally succumb to the massive burning stone fists of these creatures, but not before seeing the true form of his home’s undoing. A human in black robes had stood at the edge of his homelands, and these creatures responded to his every whim. Jeremiad died consumed with the desire for revenge, his soul spiraling into darkness from a life lived in the light.

When he awoke, he found his body stiff and weak, no longer filled with the vitality and strength he had been blessed with in life. In death he was a frail, rotting, shadow of his former self. He soon realized however, that dark chaotic energies swirled about him, and he had a strange affinity with creatures he had never before realized existed, demons, creatures born in the twisting nether. Approached by an envoy to an outcast group of acolytes, he began to study his newfound talents and pursue a new life. A life of power, vengeance, and destruction; he was a warlock.

His fishing line pulled and he yanked a fish from the water in a single angry pull. He tore the fish from the lure, stuffed it into a sealed pack, and tossed the line back into the water. Something stirred beside him and snorted in frustration. As if stepping out from behind an unseen wall, a small black humanoid figure with large burning claws and horns materialized beside him.

“Boss,” It grunted, impatience obvious in its voice, “Fishing is so boring, whys we gotsta do this again?”

Jeremiad turned his hollow eyes to his impatient little companion.

“Belpad,” He began, in a hollow, raspy voice that befit someone risen from the grave, “Remind me why I continue to keep you around despite your obvious physical frailty, limited destructive potential and constant complaining?” anger beginning to become obvious in his voice at the end of his question. The creature twitched anxiously at his demanding tone.

“Um, cuz we’re friends and I’m better company than any of your other pets?”

Jeremiad snorted loudly. Demons had found him interesting since he began his career as a warlock. Demons only responded to power, so he had to break them initially by force just as any warlock must do to enslave a demon, but he opted to treat them more as companions than slaves, offering them the freedom to leave his employ at any time if they so chose. Most demons of any worth however, enticed by his displays of power, found his companionship more than adequate. He found the resulting situation quite strange, as if he had found a new family, one that more befit his new life, or unlife as it were.

“Your job right now is to watch my back, not offer me your opinion on the entertainment value of fishing.”

“Whys I gotsta watch your back? It seems pretty quiet out here to me boss.”

Jeremiad shuffled through his backpack, his eyes returning to his fishing bobber. He pulled out a pair of fleshy purple triangular objects that appeared caked with a reddish goop on one end, and tossed them to the ground in front of Belpad.

“Is that?...are those?”

“They’re ears Belpad. Elf ears as a matter of fact.”

“Filthy Elves!” Belpad kicked the bloody ears into the river in disgust. “I hope you killed the scum!”

The fish Jeremiad had been watching scattered immediately at the sudden noise. Jeremiad pulled his line and shot an angry glance at his imp companion.

“No, he was merely a rogue arrogant enough to think he was my equal, so I showed him differently, removed his ears and sent him on his way.”

“Boss his friends aint going to be happy when they find out what you did.”

“Hopefully you understand why you’re here now, and why I haven’t banished you for scaring the fish yet.”

Belpad looked around anxiously, the word “banish” making him shrink shorter than he already was.

“Boss wouldn’t Ghaanom be better suited to this? He’d be able to sense them for miles, and if he were here I wouldn’t have to stand around watching you fish.”

Jeremiad’s face immediately turned to a scowl, “You cannot possibly be so foolish as to question my choice of minion.”

Belpad shrank back even further. “No boss never!”

“You need to understand something about subtlety my friend. Death to you is admittedly nothing more than an inconvenience, but when this encounter inevitably comes to a head, I would be pleased to keep mine. These rogues are going to get to me one way or another, and I wish to have the advantage when they do. If they see you out they are more likely to think me weak, and come in fewer numbers than if they see me at full strength. Catching me summoning is likely to bring them in a hurried rush. Your large ears are more than suitable for this task.” Jeremiad reached into his sealed pack and took out a fish, tossing it to Belpad. “Here, have a snack to shut you up and go stand guard.”

“Ye….Yes boss.”

Belpad ambled off in his strange hopping gait that all Imps seemed to have, leaving tiny little fires on the ground behind him that seemed to neither carry any heat nor burn their surroundings. Jeremiad immediately cast his line back out in the river and lost his train of thought again. Since his death he had an insatiable appetite for sage fish, they seemed to refresh both his body and mind in ways he could never remember any food doing while he was alive, and the greater sage fish here were especially good. He suspected sometimes that they were what kept his body from decaying further, despite the various levels of decay and mindlessness he saw in the other undead in these lands. “Bah,” He thought to himself, “the other undead….what a joke…pawns of Sylvannis and her pathetic delusions of genocidal grandeur. No better than the Lich King, Sylvannis and her Dreadlord pet.” Feigning obedience to her foolish crusade had become commonplace on his trips to the undercity, but he liked to keep those visits few and far between. Jeremiad found former humans as sickening as regular humans, which was also, quite ironic. He had come to understand that he found the company of Orcs and Trolls much more enjoyable, as they seemed to be the only friendly races that made any sense to him.

A harsh rustling in the bushes brought him to attention once again, he turned to find Belpad running in terror towards him. “Boss! They’z coming boss!” He shouted.

“Quiet Belpad.” He spat with urgency as his pet took up a position next to him. “Listen, I’m going to have to summon Tangmon now alright?”

“Yes Boss, let me know how the fight goes.”

Belpad vanished as Jeremiad flexed his formerly living muscles. Extending an arm, the shadows at his feet seemed to rise up from beneath him and pool together in his fist. A bright glowing purple symbol, the mark of a summoning circle, burned its way through the ground beneath his feet. The shadows around his hand congealed and solidified into a singular void, which he thrust down to the ground beneath him. In a horrifying rasping growl the shadows congealed into a massively muscular humanoid shape composed of absolute darkness, aside from the bracers on its arms and the two menacingly glowing eyes. A Voidwalker.

As Jeremiad finished summoning his minion; a single plate mail clad figure strode slowly out from behind the bushes that mere moments ago, the imp Belpad had come charging through. Despite the fact that the figure’s body was entirely covered in heavy red plate mail, the long pointed ears that protruded from the helmet made it clear that this was a night elf enemy, and this was no chance encounter.

“You fools again?” Jeremiad spat, “and a warrior no less. I admire your tenacity, but seriously, how do you expect to beat me?”

The warrior said nothing, but in his stead, with accompanying hushed whooshing sounds, several rogues faded in from the shadows that had previously rendered them invisible. One at a time they appeared, until he counted five rogues, and the single warrior that stood in front of them.

“Oh….Shadowmelded reinformcements. Good answer.” A bit of the arrogance fading from his voice. Jeremiad linked his soul silently with his minion and felt the protective shielding of the Voidwalker pet wash over him. Pointing forward at the warrior in front of him he yelled a single word in a tone of pure defiance. “KILL!”

With a rasping hollow growl, the voidwalker ran forward and assaulted the warrior with its powerful fists. Feeling assured that the warlock would soon be dead as the rogues descended upon him like lightning, the warrior foolishly turned his attention to the warlock’s demon minion, his sword smacking harmlessly off the creature’s body of solidified shadow.

As the rogues fell on to Jeremiad, it was only the protective shielding provided by his minion that allowed him to withstand the flurry of daggers long enough to pool the dark energy within himself. The warlock reared backwards and released a powerful roar that overrode and reversed the killing instinct in his assailants and sent them fleeing from him in every direction in pure terror.

The warrior, unfazed by the assault on his mind, found out too late that he not only had the attention of a powerful voidwalker, but also its angry master. Jeremiad reached behind himself and gripped an unseen orb of force, sparks of energy crackled along the length of his arm, moments before it burst into flame. Reaching forward and pointing at the warrior the flames instantly transferred themselves from his arm to the body of the warrior, knocking him backwards and engulfing him in searing flame.

The voidwalker, content that its master’s first foe was dead, grappled with the first of the rogues to regain his senses and return to battle. The second rogue to return to battle met with Jeremiad’s outstretched hands. With a few words spoken in the shadowy demonic tongue his foe’s body was filled with an agonizing pain as it began to decay before his very eyes.

Before he could react further, the last three rogues had descended upon Jeremiad, stabbing him mercilessly. The protective ward put in place by the voidwalker was no longer enough to protect his flesh from the piercing blades. He stretched out a bloodied hand and called to his pet. “Aid me tangmon! Sacrifice yourself!”

The pet outstretched its hands toward the heavens and burst into a pool of shadow, its bracers tumbling lifelessly to the ground. As the voidwalker’s life faded, a bubble of protective energy surrounded Jeremiad, deflecting and shattering the blades that fell upon his unprotected flesh. With his moment of protection he grabbed the collar of one rogue, speaking again in demonic. The words Jeremiad uttered snapped a fiber in the Elf’s mind, sending him fleeing once again from the battle in terror.

Jeremiad struggled to his feet, concentrating with his one free arm and forming a dark green mass of energy in his palm, with a slashing motion he sent the green energy into the face of another of his attackers, conjuring visions of horror in his mind, cascading over his perception of reality like a tidal wave of blood and nightmares. The Elf ran from the battle as fast as his legs would carry him, but to his dismay, as he did so his body literally fell apart in decay, the life force binding him to this world was being transferred to the warlock, who was steadily growing ever stronger.

Jeremiad grabbed his final attacker, turned to the rogue that had previously been occupied with his voidwalker, and the rogue that had been fleeing moments ago. Jeremiad clutched his free fist to his chest and reached deep inside himself for the strength for a final assault. Rearing backwards and roaring in the demonic tongue, horrific waves of hellfire radiated out from Jeremiad, burning him as well as his determined assailants, reducing the final three Elves to smoldering corpses moments before he too succumbed to the pain.

“Elves….are….pathetic…” He struggled to utter as he fell to his knees. He looked up one final time to see a pair of warriors who had no doubt been drawn by the commotion approach from down the river bank.

“Damnit.” He cursed to himself as he looked down to the sand, which had been tainted by blood and then burned over into glass by hellfire; the effect was really quite beautiful he thought to himself.

Their blades fell upon his ruined body, but he barely felt them through the searing agony he had inflicted on himself by his final attack. His body gave and collapsed, and he could hear their taunts in the common language as the darkness embraced him and his life faded.

The two warriors, satisfied that they had finished off an agent of the Horde, gave the disfigured body a final kick and turned to leave. They had gone only a few feet down the embankment when lightning scorched the sky.

“The sky was clear moments ago wasn’t it?” One said to the other in the common tongue.

A blue light glared momentarily from behind them, followed by an ominous tone. They turned to find the warlock rising from the ground. The wounds they had inflicted were no where to be seen on his body, though rotting as the undead was it could have been the night playing tricks on them.

“I guess we weren’t thorough enough killing the Horde bastard.” “Let us finish the job.” They spat. The foreboding sight before them doing little to shake their determination to defeat a foe who was almost certainly on his last legs.

Jeremiad simply raised his head and muttered calmly, “You can’t kill what isn’t alive….fools.”

He raised his arm and clenched it into a fist, screaming into the sky a final demonic summoning. The land began to buckle and fire rose up from the glassed ground beneath the enraged warlock. The warrior farthest inland turned and ran as the sky broke above them. The clouds funneled and issued forth a massive flaming boulder that crashed to the ground on top of the fleeing warrior, exploding in a sea of hellfire and killing him instantly. The second warrior, stunned, turned to face the boulder as it uncurled and stood above him, looming down from several meters of height. Standing several dozen feet away he could still feel the searing flames that lapped the body of this vaguely humanoid monstrosity carved out of molten onyx.

Jeremiad called out to the warrior in a voice burning with rage, that only momentarily turned the warrior's attention away from the burning golem standing in front of him.

“Ask your Elven friends when you meet them in hell if they learned anything about attacking lone fishermen.”

The Infernal reached his burning stone hand back, balled it into a fist, and all that the warrior had ever known snapped out of existence in an instant.

--

Jeremiad sat wearily on the zeppelin landing platform in the Grom’ Gol encampment. Orcs and Trolls surrounded him sharing stories of battles fought, won and lost. His faithful imp, Belpad, twitched nervously beside him, “Wow really Boss? You beat them all? Can’t believe I missed that!”

“Yes, but I had to use a soulstone to revive myself…I was lucky, they were weak.”

“You’ll be able to make a new soulstone in some time boss, what’s important is you squashed some Elves!”

“I hear that!” Roared an Orc from behind him, “Only good Elf is a dead Elf!”

Belpad fidgeted anxiously, “So wheres we goin Boss?”

“Anywhere but here….by the Gods I hate Stranglethorn Vale, makes me think fondly of the time I spent in the Hillsbrad militia.”

“They have sagefish there too Boss! Maybe we should go back for a visit.”

“Indeed. I hear the humans have become a rather brazen annoyance as well.”

“Then it’s decided!”

Jeremiad nodded slightly and wearily pulled himself to his feet, climbing down from the zeppelin platform to purchase a flight to Hillsbrad.