User:Peregrine2976/Fanfiction/To Hunt a Demon

Almost time, Gareth thought to himself. By sunset, I will be one of the most feared hunters in all of Azeroth. As he anxiously awaited the ceremony that would forever plunge him into the world of magic and demons, he thought of why he did this. Why he had trained for so many years, endured torments beyond measure at the hands of his tutors. As he considered that, he glanced down at his bare chest. The mutilating scars that covered it had not been the work of his masters. Until he entered his tutelage under the Demon Hunter, Bloodwrath, he had been ashamed of his disfiguration, and had hidden it whenever he could. However, it had been those scars that had proved to Bloodwrath that he was worthy to be a Demon Hunter. He smiled faintly, a smile still tinged with triumph, as he remembered the day he had finally located the elusive Demon Hunter and begged for training. "Foolish human," Bloodwrath had laughed scornfully. "You cannot be a Demon Hunter. Only those of the most noble and ancient race have the capacity for the complexities involved in joining our ranks." Gareth had persisted, but Bloodwrath had remained adamant. Finally, out of desperation, he had shown the Demon Hunter his scars. He did not really expect it to do anything, but the Night Elf stopped in the midst of yet another denunciation of humans, and stared at the mutilations covering his chest. "How did you get these, human?" he asked. "Demon," Gareth replied shortly. He then explained, at length, exactly what the demon had done to him - and his family. He was careful to keep his voice emotionless and cold. If he showed even the faintest hint of the despair that gripped him without his beloved wife and children, the Demon Hunter would scorn him again. For a long time, Bloodwrath said nothing. Then he said, "You desire vengeance, then." It was not a question. Gareth nodded. "I want nothing more than to avenge myself on the beast that did this to me." Bloodwrath was silent again. Then when he spoke, there was an odd note of respect in his voice. "I see… then it may be that your fury will see you through. Welcome to training, Initiate." Gareth had worked very hard to keep his sudden jubilation under control. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present. Almost time, he again told himself. Carefully moderating his breathing, he examined his clothing to be sure he had everything he required for the ceremony. His upper body was bare, and despite the scars across his chest, his muscles rippled as he moved. He wore no shoes. His waist-length robe was mostly ceremonial - the combat leggings he wore for training were much more practical. His training warglaives were leaned against the wall nearby. Sheathed at his side was the ceremonial dagger he would use to- The beating of a drum suddenly began. It was time. Doing his best to keep from shaking, he picked up his glaives and stalked toward the fire, trying to appear menacing and dangerous. From the expressions he saw on several of the initiates who had come to watch, he could see that he was at least partly successful. The amused look on Bloodwrath's face, however, clearly told him that his master saw exactly what he was trying to do. Faintly embarrassed, he continued on until he stood before the blazing bonfire. No words were spoken. None needed to be. He knew what he had to do. Trying to control his trembling, he reached down and drew his dagger. Holding the blade in the midst of the flame, he waited until it was red hot. Then he took it out. He held it in front of his face. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he did not do this. He would never become a Demon Hunter, and Bloodwrath would spit with disgust. The Night Elves would condescendingly think of the cowardly human, and his vengeance would remain unfulfilled. That could never happen. So it was that, almost with eagerness, he performed the rite that marked him as a Demon Hunter. The pain was excruciating, but he would not give these arrogant elves the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Two initiates handed him his blindfold, and kneeling, he bound it across his now-empty eye sockets. When he rose, he held his twin warglaives, and his blindfold clearly marked him as what he was. Today… he was a Demon Hunter. Despite the burning pain in his eye sockets, he smiled.