CHARACTER STORY: THE CINDER SAGE

THE JOURNEY FORWARD...

Ward was trapped in a nightmare of unspeakable horror. Shadowy figures surged from the darkness, their eyes glinting with malice, their twisted forms barely human. They swarmed around him, their whispers a cacophony of dread. As he fought to fend them off, the void-like monstrosities emerged—creatures born from the deepest abyss, their bodies a shifting mass of tendrils and gaping maws. Their presence sucked the warmth from the air, their breath a foul stench that turned his stomach.

One beast, larger than the rest, loomed before him. Its form was a grotesque amalgamation of limbs and eyes, constantly shifting and reconfiguring. Ardwulf swung his great, two-handed sword, the blade gleaming with a faint, ethereal light, but it passed through the creature as though through smoke. Tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs, pulling him towards the monstrosity’s gaping maw, where rows of teeth glistened hungrily.

He screamed, a sound lost in the void, as the tendrils tightened, the pressure unbearable. Just as he was about to be torn to pieces, the nightmare shattered, Ardwulf awoke with a start, his heart pounding, leaving him gasping for breath, drenched in sweat.

The campfire at his feet had dwindled to a mere glimmer, casting eerie shadows that danced and writhed against the encroaching darkness. He breathed heavily, scanning the horizon of the Western Plaguelands. The land stretched out like a corpse, lifeless and pallid under the sallow light of a waning moon. Gnarled trees stood as twisted sentinels, their skeletal branches grasping at the heavens. A cold wind whispered through the barren wasteland, carrying with it a sense of ancient, malignant dread.

Before Ardwulf could gather his thoughts, a piercing shriek shattered the silence. He spun around, sword already in hand. From the shadows, ghouls emerged, their forms twisted and decayed. Flesh hung in tatters from their bones, eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They moved with a jerky, predatory grace, claws glinting wickedly.

The first ghoul lunged at him, jaws snapping hungrily. Ardwulf swung his sword in a wide arc, cleaving through rotting flesh and brittle bone. The ghoul’s head flew from its shoulders, black ichor spraying from the wound. Another ghoul leapt at him from the side, claws raking across his armor, leaving deep gouges. He spun, bringing his sword down in a powerful overhead strike that split the creature in two.

More ghouls surrounded him, their snarls filling the air. Ardwulf fought with a ferocity born of desperation, his sword a blur of steel. He hacked and slashed, severing limbs and heads, black blood splattering across his armor and the ground. One ghoul, larger than the rest, lunged at him, claws aiming for his throat. He sidestepped, driving his blade through its chest and out its back. The ghoul convulsed, eyes rolling back as it fell to the ground, lifeless for the second and last time in its bleak and miserable existence.

When the last of the ghouls lay defeated, Ardwulf stood panting amidst the carnage. His muscles ached, and his armor was smeared with foul ichor. He wiped his brow and glanced around the campsite. The fire had nearly died, faint embers casting a dim, reddish glow. The ground was littered with the remains of the ghouls, their bodies already beginning to dissolve into the earth, leaving behind a sickly, black residue.

He sank to his knees before the fire, staring into the flickering flames. The dance of the firelight seemed to hold secrets, patterns that whispered of futures yet to come. Ardwulf called himself a Cinder Sage, whether he truly believed in his ability to see the fates in the flames, or it was merely a ruse to gain favor and coin in Stormwind, was uncertain. Yet, in this moment, the flames spoke to him, their voices a chorus of prophecy.

There was a lingering voice, not one of nightmare, but a sound neither fully formed nor entirely understood. It was unlike the haunting screams of his dreams, more a persistent murmur, a call just beyond the edge of perception. He strained to decipher it, but it eluded him, slipping away like smoke through clenched fingers.

Had the muse finally returned, after all this time? What song must be endured now?