A soft breeze. The deep smell of grass and trees. The placid water of the Pools of Arlithrein. The shining eyes of the Night Elf know as Aldaron gazing at the bright stars over the treetops.

“So you’re asking my story.”

The voice of the elf is quiet and kind, just veiled by a touch of sadness. Slowly his eyes move from the sky to his friend on his side.

“I don’t think this will be an interesting tale and I’m not an used storyteller, so you’re warned, but, well…”

His voice becomes even quieter as he recalls the memories of an ancient time.

“When I was brought to this life the world was one, and not divided. We, the Kaldorei, were at the climax of our splendor, high and powerful as never before, under the rule of the wonderful Sorceress-Queen Azshara. My mother was a blessed High priestess of Elune, my father… well, my father was one of the great Highborne archmages of Azshara’s inner circle. At that time even our people was one and undivided, there were no differences like Night Elves, High ones or Blood Elves, we were just Kaldorei, one and forever. Or so we thought.

That was a blessed night and, under the light of the Well of Eternity, my mother gave birth to two twins, me and my brother Elildal.

That was a time of great power and splendor, but also a time of great Evil. A corruption that ruined us from within. I was just a child when Queen Azshara, in her crazed search of power opened the portal for the Burning Legion, and when Malfurion engaged her in the battle that ended with the destruction of the Well of Eternity and the Sundering.

That battle caused the fragmentation of the land, …of our people and even… of my family. My father was one of the highest lieutenant of Azshara’s Highborne, my mother tried to convince him not to join battle, she tried to show him the dangers of dealing with Demons, but he was too loyal… or too crazy. He took my brother, much more gifted in the arcane arts than me, and moved to the side of his Queen.

The war ended in a blaze of fury, rage and destruction. We ourselves barely managed to stay alive and joined Malfurion and his survivors. We fled to Mount Hyjal and there we built our new land.

I’ve grown up under the secure protection of Nordrassil. There me and my mother lived our second life. There we slowly healed the wounds of our bodies and the much deeper injuries of our spirits. There I regained joy and hope and finally my mother found love, again. She fell in love for Anarar, a gifted druid of the High Circle. Wise and quiet Anarar was to my father like night to day. Soon after, my mother gave birth to Nithrandel, my new sister. Nithrandel, my lovely sister, my joy and my pain. She was always so full of energy, so curios… always in trouble, knowing that I was just a few trees away, ready to help her. It was a joy to see her discover the world, the animals, the rain… to see her grow up and notice her spiritual talents becoming stronger every day. It was a period of peace and happiness.

Then the dreams began. Dreams of rage, dreams of war, dreams of demon fire. Nithrandel told me that they could hear me scream in the night. One night I woke up over a hill, in a wood. I don’t know how I arrived there… and why.

The most gifted healers studied me and my dreams, but didn’t find out anything. They told me that was just the sorrow for the loss of my brother and the memories of the ancient war. …they were wrong.

One bright day the joy of Nithrandel was at the climax, she was ready for the ceremony of her adulthood. She was ready to begin a new life as a mature druid of the Kaldorei. My mother, me and Anarar were completely absorbed by the preparation of the ritual and the delight of Nithrandel.

That night the dreams have been particularly harsh and terrific. When I woke up I found my self in an unknown garden, completely covered in blood. The lifeless and maimed body of Nithrandel under my hands.

I remained there crying until the arrival of the Sentinels.

I was brought under the eyes of the High Court. They weighted me. They measured me. They judged me. And found me guilty of having killed my own kind. My own blood.

I was closed in prison, with the priests of Elune investigating my spirit with the hope of understanding my act. And finally they found a clue.

My father, long before my birth, when, with Azshara, discovered the existence of the Burning Legion, signed a pact with one of the great Demons of the Twisted Nether. The Demon promised, and effectively granted him, great powers, but in doing so he infected his soul. With his blood my father passed this taint in my own veins. Probably the destruction of the Well of Eternity delayed the Demon, but year after year, century after century, his grip over me became stronger. First he played with me sending visions and dreams, finally taking control of my own body.

The High priests of Elune organized a ritual to cleanse my soul and destroy the bond with the demon, but a few days before the ceremony the demon took me again and I escaped. I fled for years, hiding in the woods, crossing mountains, always with the Sentinels tracking and chasing me. The hunter was hunted. That time I was the prey.

My mother begged for my life. Stating that I was the unwilling victim of my father foolishness. I fled for years, but finally they captured me. I have only vague memories of the years passed under the control of the demon. I was just like a wild beast fighting for his life. A puppet in his hands.

They captured me and brought me to the Temple of Elune and there, in the end, the priests completed the magic of my cleansing. …It is impossible to explain by words the pain and the sorrow of that ritual… the feeling of your own soul ripped and torn. That day the dreams vanished. The visions disappeared. I was again a Kaldorei.

I needed years to recover from the wounds and to overcome the memories of the demon control over me. But slowly my mind and my soul healed. And I swore to eradicate the demon menace from Azeroth.

I became a demon hunter. An implacable slayer of the most terrible foe.

The years passed, then the centuries. And what is known as the Third War interrupted the golden isolation of the Kaldorei. The threat of the Burning Legion crashed upon us with dreadful force. I entered the ranks of the army defending Nordrassil. I hunted, fought and killed countless soldiers of the Legion. I led assaults on their outposts and cut their retreat innumerable times. Then, the Battle at Mount Hyjal, the final act of a tremendous war. We stood there, side by side with Human and Orks, all joined by the hate against the Legion. In the final moments of the battle my patrol was engaged by a Demon Lord, T'chol was his name. He slaughtered my companions without mercy. Then we engaged fight. The duel became a nightmare, it seemed to last hours, may be days. We clashed, dodged, fled, chased and clashed again. I was covered of his blood, he was covered of mine. My quiver was empty, his mana depleted. We fought with swords, daggers, claws and teeth. And with our last breath. Finally I staked him with my sword through his chest, but he impaled me with his dagger. He disappeared in a thunderclap. I fell down on my own blood.

I survived. The healers of the army found me and healed me. I don’t know what happened of T’chol, if he died there or survived too.

But the large scar he left on my chest is not the only consequence of that duel. With his corrupted dagger he interfered with the blessing of Elune. And now… the dreams are back. My blood is tainted again.”