Spine Insurgency: Donovan J.LaFleur

Donovan J.LaFleur. Note #1
During a beautiful night in the solemn steppes of Mulgore, the atmosphere is not as peaceful as one would expect. Subtly blending within the twilight, all Hell has been unleashed over Thunder Bluff. Silence broken, the sounds of terrorism echo in the land, bouncing from one mountain to another, slashing the tranquil air as they creep.
A shady silhouette in the dusk stands still as if he was made of stone. Wearing a black leather coat, face coated by the shade of his hat. The figure stands idly, watching the Bluff burn with shadowy flames from afar. He can hear his friends, colleagues, brothers in arms, enemies, and the innocent scream, shout, and fall.
It ends.
The screams, the clashes of swords, the corruptions in the arcane do not intend to stop. But the figure remains still. It watches, and watches. Calmly observing the situation, his thoughts untranslated. A huge giant of morbid flesh that terrorizes and decays the soil, easily seen with naked eye even from a long distance, ceases it's actions. Burning, hardly even moving.
The huntsman. Locked inside that abomination. I did not expect him to be one for dying with no duel.
As the night and the battle go on, the figure unexpectedly moves, grabbing an odd shard of glass in his hands with little care. They seem to reflect something nobody else can see.
Anthraxius. Dying a warrior's death.
The figure gnarls, as if he was bothered by something.
You? Giving up? You could have sliced them all in half, you know that.
Thunder Bluff has gone through it's worst. The flames still aflame, but soon to be extinguished. The ear-piercing wails and clashes have ceased. However, it still seems that all questions are yet to be answered. The previous shard falls on the ground, shattered. A new one is lifted up by bony hands shielded with gloves made of black leather.
You, too. Squirming, but I -know- you are relieved. Such a strange ambition.
And, once again, a shard falls on the ground, shattering, as if it knew it's destiny. A third shard is picked up from the bag, however, this one the figure handles delicately, as if it was something more than a mere piece of smelted sand.
No. Despite everything I told you before. I.. A final exchange of words was the only thing I wanted. And here we are.
Appalled. He grinds his teeth together, showing them to the night, the corners of his eyes shaking. Snarling quietly, he closes his eyes briefly. Opening them again, all previous aghast gone. He strokes the shard gently with his right index finger, even smiling very lowly. Instead of dropping it, he places it inside his coat with tender motions.
The night goes on. Hardly any shadowy fire engulfing the Bluff anymore, the only sign of disorder in the night is the smoke floating in the air.
From a cold face which seems to be devoid of emotion, much to the night's surprise, a pair of lips curl into a small smirk.
A heretic hero.
As the unrest pacifies, the vile howls of chaos digress deep in the air. The figure, absolutely motionless, still gazes into the distance. Silence. Only to be broken by a nearly completely quiet footsteps, the grass gnarling. A familiar, long lost scent finds it's way to the figure's nostrils.
Impossible.