Kilik

Information

Player: NodCommando

Character Full Name: Kilik Sunstep

Character In-Game Name: Kilik

Nickname(s): None

Association(s): None

Race: Blood Elf

Class: Demon Hunter

Skills and Abilities: Having served in the second war, he's a fairly robust and emotionally-hardened elf, and is skilled with both bow and sword. He is also a highly capable bowyer from years of working under his father. After completion of his training to become a demon hunter, he has attained spectral sight.

Engulf Blade Cursed Vision Immolate Fel Fireball Mana Burn Drain Fel Shadow Stealth

Age: 118

Sex: Male

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: Green

Weight: 149 lbs

Height: 5'7"

Appearance

Kilik wears parts of his former set of crimson and black leather armor, often shying away from the customary attire of a demon hunter. He is never without his glaives.

Other: Shadow Tattoo

Personality

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Kilik is highly cynical and self-obsessed. He cares little about what others think and how his actions could possibly affect them. He can, at times, be fairly chatty, but more often than not, he'll avoid long and drawn out conversations, especially with people he's not very familiar with. His reactions to the various races are rather universal: if it isn't an elf, it's wrong. He feels most comfortable around other Sin'dorei, but is able to interact (with the occasional sarcastic remark or poking fun at) with both Kal'dorei and Quel'dorei. His attitude toward other members of the Horde is generally neutral, with Forsaken and orcs at a bit of an 'unfriendly' level. When it comes to the Alliance, with the exception of the Kal'dorei and the Quel'dorei, Kilik really, really dislikes them and views them all as racist bigots. He holds the elves in a higher regard only because of the fact that they are elven and, as such, are superior to other races.

History

Kilik was born in the city of Silvermoon to a lower-middle class family. His father was a successful bowyer and his mother worked as a seamstress. His parents catered to his needs and neglected to teach him any moral values, resulting in an abundance of fights, a lack of childhood friends, and a general attitude of being 'too good' for other people. As he came of age, he began learning the trade of his father and at the same time how to wield a bow. Kilik's life continued in an uneventful and lonesome manner until the coming of the Second War. He and his father both fought in the war; Kilik learned to properly use a sword during this time. While fighting at the Thandol Span, Kilik was impaled by a spear in close combat and put out of action for the remainder of the War. His father continued to fight in the War and saw the loss of his left arm from a fierce skirmish with orcs. After the war, Kilik's life was much the same as it was before the war, though Kilik took over the bowyer business after his father was unable to perform his trade. During this time, Kilik developed his cynical view on life, mostly originating from the things he endured during the War.

At the outbreak of the Third War, Kilik stayed in Silvermoon to continue producing bows that would be needed for the conflict. Soon, Arthas and the vast legions of the Scourge arrived at the gates of Silvermoon. Both Kilik and his mother took up arms and defended the city. His mother was struck down by one of the hundreds of corpses being launched at the walls. Kilik felt a sickening feeling in his stomach, but put the event out of his mind and kept fighting. Eventually the undead overwhelmed the defenses and began swarming into the city, forcing the remaining people on the wall to either run or die. Kilik chose to flee. He immediately ran back to his parent's home to save his father, and upon his arrival, he found the home empty. He searched the dwelling and a sudden realization hit him as he found the stand where his father's armor and weapons once stood was now barren. Kilik ran out of the house and looked to the walls, knowing his father had decided to take a sword and defend the city to his final breath. Kilik blinked back tears, well aware that the fight was lost, both of his parents were likely dead, and the city was doomed. He spent a moment in a state of disbelief, his body unable to move as his world came crashing down around him, but a passing elf screamed at him to run, and he found himself blindly chasing the stranger. They found their way up a wall and sprinting a distance down its length before finding a rope that was hanging over the outside of the wall, providing a convenient, if somewhat risky, way to escape. The risk was obviously far lower than trying to run through the incoming horde of undead, and neither of the elves wanted to risk running through a seemingly endless swarm of Scourge. At the bottom of the rope was a dead and mutilated elf, presumably having fallen whilst trying to descend. They climbed down the rope without incident and darted for the safety of the forest, only to be cut off by a pack of ghouls. Kilik's sense of self-preservation took over and he pushed his new companion down to the ground, forcing the high elf to become an unwilling aid in Kilik's escape. As the ghouls swarmed the easier prey, Kilik picked up the pace on his sprint, tapping into previously unknown reserves of energy he had. The trees turned into brown blurs and the lush green forest seemed to fade from his sight, and before long he found himself at the eastern coast. He stopped at the point where the grass met the beach and collapsed, his body exhausted and drained.

The sky was dark when he awoke to the soft sound of water gently hitting the beach and the call of various frogs and birds in the distance. He sat up, rubbing his temples in an effort to lessen the severity of the headache that had formed in his sleep. Within moments, he remembered where he was at, and, more importantly, why he was there. He scanned the area with his eyes and found nothing of interest; no elves, no Scourge, nothing. He began to wonder if he was imagining the entire ordeal, but then his gaze found its way to the smoke rising from the direction of Silvermoon. Finding his way to his feet, he began to walk the length of the beach in a sort of trance, and before long, noticed that something was amiss. He could feel the magic from the direction of the Sunwell. But the magic wasn't right. It had a taint to it. Kilik had at this point reached the northern point of the beach and looked across the sea toward the isle of Quel'Danas. Certainly, he thought to himself, nothing could have happened to the Sunwell. Why would anyone want to damage it? Before he could think about his question to himself, his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise from behind. Turning sharply, he found a shambling zombie was about thirty feet from him... and behind it, another thirty feet away, an entire pack of the mindless creatures.

He drew his bow that had, somehow, managed to stay with him during his eventful journey from the wall to his present location, and nocked an arrow. Taking aim, he loosed the arrow in the direction of the closest shambling corpse. His aim proved true as the arrow pierced through the throat of the zombie and the creature fell. He slung his bow over his back and took off in a run, careful to make a wide circle around the large pack of feral creatures that had at one point been Quel'dorei. He took off southward, running down the beach once again, slowing only once he made it back to the forest. The woodland was dark, humid, and still very much warm from the sun that had left many hours before. He traveled through the forest without incident for some time, until the snapping of a twig some distance ahead of him caused him to stop in his tracks. He crouched down and stared ahead, trying to make out any shapes or movement. Then he noticed several pairs of faint blue dots hovering a distance away. A split-second later, the tell-tale sound of multiple arrows being shot, then excruciating pain all over his body. He fell to the ground, yelling and rolling around in pain. Several high elves materialized from the darkness around him, most of them apologizing for accidentally turning him into a pincushion. They picked him up and began to carry him in some direction, and after a few moments, the pain combined with blood loss caused him to lose consciousness.

When he awoke again, the sun was high in the sky, and he found himself surrounded by hundreds of fellow elves. He had his wounds treated and joined with the survivors of Silvermoon. Many months passed, and during that time Kilik experienced the destruction of the Sunwell, the pain of living without magic, and the changing from being a high elf to a blood elf through the use of fel. He stayed with the newly formed race of Sin'dorei for a short period of time after the reclamation of Silvermoon, but eventually the memories of what happened in the city became too much for him to handle. He left the city and ventured into the world, the want of revenge against the people who caused Silvermoon to fall weighing heavily upon him.

Years would pass before Kilik found a way to exact his revenge. It was in a brief stopover in Booty Bay when Kilik first encountered a demon hunter. Navren was the name of the man, a tall, well-muscled Kal’dorei. Kilik had, until this point, not actually seen a demon hunter in person. Intrigued by the sight, and already forming ideas in his mind, he followed Navren into the Booty Bay tavern and pulled him aside.

They talked for some time at a table, Navren entertaining Kilik’s questions. The thought of becoming a demon hunter nagged at Kilik. It seemed too perfect. Something that was trained to kill exactly what he hated - demons: the creators of the Scourge, the bringers of Silvermoon’s fall. The cause of all the suffering and hardship that he, and every other Sin’dorei, had to endure.

Kilik eventually asked the question: would Navren be willing to take Kilik as his initiate, and when the time was right, put him through the trials to become a demon hunter. Navren considered the question for a moment, and finally agreed.

Months and months would pass while Kilik was an initiate under Navren. Kilik spent the time preparing himself. Not just physically, either. He studied everything he could about demons, trying to learn all there was to know. He prepared himself mentally, knowing that this was no small and simple task. He would become something dark, twisted. Hated.

It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Nearing the time for when he would begin his trials, he lost contact with Navren. He was unable to find him and had not heard news from him in some time. Weeks later, Kilik assumed the night elf had somehow perished and began his search for a new mentor. Hearing about a man named Vellaril that could be found in Felwood, Kilik left to seek out the demon hunter. It took several months to track him down. Kilik stumbled upon Vellaril in the wilderness of Felwood. Vellaril was a somewhat taller Sin’dorei, and he had the obvious markings of being a demon hunter, not to mention the fel emitting from him could be felt from a decent distance away.

Kilik approached the seated elf and stopped fifteen feet away, silently staring at him. He was sitting on the grass, his legs crossed, making no effort to acknowledge Kilik. Being fairly impatient at this point, Kilik called out to the demon hunter and asked if he would train him. Vellaril’s surprise at the bluntness of the question was evident. He stood and approached Kilik, leering down at him.

“What is your name?”

“Kilik Sunstep.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Yes. I am fully prepared and ready for it.”

Vellaril scoffed.

“Why do you seek training?”

“To help rid the world of the greatest evil that plagues it.”

Vellaril laughed at Kilik’s response. “No, really. Tell me the -real- reason why.”

“The real reason,” Kilik said questioningly, his eyes narrowing, “the real reason is the reason I have already told you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

Vellaril shrugged his shoulders, not pushing the issue any further at the moment.

“I will train you, under one condition.”

“Being?”

“You tell me the real reason before we begin the first binding.”

Kilik rolled his eyes, “Whatever.”

Vellaril struck out with a swift backhand from his left hand, catching Kilik by surprise and knocking him to the ground.

“Watch your tone. I’ll not have my initiate being disrespectful.”

Kilik stood, rubbing his cheek that was already beginning to swell. This would be a very long and difficult period indeed, he mused to himself.

A disappointed grunt was the only the Kilik dared respond with.

Vellaril turned to leave, “Follow me,” he said, “we shall head to my camp.”

Two weeks passed. One week of Kilik performing menial labor and chores to improve the campsite, such as gathering firewood or hunting for animals without the taint of fel that could be eaten (which was not an easy task in Felwood)

Finally, the real training began. On the morning of the eighth day, just as soon as the sunlight began to filter in from Felwood’s canopy of trees, Vellaril dropped a small yet heavy bag of tomes upon the sleeping form of Kilik. He awoke with a shout, thinking something to be attacking him, but merely glared when he saw the demon hunter standing over him.

“Read,” commanded Vellaril, “you will be tested over your knowledge in seven days. If you are as stupid as you sound, I imagine you’ll give up in less than three days.”

“You sure it’s not your own stupidity clouding your judgement,” Kilik retorted, “or may-”

He was cut off by a kick to his stomach, knocking the air out of him and preventing him from speaking.

“Stupid. I told you not to speak to me like that.” With that, Vellaril turned away and left, leaving Kilik alone to his reading.

After recovering from the blow, he pulled a book from the bag and peered at it for a short while. The book was bound in a midnight black cover and bared no markings upon it. He opened it with a disgruntled sigh. Most of the information in the book was already known to him - he had spent years learning about demons, spending large portions of his free time absorbing the information in any and all books he could find on the subject. He actually enjoyed reading. He’d have probably made a great mage if he had chosen. Shaking the thought from his mind, he went back to reading. Even if he knew most things in the book, he might still learn something from it… and he’d love to rub it in Vellaril’s face when he demonstrated his knowledge later in the week.

The days passed quickly, and the studious elf was roused from his sleep well before the sun had risen on the seventh day.

Squinting his eyes, Kilik questioned the demon hunter, “Do you -know- what time it is?”

“Yes. It’s midnight. You decided to stay up until around eleven even though I had told you the test was today. Stupid, but it was your decision to make.”

Kilik scowled. He had assumed the test would be in the morning, after he had a decent night’s sleep. Looks like he wouldn‘t get to rub his knowledge in Vellaril‘s face, he thought to himself.

“Fine, whatever, let’s do it then.”

Vellaril cracked a smile and walked over to the fire he had started. He sat in front of it and gestured for his initiate to sit across from him.

The questioning lasted for what seemed hours - the lack of sleep causing Kilik to second guess himself and struggle to recall certain things. Dozens and dozens of questions were thrown at the hopeful initiate, though Vellaril made no indication of whether or not Kilik was passing the test. The final question eventually came, or, at least, Kilik assumed it to be the final one, because it had nothing to do with his knowledge of demons.

“Why do you want to do this?”

Kilik blinked his eyes and scowled at the question, sitting in silence for a moment as his eyes glared into the small fire before him.

“I seek to avenge Silvermoon and the Quel’dorei. All of it was caused by the Sco-”

Kilik was cut off by the demon hunter.

“A rather noble cause.”

“Of course,” Kilik agreed, pleased that he was convincing the hunter that he did it not for personal gain, though, in reality, that vengeance was the only thing he sought.

Vellaril stared at Kilik for a moment longer.

“Very well. Be ready in the morning.”

With that, Vellaril rose and stalked off into the night. Kilik rolled his eyes and went back to his sleeping mat, falling slowly into a deep slumber.

He awoke just after dawn to find Vellaril sitting near the remains of the fire with two large and rather unwieldy looking wooden clubs. Kilik stood and walked over, stopping next to the blunt weapons. He gave one a soft nudge with his foot, a bit surprised at the weight of it.

“What’s with the clubs? Didn’t know there were baby seals in Felwood.”

Snarling, Vellaril rose to his feet and began, “These are your two new best friends. Pick them up and never let go of them. Even when nature calls or you’re sleeping.”

Kilik frowned. “How am I supposed to-”

“Fine, if you’re going to cry about it, you don’t have to hold them while you do those two things. And only those two things. You’ll otherwise be holding them at all times.”

Kilik leaned over to pick up the clubs, grasping them by the rather large handles. They were certainly far more cumbersome than the glaives he had come to be familiar with, but he assumed there was some kind of deeper purpose to the primitive weapons than he realized, and therefore kept further complaints to himself.

“Do you enjoy Winterspring, Kilik?”

“Yeah, it‘s a nice place.”

Vellaril grinned, “Good. I hope you‘re ready to start chopping down trees.”

Kilik, with a frown, gave his two clubs a final glance as realization dawned upon him.

The training turned into a blur of activity as days became weeks, and weeks became months. The Initiate’s mind was constantly focused on the task at hand, and he quickly lost track of the days. The transition to the Outlands, the felling of a Nathrezim for the required demonic essence, the first binding, the unbearable sickness that seemed to last dozens of lifetimes, the various hunts the Master and Initiate went on, the second binding… it all seemed to pass in an instant, yet it seemed to take an eternity to culminate into the final test.

The killing of a corrupted demon hunter.

Kilik swat at the thick, humid air of Zangarmarsh, aiming at a particularly bothersome gnat that had been pestering him for the previous hour. The sounds of wildlife, be it distant antagonizing screams from some nameless creature being slaughtered by one higher up the food chain, or the buzzing of the numberless insects that inhabited the marsh, flooded the mushroom-ridden biome in an endless wave of noise. The only things that pierced that blanket of noise were his own grumbles as he trudged through the swamp.

Vellaril had told Kilik that he had performed superbly, and had in fact surprised him with his performance. He had also told Kilik that the most difficult part, and the second-to-last part, required him to hunt down a hunter who had succumbed to the demon inside of him. He went on to explain that he had been keeping tabs on one such demon hunter. The hunter was, as of three days ago, somewhere in the southern parts of Zangarmarsh.

His thoughts were interrupted when the same bug that had been stalking him managed to land on the back of his neck and plant a quick bite. Luck wasn’t with the simple creature this time, however. Kilik’s hand smashed the insect, and his neck, ending the pest’s existence in less than a fraction of a second. The impact caused Kilik to grunt, the pain from his tattoos still lingering. The deep, almost Egyptian blue tattoos were truly something amazing to behold, should anyone ever get the chance to actually see them. They were far from normal - indeed, his entire body was tattooed, except for various intricately patterned symbols and marks that were left ‘blank’. His entire body hurt, but he knew the discomfort would be well worth it in the end. With that mindset, he continued to slowly trudge through the swamp.

It didn’t take long to find the signs left behind from the corrupt hunter. As Kilik approached a clearing in the dense fungal-forest, he discovered a decimated naga outpost. The outpost was filled with various wooden structures, and bodies lay scattered throughout the camp, each bearing wounds consistent with the powerful strokes of a demon hunter armed with glaives. A sharp scream pierced the air from further within the camp, and Kilik allowed himself a small grin. His quarry was still within the naga compound. He began methodically picking his way through the structures, working his way toward the center of the encampment, careful to not turn a corner face-first into a surviving naga - or worse, his prey, lest he become the prey and his target the predator. Spectral sight was of little aid in the narrow, closed-in space of the camp’s paths. It allowed him a full situational awareness - something he still wasn’t completely used to - but, it didn’t pierce the structures of the outpost.

A deep bellow of laughter suddenly erupted from not too far away, followed by the last, pained, dying snarl of what was most likely a naga. Kilik crept forward, his steps nearly silent. Turning a corner, he found that he had reached what would likely be construed as the center of the outpost. A gazebo-type structure was positioned in the middle of the camp, and in it stood the person he was about to kill. The corrupted hunter was a brilliant golden flame, illuminated clearly in his special vision. Kilik ducked back around the corner, pausing for a moment to listen whether or not the fallen demon hunter had seen him. Seconds passed agonizingly slow for Kilik, who understood that in a straight-up and fair fight, he might be bested. He wasn’t the strongest out there, but he considered himself amongst the more agile. His agility would be what he would have to rely upon. Deciding the best course of action for dealing with the hunter would be to ambush it, he kneeled down and scooped up a handful of pebbles and tossed half of them into the wall directly adjacent to himself, then the other half a bit further down the path, effectively giving off the noise of small stones being disturbed by a rapidly fleeing creature - most likely a naga, given the circumstances.

The ad hoc trap seemed to work. He heard the rapidly approaching footsteps grow louder with each stomp. Kilik silently unslung his glaives and listened to the approaching steps. They were careless, though the rogue demon hunter had no reason to be careful. He didn’t know what was around the corner; rather, he thought he knew what was around the corner, and wasn’t afraid at all. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The instant the corrupted hunter began to turn the corner, Kilik was stabbing his right glaive straight at the exposed chest of the more than shocked prey he had been stalking. The sharp, piercing point of the blade easily sliced through the unprotected flesh, rending the heart and causing massive internal bleeding. The blow wasn’t an immediate kill, however. Roaring in an unhealthy mixture of anger and pain, the wounded demon hunter batted his powerful arm out, striking Kilik in the side of the head with a closed fist. He lost his grip on his glaives and a dizzying sense of vertigo filled the blood elf as he was slammed into the wall. Stars filled his vision as he staggered back, barely able to keep himself collected enough in his mind to turn and run. If he could evade his quarry - his hunter, now - long enough, he would bleed out on his own. If he could evade his quarry. It was beginning to seem like a big if as he heard the footsteps of his pursuer draw nearer. He turned a corner of another wooden building, using what little lead he had to put all of his strength into a vertical jump, his arms extended upward, his hands grasping the edge of the roof to the shack. He strained himself, pulling upward and still fighting back the tremendous pain and pressure building in his skull. The instant he managed to pull himself up and over onto the roof, the mortally wounded hunter charged around the corner, sprinting in blind anger down the path. Kilik exhaled a sigh of relief. In a moment, the raging demon hunter below would lose consciousness from blood loss, Kilik would swoop in for an underhanded kill, and it would all be over. Almost over, he corrected himself.

Kilik dropped off of the roof several moments later, landing on noiselessly on his feet, and going to retrieve his glaives. He spent another moment locating the dying demon hunter, following the trail of crimson blood like some kind of twisted path of bread crumbs. Kilik approached the downed form of the kal’dorei hunter, admiring the handiwork of his stab that had actually pierced straight through his body. He kneeled down and plunged his gloved hands into the hole, grasping the destroyed heart and ripping it from the barely-alive night elf. Lifting it above his head, tilting his head back, and opening his mouth, he drank deeply the blood of the now deceased demon hunter.

A week later.

Kilik kneeled before Vellaril, swearing the blood oath, the final part of his training. “I swear that I will hunt down and destroy any and all agents of the Legion,” Kilik stated as he slit his wrists, his head tilted downward at his now bleeding wounds, “until the day I die.”