Faelion

Faelion Sunsong
Nickname(s)	Fae Number Two
Gender	Male
Race	Blood Elf
Class	Demon Hunter
Association(s)	Horde
Status	Alive

Faelion Sunsong is a 1,601-year-old Blood Elf Demon Hunter. He is played by Spiralin.

History

Faelion was born as the first child to the Sunsong family. At the time, his two parents had little money and struggled with increasing finances for the first few months after Faelion's birth. They eventually came to the decision that they could not provide him with the life they wanted for him, and sadly had to resort to putting him up for adoption in hopes that someone else could bring him that happiness.

The orphanage would be Faelion's home until he reached the age of six. This was the year he would be introduced to his new family: a father, mother, and an older brother. This wasn't a great experience at all. When he was a child, Faelion didn't realize it but the adoptive parents treated their biological son better- Leaving Faelion with the smallest portions of food and hand-me-down clothing which were usually ripped, or tattered. Even in school he couldn't get away from the mistreatment. His adopted brother and friends used to bully Faelion: often stealing his food, or pushing him around when there were no teachers- Even when young Faelion would stand up for himself, getting physical with his older brother, Faelion would always lose. When he'd arrive home, his father use to beat him for embarrassing their family, and trying to hurt his brother. It was just a constant cycle of pain.

As he grew into his teen years Faelion realized much of his mistreatment. He began to resent being given up by his real parents, realizing that if he was never given up he wouldn't have gone through such a harsh childhood. He began to hate them, and hate his adopted family. His adopted father, who he had began to call by his real name, Andas, used to come home from the bar, only to beat on Faelion if any of his work or chores weren't done. The days Faelion got into fist fights with his father, were the worst because he'd be sent to bed without supper- Which never helped as Faelion was already skinny. The final straw was when his adopted older brother, Andallas, started telling Faelion that his parents loved him, and hated Faelion.

Faelion had shut himself off from his family from that point on, hating them all for what they did to him, and hating his real family for what they put him through. He never wanted family again. As soon as he was eighteen years old he left in the middle of the night, and never returned. He had no money to his name, no experience in any kind of job, or had any reputation that his older brother had not already sullied. He began by accepting any job he could find. At the beginning Faelion didn't make a lot of money, but it was just enough to get by: eating the same meal every night, and doing the same routine every day.

He did have one thing that he looked forward to weekly. Faelion had began taking sword lessons, giving him something to take his anger out upon. He grew some muscle over the years by doing so, no longer stick thin. Eventually he found another hobby to occupy his time: the study of arcane magic.

For the next few centuries, life was rather normal. Dating girl after girl and all entirely enjoying his adult years. After a while he met 'the one' whom he shared his abode with. One day, Faelion had the crazy idea to propose, so he did. Only to be told "No", his heart was broken and he threw her out. He receded to living day-in and day-out in his home: becoming a binge drinker, which would develop into alcoholism.

Years before the Scourge invasion, Faelion had came into contact with his real family, who apparently had been searching for him. Faelion met his real parents, they seemed glad to see him. Faelion was all but happy when he met them. He knew these people as the ones who had put him through a horrible childhood and a terrible adulthood. It only became worse when he learned they had seven more children, his blood brother and sisters that his real parents decided to keep. He knew he didn't want to know them, and after meeting them all for the first time Faelion knew he didn't want to see them ever again. He never understood why all of his blood brothers and sisters were given a great life, and he was not. His real parents now had a lot more money. They weren't poor at all, and he hated that they could have chosen to keep him, so at least he would have been with his real family.

Over time, some of his biological family tried to get close to him, but he constantly pushed them away. One day while pitying himself over a drink, along came knocking his youngest sister. He hadn't talked to his family in over ten years at this point. Faelion had become secluded. Answering the door, he found his youngest sister. She told him he had to leave now, their city was under attack, so he took heed and left. He took note that she was the only one who cared enough to tell him the news. Afterwards he immediately left, hiding from the dead who began to plague their wondrous lands of Quel'thalas. Then joining another group of elves who willingly acquired fel for him.

When the elves renewed the sunwell, Faelion thought all was well again.

But it didn't end there, he had gone back into a spiral of depression when he returned to the ruined city, not even seeking out any surviving family members. He turned to fel-blood again, and the effects it had on him drove him mad. On the final day from being cured again, he hesitated. He slipped up and had to take it to relieve himself from the amounts of depressed thoughts in his head, from then and ever on Faelion had tried to only consume low amounts of fel-blood. Only enough to keep oneself from dieing on withdrawals.

Life got worse from that point on. Faelion now worked with bad people. They gave him the fel he needed, but to acquire it he had to work the black market in Ghostlands. During this time Faelion had learned to give up the arcane, forgetting much of what he was taught in the process. Figuring that two addictions would only bring a legion of problems.

Many years later, before the Lich King had been defeated, his youngest sister who he had thought died, Faelara, bumped into him. Faelion was shocked, and not knowing how to react, he turned to anger. He had nothing, and she only reminded him of how every family he had was gone. She only responded with the utmost sincerity. Taken back, he became calm and heard Faelara out. She talked about who she was with now, the Stormshade Clan. Faelara offered him a better life, and people who actually cared about him. Faelion decided it couldn't be any worse, so he gave it a shot. At first, very weary, it took nearly a month for Faelion to decide that he'd like to become an official member of the clan - Under only one condition: that he never allow his addiction to hurt the clan itself.

Travelling with the clan was simple. Eventually they would come to be a new family to him, but he only became worse the longer his addiction advanced. Faelion's emotions began to become extreme. Faelion would lash out and yell over the smallest matters. Strength dwindling from the constant abuse of fel. Faelion became jealous of his clan mates. They had no real problem like him - they didn't help him. They were happy, and he wasn't. Faelion began to pick fights with his superiors, often getting a beating he deserved. Not just that, but he was weak. Faelion could swing a sword around, but he was no better then anyone else in the clan. He'd have to rely on others to fight for him. He slowly fell into a hidden depression.

Not only this, but Faelion's stores of fel were becoming much larger, so large that it began to attract lesser demons. He could handle the runts, a stray imp. Faelion decided that now was the time to leave, not wanting to break his promise to his Warlord. He disappeared, alone again.

As he traveled from habitation to habitation, slaying the occasional demon, Faelion had a revelation. The fel was the source of his suffering. Faelion realized that it was his fault his friends were driven away and not theirs. That he'd never be able to find someone who could fall in love with him, and that he'd only bring suffering to anyone around him. In that Faelion decided that he'd leave the world, he'd kill himself. But he wanted revenge against the legion. Leaving for Outland, Faelion planned to kill any demons he could until they finally destroyed him. He didn't want anyone else to go through what he had.

He set out for what was thought to be the day of his death. Faelion sought out demon after demon, first handling a few lesser ones, then tougher ones would come along that he couldn't simply defeat. Faelion barely managed the first tough demon. He was left weak and knew he couldn't handle the next one. Soon many demons began to surround him. Standing, tears began to roll down Faelion's cheeks. Knowing this was it, he began to charge forward at the nearest demon - Faelion was stopped as a figure landed in front of him. Long weapons in the figure's hands, ignited in a green flame. Tattoos running along his arms and body, not only this, but the the man was littered with scars. He charged forward and dodged the demon's first attack, before striking at it in precision, bringing the demon to its knees in quick succession. Faelion only stood there in shock, watching the mysterious figure. The man turned, where his eyes should've been, were empty black pits. "Fine! Just stand there." The figure hissed at Faelion as he rushed to the next demon. Snapping back into reality, Faelion turned to fight the demons alongside this man.

After the fight was over Faelion laid there in the soil, bleeding from numerous places of the body. He silently watched the man, he was going from demon to demon, a faint glow coming from his hands every time he stooped over the next demon. Eventually, the man stood next to Faelion, towering over him. "You've a death wish?" Asked the man, actually an elf, while nudging Faelion with a foot to make sure he's still alive. "Yes, actually, I plan to die fighting them." Faelion replied. The elf's glaives' flames now diminished, he sheathed them away. "So you're willing, to give up your life to kill demons?" Sardonically inquiring. Faelion gulped, nodding. The elven demon hunter would reach down, grabbing Faelion by the collar and yanking him up so that there faces were a mere inch apart. Faelion having to stare directly into the man's empty eye sockets. "Will you do anything to survive another day, and hunt another demon? Until you lose yourself completely?" The demon hunter questions.

For the next two weeks Faelion had to constantly try and keep up with his mentor, Mal'suvius. Every demon Mal'suvius would slay, Faelion had to be there next to him, because afterwards he'd give him a lesson on it's weak points and history. Every demon from then on that was the same, Mal'suvius would first ask Faelion to repeat back its weak points and history. Faelion's knowledge of demons steadily became more vast than ever imagined.

One morning, when Faelion awoke, he wasn't in the common setting. He was in a dark room, in a chair: arms strapped to the armrests, ankles tied to the legs of the chair. He had no idea what was going on, other than that he had no sense of time, and was fed only the bare minimum to survive. Not just this, but he was also subjected to grueling torture methods. Starting with a contraption that extracted the nails from his hand. A masked figure would often beat him with a wooden plank, leaving splinters in Faelion, horrid scars across his back. After what seemed to be an eternity, Faelion was released from his confinement to only learn that it was a test, one he would not soon forget.

A few days after recuperating, Faelion received a pop quiz. The questions were about all the demons which Mal'suvius taught him of weeks ago. It was a short test, or at least there were few questions, but they had to go into explicit detail, nearly word-for-word to what Mal'suvius taught. It was not an easy test, and Faelion did not pass.

Mal'suvius disappeared that day, leaving Faelion in the room without a single trace to find him.

Faelion did not let this stop him. He went back out to hunt demons, only this time he noticed there was a bit more skill involved. More stamina had been built up from the torture he was subjected to, and now demons fell prey to him more often than not. Not only this, but Faelion made sure to study the specific things that he did not understand on the test.

A few days after, Mal'suvius showed up, but was absolutely quiet. On the spot a test was handed over to Faelion, without any exchange of words he seated himself and began the test. All the while Mal'suvius intently watched Faelion, and often examined what Faelion was writing, by peering over his shoulder menacingly. After Faelion was finished, the test was handed over to Mal'suvius, after reading the test, he nodded. "Your training shall continue tomorrow."

"Today we will be crafting your warglaives." Mal'suvius stated, approaching Faelion. Mal'suvius had many fresh wounds, blood beginning to clot them.

Stammering, Faelion said, "I'd... Rather not."

Tsking, "Why?" Mal'suvius questioned.

"I tried using them once, quite frankly, I just don't like them." Faelion bluntly stated, shrugging.

"If not... Then what do you wish to use?" Mal'suvius raised a brow, only allowing you to see farther into the dark spheres that were where eyes should have been.

Faelion unsheathed his weapon, "A sword, or swords, I should say." Holding the weapon in the air proudly.

Mal'suvius shrugged, not giving it much thought, and so he Faelion practiced.

After the weapons were forged, Faelion began to hunt demons under Mal'suvius' guidance. Often practicing against Mal'suvius as well, the time eventually came for Faelion's next test. Mal'suvius had told Faelion to acquire the claws of a felhunter. Which was done indubitably. The next step was going to be most grueling, Faelion would be required to extract his eyes from their sockets.

Faelion stood there, leaning against the wall which supported him. Quietly staring at the claw, sweat dripped down his forehead and his hands became moist. In one shaky movement, the claw plunged into Faelion's right eye, popping it like a zit as ocular fluids splashed onto the floor. Howling in pain he dropped to his knees instantaneously. It wasn't over yet. He had to twist the claw, and succeeded this by swiftly tearing the eye from its socket. The empty socket began to burn, cauterized by the demon blood placed upon the claw. Hands shaking, body trembling, he had to do the same with his left eye, but could not move. Blood poured from his lips while he bit into them to try and suppress his wails of agony. Faelion's head was abruptly pulled back by his hair, Mal'suvius leering over him intently, "Do it." He demanded before letting go. Faelion slowly brought the dagger inches from his eye, but couldn't go any further. He slid his hand along the blade, stopping near the top, this created a barrier. Then, turning to face the wall, he rammed his head forward, the blade penetrating his eye - hand stopping it from plunging too deep. In a display of pure will, he repeated the process from before, gouging out his second eye. After this, a blindfold would be tied around Faelion's head to absorb any excess blood, soon after falling into a coma.

Awaking days later, Faelion noticed something different. His vision was blurred, but he could still see. It was still a shock to him. Over the next few days his vision returned. He was then sent out to attain demon blood when well again. This was done most swiftly, and with this blood Mal'suvius applied the Marks of Dissonance upon Faelion's body. It didn't affect him much, only that he couldn't hold down food, or sleep much the days following their application. After recovering, Mal'suvius and Faelion ventured throughout the land hunting many different demons, furthering Faelion's strength, and allowing him to adjust to his new powers.

Eventually came the final task Faelion would have to undergo.

Mal'suvius approached Faelion, a null look overtaking his visage. "I've found your final test."

Faelion's brows narrowed, "What do you mean... found?"

"I'll explain to you the greatest sacrifice." Mal'suvius continued, "When hunting demons for so long, and absorbing their energy to replenish your wounds, or to bind them away into yourself. You. Will. Eventually lose yourself, and it's up to all future generations of demon hunters to slay those who completely lose themselves to it."

Faelion was intent on listening to his blood elven mentor.

Continuing, "Your final task, is to slay a demon hunter who's gone mad. This also won't be the only one you'll have to slay. One day it will happen to me, and it may be you who will come to finish me. It will happen to you, and you'll be slain accordingly." Taking a moment to catch his breath, "It's because of this that we must continue to train new students such as yourself." With a sly grin brimming, "It takes a demon hunter . . . to kill a hunter."

Faelion had set off after Mal'suvius gave him the relative last-known location of the corrupted hunter. Faelion spent nearly a week attempting to gather information on what the corrupted hunter was doing, and why he was doing it. Faelion wished to learn what the goals of a corrupted hunter were before making his move, out of mere curiosity.

Eventually the day came that he decided to make his move. Faelion found where the corrupted hunter lived, and broke his way in whilst the hunter was out. After searching the house, Faelion pulled himself up onto a support beam, and waited. It was excruciatingly painful to lie there waiting for that moment the corrupted hunter would return home. Faelion constantly played and replayed out the scenario through his head, making adjustments every time, until it was perfect.

An hour later Faelion was startled, nearly losing balance and falling from the rafter. Gathering his composure, Faelion began to breathe more steadied, and quietly. Unsheathing his blades, leaning his weight forward, he prepared to strike. At that moment the corrupted hunter entered. Hesitating, Faelion stopped himself as he began to push forward, but at that moment the corrupted hunter had spotted Faelion. As the corrupted hunter grabbed his blades, Faelion was already flying through the air. The corrupted hunter stepping to the side as Faelion landed, nearly avoiding a fatal strike. The hunter lashed out with a kick to Faelion's side. The elf retaliated by swinging his swords in a large arc, cutting the hunter's arms. Faelion went into a flurry, to keep the corrupted hunter from having enough time to draw his warglaives. The pair fought throughout the entire house: ruining walls, knocking over tables, and leaving blood all over the floor. Even though the corrupted hunter was not able to use his weapons, his clawed hands and formidable strength gave Faelion a run for his money. After wearing the corrupted hunter down Faelion had ended up on top in a struggle, using this chance, Faelion's blade pierced the corrupted hunter's heart. A roar of agony escaped the corrupted hunter's mouth, but he couldn't move. Slowly but surely, he passed from this world.

Faelion's job on the other hand was still unfinished, working quickly the corrupted hunter's heart was dug out, still beating in Faelion's hand he lifted it above his face. Closing his eyes with a quick prayer, opening his jaw wide, while simultaneously crushing the heart in his hands. Blood fell from the heart into Faelion's maw, blood dripping down his arms. The power was overwhelming, Faelion felt what has not been felt for a long time. Pure evil. The rush from the power, the strength he could practically grasp, it was so... tempting. It was only after this that he realized it was the true test: to resist the will to do evil. Slowly pushing himself up, he left silently and returned to Mal'suvius with success.

A week later Faelion entered a dark room lit only by one candle. Mal'suvius stood there silently, leering down upon Faelion. Dropping to his knees, Faelion held a dagger in his hand.

With the dagger, he slit both wrists and blood began to ooze from split flesh. Lifting his wrists above his mouth, swallowing the blood. "With this. I swear, I shall never stop hunting demons, until the end of my days."

Mal'suvius nodded, "You are no longer my apprentice from this day on, and so forth, Faelion."

Personality

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Faelion is a semi-conservative person. After having lived for so many years, though, he has decided upon not really caring exactly what others think about him. It's a lot easier for him to feel this way around the Stormshade Clan, rather than back in Silvermoon where he was simply judged by the mere clothing he wore. He's slow to make friends, and has a natural tendency to be rude before the other person makes an effort to try and befriend Faelion. Since becoming a demon hunter, he’s on a much shorter fuse, and hates when people look at him like he’s different, though has forced himself to become more tolerant of it.

Appearance

• Scale/Height: 6'7"
• Weight: 241 lbs
• Hair: Whitened with age, and exposure to fel magics, occasionally dyed to black.
• Eyes: Only black pits remain where fel-green eyes once resided. The result of a grim and gruesome ritual.

Faelion will only don his blindfold when around those who would rather not see the result of the gift he bestowed upon himself. Blood stains the fabric covering the concavous pits that were once his eyes. His torso has long jet black tattoos stretching downwards all the way to his lower abdomen. Five of them, equally spaced apart from each other, only one at a time would give off a slight shimmer. Other than this he wears nondescript attire which consists of assorted shirts, pants, and robes. Amidst his person are his two weapons: used to fell the demons that plague his home and all of Azeroth. Terro and Dorini, aptly named.

Skills and Abilities

Spectral Sight, Immolation, Mana Burn, Drain Demon