[Story and bio] Baeldnir the Burned

[Deleted]

The time of his ascension was nigh.

Baeldnir looked over the gathered cultists from atop the altar. They were already channeling the raw powers of the Master. Not long ago, he had been one of them, a face in the crowd.

No more.

The chant was lulling him into a trance. He let the feeling wash over him.

***

The clang of swords. The sweat and shouts. The laughter.

Training with his twin Baeldrun always took a toll on the young dwarf. He finally dropped the dulled blade and just stood there panting. »Ye're rubbish, mate!« Baeldrun was grinning through his beard. Even there his brother was ahead of Baeldnir whose chin was covered with a thick fuzz. »Och yea? Ye just wait a little, I'll beat the crap outta ye!«

He smiled with his mouth, but in his eyes was reflected the truth. He was sick of always being the weaker of the twins. He would find a better way, a way that would help him shine.

***

»In the Light we gather to empower our brother. In its grace, he will be made anew. In its power, he shall educate the masses. In its strength, he shall combat the shadow. And in its wisdom, he shall lead his brethren to the eternal rewards of paradise. By the grace of the Light, may your brethren be healed. By the strength of the Light, may your enemies be undone.«

The elder paladin placed the silver epaulets atop the dwarf's shoulders and handed him a runed mace. »Arise Baeldnir, Knight of the Silver Hand.«

The dwarf raised the mace high and saw it glow with the Light. He turned to the crowd in Stormwind's cathedral and sought out his brother's face. Baeldrun nodded happily, all the while clapping.

***

»So, brother, ye up for a little rematch?« Baeldnir was grinning from ear to ear. »I promise ta go easy on ye.« His twin returned the grin. »Ach lad, even if ye use every trick in that libram o' yours ye ain't bloody likely to beat me.« He ordered another ale.

Baeldnir was not about to let his brother wave him away like that. »Come on, ye big chicken!« Baeldrun shook his head. »Come on, ye're a pally now. Ye don' need ta prove anythin' ta me.« »Ye're jus' scared ta see me beat ye!« taunted the paladin.

His brother unstrapped the heavy axe from his back. »Lad, ye're in fer a world o' hurt...«

***

Baeldnir spat out blood. This... how could it have happened?

His brother stood above him, holding both the axe and mace. He sighed. »Come on, ye weren't the only one who trained.« He smiled. »And ye still fight like crap.«

Something snapped within Baeldnir then. He leapt to his feet. »Och yea? Ye've always been so clever! Ye've always been the better, eh? Well...« the words betrayed him as his cheeks flushed red. A crowd had gathered, a crowd had witnessed him being beaten by a... a damn brawler! A paladin of the Silver Hand falling before a damned fighter who had never received any formal training! And some of them... some were sniggering!

»Get outta me sight,« he spat at his brother.

***

The memories... meaningless now. That had been another person, another place, another time. He was not the 'noble' paladin anymore.

As the elements embraced him, Baeldnir cried out in ecstasy.

***

Suddenly, pain ripped through his concentration. He had never felt anything like it. He was being burned alive!

He felt his knees buckle and saw the ground coming up to meet him. He tried to scream, but only felt his lips char and burn as liquid fire spouted from his mouth.

The ritualists lay dead or dying around him, killed by some sort of explosive device. Someone had interrupted his ascension!

»I knew it. I knew back in Stormwind that ye'd taken it all too seriously.« Baeldrun was leaning on one of the standing stones of the altar. His face was twisted with contempt. »I loved ye once, brother. Afore ye fell ta them whispers. Look where they brought ye.«

The once-paladin gritted his cracked teeth and took in the changes that had befallen him. The ritual was supposed to change him into an ascendant, an elemental of great power. This... this was not supposed to happen!

His skin was black as soot, as were his once-red beard and hair. In places, skin and flesh had cracked, liquid fire running from the open wounds like blood. His lower half and right hand had been completely flayed and seemed entirely made from lava. »Bael...« he muttered, the pain of being burned alive making thinking almost impossible. »Baeldrun...« He cackled through broken lips. »Baeldrun... Baeldrun... ye... ye daft, stupid lad...« He rolled over to lie on his back and saw his brother step closer. »Ye stupid, stupid lad...«

Suddenly Baeldnir lashed out with his molten hand, the magma splashing into his brother's face. The stricken dwarf screamed in agony and tried to reach for his weapon, but the half-ascendant was on his feet already. His molten fist caught the other dwarf's hand and burned it to cinders instantaineously. Baeldrun screamed at the monster that had once been his brother, a knight of the Silver Hand, begged him for mercy.

Mercy that would not be given...

***

Name: Baeldnir

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Race/Class: Dwarf ???

Physical appearance: Average size for a Dwarf. His interrupted ascension has left him in a horrible state, where he seems like a half-elemental monster. To keep himself from falling apart (similar to Deathwing) he had to encase his lower half in elementium armour.



Personality: Cruel and twisted, but strangly honourable when fighting what he thinks worthy opponents.

Skills: When the Light forsake him, he chose to follow the path of a Twilight's Hammer elementalist specialising in fire. He is capable of changing the shape of his molten right hand into anything he desires.

Languages: Dwarven, Common, Kalimag, a little Orcish