The Story of Seryth

Chapter 27: Seryth didn't have long to cherish his triumph over the blade. Almost immediately, as Fordrellon continued to stare at him, rage, hunger, and hatred ripped through him like three different shards piercing his head. He had a brief moment of lucidity, of the knowing he had really done it now, biting off more than he could chew, before the shards of emotion fused together inside him just as the blade had in his hand.

Fordrellon seemed to realize what was going on. “Seryth…”

“You will address me as Ormmoth,” said Ormmoth. He didn’t recognize the voice, and tore at his throat reflexively. It wasn’t the same thickness and roughness of his previous wielder, but it would do–

“Seryth,” said Fordrellon again, and he sounded scared. Some distant part of Ormmoth, perhaps the part the quel’dorei was invoking with that name, wondered: it had never heard such dread from this mortal before…

“Address me properly, worm!” he shouted, and lifted the blade over the puny quel’dorei’s head in dire threat.


Abruptly, the quel’dorei fell to his knees, bowing his head. “And so you have corrupted me, too,” he whispered. “Seryth–Ormmoth. The invasion still threatens. Your power is needed in fighting the demons, in defending Val’Sharah.” The quel’dorei lifted his head, and his eyes shone with tears. “I know you’re still in there. Think of the forests. Think of your lover, of Jalinde. She needs you. Your strength. They all do.”

Seryth faltered. Hatred for the paladin curled deeper into his chest, and he would have liked nothing better than to plunge his blade into the quel’dorei and watch his blood run.

“If you can’t think of that,” Fordrellon continued, “Then think of the rest of the Council, which deserves your fury just as much as the coming demons. They wished to use you.”


The Council. Yes, there had been a plot there, Ormmoth recalled. Such scheming was better suited to warlocks of lesser power than his, but if the paladin spoke true about a coming invasion, then Ormmoth needed more followers to meet it properly.

He sheathed the sword — the shards regrouping into the facsimile of a scabbard at his waist. At this, Seryth stumbled as the rush of power went out of him. Fordrellon snapped up his head to meet his gaze.

It was like looking at someone through prison bars, though he wasn’t sure if the cage was his or the paladin’s.

But the shard inside him vibrated, reminding him of the voidwalker’s presence — and dominance.

“Where else is the Council hiding?” Seryth demanded of Fordrellon. “We have work to do!”

Reluctantly, Fordrellon came to his feet. “I believe there was a sect of them in Westfall.”

The shadow he had seen in the mines, Seryth remembered. “Then that is where we are headed next,” he said.

2 thoughts on “The Story of Seryth”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *