He returned first to the farmer who had pointed out the old mines to him as a hideaway of the bandits. That farmer and the others sheltering in his fields saw Seryth coming a long way off, and fell to their faces in fear. Seryth rode through them — sometimes over them — without care, like a king amongst peasants.
On reaching the farmer’s doorstep, Seryth demanded he identify all those who were loyal to the Council of the Black Harvest, or Seryth would destroy him where he stood. Stuttering, peeing himself, the farmer pointed, seemingly at random, at some of those in his fields. Ormmoth turned and ripped their lifeforces from them immediately, not caring if the people he killed were really allied with the demons or not.
Next he went after the bandits and the gnolls. Many of those people turned right around and fearfully pledged loyalty to him when he demonstrated his power, but not all of them. The latter he slew, holding their corpses up as evidence that their kin were better off following Seryth’s lead than resisting.
The rest of the bandits, who now served him, Seryth turned to the dirty work of keeping the farmers from amassing and rebelling against him. He had gotten a taste of the thrill of leading so many men, wielding so much power, and he wasn’t about to let go it.
And, in the back of his head, he knew if he ever lost his grip on the province, they would all come for his blood for his crimes.
Seryth swept through the outer farmsteads like a whirlwind, culling Council or suspected Council — and any and all rebels — as he went. He was vaguely aware that not all of those he killed were dissidents, but were instead simply disliked pariahs offered as scapegoats so that his displeasure didn’t fall on the rest of a frightened farmstead. Rumor of his coming had spread quickly indeed, and the infamy pleased him.
Through it all, Fordrellon watched him, his face growing grimmer and older at each killing, each beatdown, but still the paladin didn’t interfere.
Seryth reached the Saldean farm within weeks of returning to Westfall. The Saldeans had always been among those more friendly to Seryth and his foster father, paying good money for Daelin’s pelts when he couldn’t make the trip all the way to Stormwind and keeping an eye on Seryth when he had been too young to look after himself while Daelin was away.
The farmer’s face was hard as Seryth rode up to him on top his felsteed. “I do not know what has gotten into you, child, but you will find nobody worth killing here,” he told Seryth.
Seryth reined his felsteed in, considering how to punish the farmer for his use of the term “child”. Maybe Saldean recognized the look, but he deliberately and slowly turned away from Seryth, like he might an angry bear, and disappeared back into his house. Seryth heard the snick of a lock.
“Fordrellon,” said Seryth.
“Yes?” the quel’dorei asked wearily.
“The coming invasion with the demons. We will need all sorts of soldiers, won’t we?”
Fordrellon didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Seryth summoned a pair of felhounds to himself. “Chase these farmers and anyone else capable of serving to Sentinel’s Hill,” he told the demons. “They are now conscripts of the Westfall Division.”
“Division of what?” asked Fordrellon warily.
“My army” said Seryth.
Seryth was as good as his word. He saw the farmers gathered at Sentinel’s Hill — whether they liked it or not — and trained in combat. The Nathssysn informed his knowledge of what drills to use, which farmers to make an example of when they considered rebelling, and which to promote when they showed a particular knack with the brutality he was teaching them.
Fordrellon faded into the background during these times. One night he simply disappeared. Seryth found he didn’t have the time or interest in caring about what happened to the paladin, instead focusing on his work with the growing army.
Some of the farmers Seryth saw fit to grant extra powers to. He took them away from his main fighting force, performing rituals on them. Some were willing, some were not. Those that were not fared worse, their forms changing and twisting with the fel and shadow energies they couldn’t incorporate into their psyches. Those that accepted Seryth’s leadership maintained more of their original appearance, only an unholy glow to their eyes or a subtle shift of their personality to more bloodthirsty apparent to onlookers.
After he had recruited what he considered a sizeable force, Seryth returned to Dalaran and the remnants of the Council hiding there. He came expecting to have to drive his point — that the Council now either served him or would die — home with the end of his blade, but he was somewhat surprised to find them falling in line, praising him as Ormmoth.
He didn’t question it too deeply, though he still made an example of some of their most popular leaders. Then he used their pooled power to summon the Westfall Division to Dalaran. These troops he dispatched out to Val’Sharah in carefully chosen units, most led by the farmers he had granted fel strength to.
Then Seryth withdrew into the Council’s chambers which he had made his own, planning his next moves.
Within days, he had a visitor. Jalinde entered his chambers, moving like a deer spooked.
For his part, Seryth was glad to see her. “I’ve been hard at work, as you can see,” he told her proudly. “I think we are well prepared for the invasion at this point.”
“Seryth,” said Jalinde quietly, her tone sombering him in a moment. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve come into my own,” Seryth corrected her. “Isn’t this what you wanted? The power to defend your beloved forests?”
“Yes, but…not like this. Look around you. Look at the suffering you’ve inflicted. You could’ve been a demonic invasion yourself with the damage you’ve done here.”
Seryth sat up, incensed. Neither he or Ormmoth was used to being questioned anymore. It didn’t please him, especially coming from Jalinde, who out of all people should’ve been on his side.
“Maybe I can make it up to you,” he said placatingly, while he plotted silently in his head how to bring her back to heel.
“How could you possibly make up THIS?” Jalinde shouted at him, her voice cracking.
It was then Seryth knew it was of no use. He would have to force her to appreciate him, appreciate the future they could have, could build together.
So he did.
2 thoughts on “The Story of Seryth”