When he was younger he knew what he wanted to become. Mal had known from the first time he remembered seeing it in his mind. The elaborate armor of the Duskwatch, the gleam of their weapons, the way they walked, held themselves- it was fascinating. They were fascinating and he used to spend countless minutes of his time fantasizing about wearing the armor and patrolling the street. A symbol to all of Suramar. Dreams of becoming a hydromancer flew out the window, replaced by dreams of plate and magic.

It seemed like forever but he liked to think that  he was able to persuade his parents to allow him to start to learn how to use a weapon. He recalled the rack of weapons- polearms, swords, axes, wands, daggers. An entire array of weapons that all invited him to hold them.

The first weapon he picked up was a spear that was twice his height and heavy. Despite Mal’s best efforts, even his careful attempt to make an arc with the weapon had caused him to spin and fall. He picked up daggers, but they felt odd. Even when he considered they had been made for an adult’s hands he merely gave them a brief test swing. Axes were weird to swing, hammers were for housework.

When his wine colored eyes spotted a bastard sword, he knew. The sheath was beautiful- dark leather with silver thread. It wasn’t the biggest sword- it was simple in its beauty. The hilt felt perfect to hold, despite how heavy it was. Something in him felt complete when he  held the sword and ran to his parents.

They probably shouldn’t have bought it for him. But they laughed and held hands on the way home as Mal ran ahead with his sword in his arms.

–

He’d always loved that sword. He’d taken care of it, polished it, sharpened and got it repaired. His parents bought it for him. A reminder of how much they loved him. It was plain but it was a vivid memory inside his heart. Like now, as he struggled. The creatures in the Dead Scar were supposed to be dull, witless undead and if he  brought in enough head it was a easy reward. Enough for a meal anyway and he had grown tired of hunting his own food.

Made up of malice and spite, the shadowy undead had tried to slip into his blind spot, attempting to slide bony fingers into his chest. The fingers had met mail and scrabbled in a attempt to find his flesh. Mal tried to back away quickly and return the attack with one of his own but the undead was relentless. Its assault followed Mal’s every step, and Mal was forced to keeps himself on the defensive. A low rasping hiss of needle against bone sounded and the more Mal was forced to back up, the more he became aware of stepping back into the Dead Scar.

The sword was an extension of himself and as the undead tried to duck beneath his defense. His shield raised up to defend himself as he delivered a perfect blow to the shadowy undead’s face. The undead lunged forward, turning just enough that only part of the rotting face was cut off. Mal spat out a curse, far to late, as bony clawed hands grabbed at his cuirass, sharp bony fingers scratching flesh.  

Its rotting, half there face burnt into his memory as the smell assaulted him. Sensing victory, a low cry escaped its putrid lips that sounded like a dying child.

“BACK OFF.”

His temper lost, frustrated by the ease in which the undead snuck up on and passed his defenses so quickly, Mal lashed out with magic. Magic manifested for him best when he was angry and it slammed into the undead like a cannonball. Rotting flesh and weak bone were not meant to withstand such magical force. But even if it had Mal’s plate boot put an end to that as he angrily ensured the undead would never return. They all seemed to need heads to ‘live’.

–

“Love you.” He wrapped his arms around his father. Pop was tall enough to reach the clouds and stronger than the wall around Suramar. When Pop picked him up he felt warm and safe, his father’s grin like the blue moon in the sky. Bright and better than the sun. His Father was better than everyone in the city. Mother hugged him next, holding him tightly. He heard her heartbeat as he pressed his head against her chest, smelt her soap. “I love you too Mother.” They smiled when they left.

It was the last time they picked him up. After it was the first time he practiced with his sword by himself.

–

Without care for his quickly cooling meal, Mal braided his dirty white hair. As he continued to sit he could feel his body slowing down, asking for rest and a hot bath. He ignored it, however, and reached for his utensil.

What was this place to him now? Home? No. A place to stay. Yes. That was Quel’thalas for now. Home was lost to him now. 

He missed all of it. All of them, all of it. He missed having home, being loved.

He sipped his soup.