On the Nature of Felhounds

It was a gorgeous afternoon at Falthrien Academy. Then again, the weather in Quel’thalas rarely fell short of idyllic. With golden sunlight, warm breezes, and the occasional puffy white cloud, the elven lands’ eternal springtime was truly something to behold. Still, even by our standards, it was beautiful out – something I was grateful for. It hadn’t been an easy day at the Academy, and a walk was just what I needed to clear my head. Not one, but two very much illegal duels had broken out, I’d had to substitute for a sick Natural History professor, and I still had a heap of essays to grade on a topic so boring it was almost criminal. Did my students care about the history of magic usage in the beautification of Silvermoon City? Definitely not. But did I think it was important for them to learn about? Not in the slightest. But was it still in Headmaster Belladonna’s required curriculum? Of course it was.
“Students should know about magic’s non-utility uses, Gwynnevaera,” I muttered to myself, mocking the Headmaster’s tone of voice. “It’s a status symbol, Gwynnevaera. It will give the students pride, Gwynnevaera.”
I liked and respected Belladonna, sure, but she should really leave the teaching decisions to the teachers. I kicked at a rock on the path in front of me. It flew a short distance and landed in the soft grass to the side. The grass grunted.
“What the…?” Grass didn't usually grunt. Mildly interested, I strode over to investigate. Nestled among the fronds was some sort of creature. It was about the size of a dog, with leathery red skin and a bony, skull-like head without visible eyes or nose. There was a vicious gash along its side, likely from a saber. A green, blood-like ichor seeped from its side. The wound was deep and, judging from the creature’s labored breathing, likely fatal. I vaguely recognized the animal – the green blood indicated it was probably a demon, but it wasn’t a type I remembered reading about.
“Oh, poor baby! What happened to you?” I cooed, crouching down beside it. If it were mobile, I would probably have been terrified, but now the poor thing could barely lift its head. I gently ran a hand through the patch of rough fur on its back. It mustered a growl and I quickly drew my hand back. I couldn’t just leave it here, could I? On the one hand, for a creature as injured as this, doing nothing was a death sentence. But on the other hand, the gash looked as if it had been made by a high elf blade, so it was likely hostile – and therefore not welcome in the Academy. But on the other other hand, levitation and invisibility were both simple spells…

I heaved a sigh of relief as the door to my quarters shut behind me. Smuggling an injured, invisible, floating demon into a highly secured academy was about as easy as it sounded. I dispelled the enchantments on the demon and it flopped to the carpet.
“Let’s get you stitched up, okay?” I said, beginning to rummage through my chest of tailoring supplies. There were academy healers, of course, for when students inevitably got horribly injured, but I had no idea how a fel creature would react to the Light. I was going to have to do this the hard way. Eventually I managed to locate a needle and a spool of sturdier thread. Passing the needle through a candle flame to sterilize it, I steeled myself in preparation for the uncomfortable task ahead of me.
“It’s just thick cloth, Gwynn. It’s fine. You can do it,” I told myself. For an eyeless creature, the demon sure was good at giving baleful looks. I was lucky that it was as immobile as it was - trying to find an anesthetic would certainly raise some questions, which I didn’t have time for.
“This is for your own good, I promise.” I knelt down, threaded the needle, and ran it through the edge of the wound. The demon yelped in response, squirming underneath my touch. More green blood oozed from its side as it moved.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m trying to fix you, alright?” I said softly, petting its bony head. It didn’t have much energy left, and it ceased struggling after only a few moments. But that didn’t stop it from yelping again as I went in for another stitch. My heart ached as I gently but firmly pressed the demon back against the ground. I knew that this was something I had to do if I wanted to save it, and that it would be better off afterwards, but I hated to cause it more pain.
Slowly, agonizingly, I stitched up the gash in the demon’s side. It struggled less and less as I progressed, too exhausted to continue fighting. The sun was beginning to set by the time I finally tied off the thread. Sitting back on my heels, I let out a shaky breath.
“All done. I’m all done, okay? You can rest now,” I murmured, admiring my handiwork. Despite my misgivings, I’d actually done quite a good job. Perhaps stitching skin wasn’t all that different from cloth, after all. I patted the demon on the head and its tail lifted slightly before dropping back to the ground. It almost appeared to be a wag. But no, that was ridiculous. It was canid, sure, but it was still a demon. Demons looked different, thought different, ate different - speaking of which, what did this thing eat?
I let the poor thing to rest and went to my bookshelf. I was reasonably sure that I had a book on demons somewhere in this mess. I once again cursed my lack of organizing habits as I pawed through the haphazard collection, reading the spines.
“The Founding of the Sunwell, no, Mana Addiction and You, no, A Steamy Romance Novel: The Mi- dear Light, definitely no!” I muttered. Then I spotted it, a thin volume squished between two arcane dictionaries. “On the Nature of Demons, there we go!” I exclaimed, tugging it off the shelf. I flipped through the pages, comparing the illustrations to the creature resting on my carpet. Nothing even vaguely resembled it, until I reached the section labeled “On the Nature of Felhounds.” There was the spitting image of my demon - I was already beginning to think of it as mine - locked in combat with a desperate mage.
“Now let’s see what you’d like to eat, eh?” I was talking more to myself than anything, as had become my habit, but the demon seemed to be almost listening. “Diet, here it is. ‘Felhounds were bred and trained to combat spellcasters. They attack those using magic powers, consume their energies, and devour their corpses. However, they have also been observed eating a wide variety of arcane creatures, including dreamrunners, mana wyrms, and even other demons,’” I read aloud. Lovely. So my new pet’s preferred diet was... me. Mana wyrms I could do, though. They were all over the Falthrien campus - a common nuisance, really. Most conveniently for me, they were also easy to kill.
“Be right back, okay? I’m going to find you something to eat. Don’t go anywhere!” Judging from the felhound’s exhausted state, I sincerely doubted it would be moving any time soon. I snatched my satchel from the mess on my desk and tipped it upside down, spilling an assortment of junk out onto the floor. I’ll clean that later, I thought, with absolutely no intention of cleaning it later. Halfway to the door, I paused and turned back to my desk. I hastily scribbled a note on a spare scrap of paper: "To whom it may concern - I’m not feeling well and just want to rest. See you tomorrow. Gwynn." I exited my room, shutting the door and locking it tight behind me. The note I tucked above the door handle, where it was nearly impossible to miss.
It was just about supper time, so faculty and students would be eating in the common area. I was unlikely to be spotted as I moved hurriedly through the halls with a suspiciously large bag at my waist. I didn’t have to go much further than the side door before spotting a pack of mana wyrms. I had always berated my students for feeding the rotten things, but now I said a silent prayer of thanks for the infestation. I cast a flurry of arcane missiles at them and they dropped to the lawn, dead. Feeling a little guilty, I gathered up my felhound’s lunch. Better them than me, I supposed, stuffing the bodies into my satchel. Now I’d look even more suspicious. It couldn’t really be helped, though, so I would just have to get back to my room quickly.
I scurried back inside, eyes darting left and right as I practically ran down the hall. However, I clearly had neglected to look straight ahead, because I rounded the corner and crashed straight into Elucidia. By the Sunwell, I was screwed.
“Professor Duskwraith! I didn’t notice you at supper, where have you been?” she said brightly.
“Um. I wasn’t feeling particularly well.” Was that as lame of an excuse as it sounded? Because telling a healer that you feel ill is the most efficient way to earn a full check-out.
“Oh, is that so? I can take you back to my office if you want me to help. What’s going on?”
“No! Ah, no thank you. It’s just seasonal allergies, I think. Bad ones. I should just rest, really,” I stuttered. Allergies were one of the few maladies that magic couldn’t cure. But there was no way she would buy this, would she?
“Oh, that’s quite understandable. Rest does seem the best thing for it. I can get you a potion to help you sleep, though, if you’d like that?”
“Sure! Yes, that’d - I would like that, thank you.” Not for me, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. Theoretically, the potion should work on demons the same as elves, considering the herbs it was brewed with weren’t magical. I shifted my bag uncomfortably as I followed her down the hall. Light, please don’t let her notice. If I were caught with a satchel full of dead mana wyrms, there would most definitely be questions and a trip to Headmaster Belladonna. I could just come clean about the felhound, of course, but demons were considered dangerous foes and not pets. I’d probably be forced to get rid of it, or even kill it in cold blood. So, secrecy it was.
Thankfully, however, I was able to acquire the potion without further incident, even feigning a yawn as I bade Elucidia farewell. I probably shouldn’t have been lying to a healer like this, but the potion would come in very handy should I need to temporarily sedate the felhound, so there was a creature’s wellbeing at stake here. I forced myself to walk calmly the rest of the way back to my quarters. I found the note in exactly the same place I’d left it; it seemed nobody had tried the door. I re-locked it one I was inside.
I had entered half-expecting to see the place in shambles and the felhound with a chewed pillow in its maw. However, it was no more trashed than it usually was, and the demon was lying peacefully on my carpet, exactly where I’d left it. Did demons even sleep? Maybe the potion would be useless after all. But then it let out what could only be described as a snore, answering my question.
Waking it up was undoubtedly unwise. There was a saying about letting sleeping hounds lie, and it could only be magnified with felhounds. So, in an effort to keep all my body parts attached, I simply took the dead wyrms out of my bag and placed them in front of the demon. It appeared to almost sniff the air, a rather strange gesture coming from a creature without a nose. Then again, the book had mentioned how felhounds could “scent out” magic, so perhaps it could sense its meal in other ways. In any case, it raised its head, seeming to inspect the food before it. Tentatively, it licked one of the wyrms with a grotesquely long tongue, then devoured it in one gulp. The next one it sort of drained. It was odd to watch as the vitality of the wyrm disappeared, until it was barely a husk. The demon ate it anyway, crunching with a nauseating sound I could gladly have gone my entire life without hearing. Now I really did feel ill.
The last six mana wyrms went down similarly to the second. I watched with morbid fascination, disgusted and extremely grateful I was not the one being drained of magic and devoured. Well, not yet, at least. As a mage with significant arcane power, I must have looked like a five course buffet to the demon. I swallowed hard as licked its chops, swinging its head in my direction. It occurred to me what a gruesome way to go that would be. However, I saw that my fear was for naught. It curled up into a weirdly adorable ball and let out a satisfied grunt. I smiled, already fond of the thing. But how the fel does one take care of a pet felhound?

The book, On the Nature of Demons, was invaluable to me over the next few weeks. I read it from cover to cover, and had the section on felhounds nearly memorized. I learned that while demons could be either male or female, only succubi could reproduce, so with others you just had to guess from their behavior. I decided that my demon was probably a male. I also learned felhounds were the only demon in existence known to defecate - I didn’t need a book to find that one out. But arcane fire was useful for disposing of many things, I discovered, not just dead bodies (that's another story, though. Don't worry about it). I didn’t dare let the demon out of my room during the day, only letting him walk with me in the small hours of the morning. It wasn't unusual for me to be out that late at night, as my typical sleep "schedule" frequently involved starlit strolls. I'd hardly ever run into anyone else during my years of insomniac excursions, and these nights were no exception.
The felhound lived in my quarters the rest of the time, having settled himself into a little nest of blankets and pillows in a formerly clear corner of the room. He slept there while I was off teaching in other parts of the school, but he’d come sit with me under my desk while I prepared lesson plans. I was well and thoroughly attached to the little guy, and it seemed he was beginning to warm up to me, too. He could move freely by the end of the second week, and his wound was largely healed by the third, but he generously refrained from tearing my throat out while I slept. However, I wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer. The maintenance and midnight rablings had me sleeping only a few hours a night, and it was starting to show. Even my vigorous beauty routine couldn’t hide the dark circles deepening under my eyes. And my felhound was getting restless, too.
I found myself turning back to the book in search of some solution. There, in the last few pages, I discovered a section on the harnessing of demons and the people who did: warlocks. It was the Orcish Horde who’d had the most notable warlocks, as they’d burned and blistered through Azeroth nearly thirteen years ago. The ruinous Ritssyn, the gruesome Gul’dan, the nightmarish Ner’zhul. Of the more powerful fel-wielding orcs, only Ritssyn’s whereabouts were generally known. He’d established a base in Orgrimmar, the fearsome Horde city on the other side of the Great Sea.
The beginnings of an idea were forming in my mind. If the primitive orcs could utilize their demons with such effectiveness, imagine what a high elf such as myself could accomplish! It seemed they used a powerful but destructive brand of magic to augment their demons’ powers as well. I’d heard plenty about the dangers of fel, of course - how the user could become the used, how it would consume your very soul, how it would amplify your most hateful desires and leave you a maddened husk of your former self. But that was only the weak ones, of course - the ones without the will to wield such a powerful force on their own. I was the daughter of two talented mages, and I had centuries of training to accompany my inherited gift. I knew power, I knew how to use it without letting it consume you. So what if fel had corrupted even a noble titan before. I was strong enough. I could handle it. Whatever risk I took in harnessing this force, it would be worth the reward.