I usually try to avoid talking about my family. It is still a sore subject with me. I’ve not spoken to my family for some time.

I was born Bael Steelkeg. My clan was a part of the Wildhammer clan. After the second war, my father was one of the dwarfs who answered the call to join Lord Uther in his new Order of the Silver Hand and when I came of age, I follow in my father’s footsteps and served by side.

Until the plague. My father and I answered the to Lord Uther’s side and with him we marched with the army to Stratholme. That mad prince ordered to slaughter innocents, but Lord Uther would have none of it. Words were exchanged between the two and as I turned to follow Lord Uther, my father ordered me to follow Arthas. I told him that I would rather fight a city of those monsters than to raise my hammer to even a single innocent,. My father agree with the prince that there were no innocent, only future ghouls and ordered my as my father to attack.

I walked away. Not a day goes my that I do not regret my actions. I should have attacked those who would slaughter the innocent as a Paladin of the Light ought to have done, but I could no more raise my arm against my brothers than I could the innocents. That is my eternal shame.

My father and I never spoke again after that. I eventually found myself following Lady Proudmore to the new lands and other than writing to the clan elders to strip me of my name and cast me from my clan, my father followed Arthas to Northrend. I have heard nothing of his fate.

How I have come to be known as Demonwolf and the time between those dark days and today is a story for another day.

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