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Resurgence of the Light [Warcraft]
- Thread starter Kordelius
- Start date
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
Everything is possible I suppose.
Why? I like Bleach, and always thought that line was cool.
damican
Not too sore, are you?
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2022
- Messages
- 387
I cringed so hard i broke my collar bone
LokKi
Why so serious?
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2019
- Messages
- 1,169
Like if it's from anime but sounds good, then it's cringe? You know there's a lot of philosophical stuff there that is good for you, even in this phrase, so calling it all cringe for quoting it from anime is strange, IMHO. Cringeworthy even
Chapter 24
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
Darion fought with relentless determination against the ceaseless onslaught of Death Knights. Each foe he vanquished was swiftly replaced by another, creating an unending tide of adversaries. From towering, heavily armored warriors to agile and cunning combatants, they represented a spectrum of races, each bringing its own unique fighting style to the fray.
The massive Tauren wielded their weapons with brute strength, their strikes landing like thunderous blows. Darion had to maneuver with swift footwork, avoiding the powerful swings and retaliating with precise strikes to exploit their vulnerabilities. Conversely, the Gnomes darted around him, launching rapid, elusive attacks that tested his reflexes and agility. Their small stature belied their swiftness and cunning, making them tricky adversaries to counter. Amidst this chaotic battlefield, Darion faced a multitude of challenges, each demanding a different response.
Yet, despite his prowess and adaptability, the unrelenting onslaught began to wear him down. With each clash of weapons, every parry, dodge, and counterattack, his movements grew slower and more labored. Fatigue crept into his muscles, causing each swing of his blade to feel heavier than the last. His endurance, though formidable, was not infinite, and the unending tide of enemies began to take its toll.
As the battle dragged on, Darion's injuries accumulated, and the weariness of prolonged combat weighed heavily upon him. Each opponent he felled was swiftly replaced by another, and the strain of constant fighting began to chip away at his resolve. Despite his valiant efforts, the unyielding stream of adversaries proved to be an insurmountable challenge, slowly draining his strength and resolve.
As Darion struggled to his feet after the Light's Chosen had saved him from the brink of death, a chilling realization washed over him. The Light, an embodiment of hope and healing, had shown him mercy once, but its emissary had made it clear that there would be no second chance. He had been given a stark warning, explicit in its gravity and weight.
Those solemn words echoed through his mind like a chilling breeze on a desolate night. They weren't mere words of caution; they were a direct admonition. The Light's Chosen had offered a reprieve but also delivered an ultimatum. Darion understood with a shudder that failure wasn't an option. If he faltered again, he wouldn't be saved. He would face oblivion, forgotten in the depths of this desolate fortress.
This realization gripped him with a cold, bone-chilling fear. To hear such a definitive proclamation from a being of pure Light, an entity of hope and redemption, sent shivers down his spine. There was no room for error or hesitation. His fate hung in a precarious balance, and the weight of the consequences bore down on him like an unforgiving weight.
Amidst the relentless onslaught, Darion battled fiercely, his sword flashing in the dimly lit corridors of Naxxramas. His adversaries, relentless and unyielding, crowded around him, pressing in with a coordinated ferocity that threatened to overwhelm him.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat-soaked and weary. The relentless assault had taken its toll, and for a fleeting moment, doubt clouded Darion's mind. His adversaries, heedless of his fatigue, closed in, their weapons poised for the final strike.
As the Death Knights piled onto him, their blades poised to deal the finishing blow, Darion gritted his teeth and gathered the last remnants of his strength. The pressure of their attack was relentless, but his resolve remained unbroken.
Meanwhile, the Light's Chosen remained eerily motionless, standing apart from the fray, a silent and imposing figure in the midst of the chaos. The Death Knights, knowing the power he possessed, dared not approach him, for to do so was a swift death sentence.
A particularly vicious blow from a larger Tauren death knight struck Darion with a force that sent him stumbling to his knees, his muscles burning with fatigue. The weight of his sword seemed to double as he struggled to regain his footing, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the chamber.
As he observed the Tauren raising its sword, poised to cleave him in twain, a surge of emotions flooded Darion: anger, helplessness, yet amidst it all, a fierce resolve to prevail, to survive, and to triumph. He cursed and prayed fervently, yearning for his weakened arm to rise against the impending blow.
Uncharacteristically, unlike any other time before, his prayers were answered. Strength surged through his body, knitting his wounds and infusing him with renewed vigor. With a swift and determined motion, he sprang to his feet, seizing the opportunity to strike back at the Tauren.
In an adrenaline-fueled rush, he swiftly incapacitated the Tauren assailant that had almost ended him. The victory, albeit hard-earned, bolstered his resolve further, filling him with the determination to press on against the unrelenting adversaries before him.
The silence that followed his display was broken by approaching footsteps. Darion turned to see Light's Chosen slowly making his way towards him until he stood beside him. Darion turned his head to gaze at him. "About time," Light's Chosen remarked, with a teasing tone
Darion's eyes widened at the words. Was this the purpose of the test? Why this unconventional approach? There had to be easier ways to guide someone toward embracing the Light! Doubt and confusion lingered in Darion's mind as he pondered the cryptic method of the Light's Chosen.
"Warriors are forged in battle, Darion Mograine," Light's Chosen spoke with a tinge of solemnity. "Merely wielding the Light does not inherently make one a champion of it. There are those who become powerful through its embrace, such as Sally Whitemane, but your path must diverge if you are to fulfill your destiny."
Darion's brow furrowed as he sought clarity. "And what, exactly, am I meant to become?" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
The focus of Light's Chosen shifted entirely toward Darion, his intense gaze pressing upon him, enveloping the space between them in a contemplative silence. "A champion of the Light," he pronounced with deliberate emphasis, the weight of those words hanging in the air.
Darion swallowed hard, the gravity of the statement hitting him with a profound impact. The weighty responsibility of becoming a champion of the Light stirred a mixture of emotions within him—doubt, uncertainty, but also a glimmer of hope and purpose that had been missing for far too long.
And the battles continue, few more chapters and then this part of the story will be done.
Hope you enjoyed this.
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
Cheers.
The massive Tauren wielded their weapons with brute strength, their strikes landing like thunderous blows. Darion had to maneuver with swift footwork, avoiding the powerful swings and retaliating with precise strikes to exploit their vulnerabilities. Conversely, the Gnomes darted around him, launching rapid, elusive attacks that tested his reflexes and agility. Their small stature belied their swiftness and cunning, making them tricky adversaries to counter. Amidst this chaotic battlefield, Darion faced a multitude of challenges, each demanding a different response.
Yet, despite his prowess and adaptability, the unrelenting onslaught began to wear him down. With each clash of weapons, every parry, dodge, and counterattack, his movements grew slower and more labored. Fatigue crept into his muscles, causing each swing of his blade to feel heavier than the last. His endurance, though formidable, was not infinite, and the unending tide of enemies began to take its toll.
As the battle dragged on, Darion's injuries accumulated, and the weariness of prolonged combat weighed heavily upon him. Each opponent he felled was swiftly replaced by another, and the strain of constant fighting began to chip away at his resolve. Despite his valiant efforts, the unyielding stream of adversaries proved to be an insurmountable challenge, slowly draining his strength and resolve.
As Darion struggled to his feet after the Light's Chosen had saved him from the brink of death, a chilling realization washed over him. The Light, an embodiment of hope and healing, had shown him mercy once, but its emissary had made it clear that there would be no second chance. He had been given a stark warning, explicit in its gravity and weight.
Those solemn words echoed through his mind like a chilling breeze on a desolate night. They weren't mere words of caution; they were a direct admonition. The Light's Chosen had offered a reprieve but also delivered an ultimatum. Darion understood with a shudder that failure wasn't an option. If he faltered again, he wouldn't be saved. He would face oblivion, forgotten in the depths of this desolate fortress.
This realization gripped him with a cold, bone-chilling fear. To hear such a definitive proclamation from a being of pure Light, an entity of hope and redemption, sent shivers down his spine. There was no room for error or hesitation. His fate hung in a precarious balance, and the weight of the consequences bore down on him like an unforgiving weight.
Amidst the relentless onslaught, Darion battled fiercely, his sword flashing in the dimly lit corridors of Naxxramas. His adversaries, relentless and unyielding, crowded around him, pressing in with a coordinated ferocity that threatened to overwhelm him.
His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat-soaked and weary. The relentless assault had taken its toll, and for a fleeting moment, doubt clouded Darion's mind. His adversaries, heedless of his fatigue, closed in, their weapons poised for the final strike.
As the Death Knights piled onto him, their blades poised to deal the finishing blow, Darion gritted his teeth and gathered the last remnants of his strength. The pressure of their attack was relentless, but his resolve remained unbroken.
Meanwhile, the Light's Chosen remained eerily motionless, standing apart from the fray, a silent and imposing figure in the midst of the chaos. The Death Knights, knowing the power he possessed, dared not approach him, for to do so was a swift death sentence.
A particularly vicious blow from a larger Tauren death knight struck Darion with a force that sent him stumbling to his knees, his muscles burning with fatigue. The weight of his sword seemed to double as he struggled to regain his footing, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the chamber.
As he observed the Tauren raising its sword, poised to cleave him in twain, a surge of emotions flooded Darion: anger, helplessness, yet amidst it all, a fierce resolve to prevail, to survive, and to triumph. He cursed and prayed fervently, yearning for his weakened arm to rise against the impending blow.
Uncharacteristically, unlike any other time before, his prayers were answered. Strength surged through his body, knitting his wounds and infusing him with renewed vigor. With a swift and determined motion, he sprang to his feet, seizing the opportunity to strike back at the Tauren.
In an adrenaline-fueled rush, he swiftly incapacitated the Tauren assailant that had almost ended him. The victory, albeit hard-earned, bolstered his resolve further, filling him with the determination to press on against the unrelenting adversaries before him.
The silence that followed his display was broken by approaching footsteps. Darion turned to see Light's Chosen slowly making his way towards him until he stood beside him. Darion turned his head to gaze at him. "About time," Light's Chosen remarked, with a teasing tone
Darion's eyes widened at the words. Was this the purpose of the test? Why this unconventional approach? There had to be easier ways to guide someone toward embracing the Light! Doubt and confusion lingered in Darion's mind as he pondered the cryptic method of the Light's Chosen.
"Warriors are forged in battle, Darion Mograine," Light's Chosen spoke with a tinge of solemnity. "Merely wielding the Light does not inherently make one a champion of it. There are those who become powerful through its embrace, such as Sally Whitemane, but your path must diverge if you are to fulfill your destiny."
Darion's brow furrowed as he sought clarity. "And what, exactly, am I meant to become?" His voice carried a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
The focus of Light's Chosen shifted entirely toward Darion, his intense gaze pressing upon him, enveloping the space between them in a contemplative silence. "A champion of the Light," he pronounced with deliberate emphasis, the weight of those words hanging in the air.
Darion swallowed hard, the gravity of the statement hitting him with a profound impact. The weighty responsibility of becoming a champion of the Light stirred a mixture of emotions within him—doubt, uncertainty, but also a glimmer of hope and purpose that had been missing for far too long.
~~~~
As Uther gazed upon the defeated form of Patchwerk, a storm of sorrow and anger surged within him. Sorrow enveloped him for the innocent lives that had been sacrificed to create this grotesque monstrosity, while his anger flared intensely toward those who orchestrated such vile deeds.
His anger transformed into unyielding resolve, and Uther lifted his head defiantly. He vowed that nothing of this wretched place would remain standing after he had finished. Never again would he allow such atrocious acts to be committed unchecked.
His unwavering resolve resonated with the Light, granting him a surge of strength. Strength, which he used to give form to his anger and resolve, manifested in wings of radiant energy bursting forth from his back.
The wings radiated an ethereal brilliance, glowing with an otherworldly light that cascaded around Uther, imbuing him with an aura of divine protection and unshakable determination. They unfurled behind him, each feather a shimmering embodiment of celestial might.
With these radiant wings, Uther felt an immense sense of purpose and strength. He knew that he was no longer just a paladin; he was a force of divine justice, a beacon of hope, and a harbinger of righteous retribution against the darkness that had wrought such abominations.
The soldiers surrounding him were struck with awe at the sight of his ascension, their disbelief palpable as they beheld the extraordinary spectacle. Uther, too, took a brief moment to survey his newfound wings, testing their movement to comprehend their capabilities. But his focus swiftly returned to the nightmarish scene before him—a grotesque display of mutilated bodies suspended on hooks, ghastly tables adorned with body parts, and jars containing macabre substances.
His jaw clenched in a display of resolve, Uther spread his newly unfurled wings with a mighty flap, sending forth shards of piercing Light in every direction. The destructive brilliance eradicated the grim contents of the chamber, putting an end to the desecration that had plagued these souls for too long.
With wings of Light guiding his ascent, Uther soared into action. His determination was unwavering as he charged headlong into the approaching horde of undead constructs, his fury propelling him forward with unstoppable force. Each clash was met with resounding impact, his righteous wrath shattering the constructs to pieces. He moved with purpose, delivering retribution upon those who had inflicted such abominable suffering upon innocent lives.
The scene unfolded with a cinematic intensity, as Uther's powerful wings illuminated the darkness, casting a radiant brilliance amidst the grim surroundings. Each strike of his mighty blows reverberated through the chamber, the echoes resonating with the weight of his vengeance. His actions were not only a testament to his unyielding determination but also a pledge to lay the tormented souls to rest and bring justice to those responsible for their agony.
His anger transformed into unyielding resolve, and Uther lifted his head defiantly. He vowed that nothing of this wretched place would remain standing after he had finished. Never again would he allow such atrocious acts to be committed unchecked.
His unwavering resolve resonated with the Light, granting him a surge of strength. Strength, which he used to give form to his anger and resolve, manifested in wings of radiant energy bursting forth from his back.
The wings radiated an ethereal brilliance, glowing with an otherworldly light that cascaded around Uther, imbuing him with an aura of divine protection and unshakable determination. They unfurled behind him, each feather a shimmering embodiment of celestial might.
With these radiant wings, Uther felt an immense sense of purpose and strength. He knew that he was no longer just a paladin; he was a force of divine justice, a beacon of hope, and a harbinger of righteous retribution against the darkness that had wrought such abominations.
The soldiers surrounding him were struck with awe at the sight of his ascension, their disbelief palpable as they beheld the extraordinary spectacle. Uther, too, took a brief moment to survey his newfound wings, testing their movement to comprehend their capabilities. But his focus swiftly returned to the nightmarish scene before him—a grotesque display of mutilated bodies suspended on hooks, ghastly tables adorned with body parts, and jars containing macabre substances.
His jaw clenched in a display of resolve, Uther spread his newly unfurled wings with a mighty flap, sending forth shards of piercing Light in every direction. The destructive brilliance eradicated the grim contents of the chamber, putting an end to the desecration that had plagued these souls for too long.
With wings of Light guiding his ascent, Uther soared into action. His determination was unwavering as he charged headlong into the approaching horde of undead constructs, his fury propelling him forward with unstoppable force. Each clash was met with resounding impact, his righteous wrath shattering the constructs to pieces. He moved with purpose, delivering retribution upon those who had inflicted such abominable suffering upon innocent lives.
The scene unfolded with a cinematic intensity, as Uther's powerful wings illuminated the darkness, casting a radiant brilliance amidst the grim surroundings. Each strike of his mighty blows reverberated through the chamber, the echoes resonating with the weight of his vengeance. His actions were not only a testament to his unyielding determination but also a pledge to lay the tormented souls to rest and bring justice to those responsible for their agony.
~~~~
As Noth the Plaguebringer lay sprawled on the floor, his feeble attempts to drag himself away futile against Sylvanas' approach. Her steps echoed ominously in the chilling silence that followed the swift annihilation of Noth's minions and his own downfall.
Sylvanas advanced towards him, her gait deliberate and menacing, each step resonating with a grim determination. Standing over the fallen necromancer, a sneer etched itself onto her countenance. With a swift and commanding gesture, she conjured a magnificent spear of radiant Light, piercing through Noth's body and impaling him into the cold stone floor.
As Noth emitted his final shuddering breath, Sylvanas had already moved away, leaving his vanishing form behind. To her, he was nothing but a pitiful wretch, ensnared by whispers of power and reaping the consequences of his own foolishness.
There may have been a time when Noth posed a genuine threat, a time when Sylvanas might have regarded him with caution. Yet, those days had long since passed. The Light's Chosen had bestowed upon her power that surpassed any the Scourge could hope to wield.
In the pursuit of her vengeance, Sylvanas would harness this newfound power to its fullest extent. And once her mission was fulfilled, she would pledge her loyalty to Light's Chosen, even if it meant following him into the realm of Death itself.
Sylvanas advanced towards him, her gait deliberate and menacing, each step resonating with a grim determination. Standing over the fallen necromancer, a sneer etched itself onto her countenance. With a swift and commanding gesture, she conjured a magnificent spear of radiant Light, piercing through Noth's body and impaling him into the cold stone floor.
As Noth emitted his final shuddering breath, Sylvanas had already moved away, leaving his vanishing form behind. To her, he was nothing but a pitiful wretch, ensnared by whispers of power and reaping the consequences of his own foolishness.
There may have been a time when Noth posed a genuine threat, a time when Sylvanas might have regarded him with caution. Yet, those days had long since passed. The Light's Chosen had bestowed upon her power that surpassed any the Scourge could hope to wield.
In the pursuit of her vengeance, Sylvanas would harness this newfound power to its fullest extent. And once her mission was fulfilled, she would pledge her loyalty to Light's Chosen, even if it meant following him into the realm of Death itself.
~~~~
Bolvar gasped for breath, his chest heaving heavily as he surveyed the aftermath of the brutal battle against the Nerubians. The fight had drained him, leaving him fatigued and shaken. It was a struggle even before the colossal crypt lord emerged from the shadows, its devastating strikes cutting through his men as if they were mere paper. Only the presence and power of Lady Sally Whitemane, a beacon of the Light, spared them from the clutches of death.
Witnessing the fallen rise again under the potent influence of Lady Whitemane's abilities rendered Bolvar speechless. Her command over the Light was awe-inspiring, yet the radiance of her power didn't match the grace of her words. Instead of offering encouragement or solace, her demeanor was one of contempt and scorn toward their perceived weakness. She sneered at their struggles, expressing open disdain for the perceived shortcomings of those she deemed as undeserving of the chance granted to them. Her threats of retribution hung in the air, promising death to anyone who failed to meet her expectations. All the while, she unleashed torrents of Holy Fire upon their enemies, incinerating the undead without a trace of mercy.
In truth, Bolvar found Lady Whitemane to be an enigma among wielders of the Light. Her disposition stood in stark contrast to the compassionate and guiding nature he associated with priests and paladins. Yet, in this cursed realm, he had witnessed countless anomalies—once-dead men and women resurrected, their spirits bound to the world again, and the undead themselves infused with the very essence of the Light. Despite her harsh demeanor, Bolvar couldn't deny the sheer power emanating from Lady Whitemane and her abilities.
Though he harbored a wish for her to possess a gentler temperament, he couldn't question her prowess. Her strength in the face of adversity was undeniable, and in this relentless battle against the forces of darkness, her power was a much-needed asset.
Witnessing the fallen rise again under the potent influence of Lady Whitemane's abilities rendered Bolvar speechless. Her command over the Light was awe-inspiring, yet the radiance of her power didn't match the grace of her words. Instead of offering encouragement or solace, her demeanor was one of contempt and scorn toward their perceived weakness. She sneered at their struggles, expressing open disdain for the perceived shortcomings of those she deemed as undeserving of the chance granted to them. Her threats of retribution hung in the air, promising death to anyone who failed to meet her expectations. All the while, she unleashed torrents of Holy Fire upon their enemies, incinerating the undead without a trace of mercy.
In truth, Bolvar found Lady Whitemane to be an enigma among wielders of the Light. Her disposition stood in stark contrast to the compassionate and guiding nature he associated with priests and paladins. Yet, in this cursed realm, he had witnessed countless anomalies—once-dead men and women resurrected, their spirits bound to the world again, and the undead themselves infused with the very essence of the Light. Despite her harsh demeanor, Bolvar couldn't deny the sheer power emanating from Lady Whitemane and her abilities.
Though he harbored a wish for her to possess a gentler temperament, he couldn't question her prowess. Her strength in the face of adversity was undeniable, and in this relentless battle against the forces of darkness, her power was a much-needed asset.
And the battles continue, few more chapters and then this part of the story will be done.
Hope you enjoyed this.
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
Cheers.
Last edited:
Ayashi
Connoisseur.
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2018
- Messages
- 16,176
Small issue here. Ludicium means game. Iudicium with a capital i means judgement which is what i believe you meant to use.
There's no specific part to quote, but i'm a bit surprised that protag didn't make a pitstop while he was at Tirisfal... Sure the danger isn't time-critical but it's still kind of a big deal. And an opportunity to gather more paladin allies.
I am having a hard time stomaching how utterly self-centered and crass Chromie is being here. Did she really forget that Alexstrasza just spent months, if for years, bound regularly raped, watching her children be enslaved and thrown into the war meat grinder as pawns for the Horde?
Overall the story is nice, permanent outside PoV makes for an interesting change from the usual OP SI power wank, though the sheer fanatism going on basically everywhere makes me more than a little uncomfortable with The Light right now...
Last edited:
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
Small issue here. Ludicium means game. Iudicium with a capital i means judgement which is what i believe you meant to use.
There's no specific part to quote, but i'm a bit surprised that protag didn't make a pitstop while he was at Tirisfal... Sure the danger isn't time-critical but it's still kind of a big deal. And an opportunity to gather more paladin allies.
I am having a hard time stomaching how utterly self-centered and crass Chromie is being here. Did she really forget that Alexstrasza just spent months, if for years, bound regularly raped, watching her children be enslaved and thrown into the war meat grinder as pawns for the Horde?
Overall the story is nice, permanent outside PoV makes for an interesting change from the usual OP SI power wank, though the sheer fanatism going on basically everywhere makes me more than a little uncomfortable with The Light right now...
Huh, guess the translation given to me was wrong. Thanks I'll fix it.
I had considered the whole Tirisfal thing, but I wanted this to be more focused on the whole Lich King and Undead thing, since in my other stories Arthas get's just simply shit on.
Well I wanted to show the Bronze's hypocrisy more so to do that Chromie had to be a little more unlikeable, hope it doesn't feel too forced.
Ye I wanted it to be told more from those around him then the main protag. (Is he even the main protag?) I thought it would make for an interesting way to tell it.
Well the story is called - Resurgence of the Light... It's gonna be fine...
Chapter 25
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
As Darion walked alongside Light's Chosen, the tension in the air was palpable. His journey thus far had been a trial by fire, each step fraught with peril and challenges. While Darion grappled with the newfound connection to the Light, facing ever-stronger adversaries, Light's Chosen seemed to glide effortlessly, unperturbed by the dangers that surrounded them. It was a stark contrast that Darion couldn't ignore.
Approaching the place where the Four Horsemen awaited, a maelstrom of emotions churned within Darion. The long-awaited opportunity to liberate his father, Alexandros Mograine, from the clutches of the Scourge was now within his grasp. Yet, the anticipation, trepidation, and fear were almost suffocating as the massive door loomed closer.
Sweat trickled down Darion's face, a testament to the weight of this moment and the uncertainty that lay beyond the doors. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him out of his internal turmoil. It was Light's Chosen, his presence a grounding force in the midst of Darion's spiraling thoughts.
"Steady yourself, Darion. The moment is at hand. Your final trial," Light's Chosen intoned with a solemnity that resonated in the air.
Taking a deep breath, Darion consciously allowed the Light's energy and an unyielding resolve to surge within him. With a simple nod to Light's Chosen, who removed his hand from Darion's shoulder, the young warrior steeled himself for what lay ahead.
The weight of expectation and the gravity of the situation hung in the air as Light's Chosen strode forward, his presence invoking a powerful force that caused the colossal doors to yield inward at his approach, the sound echoing through the chamber like a declaration of imminent confrontation.
As Darion stood alongside Light's Chosen, he beheld the assembled adversaries – Lady Blaumeux, Thane Korth'azz, Sir Zeliek, and, to his astonishment, his father, Alexandros Mograine. Gripping his sword tighter, he took measured, heavy steps into the room, steeling himself for the confrontation.
"Fools! Flee while you still can!" Zeliek's voice trembled with genuine fear, a rare occurrence for their enemies. The sole female among them interrupted in a seductive tone, "Now, now, don't scare them away so quickly. Let us introduce ourselves."
"Enough of your babbling. Time to fight!" Korth'azz's roar filled the air, clearly eager for a confrontation. He began charging directly at Darion and Light's Chosen, flanked by Blaumeux and Zeliek, while Alexandros remained silent and unmoving.
However, Light's Chosen responded with a soft yet commanding, "Enough." A simple wave of his hand caused a ripple of energy that dismounted the charging trio, their forms ensnared in radiant chains of Light. Silenced by gags forming over their mouths, they were pulled inexorably towards Light's Chosen. Meanwhile, their mounts met a swift and fiery fate, burned to ash by the searing Light that struck them.
The room crackled with a tense energy, the adversaries bound and silenced, rendered powerless against the might of Light's Chosen. Darion stood in awe of the display, a mixture of disbelief and reverence washing over him as he witnessed the overwhelming power wielded by his companion.
Darion shifted his gaze toward his father, who remained impassive even after the defeat of his companions. Alexandros hadn't acknowledged the spectacle, instead silently observing Darion.
"Foolish boy, why have you come here? Only death and misery await you in this accursed place. There is no hope, no Light here," Alexandros rasped, slowly drawing the corrupted Ashbringer from his back. "Flee, my child, while you still can. There can be no saving me."
"You're wrong, father. The Scourge will fall, Light will triumph, and I will free you," Darion responded, determination ringing in his voice.
Their words hung in the air, charged with emotion and unspoken history, as Darion readied himself for what was to come.
Darion squared off against his father, his heart heavy with determination. The chamber crackled with tension as their blades clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the air. The staccato rhythm of their combat echoed in the dimly lit hall, a symphony of clashing wills and opposing ideals.
The room felt charged with conflicting energies—the pulsating brilliance of the Light emanating from Darion's strikes countered by the ominous shadows that enveloped Alexandros's movements.
With each swing of his sword, Darion poured his resolve into the radiant energy of the Light. He moved with purpose and agility, his motions almost choreographed as he parried his father's strikes. His face was a mask of determination, illuminated by the glow of the holy power he wielded.
In stark contrast, Alexandros fought with a ferocity that betrayed the taint of the Scourge upon him. His attacks were forceful and calculated, each swing of the corrupted Ashbringer carrying an air of malevolence. Dark tendrils coiled around the blade, emanating an unsettling aura that clashed with the brilliance of Darion's Light.
Their battle seemed timeless, a clash not just of swords but of ideologies—Light against darkness, hope against despair. Each strike reverberated through the chamber, a testament to the intensity of their conflict.
As the fight continued, Darion's resolve grew stronger. He drew upon his determination to save his father, channeling the Light's power with newfound conviction. Each swing of his sword was a testament to his unwavering will, driving back the shadow that had enveloped Alexandros.
In a decisive moment, Darion gathered the Light's energy, a radiant surge building within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a blinding burst of holy energy that engulfed Alexandros and shattered the corrupted Ashbringer.
The darkness dissipated, and Alexandros fell to his knees, his body freed from the Scourge's grip. Darion, standing victorious, looked upon his father with a mix of sorrow and hope. He approached Alexandros, the weight of their history heavy upon them both.
Gently, Darion extended a hand, offering solace and comfort. "Rest now, father. You are free," he whispered, the words filled with a profound sense of closure and redemption. Alexandros, released from the corruption that had bound him, gazed at his son with gratitude before finding peace in the embrace of the Light.
As Darion knelt beside the remains of his father, Light's Chosen summoned the scattered shards of the Corrupted Ashbringer. He called upon the Light, enveloping the shards in its radiant energy. The corruptive taint was purged, and the legendary sword was reforged, now gleaming with a pristine brilliance.
Grasping his blade firmly, the Light's Chosen approached Darion, who stood solemnly where his father's form had become ash. "You have done well, Darion. He suffers no longer," the Light's Chosen praised, a measure of pride resonating in his voice.
Darion was taken aback by the sudden praise, his wide-eyed gaze reflecting his surprise. He watched with a mix of confusion and trepidation as the Light's Chosen's presence seemed to intensify.
Then, unexpectedly, a radiant aura surged from the Light's Chosen, enveloping Darion and causing him to startle. He instinctively turned toward the source, his expression betraying a sense of awe and uncertainty. The Light's Chosen's authoritative demeanor was overwhelming, and the next command that came was firm, though not shouted—it seemed to reverberate through Darion's very being.
"Kneel."
As if compelled by an unseen force, Darion dropped to one knee. He tried to maintain a composed countenance, though inwardly he was filled with uncertainty and anticipation. What would come next? What did this moment signify?
"Darion Mograine," the Light's Chosen's powerful voice resonated. "Are you ready to make your oath?"
The weight of the moment seemed to hang heavily in the air. The gravity of the question was palpable, as if the words carried the destiny of Darion's future. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to accept whatever was about to transpire. This was a turning point, a moment that could change the course of his life forever.
Collecting himself, Darion steadied his nerves and breathed deeply before speaking, each word infused with unwavering determination. "I, Darion Mograine, devout champion of the Light, do solemnly swear to embody its sacred principles. I vow to be a paragon of virtue, guided by compassion, courage, and unwavering faith. I shall stand as a shield against darkness, defending the innocent and upholding righteousness in all realms. I dedicate myself to healing the wounded, vanquishing evil, and spreading hope and illumination to all in need. I pledge my unwavering devotion and my very being to the service of the Light and its righteous cause. May its radiance empower my every action. Light, guide and strengthen me always."
As Darion concluded his oath, a radiant pillar of Light descended upon him, a tangible sign of the Light accepting his solemn vow. As he rose, Light's Chosen approached, offering the Ashbringer to Darion. "Use it well," he imparted, the weight of the legendary blade palpable in the air. Darion reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling a rush of emotions as he wielded the sword that once belonged to his father.
The tears that welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat were testament to the weight of this moment. Darion Mograine, now anointed by the Light, stood tall with the Ashbringer in hand, a solemn embodiment of his oath and a beacon of hope in the face of darkness.
Light's Chosen placed his hand upon Darion's shoulder in silent support, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could. Turning away, he strode purposefully toward the captives who looked on, wide-eyed and incredulous, unable to comprehend the unfolding events.
Before the gathered undead, Light's Chosen stood tall, his gaze piercing through each of them until it settled upon Zeliek. Anger began to radiate from him, causing both Blaumeux and Korth'azz to instinctively distance themselves from Zeliek, sensing the rising fury. Light's Chosen's hand moved with purpose. With a swift and decisive motion, he clenched his fist, and in an instant, Blaumeux and Korth'azz were consumed by a blinding surge of Light, leaving only Zeliek, trembling and alone in the wake of their sudden demise.
Addressing Zeliek with a voice that carried both authority and a stern warning, Light's Chosen spoke in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding or defiance.
"I grant you a single opportunity to seek redemption for your grave transgressions. Break free from Kel'Thuzad's insidious control, and seek solace and absolution within the Light for the blasphemies you have committed. This is your only chance to find redemption, or face the full force of my wrath."
The weight of the words echoed through the air, carrying a sense of inevitability and impending judgment. The atmosphere crackled with tension as Zeliek gazed up, his fear and confusion palpable. It was a moment of reckoning, a chance at redemption offered amidst the turmoil and despair, and Zeliek was faced with a decision that would determine his fate.
Approaching the place where the Four Horsemen awaited, a maelstrom of emotions churned within Darion. The long-awaited opportunity to liberate his father, Alexandros Mograine, from the clutches of the Scourge was now within his grasp. Yet, the anticipation, trepidation, and fear were almost suffocating as the massive door loomed closer.
Sweat trickled down Darion's face, a testament to the weight of this moment and the uncertainty that lay beyond the doors. Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him out of his internal turmoil. It was Light's Chosen, his presence a grounding force in the midst of Darion's spiraling thoughts.
"Steady yourself, Darion. The moment is at hand. Your final trial," Light's Chosen intoned with a solemnity that resonated in the air.
Taking a deep breath, Darion consciously allowed the Light's energy and an unyielding resolve to surge within him. With a simple nod to Light's Chosen, who removed his hand from Darion's shoulder, the young warrior steeled himself for what lay ahead.
The weight of expectation and the gravity of the situation hung in the air as Light's Chosen strode forward, his presence invoking a powerful force that caused the colossal doors to yield inward at his approach, the sound echoing through the chamber like a declaration of imminent confrontation.
As Darion stood alongside Light's Chosen, he beheld the assembled adversaries – Lady Blaumeux, Thane Korth'azz, Sir Zeliek, and, to his astonishment, his father, Alexandros Mograine. Gripping his sword tighter, he took measured, heavy steps into the room, steeling himself for the confrontation.
"Fools! Flee while you still can!" Zeliek's voice trembled with genuine fear, a rare occurrence for their enemies. The sole female among them interrupted in a seductive tone, "Now, now, don't scare them away so quickly. Let us introduce ourselves."
"Enough of your babbling. Time to fight!" Korth'azz's roar filled the air, clearly eager for a confrontation. He began charging directly at Darion and Light's Chosen, flanked by Blaumeux and Zeliek, while Alexandros remained silent and unmoving.
However, Light's Chosen responded with a soft yet commanding, "Enough." A simple wave of his hand caused a ripple of energy that dismounted the charging trio, their forms ensnared in radiant chains of Light. Silenced by gags forming over their mouths, they were pulled inexorably towards Light's Chosen. Meanwhile, their mounts met a swift and fiery fate, burned to ash by the searing Light that struck them.
The room crackled with a tense energy, the adversaries bound and silenced, rendered powerless against the might of Light's Chosen. Darion stood in awe of the display, a mixture of disbelief and reverence washing over him as he witnessed the overwhelming power wielded by his companion.
Darion shifted his gaze toward his father, who remained impassive even after the defeat of his companions. Alexandros hadn't acknowledged the spectacle, instead silently observing Darion.
"Foolish boy, why have you come here? Only death and misery await you in this accursed place. There is no hope, no Light here," Alexandros rasped, slowly drawing the corrupted Ashbringer from his back. "Flee, my child, while you still can. There can be no saving me."
"You're wrong, father. The Scourge will fall, Light will triumph, and I will free you," Darion responded, determination ringing in his voice.
Their words hung in the air, charged with emotion and unspoken history, as Darion readied himself for what was to come.
Darion squared off against his father, his heart heavy with determination. The chamber crackled with tension as their blades clashed, the sound of steel on steel ringing through the air. The staccato rhythm of their combat echoed in the dimly lit hall, a symphony of clashing wills and opposing ideals.
The room felt charged with conflicting energies—the pulsating brilliance of the Light emanating from Darion's strikes countered by the ominous shadows that enveloped Alexandros's movements.
With each swing of his sword, Darion poured his resolve into the radiant energy of the Light. He moved with purpose and agility, his motions almost choreographed as he parried his father's strikes. His face was a mask of determination, illuminated by the glow of the holy power he wielded.
In stark contrast, Alexandros fought with a ferocity that betrayed the taint of the Scourge upon him. His attacks were forceful and calculated, each swing of the corrupted Ashbringer carrying an air of malevolence. Dark tendrils coiled around the blade, emanating an unsettling aura that clashed with the brilliance of Darion's Light.
Their battle seemed timeless, a clash not just of swords but of ideologies—Light against darkness, hope against despair. Each strike reverberated through the chamber, a testament to the intensity of their conflict.
As the fight continued, Darion's resolve grew stronger. He drew upon his determination to save his father, channeling the Light's power with newfound conviction. Each swing of his sword was a testament to his unwavering will, driving back the shadow that had enveloped Alexandros.
In a decisive moment, Darion gathered the Light's energy, a radiant surge building within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a blinding burst of holy energy that engulfed Alexandros and shattered the corrupted Ashbringer.
The darkness dissipated, and Alexandros fell to his knees, his body freed from the Scourge's grip. Darion, standing victorious, looked upon his father with a mix of sorrow and hope. He approached Alexandros, the weight of their history heavy upon them both.
Gently, Darion extended a hand, offering solace and comfort. "Rest now, father. You are free," he whispered, the words filled with a profound sense of closure and redemption. Alexandros, released from the corruption that had bound him, gazed at his son with gratitude before finding peace in the embrace of the Light.
As Darion knelt beside the remains of his father, Light's Chosen summoned the scattered shards of the Corrupted Ashbringer. He called upon the Light, enveloping the shards in its radiant energy. The corruptive taint was purged, and the legendary sword was reforged, now gleaming with a pristine brilliance.
Grasping his blade firmly, the Light's Chosen approached Darion, who stood solemnly where his father's form had become ash. "You have done well, Darion. He suffers no longer," the Light's Chosen praised, a measure of pride resonating in his voice.
Darion was taken aback by the sudden praise, his wide-eyed gaze reflecting his surprise. He watched with a mix of confusion and trepidation as the Light's Chosen's presence seemed to intensify.
Then, unexpectedly, a radiant aura surged from the Light's Chosen, enveloping Darion and causing him to startle. He instinctively turned toward the source, his expression betraying a sense of awe and uncertainty. The Light's Chosen's authoritative demeanor was overwhelming, and the next command that came was firm, though not shouted—it seemed to reverberate through Darion's very being.
"Kneel."
As if compelled by an unseen force, Darion dropped to one knee. He tried to maintain a composed countenance, though inwardly he was filled with uncertainty and anticipation. What would come next? What did this moment signify?
"Darion Mograine," the Light's Chosen's powerful voice resonated. "Are you ready to make your oath?"
The weight of the moment seemed to hang heavily in the air. The gravity of the question was palpable, as if the words carried the destiny of Darion's future. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to accept whatever was about to transpire. This was a turning point, a moment that could change the course of his life forever.
Collecting himself, Darion steadied his nerves and breathed deeply before speaking, each word infused with unwavering determination. "I, Darion Mograine, devout champion of the Light, do solemnly swear to embody its sacred principles. I vow to be a paragon of virtue, guided by compassion, courage, and unwavering faith. I shall stand as a shield against darkness, defending the innocent and upholding righteousness in all realms. I dedicate myself to healing the wounded, vanquishing evil, and spreading hope and illumination to all in need. I pledge my unwavering devotion and my very being to the service of the Light and its righteous cause. May its radiance empower my every action. Light, guide and strengthen me always."
As Darion concluded his oath, a radiant pillar of Light descended upon him, a tangible sign of the Light accepting his solemn vow. As he rose, Light's Chosen approached, offering the Ashbringer to Darion. "Use it well," he imparted, the weight of the legendary blade palpable in the air. Darion reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling a rush of emotions as he wielded the sword that once belonged to his father.
The tears that welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat were testament to the weight of this moment. Darion Mograine, now anointed by the Light, stood tall with the Ashbringer in hand, a solemn embodiment of his oath and a beacon of hope in the face of darkness.
Light's Chosen placed his hand upon Darion's shoulder in silent support, a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could. Turning away, he strode purposefully toward the captives who looked on, wide-eyed and incredulous, unable to comprehend the unfolding events.
Before the gathered undead, Light's Chosen stood tall, his gaze piercing through each of them until it settled upon Zeliek. Anger began to radiate from him, causing both Blaumeux and Korth'azz to instinctively distance themselves from Zeliek, sensing the rising fury. Light's Chosen's hand moved with purpose. With a swift and decisive motion, he clenched his fist, and in an instant, Blaumeux and Korth'azz were consumed by a blinding surge of Light, leaving only Zeliek, trembling and alone in the wake of their sudden demise.
Addressing Zeliek with a voice that carried both authority and a stern warning, Light's Chosen spoke in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding or defiance.
"I grant you a single opportunity to seek redemption for your grave transgressions. Break free from Kel'Thuzad's insidious control, and seek solace and absolution within the Light for the blasphemies you have committed. This is your only chance to find redemption, or face the full force of my wrath."
The weight of the words echoed through the air, carrying a sense of inevitability and impending judgment. The atmosphere crackled with tension as Zeliek gazed up, his fear and confusion palpable. It was a moment of reckoning, a chance at redemption offered amidst the turmoil and despair, and Zeliek was faced with a decision that would determine his fate.
~~~~
In the dimly lit chamber of Naxxramas, the clash of steel against steel reverberated, echoing off the cold walls. Uther, empowered by the Light, stood resolute at the forefront of his men, a halo of radiance enveloping him. The tendrils of Light extended from his back, coalescing into majestic, ethereal wings that shimmered with divine brilliance.
Opposite them stood Thaddius, a colossal figure towering over the battlefield. His hulking form crackled with surges of electrical energy, ominous and foreboding. The abomination was a twisted amalgamation of flesh and machinery, a grotesque symbol of the Scourge's perverse experimentation.
The air crackled with tension as the two forces stared each other down. Uther's determination was unwavering, a blazing fire fueled by righteousness and the fervent desire to vanquish this monstrosity.
"FOR THE LIGHT!" Uther's voice boomed with a thunderous command, the rallying cry echoing throughout the chamber. With an indomitable roar, his men surged forward, their weapons held high, guided by the unwavering resolve of their commander.
Thaddius bellowed, a guttural and inhuman sound that echoed through the chamber. His massive form lurched forward, crackling with arcane energy that danced between his grotesque appendages.
The clash was ferocious, a ballet of steel and lightning. Uther moved with grace and purpose, his wings casting shimmering beams of light across the battlefield. His mace struck true, each blow infused with the might of the Light, sending shockwaves of divine power through the air.
Thaddius retaliated with brute force, his thunderous strikes reverberating across the chamber. Arcs of electrical energy surged toward Uther's men, who valiantly held their ground, shielded by the radiance of the Light.
The battle raged on, the tension escalating with every swing of a weapon, every blast of arcane energy. Uther and his men fought with unyielding determination, pressing forward against the overwhelming might of Thaddius.
As the battle reached its apex, Uther's resolve burned brightly. His wings shimmered with an intense glow as he gathered the Light's energy within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a surge of divine power, channeling it into a devastating strike aimed at Thaddius.
The abomination let out an unearthly howl as the Light's energy engulfed him, searing through his twisted form. Arcs of lightning danced chaotically, but Uther stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.
In a blinding flash of brilliance, Thaddius fell, defeated by the unyielding valor of Uther and his men. The chamber fell silent, save for the soft hum of the dissipating arcane energy.
Uther breathed heavily, his men gathered around him, victorious yet weary from the arduous battle. His wings dissipated into tendrils of Light that faded into the ether, leaving behind a sense of awe and reverence.
As the dust settled, Uther stood as a beacon of triumph, a testament to the unbreakable spirit of the Light. The victory was hard-won, but the resolve of the righteous had prevailed once more against the darkness that sought to consume them.
Uther's breaths came in heavy gasps as he knelt, his fingers clutched tightly around the handle of his mace. The confrontation with the abominations spawned within the Construct Quarter of Naxxramas had finally drawn to a brutal close.
The weight of the horrors they had witnessed bore down heavily upon him. Images of unspeakable atrocities, twisted and vile, flashed through his mind—their ghastly forms etching themselves deeply into his memory. Uther grimaced, recalling the grotesque sights that would churn the strongest of stomachs. He had watched as more than one of his men, overwhelmed by the revulsion, had emptied the contents of their stomachs onto the accursed ground. He held no judgment for their reaction; in fact, he empathized deeply with their visceral repulsion. There were moments when his own insides wrenched, the urge to expel the horror clawing at his throat. Yet, against that instinctual response stood his iron will, bolstered by a righteous anger that burned within him, anchoring him to this grim reality.
His gaze swept over the battered and bloodied forms of his comrades. Each of them had borne witness to the abominable creations that defied the Light itself. They were brave souls who had stood unwaveringly against the unspeakable terrors housed within these walls.
The air around them was thick with a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional groan of the wounded or the soft rustle of armor as someone shifted their weight. The aftermath of the battle lay before them—a grim testament to the struggle they had just endured. Strewn across the cold stone floors were the remnants of the grotesque experiments—the twisted remains of once-human forms that had been defiled and transformed into abominations. The scene was a tableau of horror that had no place in the realm of the living.
Uther felt a pang of sorrow and rage collide within him. Sorrow for the innocent lives mutilated and desecrated in the pursuit of unholy power, and rage for those responsible for these heinous acts. These emotions mingled within him, fueling the righteous resolve that coursed through his veins.
As he stood amidst the aftermath, his spirit remained unbroken. He was the beacon of unwavering determination, a testament to the resilience of the righteous against the darkness that sought to consume them.
Opposite them stood Thaddius, a colossal figure towering over the battlefield. His hulking form crackled with surges of electrical energy, ominous and foreboding. The abomination was a twisted amalgamation of flesh and machinery, a grotesque symbol of the Scourge's perverse experimentation.
The air crackled with tension as the two forces stared each other down. Uther's determination was unwavering, a blazing fire fueled by righteousness and the fervent desire to vanquish this monstrosity.
"FOR THE LIGHT!" Uther's voice boomed with a thunderous command, the rallying cry echoing throughout the chamber. With an indomitable roar, his men surged forward, their weapons held high, guided by the unwavering resolve of their commander.
Thaddius bellowed, a guttural and inhuman sound that echoed through the chamber. His massive form lurched forward, crackling with arcane energy that danced between his grotesque appendages.
The clash was ferocious, a ballet of steel and lightning. Uther moved with grace and purpose, his wings casting shimmering beams of light across the battlefield. His mace struck true, each blow infused with the might of the Light, sending shockwaves of divine power through the air.
Thaddius retaliated with brute force, his thunderous strikes reverberating across the chamber. Arcs of electrical energy surged toward Uther's men, who valiantly held their ground, shielded by the radiance of the Light.
The battle raged on, the tension escalating with every swing of a weapon, every blast of arcane energy. Uther and his men fought with unyielding determination, pressing forward against the overwhelming might of Thaddius.
As the battle reached its apex, Uther's resolve burned brightly. His wings shimmered with an intense glow as he gathered the Light's energy within him. With a resounding cry, he unleashed a surge of divine power, channeling it into a devastating strike aimed at Thaddius.
The abomination let out an unearthly howl as the Light's energy engulfed him, searing through his twisted form. Arcs of lightning danced chaotically, but Uther stood firm, his eyes blazing with determination.
In a blinding flash of brilliance, Thaddius fell, defeated by the unyielding valor of Uther and his men. The chamber fell silent, save for the soft hum of the dissipating arcane energy.
Uther breathed heavily, his men gathered around him, victorious yet weary from the arduous battle. His wings dissipated into tendrils of Light that faded into the ether, leaving behind a sense of awe and reverence.
As the dust settled, Uther stood as a beacon of triumph, a testament to the unbreakable spirit of the Light. The victory was hard-won, but the resolve of the righteous had prevailed once more against the darkness that sought to consume them.
Uther's breaths came in heavy gasps as he knelt, his fingers clutched tightly around the handle of his mace. The confrontation with the abominations spawned within the Construct Quarter of Naxxramas had finally drawn to a brutal close.
The weight of the horrors they had witnessed bore down heavily upon him. Images of unspeakable atrocities, twisted and vile, flashed through his mind—their ghastly forms etching themselves deeply into his memory. Uther grimaced, recalling the grotesque sights that would churn the strongest of stomachs. He had watched as more than one of his men, overwhelmed by the revulsion, had emptied the contents of their stomachs onto the accursed ground. He held no judgment for their reaction; in fact, he empathized deeply with their visceral repulsion. There were moments when his own insides wrenched, the urge to expel the horror clawing at his throat. Yet, against that instinctual response stood his iron will, bolstered by a righteous anger that burned within him, anchoring him to this grim reality.
His gaze swept over the battered and bloodied forms of his comrades. Each of them had borne witness to the abominable creations that defied the Light itself. They were brave souls who had stood unwaveringly against the unspeakable terrors housed within these walls.
The air around them was thick with a haunting silence, broken only by the occasional groan of the wounded or the soft rustle of armor as someone shifted their weight. The aftermath of the battle lay before them—a grim testament to the struggle they had just endured. Strewn across the cold stone floors were the remnants of the grotesque experiments—the twisted remains of once-human forms that had been defiled and transformed into abominations. The scene was a tableau of horror that had no place in the realm of the living.
Uther felt a pang of sorrow and rage collide within him. Sorrow for the innocent lives mutilated and desecrated in the pursuit of unholy power, and rage for those responsible for these heinous acts. These emotions mingled within him, fueling the righteous resolve that coursed through his veins.
As he stood amidst the aftermath, his spirit remained unbroken. He was the beacon of unwavering determination, a testament to the resilience of the righteous against the darkness that sought to consume them.
~~~~
Sylvanas Windrunner stood amidst the eerie gloom, her presence commanding and resolute. Flanked by her Lightforged undead rangers and other undead forces, they faced the towering and grotesque form of Loatheb, a monstrous abomination infused with the deadly Plague of Undeath.
Loatheb's presence was an oppressive force, emanating a sickly aura that tainted the air around him. The vile spores released from his twisted form hung in the air, a haunting reminder of the dreadful power he possessed.
"With me!" Sylvanas commanded, her voice ringing clear amidst the tension that suffused the chamber. Her rangers, armed with bows of radiant Light and unwavering determination, formed a defensive formation around her, ready to unleash their deadly volleys upon the abomination.
Loatheb let out a guttural roar that echoed through the chamber, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned fighters. With lumbering steps, the monstrosity charged, toxic spores trailing in its wake.
Sylvanas drew her bow and released a volley of ethereal arrows infused with the Light. Her rangers followed suit, unleashing a barrage of radiant projectiles that streaked through the air, aimed at Loatheb's twisted form.
The Lightforged undead engaged with unyielding determination, their weapons shimmering with divine energy as they clashed against the abomination's hulking frame. The chamber erupted into chaos, the clash of weapons mingling with the roars of Loatheb and the battle cries of Sylvanas' forces.
Despite their valor, Loatheb's noxious presence began to take its toll. The spores unleashed by the abomination spread through the air, causing Sylvanas' troops to falter momentarily, their movements sluggish as the deadly plague threatened to consume them.
Sylvanas gritted her teeth, rallying her troops with unwavering resolve. "Push forward! Do not let the darkness claim you!" Her command cut through the fear, reigniting the fighting spirit within her forces.
With renewed determination, the Lightforged undead and rangers surged forward, their attacks becoming more coordinated and fierce. Arrows of Light found their mark, striking true against Loatheb's corrupted form, eliciting pained howls from the abomination.
The battle raged on, each strike and parry a testament to the unyielding will of Sylvanas' forces. As Loatheb faltered under the relentless assault, Sylvanas seized the opportunity. Drawing upon her own formidable skills, she unleashed a devastating flurry of arrows imbued with the Light's power, aimed at the abomination's weakened form.
With a deafening roar, Loatheb stumbled backward, succumbing to the onslaught. The chamber fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of Sylvanas and her victorious troops.
Sylvanas stood triumphant amidst the aftermath, a sneer on her lips as she surveyed the defeated abomination and the fallen Scourge forces. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain, relishing in the moment of victory over the pitiful creations of the Scourge.
As the chamber echoed with the weight of their triumph, Sylvanas turned to her assembled forces, her voice ringing out with a commanding presence. "The Scourge falters before us. Let their defeat be a testament to the might of the Light's Vengeance!"
Loatheb's presence was an oppressive force, emanating a sickly aura that tainted the air around him. The vile spores released from his twisted form hung in the air, a haunting reminder of the dreadful power he possessed.
"With me!" Sylvanas commanded, her voice ringing clear amidst the tension that suffused the chamber. Her rangers, armed with bows of radiant Light and unwavering determination, formed a defensive formation around her, ready to unleash their deadly volleys upon the abomination.
Loatheb let out a guttural roar that echoed through the chamber, a chilling sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned fighters. With lumbering steps, the monstrosity charged, toxic spores trailing in its wake.
Sylvanas drew her bow and released a volley of ethereal arrows infused with the Light. Her rangers followed suit, unleashing a barrage of radiant projectiles that streaked through the air, aimed at Loatheb's twisted form.
The Lightforged undead engaged with unyielding determination, their weapons shimmering with divine energy as they clashed against the abomination's hulking frame. The chamber erupted into chaos, the clash of weapons mingling with the roars of Loatheb and the battle cries of Sylvanas' forces.
Despite their valor, Loatheb's noxious presence began to take its toll. The spores unleashed by the abomination spread through the air, causing Sylvanas' troops to falter momentarily, their movements sluggish as the deadly plague threatened to consume them.
Sylvanas gritted her teeth, rallying her troops with unwavering resolve. "Push forward! Do not let the darkness claim you!" Her command cut through the fear, reigniting the fighting spirit within her forces.
With renewed determination, the Lightforged undead and rangers surged forward, their attacks becoming more coordinated and fierce. Arrows of Light found their mark, striking true against Loatheb's corrupted form, eliciting pained howls from the abomination.
The battle raged on, each strike and parry a testament to the unyielding will of Sylvanas' forces. As Loatheb faltered under the relentless assault, Sylvanas seized the opportunity. Drawing upon her own formidable skills, she unleashed a devastating flurry of arrows imbued with the Light's power, aimed at the abomination's weakened form.
With a deafening roar, Loatheb stumbled backward, succumbing to the onslaught. The chamber fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of Sylvanas and her victorious troops.
Sylvanas stood triumphant amidst the aftermath, a sneer on her lips as she surveyed the defeated abomination and the fallen Scourge forces. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and disdain, relishing in the moment of victory over the pitiful creations of the Scourge.
As the chamber echoed with the weight of their triumph, Sylvanas turned to her assembled forces, her voice ringing out with a commanding presence. "The Scourge falters before us. Let their defeat be a testament to the might of the Light's Vengeance!"
~~~~
In the chilling halls of Naxxramas, Bolvar Fordragon's eyes blazed with a fiery fury that seemed to reflect the sheer injustice of their battle against the Grand Widow Faerlina. Each step he took resonated with power and determination, his mighty strikes and swift movements revealing the wrath coursing within him.
The very name of Grand Widow Faerlina grated on Bolvar's senses. How could one find glory in betrayal, choosing darkness over the sanctity of life? The cultists who blindly followed her, puppets in her dark game, were nothing more than hollow shells, corrupted and deceived by Faerlina's promises of power.
Bolvar's heart thundered within his chest as he cleaved through the cultists that stood between him and the treacherous widow. His blade moved with a fluidity born of battle-hardened experience, swiftly dispatching those who dared to challenge him.
The Stormwind soldiers, led by Bolvar, fought with an unrelenting fervor, bolstered by their commander's unwavering resolve. Sally Whitemane, a steadfast ally, held her ground beside Bolvar, channeling the Light to shield their forces and counter the darkness that emanated from Faerlina and her followers.
As the clash escalated, the battle against the Grand Widow Faerlina intensified. Her cultists swarmed around, a maelstrom of dark magic and deception. Bolvar's soldiers fought valiantly, their weapons cutting through the opposition despite the eerie and overwhelming presence of the Widow.
Amidst the chaotic fray, Bolvar's voice rose above the din, rallying his troops with words of courage and determination. "Stand strong! We fight for the Light and the honor of all those who have fallen! For Stormwind!"
Sally Whitemane's fervent prayers bolstered their ranks, the Light emanating from her hands dispelling the darkness that surrounded them. Bolvar pressed on, his strikes fueled by a righteous fury that sought justice for the fallen.
After a grueling and relentless battle, their unwavering resolve began to tip the scales. The combined might of Stormwind's soldiers and the unwavering determination of their leaders gradually overwhelmed Faerlina's forces.
In a final surge, Bolvar, with a resounding battle cry, unleashed a decisive strike against Faerlina, his blade fueled by the collective strength of his soldiers and the Light itself. With a shudder, Faerlina fell, her dark machinations crumbling beneath the relentless assault.
The chamber fell silent, save for the panting breaths of Bolvar's forces as they stood victorious amidst the aftermath of their hard-won battle. Bolvar, his chest heaving with exertion, surveyed the fallen and allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction, knowing that justice had been served.
The very name of Grand Widow Faerlina grated on Bolvar's senses. How could one find glory in betrayal, choosing darkness over the sanctity of life? The cultists who blindly followed her, puppets in her dark game, were nothing more than hollow shells, corrupted and deceived by Faerlina's promises of power.
Bolvar's heart thundered within his chest as he cleaved through the cultists that stood between him and the treacherous widow. His blade moved with a fluidity born of battle-hardened experience, swiftly dispatching those who dared to challenge him.
The Stormwind soldiers, led by Bolvar, fought with an unrelenting fervor, bolstered by their commander's unwavering resolve. Sally Whitemane, a steadfast ally, held her ground beside Bolvar, channeling the Light to shield their forces and counter the darkness that emanated from Faerlina and her followers.
As the clash escalated, the battle against the Grand Widow Faerlina intensified. Her cultists swarmed around, a maelstrom of dark magic and deception. Bolvar's soldiers fought valiantly, their weapons cutting through the opposition despite the eerie and overwhelming presence of the Widow.
Amidst the chaotic fray, Bolvar's voice rose above the din, rallying his troops with words of courage and determination. "Stand strong! We fight for the Light and the honor of all those who have fallen! For Stormwind!"
Sally Whitemane's fervent prayers bolstered their ranks, the Light emanating from her hands dispelling the darkness that surrounded them. Bolvar pressed on, his strikes fueled by a righteous fury that sought justice for the fallen.
After a grueling and relentless battle, their unwavering resolve began to tip the scales. The combined might of Stormwind's soldiers and the unwavering determination of their leaders gradually overwhelmed Faerlina's forces.
In a final surge, Bolvar, with a resounding battle cry, unleashed a decisive strike against Faerlina, his blade fueled by the collective strength of his soldiers and the Light itself. With a shudder, Faerlina fell, her dark machinations crumbling beneath the relentless assault.
The chamber fell silent, save for the panting breaths of Bolvar's forces as they stood victorious amidst the aftermath of their hard-won battle. Bolvar, his chest heaving with exertion, surveyed the fallen and allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction, knowing that justice had been served.
We are drawing to the end of Naxxramas part. I think I've portrayed this quite well in my own opinion.
Cheers!
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
Cheers!
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
The Radiance's Follower
The Radiance is best.
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2019
- Messages
- 796
Cheers. I do not know Warcraft lore but this is quite compelling to read.
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
Oh... is it hard to follow? Since I've written it in a way that the reader would have a basic knowledge of Warcraft lore. I guess I should explain more who each persons are?
The Radiance's Follower
The Radiance is best.
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2019
- Messages
- 796
It's not hard to follow, secondary perspective helps a lot. I sometimes have to use a wiki/google images to look up images of locations or characters just to give my imagination something more to work with but I think it's alright.
I don't believe you need to change anything. I have read some Warcraft fanfics in the past and they are pulling their weight even if they are of dubious canonicity. So I don't know the lore per se, but I can recall tidbits - like that there is an undead army and so and there is something called the burning legion but I didn't know that they were related at all - that give me context to what I am reading.
Ayashi
Connoisseur.
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2018
- Messages
- 16,176
Lucky for you, the now thirty years old setting has a friendly tldr site if you want to get overview of it at whatever deepth you want.
Chapter 26
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2021
- Messages
- 782
Krasus stood resolute at the entryway, observing the departure of those who had been chosen to assault Naxxramas. He knew his place was not among them, relegated instead to stand guard. Yet, he understood the subtle implications woven into this decision. It was not a test for him, an individual who had seen and endured much, but rather a challenge for those who had volunteered for this perilous endeavor.
As he watched them depart, a mixture of determination and trepidation reflected in their eyes. They were about to face the horrors within Naxxramas, a trial that would test their mettle, courage, and loyalty. Krasus understood this was more than just a mission against the Scourge; it was an assessment of character, of their ability to confront the darkest manifestations of evil without succumbing to fear or despair.
He couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility, not for their actions but for their well-being. He wished them success, for they bore the weight of Azeroth's hope upon their shoulders. It was not his place to join them, for his role was to remain vigilant, ready to assist if dire circumstances arose.
As the echoes of determination resonated in their departure, Krasus remained steadfast at the entryway, a silent guardian, his mind attuned to any sign of distress or danger. He knew his part was equally crucial, even if it was beyond the reach of the immediate fray.
As he surveyed the formidable Scourge stronghold they had assaulted, Krasus recognized the significance of this pivotal moment. It was a considerable triumph, yet in the aftermath of such a successful attack, lessons could be gleaned and strategies refined. This was their largest offensive against the Scourge to date, and the opportunity to assess and understand areas for improvement was not one to be squandered.
The victory, though assured, did not overshadow the importance of learning from each encounter. Krasus gaze shifted toward the path where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. He contemplated the tactics and decisions made, pondering how to fortify their strengths and rectify any vulnerabilities. This conquest, although victorious, would serve as a valuable learning experience to strengthen their resolve and combat prowess for future encounters against the Scourge.
His gaze lingered where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. The mention of Darion's name had elicited a ripple of surprise among the group. If Krasus's deductions were accurate, Darion might be the son of Alexandros. Lost in thought, Krasus absentmindedly rubbed his chin, pondering the significance of Darion's involvement. Was Light's Chosen orchestrating a confrontation between father and son, seeking vengeance? Or was there a deeper motive concealed from view?
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his musings. A trio emerged into view, and to Krasus's intrigue, it was not just Light's Chosen and Darion. His perceptive eyes narrowed, registering the presence of a third figure. Could they have freed someone from the Scourge's clutches?
As the trio drew nearer, Krasus beheld Light's Chosen, seemingly unscathed as anticipated. His attention then shifted to Darion, and Krasus found himself impressed. There was a palpable growth in the man, not merely in the weapon he now wielded but also in the strength radiating from within him.
As they moved forward, Krasus noticed a third man trailing behind Darion and the Light's Chosen. A Lightforged undead; could this be Alexandros, he wondered silently.
Krasus interjected with a light tone, his gaze fixated on the undead figure. "Seems like you've had no trouble on your end."
The Light's Chosen walked ahead a few steps, halting abruptly. "Indeed," he replied succinctly, his brevity eliciting a snort from Krasus. The man's penchant for brevity was amusing, to say the least.
Observing the situation, Krasus shifted his focus from the reticent Light's Chosen to Darion and the nameless undead figure at his side. An inquisitive lift of Krasus' brow prompted Darion to introduce the figure.
"This is Sir Zeliek. He was one of the Four Horsemen," Darion explained, gesturing towards the undead. He hesitated momentarily, a flicker of discomfort clouding his expression as he continued, "Despite being raised into undeath, Sir Zeliek remained a devout believer in the Light."
The unease in Darion's demeanor drew a furrowed brow from Krasus. Sensing the underlying tension, Krasus's gaze shifted between Darion and the stoic Sir Zeliek. Darion, after a momentary pause, continued with a worried lick of his lips, adding depth to the troubled situation.
"Light's Chosen took offense to Sir Zeliek's utilization of the Light in the service of the Scourge. He has decreed that Sir Zeliek must seek redemption for what's considered sacrilege within the Light's teachings, or face severe consequences."
The weight of Darion's words lingered in the air, a palpable sense of unease settling around them. The silence between them seemed heavy, pregnant with the gravity of the situation. Sir Zeliek's expression remained stoic, his eyes betraying a sense of inner turmoil and apprehension about what lay ahead.
As the steps approached, heralding the return of the other groups, Krasus observed the weariness etched on their faces. The weight of their grim experiences was evident, pressing down on them heavily. However, despite the burden they carried, their resolve remained unbroken. Each member stood tall, their determination echoing in their strides. They had not allowed the horrors they faced to diminish their strength but rather used it to fuel their resolve.
Uther, Sylvanas, and Bolvar approached the group, and Uther's gaze was inevitably drawn to Darion. There was a hint of surprise in Uther's expression upon seeing Darion, evident in the way he paused momentarily before approaching him. Uther stood before Darion, a mixture of pride and sorrow evident in his smile. "Make us proud, lad," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. Yet, his attention was soon drawn to another unexpected presence.
"Zeliek…" Uther uttered in disbelief, locking eyes with the figure. Zeliek raised his head, meeting Uther's gaze. "Hello, Uther," he responded quietly. However, their reunion was cut short as Light's Chosen's commanding voice pierced through the moment, urging them to move forward.
Both Uther and Sylvanas nodded in acknowledgment, gesturing to soldiers who had been preselected to accompany them. The group had to split for the final assault; proceeding with such a large contingent was not a viable option.
Light's Chosen stepped up beside Krasus, his voice quiet. "Sapphiron awaits," he remarked, a subtle intensity in his tone. Krasus nodded in understanding. He had been briefed about Sapphiron, once a noble blue dragon who had been slain by the Scourge and subsequently turned into a puppet of Kel'Thuzad.
An intense anger surged within Krasus at this affront to dragonkind. "Remember why you're here. Once you collect it, I never wish to see it again and should it ever be used..." Light's Chosen reminded, a warning implicit in his words. The threat was unspoken but hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the dire consequences should the mission go awry.
As he watched them depart, a mixture of determination and trepidation reflected in their eyes. They were about to face the horrors within Naxxramas, a trial that would test their mettle, courage, and loyalty. Krasus understood this was more than just a mission against the Scourge; it was an assessment of character, of their ability to confront the darkest manifestations of evil without succumbing to fear or despair.
He couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility, not for their actions but for their well-being. He wished them success, for they bore the weight of Azeroth's hope upon their shoulders. It was not his place to join them, for his role was to remain vigilant, ready to assist if dire circumstances arose.
As the echoes of determination resonated in their departure, Krasus remained steadfast at the entryway, a silent guardian, his mind attuned to any sign of distress or danger. He knew his part was equally crucial, even if it was beyond the reach of the immediate fray.
As he surveyed the formidable Scourge stronghold they had assaulted, Krasus recognized the significance of this pivotal moment. It was a considerable triumph, yet in the aftermath of such a successful attack, lessons could be gleaned and strategies refined. This was their largest offensive against the Scourge to date, and the opportunity to assess and understand areas for improvement was not one to be squandered.
The victory, though assured, did not overshadow the importance of learning from each encounter. Krasus gaze shifted toward the path where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. He contemplated the tactics and decisions made, pondering how to fortify their strengths and rectify any vulnerabilities. This conquest, although victorious, would serve as a valuable learning experience to strengthen their resolve and combat prowess for future encounters against the Scourge.
His gaze lingered where Light's Chosen and another individual had departed. The mention of Darion's name had elicited a ripple of surprise among the group. If Krasus's deductions were accurate, Darion might be the son of Alexandros. Lost in thought, Krasus absentmindedly rubbed his chin, pondering the significance of Darion's involvement. Was Light's Chosen orchestrating a confrontation between father and son, seeking vengeance? Or was there a deeper motive concealed from view?
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his musings. A trio emerged into view, and to Krasus's intrigue, it was not just Light's Chosen and Darion. His perceptive eyes narrowed, registering the presence of a third figure. Could they have freed someone from the Scourge's clutches?
As the trio drew nearer, Krasus beheld Light's Chosen, seemingly unscathed as anticipated. His attention then shifted to Darion, and Krasus found himself impressed. There was a palpable growth in the man, not merely in the weapon he now wielded but also in the strength radiating from within him.
As they moved forward, Krasus noticed a third man trailing behind Darion and the Light's Chosen. A Lightforged undead; could this be Alexandros, he wondered silently.
Krasus interjected with a light tone, his gaze fixated on the undead figure. "Seems like you've had no trouble on your end."
The Light's Chosen walked ahead a few steps, halting abruptly. "Indeed," he replied succinctly, his brevity eliciting a snort from Krasus. The man's penchant for brevity was amusing, to say the least.
Observing the situation, Krasus shifted his focus from the reticent Light's Chosen to Darion and the nameless undead figure at his side. An inquisitive lift of Krasus' brow prompted Darion to introduce the figure.
"This is Sir Zeliek. He was one of the Four Horsemen," Darion explained, gesturing towards the undead. He hesitated momentarily, a flicker of discomfort clouding his expression as he continued, "Despite being raised into undeath, Sir Zeliek remained a devout believer in the Light."
The unease in Darion's demeanor drew a furrowed brow from Krasus. Sensing the underlying tension, Krasus's gaze shifted between Darion and the stoic Sir Zeliek. Darion, after a momentary pause, continued with a worried lick of his lips, adding depth to the troubled situation.
"Light's Chosen took offense to Sir Zeliek's utilization of the Light in the service of the Scourge. He has decreed that Sir Zeliek must seek redemption for what's considered sacrilege within the Light's teachings, or face severe consequences."
The weight of Darion's words lingered in the air, a palpable sense of unease settling around them. The silence between them seemed heavy, pregnant with the gravity of the situation. Sir Zeliek's expression remained stoic, his eyes betraying a sense of inner turmoil and apprehension about what lay ahead.
As the steps approached, heralding the return of the other groups, Krasus observed the weariness etched on their faces. The weight of their grim experiences was evident, pressing down on them heavily. However, despite the burden they carried, their resolve remained unbroken. Each member stood tall, their determination echoing in their strides. They had not allowed the horrors they faced to diminish their strength but rather used it to fuel their resolve.
Uther, Sylvanas, and Bolvar approached the group, and Uther's gaze was inevitably drawn to Darion. There was a hint of surprise in Uther's expression upon seeing Darion, evident in the way he paused momentarily before approaching him. Uther stood before Darion, a mixture of pride and sorrow evident in his smile. "Make us proud, lad," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. Yet, his attention was soon drawn to another unexpected presence.
"Zeliek…" Uther uttered in disbelief, locking eyes with the figure. Zeliek raised his head, meeting Uther's gaze. "Hello, Uther," he responded quietly. However, their reunion was cut short as Light's Chosen's commanding voice pierced through the moment, urging them to move forward.
Both Uther and Sylvanas nodded in acknowledgment, gesturing to soldiers who had been preselected to accompany them. The group had to split for the final assault; proceeding with such a large contingent was not a viable option.
Light's Chosen stepped up beside Krasus, his voice quiet. "Sapphiron awaits," he remarked, a subtle intensity in his tone. Krasus nodded in understanding. He had been briefed about Sapphiron, once a noble blue dragon who had been slain by the Scourge and subsequently turned into a puppet of Kel'Thuzad.
An intense anger surged within Krasus at this affront to dragonkind. "Remember why you're here. Once you collect it, I never wish to see it again and should it ever be used..." Light's Chosen reminded, a warning implicit in his words. The threat was unspoken but hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the dire consequences should the mission go awry.
~~~~
Upon their arrival in the vast chamber, a palpable tension gripped everyone present. The sight of the dragon's bones at the room's center foretold the looming threat they were about to face before confronting the dreaded Lich Kel'Thuzad.
Uther stood at the forefront, allowing the Light to fill him with its divine power. His gaze swept across the chamber, taking in the haunting sight of the dragon's remains. Stepping forward with unwavering determination, he felt the radiant aura of the Light enveloping him, lending him strength.
"My comrades," Uther's voice resonated, firm and resolute, "This is the heart of the enemy's fortress. We stand at the precipice of a great trial, a test of our faith and courage. Kel'Thuzad's malevolent presence lingers here, but we must not falter. The Light is our guide, our shield against the darkness that threatens us."
He paused, his eyes meeting each person's gaze, his words resonating with conviction. "We go forth not merely as soldiers, but as champions of the Light. Let the bravery in our hearts and the Light's radiance be our guiding beacons. Together, we shall face this darkness and emerge victorious!"
With his rallying words, Uther inspired hope and fortitude among his comrades, emboldening them for the harrowing battle that awaited. As the echoes of his speech faded, the resounding determination in their hearts burned brighter, ready to confront the looming darkness and emerge triumphant.
In the echoing chamber, Sapphiron's bones began to levitate, pulled by an unseen force until they formed the colossal undead wyrm once again. Its resurrection was heralded by a bone-chilling roar that reverberated through the chamber, issuing a challenge to those who dared stand against it.
Uther, Sylvanas, Darion, and their brave companions readied themselves for the impending battle. Uther's mace glowed with the brilliance of the Light, casting radiant beams across the room. Sylvanas, empowered by the Light, summoned spectral arrows infused with its power, her bow drawn with deadly precision. Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, channeled the Light into the legendary blade, its glow illuminating the darkness with righteous fury.
Sapphiron unleashed a barrage of frosty breath that engulfed the area in a blizzard of ice. Uther raised a protective barrier of Light, shielding his allies from the frigid onslaught, while Sylvanas and her rangers maneuvered with unparalleled agility, launching volleys of arrows at the towering wyrm.
Darion charged forward, the Ashbringer pulsating with radiant energy. He struck with unparalleled speed, carving through the bone-plated scales of Sapphiron with each swing. The wyrm retaliated, summoning chilling storms and freezing waves that threatened to overwhelm the defenders.
With her mastery over the Light, Sylvanas summoned ethereal guardians that shielded her allies, granting them renewed strength and resilience. Uther's command over the Light manifested in brilliant waves of healing energy, rejuvenating his comrades and bolstering their resolve.
The battle raged on, each side exchanging relentless assaults. Uther and his allies fought with unwavering determination, their skills and powers combining to form a formidable force against the undead wyrm. Darion channeled the Light through the Ashbringer, delivering powerful strikes that weakened Sapphiron's defenses.
Amidst the chaos, Sylvanas seized a moment of opportunity. Drawing upon the Light's potency, she unleashed a torrent of radiant arrows that pierced through the wyrm's defenses, finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The combined efforts of Uther's healing, Darion's relentless strikes, and Sylvanas's empowered attacks began to take their toll on Sapphiron.
As the battle reached its climax, Sapphiron let out a bone-chilling cry, signaling its last attempt to turn the tide. But the defenders remained resolute, pushing through the onslaught with unparalleled unity. With a final surge of Light-infused power, Darion struck the decisive blow with the Ashbringer, cleaving through the undead wyrm's core.
Sapphiron staggered, its form disintegrating into a shower of bone fragments and spectral energy. The chamber fell silent, save for the echoing sounds of victory. Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion stood amidst the remains of their fallen foe, triumphant in their hard-won battle against the resurrected wyrm.
As Krasus and Light's Chosen approached the fallen Sapphiron, both having opted to stay out of the battle. Their roles were not in the heat of combat; they had a different purpose here. With a deep sigh, Krasus knelt beside Sapphiron's skull and reached inside, retrieving what he sought.
In his grasp was a key, not just any ordinary key, but the key to the Focusing Iris. An ancient artifact of immense power belonging to the blue dragonflight, the Focusing Iris held the potential for wielding unfathomable Arcane magic. Krasus' task was to safeguard this key and prevent the Iris from being used for malevolent purposes.
Uther approached the two of them, a glint of interest in his eyes as he observed the item in Krasus' hand. "Leave it, Uther. Proceed. Kel'Thuzad awaits. This day is yours, win or lose. I will not intervene," Light's Chosen spoke, surprising Uther, who then composed himself and nodded in comprehension.
Surveying the men and women accompanying them, Uther comprehended. They required this challenge—a hard-fought battle won by their own merits would ignite morale unlike anything else. It would affirm their purpose in being there, fortifying their determination for what lay ahead.
As Krasus observed their departure to confront Kel'Thuzad, he turned to Light's Chosen, a silent query etched on his countenance. "Why?" The simple word encapsulated more than just questioning the absence of assistance. It inquired about the reason behind everything.
"Because the sun sets for us all one day, and all we can do is ensure those that remain are prepared to face what awaits them," Light's Chosen replied after a prolonged moment, leaving Krasus both surprised and contemplative as he pondered over his words.
Uther stood at the forefront, allowing the Light to fill him with its divine power. His gaze swept across the chamber, taking in the haunting sight of the dragon's remains. Stepping forward with unwavering determination, he felt the radiant aura of the Light enveloping him, lending him strength.
"My comrades," Uther's voice resonated, firm and resolute, "This is the heart of the enemy's fortress. We stand at the precipice of a great trial, a test of our faith and courage. Kel'Thuzad's malevolent presence lingers here, but we must not falter. The Light is our guide, our shield against the darkness that threatens us."
He paused, his eyes meeting each person's gaze, his words resonating with conviction. "We go forth not merely as soldiers, but as champions of the Light. Let the bravery in our hearts and the Light's radiance be our guiding beacons. Together, we shall face this darkness and emerge victorious!"
With his rallying words, Uther inspired hope and fortitude among his comrades, emboldening them for the harrowing battle that awaited. As the echoes of his speech faded, the resounding determination in their hearts burned brighter, ready to confront the looming darkness and emerge triumphant.
In the echoing chamber, Sapphiron's bones began to levitate, pulled by an unseen force until they formed the colossal undead wyrm once again. Its resurrection was heralded by a bone-chilling roar that reverberated through the chamber, issuing a challenge to those who dared stand against it.
Uther, Sylvanas, Darion, and their brave companions readied themselves for the impending battle. Uther's mace glowed with the brilliance of the Light, casting radiant beams across the room. Sylvanas, empowered by the Light, summoned spectral arrows infused with its power, her bow drawn with deadly precision. Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, channeled the Light into the legendary blade, its glow illuminating the darkness with righteous fury.
Sapphiron unleashed a barrage of frosty breath that engulfed the area in a blizzard of ice. Uther raised a protective barrier of Light, shielding his allies from the frigid onslaught, while Sylvanas and her rangers maneuvered with unparalleled agility, launching volleys of arrows at the towering wyrm.
Darion charged forward, the Ashbringer pulsating with radiant energy. He struck with unparalleled speed, carving through the bone-plated scales of Sapphiron with each swing. The wyrm retaliated, summoning chilling storms and freezing waves that threatened to overwhelm the defenders.
With her mastery over the Light, Sylvanas summoned ethereal guardians that shielded her allies, granting them renewed strength and resilience. Uther's command over the Light manifested in brilliant waves of healing energy, rejuvenating his comrades and bolstering their resolve.
The battle raged on, each side exchanging relentless assaults. Uther and his allies fought with unwavering determination, their skills and powers combining to form a formidable force against the undead wyrm. Darion channeled the Light through the Ashbringer, delivering powerful strikes that weakened Sapphiron's defenses.
Amidst the chaos, Sylvanas seized a moment of opportunity. Drawing upon the Light's potency, she unleashed a torrent of radiant arrows that pierced through the wyrm's defenses, finding its mark with unerring accuracy. The combined efforts of Uther's healing, Darion's relentless strikes, and Sylvanas's empowered attacks began to take their toll on Sapphiron.
As the battle reached its climax, Sapphiron let out a bone-chilling cry, signaling its last attempt to turn the tide. But the defenders remained resolute, pushing through the onslaught with unparalleled unity. With a final surge of Light-infused power, Darion struck the decisive blow with the Ashbringer, cleaving through the undead wyrm's core.
Sapphiron staggered, its form disintegrating into a shower of bone fragments and spectral energy. The chamber fell silent, save for the echoing sounds of victory. Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion stood amidst the remains of their fallen foe, triumphant in their hard-won battle against the resurrected wyrm.
As Krasus and Light's Chosen approached the fallen Sapphiron, both having opted to stay out of the battle. Their roles were not in the heat of combat; they had a different purpose here. With a deep sigh, Krasus knelt beside Sapphiron's skull and reached inside, retrieving what he sought.
In his grasp was a key, not just any ordinary key, but the key to the Focusing Iris. An ancient artifact of immense power belonging to the blue dragonflight, the Focusing Iris held the potential for wielding unfathomable Arcane magic. Krasus' task was to safeguard this key and prevent the Iris from being used for malevolent purposes.
Uther approached the two of them, a glint of interest in his eyes as he observed the item in Krasus' hand. "Leave it, Uther. Proceed. Kel'Thuzad awaits. This day is yours, win or lose. I will not intervene," Light's Chosen spoke, surprising Uther, who then composed himself and nodded in comprehension.
Surveying the men and women accompanying them, Uther comprehended. They required this challenge—a hard-fought battle won by their own merits would ignite morale unlike anything else. It would affirm their purpose in being there, fortifying their determination for what lay ahead.
As Krasus observed their departure to confront Kel'Thuzad, he turned to Light's Chosen, a silent query etched on his countenance. "Why?" The simple word encapsulated more than just questioning the absence of assistance. It inquired about the reason behind everything.
"Because the sun sets for us all one day, and all we can do is ensure those that remain are prepared to face what awaits them," Light's Chosen replied after a prolonged moment, leaving Krasus both surprised and contemplative as he pondered over his words.
~~~~
As they ventured into Kel'Thuzad's sinister chambers, the Lich awaited them with a chilling presence. His piercing gaze swept over Uther, Sylvanas, and their assembled forces, an aura of malevolence enveloping his form. His voice, steeped in anger, echoed throughout the chamber as he addressed them.
"Ah, Uther the Lightbringer, Sylvanas the Banshee Queen. How delightful it is to see you both. I have long awaited this moment," Kel'Thuzad sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your defiance ends here, mortals. You dare trespass into my domain seeking to challenge me?"
Uther, his expression etched with determination, stepped forward, his grip tightening around his mace. "Kel'Thuzad, your reign of darkness and terror ends now. We will put an end to your vile schemes and bring justice to those you have wronged."
Sylvanas, her eyes ablaze with a mix of fury and determination, spoke with an icy tone. "You underestimate us, Lich. We have faced horrors beyond your imagining, and we stand here united against you. Your reign of terror will crumble under the might of the Light and the Forsaken."
The Lich's laughter echoed through the chamber, a haunting sound that sent shivers down the spines of the brave souls facing him. "Foolish mortals! Do you truly believe you can challenge me? I am eternal, and my power knows no bounds. You will serve me in death as you do in life."
With a wave of his hand, Kel'Thuzad conjured dark energies, unleashing a torrent of shadows and frost upon Uther, Sylvanas, and their companions. The battle erupted in a frenzied clash, the heroes wielding their weapons against the dark sorcery of the Lich.
Uther, drawing upon the Light, unleashed radiant waves of energy, empowering his allies while fending off Kel'Thuzad's malevolent attacks. Sylvanas, harnessing the power of the Light, launched volleys of ethereal arrows that cut through the darkness, striking true against the Lich's defenses.
Amidst the chaos, Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, led the charge, his strikes imbued with the righteous fury of his father's legacy. The heroes fought valiantly, their determination unyielding in the face of Kel'Thuzad's relentless assault.
As the battle raged on, the Lich unleashed a sinister curse, snaring the fallen heroes in his dark magic, resurrecting them into undead minions under his control. Their once-allies turned against them, attacking with ferocity born of twisted loyalty.
Despite the losses suffered, Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion pressed on, their resolve unwavering. With a final surge of strength, they launched a coordinated assault against Kel'Thuzad, overwhelming him with the might of the Light and their undying determination.
In a climactic clash, the heroes delivered the finishing blows, striking Kel'Thuzad with a decisive force. The Lich let out a scream of agony, his form crumbling into darkness as his malevolent presence faded away.
As Kel'Thuzad's essence dissipated, he uttered a chilling curse, vowing his return. "You may have defeated me this day, but I shall return. My darkness will consume you all!" With those ominous words, Kel'Thuzad's presence vanished, leaving the heroes victorious yet wary of the looming threat.
"Ah, Uther the Lightbringer, Sylvanas the Banshee Queen. How delightful it is to see you both. I have long awaited this moment," Kel'Thuzad sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your defiance ends here, mortals. You dare trespass into my domain seeking to challenge me?"
Uther, his expression etched with determination, stepped forward, his grip tightening around his mace. "Kel'Thuzad, your reign of darkness and terror ends now. We will put an end to your vile schemes and bring justice to those you have wronged."
Sylvanas, her eyes ablaze with a mix of fury and determination, spoke with an icy tone. "You underestimate us, Lich. We have faced horrors beyond your imagining, and we stand here united against you. Your reign of terror will crumble under the might of the Light and the Forsaken."
The Lich's laughter echoed through the chamber, a haunting sound that sent shivers down the spines of the brave souls facing him. "Foolish mortals! Do you truly believe you can challenge me? I am eternal, and my power knows no bounds. You will serve me in death as you do in life."
With a wave of his hand, Kel'Thuzad conjured dark energies, unleashing a torrent of shadows and frost upon Uther, Sylvanas, and their companions. The battle erupted in a frenzied clash, the heroes wielding their weapons against the dark sorcery of the Lich.
Uther, drawing upon the Light, unleashed radiant waves of energy, empowering his allies while fending off Kel'Thuzad's malevolent attacks. Sylvanas, harnessing the power of the Light, launched volleys of ethereal arrows that cut through the darkness, striking true against the Lich's defenses.
Amidst the chaos, Darion, wielding the Ashbringer, led the charge, his strikes imbued with the righteous fury of his father's legacy. The heroes fought valiantly, their determination unyielding in the face of Kel'Thuzad's relentless assault.
As the battle raged on, the Lich unleashed a sinister curse, snaring the fallen heroes in his dark magic, resurrecting them into undead minions under his control. Their once-allies turned against them, attacking with ferocity born of twisted loyalty.
Despite the losses suffered, Uther, Sylvanas, and Darion pressed on, their resolve unwavering. With a final surge of strength, they launched a coordinated assault against Kel'Thuzad, overwhelming him with the might of the Light and their undying determination.
In a climactic clash, the heroes delivered the finishing blows, striking Kel'Thuzad with a decisive force. The Lich let out a scream of agony, his form crumbling into darkness as his malevolent presence faded away.
As Kel'Thuzad's essence dissipated, he uttered a chilling curse, vowing his return. "You may have defeated me this day, but I shall return. My darkness will consume you all!" With those ominous words, Kel'Thuzad's presence vanished, leaving the heroes victorious yet wary of the looming threat.
And with that Naxxramas draws to a close. I think I did pretty well all things considerate, if you disagree would like to see your thoughts on the matter.
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
As always a few more chapters on my Patreon If you wish to read ahead or wish to support me and what I do.
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Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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Eh? I would think Darion's experience and Uther's would've covered that quite nicely. Sylvanas was more cold satisfaction so that could be lacking. As for Bolvar, that was lacking yes, but only because I honestly do not care that much for the Alliance and Horde parts in this story, they exist. That's all.
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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Huh, didn't notice that, fixed it sorry. Most of these chapters are written during the evening before bed, so I am not all that attentive I guess.
The Radiance's Follower
The Radiance is best.
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Nice chapter like always. Is this the end, or is there yet more to come?
Kordelius
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No it's not the end, there is still more to come. Not sure how much exactly, but Lich King is sort of the main focus.
Chapter 27
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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The day had been won, and a great evil had been vanquished; no longer would Kel'thuzad's dark ambitions threaten the world. As they struck down the Lich and he spoke his chilling promise, both the Light's Chosen and Krasus entered the room.
With a wave of his hand, their strength returned, and those who had died were purged of the necrotic taint permeating their bodies. But more than that, as the Light's Chosen extended his arm, he rent the very fabric of space apart in front of him, revealing an urn hidden from their gazes.
"Foolish Lich, did you truly think you could hide from me?" A sneer escaped the Light's Chosen as light engulfed the urn, and screams of rage, pain, and fear echoed around them before falling silent.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he banished even the echoes of the Lich and turned to regard those who had fought valiantly on this day. "The day has been won, a great victory has been achieved today; no more will this evil threaten the world. The day is yours. Take pride in your accomplishment and stand tall, for it is you who have banished this evil and allowed the Light to shine once more."
With each word he spoke, those before him felt a fire burn in their chests and smiles grow on their faces. Sharing smiles with those around them, they could not contain themselves any longer and released a cheer, thrusting their weapons high and letting the sweetness of this moment fill them.
"Well done," Krasus murmured beside the Light's Chosen. Though initially confused, he quickly understood why the Light's Chosen had not led the charge here and now.
For while he could no doubt have achieved success, it would have made others question their presence and feel unneeded. By allowing them to carry this victory upon their own shoulders, he had strengthened their resolve and allowed them to feel pride in their accomplishment, thus securing their determination and resolve for the true battle ahead.
Sylvanas trudged through the snow, each step burdened with a weight that seemed to increase with every move. The wintry landscape, adorned with pristine white blankets, stood in stark contrast to the gravity of their purpose. Beside her, Sally strode resolutely, unwavering in her commitment. Her determination was palpable, a steadfast resolve to undertake whatever was necessary for the safeguarding of their realm; a duty she accepted willingly.
With a sense of foreboding, Sylvanas murmured, "He will not be pleased with us," dreading the impending conversation.
"Let him. If it means securing the future of this world, I am ready to face his wrath," Sally replied, exuding an unshakable resolve. She remained resolute, unwavering in her chosen path.
As they ascended the final step, they beheld their quarry – Light's Chosen. He had retreated to the mountain peak adjacent to their stronghold, an enigmatic figure observing vigilantly, seemingly impervious to the biting winds and swirling snow. He made no gesture acknowledging their arrival, yet an unspoken acknowledgment lingered in the air, confirming his awareness of their presence.
"What do you hope to achieve with your actions?" His voice reverberated across the expanse, freezing them in their tracks. They exchanged a glance of surprise, silently questioning whether it was possible that he knew their purpose.
The weight of his inquiry hung heavy in the frosty air. Sally's resolve wavered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she gathered herself again, determined not to falter. Sylvanas, on the other hand, maintained her composure, masking her surprise with a cool, collected facade.
The Light's Chosen stood before them, an imposing figure against the wintry backdrop. His presence exuded an aura of knowing, an almost unnerving perception that seemed to penetrate their very intentions.
Sylvanas glanced at Sally, silently urging her to remain steadfast. They had anticipated challenges, but not this level of prescience from the enigmatic guardian of the mountain.
"We seek to ensure the continuation of your legacy," Sally answered, her voice unwavering, attempting to veil her unease. Sylvanas stood by her side, a silent supporter in this unexpected confrontation.
The Light's Chosen remained unmoved, his stance unwavering. "And what legacy do you foresee?" His question lingered in the biting wind, his penetrating gaze seemingly seeing through the veils of their intentions.
Sylvanas felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a mix of apprehension and determination churning within her. The weight of their purpose hung in the balance, under the scrutiny of this guardian whose insight bordered on unsettling.
"We seek to safeguard the future, to ensure that what is left behind endures beyond us," Sylvanas interjected, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of uncertainty.
The silence that followed was deafening, only broken by the howling winds sweeping through the mountaintop. The Light's Chosen remained inscrutable, his unyielding presence casting a formidable shadow over their intentions.
"I have already secured the future; the measures you seek are unnecessary." he continued, maintaining his gaze forward. While Sylvanas contemplated silently, Sally steeled herself, dispelling any hesitations or doubts. Her determination surged within her once more. "Perhaps, but one can never be too certain. I seek to ensure the endurance of your legacy, to always remain prepared to-" "be exploited," he interjected, his words chilling the air.
"What life do you envision for this child? Burdened by insurmountable expectations, perpetually deemed inadequate, never truly cherished for who they are, but rather for what they might become." Turning to face them, traces of anger seeped through his demeanor.
"Deprived of the freedom to make choices, to experience growth through mistakes and learning. Denied the chance to stumble, rise, and live," he spoke as he approached Sally, who stood transfixed.
Coming to a halt before her, he loomed, his face concealed by an inscrutable helmet. "Simply a tool, destined to be used and abused," he concluded, leaving nothing but the chilling rush of the wind as the only audible sound.
With a wave of his hand, their strength returned, and those who had died were purged of the necrotic taint permeating their bodies. But more than that, as the Light's Chosen extended his arm, he rent the very fabric of space apart in front of him, revealing an urn hidden from their gazes.
"Foolish Lich, did you truly think you could hide from me?" A sneer escaped the Light's Chosen as light engulfed the urn, and screams of rage, pain, and fear echoed around them before falling silent.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he banished even the echoes of the Lich and turned to regard those who had fought valiantly on this day. "The day has been won, a great victory has been achieved today; no more will this evil threaten the world. The day is yours. Take pride in your accomplishment and stand tall, for it is you who have banished this evil and allowed the Light to shine once more."
With each word he spoke, those before him felt a fire burn in their chests and smiles grow on their faces. Sharing smiles with those around them, they could not contain themselves any longer and released a cheer, thrusting their weapons high and letting the sweetness of this moment fill them.
"Well done," Krasus murmured beside the Light's Chosen. Though initially confused, he quickly understood why the Light's Chosen had not led the charge here and now.
For while he could no doubt have achieved success, it would have made others question their presence and feel unneeded. By allowing them to carry this victory upon their own shoulders, he had strengthened their resolve and allowed them to feel pride in their accomplishment, thus securing their determination and resolve for the true battle ahead.
~~~~
Sylvanas trudged through the snow, each step burdened with a weight that seemed to increase with every move. The wintry landscape, adorned with pristine white blankets, stood in stark contrast to the gravity of their purpose. Beside her, Sally strode resolutely, unwavering in her commitment. Her determination was palpable, a steadfast resolve to undertake whatever was necessary for the safeguarding of their realm; a duty she accepted willingly.
With a sense of foreboding, Sylvanas murmured, "He will not be pleased with us," dreading the impending conversation.
"Let him. If it means securing the future of this world, I am ready to face his wrath," Sally replied, exuding an unshakable resolve. She remained resolute, unwavering in her chosen path.
As they ascended the final step, they beheld their quarry – Light's Chosen. He had retreated to the mountain peak adjacent to their stronghold, an enigmatic figure observing vigilantly, seemingly impervious to the biting winds and swirling snow. He made no gesture acknowledging their arrival, yet an unspoken acknowledgment lingered in the air, confirming his awareness of their presence.
"What do you hope to achieve with your actions?" His voice reverberated across the expanse, freezing them in their tracks. They exchanged a glance of surprise, silently questioning whether it was possible that he knew their purpose.
The weight of his inquiry hung heavy in the frosty air. Sally's resolve wavered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she gathered herself again, determined not to falter. Sylvanas, on the other hand, maintained her composure, masking her surprise with a cool, collected facade.
The Light's Chosen stood before them, an imposing figure against the wintry backdrop. His presence exuded an aura of knowing, an almost unnerving perception that seemed to penetrate their very intentions.
Sylvanas glanced at Sally, silently urging her to remain steadfast. They had anticipated challenges, but not this level of prescience from the enigmatic guardian of the mountain.
"We seek to ensure the continuation of your legacy," Sally answered, her voice unwavering, attempting to veil her unease. Sylvanas stood by her side, a silent supporter in this unexpected confrontation.
The Light's Chosen remained unmoved, his stance unwavering. "And what legacy do you foresee?" His question lingered in the biting wind, his penetrating gaze seemingly seeing through the veils of their intentions.
Sylvanas felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a mix of apprehension and determination churning within her. The weight of their purpose hung in the balance, under the scrutiny of this guardian whose insight bordered on unsettling.
"We seek to safeguard the future, to ensure that what is left behind endures beyond us," Sylvanas interjected, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of uncertainty.
The silence that followed was deafening, only broken by the howling winds sweeping through the mountaintop. The Light's Chosen remained inscrutable, his unyielding presence casting a formidable shadow over their intentions.
"I have already secured the future; the measures you seek are unnecessary." he continued, maintaining his gaze forward. While Sylvanas contemplated silently, Sally steeled herself, dispelling any hesitations or doubts. Her determination surged within her once more. "Perhaps, but one can never be too certain. I seek to ensure the endurance of your legacy, to always remain prepared to-" "be exploited," he interjected, his words chilling the air.
"What life do you envision for this child? Burdened by insurmountable expectations, perpetually deemed inadequate, never truly cherished for who they are, but rather for what they might become." Turning to face them, traces of anger seeped through his demeanor.
"Deprived of the freedom to make choices, to experience growth through mistakes and learning. Denied the chance to stumble, rise, and live," he spoke as he approached Sally, who stood transfixed.
Coming to a halt before her, he loomed, his face concealed by an inscrutable helmet. "Simply a tool, destined to be used and abused," he concluded, leaving nothing but the chilling rush of the wind as the only audible sound.
~~~~
It had been months since their victorious assault on Naxxramas. In the time following it, more and more factions and individuals offered their assistance as it became evident that the Lich King feared their efforts and launched premeditated attacks on almost everyone.
Ironically, his efforts only intensified their anger and resolve to confront him. Even the Horde raised their banners and journeyed to join them, causing inevitable friction with the Alliance. However, under the steadfast leadership of Uther, a tenuous peace was maintained.
Tirion's arrival further solidified their cause. He had left his son Taelan in charge back in the newly rebuilt Lordaeron.
However, none of these developments intrigued Sylvanas as much as witnessing her own people being led by Liadrin, a Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light—an order formed by the Light's Chosen himself. It appeared that this was what he meant when he spoke of securing the future.
More than that, it seemed he had also diverted Prince Kael'thas from a dark path that would have led many of her kind astray. In doing so, he secured an ally in the form of these Draenei.
Initially wary due to their close resemblance to the demons of the Burning Legion, Sylvanas didn't know what to make of them. However, witnessing how the Light responded to them and getting to know them better eased her apprehension. Their positive influence on what remained of her people was undeniable. Prince Kael'thas had opened their lands for them to settle, and once their similarities became known to both groups, a sense of understanding prevailed.
Their shared tumultuous and painful pasts, even encountering the same aggressors in the form of the Orcs, facilitated an easier acceptance of one another. Shared pain often has the power to bring people together.
Another significant change in these past months was the Light's Chosen becoming more withdrawn, offering his input rarely, if at all. He remained within sight yet distant. While he would provide insight if approached, it seemed he had relinquished all responsibilities to Uther and the newly appointed Ashbringer – Darion Mograine, son of the late Alexandros Mograine.
Surprisingly, the attack on Naxxramas and its subsequent destruction and eradication of the evil contained within was not the only goal the Light's Chosen sought. He intended to forge a champion, another method by which he secured the future. Sylvanas felt foolish for the plan she and Sally had devised.
Sadly, Sally took the rejection much harder than Sylvanas did. While her work and determination remained largely unaffected, Sally became melancholic and adrift.
Thus, Sylvanas was surprised to witness the Light's Chosen seeking out Sally and both departing to unknown places a few days ago. Although many dismissed it as another of his excursions, Sylvanas suspected there was more to it. Sally's renewed energy and happiness upon their return, and the smile on her face, confirmed it. Despite her curiosity, Sylvanas decided not to pry. If her suspicions were correct, she believed it best not to draw attention to it.
Ironically, his efforts only intensified their anger and resolve to confront him. Even the Horde raised their banners and journeyed to join them, causing inevitable friction with the Alliance. However, under the steadfast leadership of Uther, a tenuous peace was maintained.
Tirion's arrival further solidified their cause. He had left his son Taelan in charge back in the newly rebuilt Lordaeron.
However, none of these developments intrigued Sylvanas as much as witnessing her own people being led by Liadrin, a Matriarch of the Sentinels of Light—an order formed by the Light's Chosen himself. It appeared that this was what he meant when he spoke of securing the future.
More than that, it seemed he had also diverted Prince Kael'thas from a dark path that would have led many of her kind astray. In doing so, he secured an ally in the form of these Draenei.
Initially wary due to their close resemblance to the demons of the Burning Legion, Sylvanas didn't know what to make of them. However, witnessing how the Light responded to them and getting to know them better eased her apprehension. Their positive influence on what remained of her people was undeniable. Prince Kael'thas had opened their lands for them to settle, and once their similarities became known to both groups, a sense of understanding prevailed.
Their shared tumultuous and painful pasts, even encountering the same aggressors in the form of the Orcs, facilitated an easier acceptance of one another. Shared pain often has the power to bring people together.
Another significant change in these past months was the Light's Chosen becoming more withdrawn, offering his input rarely, if at all. He remained within sight yet distant. While he would provide insight if approached, it seemed he had relinquished all responsibilities to Uther and the newly appointed Ashbringer – Darion Mograine, son of the late Alexandros Mograine.
Surprisingly, the attack on Naxxramas and its subsequent destruction and eradication of the evil contained within was not the only goal the Light's Chosen sought. He intended to forge a champion, another method by which he secured the future. Sylvanas felt foolish for the plan she and Sally had devised.
Sadly, Sally took the rejection much harder than Sylvanas did. While her work and determination remained largely unaffected, Sally became melancholic and adrift.
Thus, Sylvanas was surprised to witness the Light's Chosen seeking out Sally and both departing to unknown places a few days ago. Although many dismissed it as another of his excursions, Sylvanas suspected there was more to it. Sally's renewed energy and happiness upon their return, and the smile on her face, confirmed it. Despite her curiosity, Sylvanas decided not to pry. If her suspicions were correct, she believed it best not to draw attention to it.
~~~~
Uther stood upon a high ledge, his gaze fixed on the construction of their new fortress—a stronghold that would serve as a bastion for their advance into the heart of Icecrown itself. Above them, the majestic city of Dalaran floated in the skies, a testament to the unfathomable possibilities unlocked by magic—be it the guiding Light, the enigmatic Arcane, or even the twisted art of Necromancy. The scope of these powers and their capacity for extraordinary achievements never ceased to astound him, far beyond what he, as a young boy, could have ever envisioned.
Yet, amid this marvel, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow at the sight of the undead, shuffling relentlessly towards them, only to be repelled by their determined forces. It was a stark reminder—one he would have preferred never to witness—that while such powers held potential for greatness, they also harbored the potential for darkness.
"Power corrupts," Uther murmured to himself, his eyes tracing the movements of the undead horde. "And from that corruption, evil is born. It festers and grows, morphing into something truly monstrous."
The sight of the undead, mere manifestations of perversion through corrupted magic, served as a stark testament to the perils that lay within the very essence of power. It was a lesson etched into the fabric of his being through the countless battles and trials he'd faced. The allure of wielding immense power often led down a treacherous path, one that tainted the purest intentions and birthed unspeakable horrors.
As he surveyed the scene below, Uther reflected on the responsibility that accompanied wielding such powers. It wasn't merely about the might they offered but the choices one made in harnessing them. The true measure of one's character lay in how they wielded these powers—whether for the greater good or for self-serving ambitions.
The construction of their fortress continued, a testament to their determination to combat the forces of darkness. Uther understood that the true challenge lay not only in building physical fortifications but in fortifying the hearts and souls of those who stood against the darkness. It was a constant battle against the seductive allure of power and the courage to wield it wisely.
With a heavy heart, Uther resolved to ensure that the power they harnessed would always serve the noblest of causes, for in the face of darkness, it was not only their swords but their unwavering resolve that would ultimately decide the fate of their world.
Yet, amid this marvel, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow at the sight of the undead, shuffling relentlessly towards them, only to be repelled by their determined forces. It was a stark reminder—one he would have preferred never to witness—that while such powers held potential for greatness, they also harbored the potential for darkness.
"Power corrupts," Uther murmured to himself, his eyes tracing the movements of the undead horde. "And from that corruption, evil is born. It festers and grows, morphing into something truly monstrous."
The sight of the undead, mere manifestations of perversion through corrupted magic, served as a stark testament to the perils that lay within the very essence of power. It was a lesson etched into the fabric of his being through the countless battles and trials he'd faced. The allure of wielding immense power often led down a treacherous path, one that tainted the purest intentions and birthed unspeakable horrors.
As he surveyed the scene below, Uther reflected on the responsibility that accompanied wielding such powers. It wasn't merely about the might they offered but the choices one made in harnessing them. The true measure of one's character lay in how they wielded these powers—whether for the greater good or for self-serving ambitions.
The construction of their fortress continued, a testament to their determination to combat the forces of darkness. Uther understood that the true challenge lay not only in building physical fortifications but in fortifying the hearts and souls of those who stood against the darkness. It was a constant battle against the seductive allure of power and the courage to wield it wisely.
With a heavy heart, Uther resolved to ensure that the power they harnessed would always serve the noblest of causes, for in the face of darkness, it was not only their swords but their unwavering resolve that would ultimately decide the fate of their world.
Ayashi
Connoisseur.
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He should probably make a pitstop over Ulduar, because there's quite a few things linking the two... from the rather famous Lick King dream in Yog fight to the fact that Icecrown Citadel is made of Saronite, or what lurks in the hole under it's foundations...
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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It will be addressed, but he will not do anything himself personally so to speak.
And not sure if I will write it, like I said this is not meant to be a super long story, just me trying something.
Ayashi
Connoisseur.
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i'd argue that it'd probably be better if he instead did so personally. He's currently standing back to (apparently) let everyone build themselves up for the Big Fight against the Lich King, so it'd make sense that he'd go off to solo the pesky annoyance that could sidetrack everyone...
More practically, keep everyone focused on the LK, meaning have them deal with the Sourge in general (Azjol Nerub dungeon?) while he deals with the rest: the blue dragonflight has been apparently appropriately intimidated so that leaves the living Vyrkul (ie: Utgarde), the Trolls (Zuldrak), Ulduar, and maaaaybe Sartharion (because the dragonflights can't do anything...
). Some friendly interaction with the Tuskarr could make some nice interlude(s) with a less grimdark overall feeling.
Archavon and GoT Stratholme can probably be entirely ignored, and Rubis Sanctum(Halion) is post-LK in the timeline, though could be linked to Sartharion if you wanted.
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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i'd argue that it'd probably be better if he instead did so personally. He's currently standing back to (apparently) let everyone build themselves up for the Big Fight against the Lich King, so it'd make sense that he'd go off to solo the pesky annoyance that could sidetrack everyone...
More practically, keep everyone focused on the LK, meaning have them deal with the Sourge in general (Azjol Nerub dungeon?) while he deals with the rest: the blue dragonflight has been apparently appropriately intimidated so that leaves the living Vyrkul (ie: Utgarde), the Trolls (Zuldrak), Ulduar, and maaaaybe Sartharion (because the dragonflights can't do anything...
Some friendly interaction with the Tuskarr could make some nice interlude(s) with a less grimdark overall feeling.
Archavon and GoT Stratholme can probably be entirely ignored, and Rubis Sanctum(Halion) is post-LK in the timeline, though could be linked to Sartharion if you wanted.
Sadly the first chapter of attack on Icecrown was released on patreon today, so while all this is good ideas and I can see why you would want this, sadly like I said this story is not supposed to be a big one.
I wrote this as an experiment to see how writing a story this way feels.
oscar e Sampedro Lopez
Experienced.
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Great story
Chapter 28
Kordelius
Things die. Let them.
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Don't forget to not necro threads, boys. I will post one of the patreon chapters hopefully no mod will be angry about necro then.
While their advancement toward establishing a foothold in Icecrown was going smoothly, some might argue, perhaps even too smoothly, particularly with the Alliance and this emerging Horde engaging in conflicts over long-standing grievances.
Uther couldn't help but snort as he recalled the chaotic scene of unruly orcs and humans exchanging blows. The emphasis here was on attempting – it appeared that Lady Windrunner harbored little patience for such foolishness and bickering. Without a moment's hesitation, she assertively quashed their altercation, driving them forcefully into the ground while icily reminding them of the purpose that had brought them to this place.
Afterward, she rallied all of them to aid Light's Vengeance in repelling the relentless horde of Undead relentlessly thrown at them. When their individual leaders attempted to voice their objections, Lady Windrunner joyfully retorted that if they were so idle and devoid of constructive tasks, she could easily assign them meaningful work.
This remark, naturally, elicited mixed reactions. Bolvar Fordragon was reminded of old wounds inflicted by the orcs, his response colored by past grievances. Varok Saurfang, on the other hand, appeared more open to discussion, yet he was not inclined to accept Bolvar's words without a response.
Thankfully, Tirion was able to diffuse the situation, reminding everyone present of the true enemy at hand. This was a skill he had always excelled at—bringing adversaries together for a greater cause, uniting even those who were previously at odds.
The implications of drawing the attention of Light's Chosen were best left unspoken. The potential consequences were dire, making it crucial to avoid any action that might invite his scrutiny. Nevertheless, this concern could be addressed at a later time. For the moment, Tirion had to redirect his attention to another pressing matter—the Vrykul.
All their previous attempts had resulted in abject failure, yet Uther remained resolute, unwilling to surrender so easily. However, he found himself grappling with the realization that there seemed to be no viable path forward. There existed only one faction within the race that hadn't forged an alliance with the Lich King. Unfortunately, this faction comprised solely of females who harbored an inherent hatred towards males, regardless of their race.
Uther had made efforts to persuade Sylvanas to engage with this faction, but her lack of interest was evident. He couldn't entirely disagree with her reasoning; it seemed hardly worthwhile.
Nevertheless, this fact gnawed at him. The knowledge that their ancestors willingly chose to align with such a monstrous force and harbored such intense disdain for everyone else weighed heavily on him.
"Are you still wasting your thoughts on the Vrykul?" Sylvanas' voice was filled with exasperation as she spoke from beside Uther, who simply remained silent in response.
Sylvanas let out a silent sigh of frustration. "Uther, give it a rest. The Vrykul are resolute in their decision, and no amount of effort on our part will sway them. They have chosen their path; let them perish with their wretched master." The disdain in Sylvanas' tone was unmistakable when she mentioned Arthas.
Just as Uther was about to reply, shouts from the gate captured their attention. They exchanged a quick glance before hastening toward the source of the commotion.
Upon their arrival, Uther was taken aback by the scene that greeted him. A female Vrykul stood at the gates, engaged in a heated argument and shouting match with the beleaguered soldiers stationed before her.
"I've said it before, you little twerp! I demand to see your leader. Bring them here, or I'll deal with you myself!" the colossal woman growled menacingly at the guard in front of her.
[Insert Pic]
Intrigued by the commotion and feeling sympathetic toward the overwhelmed soldier, Uther continued walking until he reached the scene.
"I am the one in charge here," he declared firmly, prompting the guard to release a small sigh of relief and step aside. "How may I assist you?"
The enormous woman towered over the surroundings, her imposing stature accentuating her significant size. She stood tall, a silent observer of Uther for a brief moment before releasing a disdainful sniff. "A pipsqueak like you? No wonder you come growling to my people for help, and it's no surprise they laughed at you."
Uther felt a surge of anger at the woman's words. "If your intention here is merely to hurl playground insults and scorn, I'd suggest you restrain your spiteful tongue. It appears clear now that expecting you to comprehend the mistake of aiding one who seeks to end all life on this world was a mistake in itself." His voice didn't hide any of his frustration or scorn.
The woman snorted derisively before bursting into raucous laughter. "Haha, those are quite the fighting words, little man." With a menacing leer, she drew her weapon, challenging Uther as he did the same. "Care to stand by them?"
I will strive to finish this story, but I make no promises when that will be. Sorry.
While their advancement toward establishing a foothold in Icecrown was going smoothly, some might argue, perhaps even too smoothly, particularly with the Alliance and this emerging Horde engaging in conflicts over long-standing grievances.
Uther couldn't help but snort as he recalled the chaotic scene of unruly orcs and humans exchanging blows. The emphasis here was on attempting – it appeared that Lady Windrunner harbored little patience for such foolishness and bickering. Without a moment's hesitation, she assertively quashed their altercation, driving them forcefully into the ground while icily reminding them of the purpose that had brought them to this place.
Afterward, she rallied all of them to aid Light's Vengeance in repelling the relentless horde of Undead relentlessly thrown at them. When their individual leaders attempted to voice their objections, Lady Windrunner joyfully retorted that if they were so idle and devoid of constructive tasks, she could easily assign them meaningful work.
This remark, naturally, elicited mixed reactions. Bolvar Fordragon was reminded of old wounds inflicted by the orcs, his response colored by past grievances. Varok Saurfang, on the other hand, appeared more open to discussion, yet he was not inclined to accept Bolvar's words without a response.
Thankfully, Tirion was able to diffuse the situation, reminding everyone present of the true enemy at hand. This was a skill he had always excelled at—bringing adversaries together for a greater cause, uniting even those who were previously at odds.
The implications of drawing the attention of Light's Chosen were best left unspoken. The potential consequences were dire, making it crucial to avoid any action that might invite his scrutiny. Nevertheless, this concern could be addressed at a later time. For the moment, Tirion had to redirect his attention to another pressing matter—the Vrykul.
All their previous attempts had resulted in abject failure, yet Uther remained resolute, unwilling to surrender so easily. However, he found himself grappling with the realization that there seemed to be no viable path forward. There existed only one faction within the race that hadn't forged an alliance with the Lich King. Unfortunately, this faction comprised solely of females who harbored an inherent hatred towards males, regardless of their race.
Uther had made efforts to persuade Sylvanas to engage with this faction, but her lack of interest was evident. He couldn't entirely disagree with her reasoning; it seemed hardly worthwhile.
Nevertheless, this fact gnawed at him. The knowledge that their ancestors willingly chose to align with such a monstrous force and harbored such intense disdain for everyone else weighed heavily on him.
"Are you still wasting your thoughts on the Vrykul?" Sylvanas' voice was filled with exasperation as she spoke from beside Uther, who simply remained silent in response.
Sylvanas let out a silent sigh of frustration. "Uther, give it a rest. The Vrykul are resolute in their decision, and no amount of effort on our part will sway them. They have chosen their path; let them perish with their wretched master." The disdain in Sylvanas' tone was unmistakable when she mentioned Arthas.
Just as Uther was about to reply, shouts from the gate captured their attention. They exchanged a quick glance before hastening toward the source of the commotion.
Upon their arrival, Uther was taken aback by the scene that greeted him. A female Vrykul stood at the gates, engaged in a heated argument and shouting match with the beleaguered soldiers stationed before her.
"I've said it before, you little twerp! I demand to see your leader. Bring them here, or I'll deal with you myself!" the colossal woman growled menacingly at the guard in front of her.
[Insert Pic]
Intrigued by the commotion and feeling sympathetic toward the overwhelmed soldier, Uther continued walking until he reached the scene.
"I am the one in charge here," he declared firmly, prompting the guard to release a small sigh of relief and step aside. "How may I assist you?"
The enormous woman towered over the surroundings, her imposing stature accentuating her significant size. She stood tall, a silent observer of Uther for a brief moment before releasing a disdainful sniff. "A pipsqueak like you? No wonder you come growling to my people for help, and it's no surprise they laughed at you."
Uther felt a surge of anger at the woman's words. "If your intention here is merely to hurl playground insults and scorn, I'd suggest you restrain your spiteful tongue. It appears clear now that expecting you to comprehend the mistake of aiding one who seeks to end all life on this world was a mistake in itself." His voice didn't hide any of his frustration or scorn.
The woman snorted derisively before bursting into raucous laughter. "Haha, those are quite the fighting words, little man." With a menacing leer, she drew her weapon, challenging Uther as he did the same. "Care to stand by them?"
~~~~
On the sidelines, Sylvanas could only watch with exasperation as events unfolded before her eyes. From the moment she discovered the Vrykul's willingness to aid the Lich King, they became adversaries in her eyes. She didn't possess Uther's idealism, nor did she believe she could sway them from their chosen path.
Now, they had this... whatever it was, to deal with. A profound desire to bury her head in her hands in despair overwhelmed her—a cascade of what she deemed useless distractions. Not only did she endure the presence of the filthy orcs, whom she considered mere vermin, but she also found some utility in them as effective shields. A grimace twisted her face as she acknowledged the reprimand from the Light for such thoughts. Some days, she regretted the decision she had made, her eyes rolling at the inevitable disappointment she felt from the Light.
Lost in her thoughts, what she considered a squabble continued before her, a mere trifle in her opinion. The others had cleared and area, leaving Uther engaged in combat with the Vrykul woman.
Although the woman displayed prowess, Uther clearly outmatched her, swiftly subduing her.
"Ha! Not bad," the subdued Vrykul woman expressed with obvious glee. "I surrender. Let it be known that I, Syreian the Bonecarver, take this man as my mate!" Her declaration reverberated loudly, stunning everyone present.
This time, Sylvanas didn't hold back her reaction. She allowed her head to fall into her hands, utterly incredulous at what she had just witnessed. The sheer audacity of the situation was beyond belief. She simply couldn't fathom the reality of what had transpired.
Now, they had this... whatever it was, to deal with. A profound desire to bury her head in her hands in despair overwhelmed her—a cascade of what she deemed useless distractions. Not only did she endure the presence of the filthy orcs, whom she considered mere vermin, but she also found some utility in them as effective shields. A grimace twisted her face as she acknowledged the reprimand from the Light for such thoughts. Some days, she regretted the decision she had made, her eyes rolling at the inevitable disappointment she felt from the Light.
Lost in her thoughts, what she considered a squabble continued before her, a mere trifle in her opinion. The others had cleared and area, leaving Uther engaged in combat with the Vrykul woman.
Although the woman displayed prowess, Uther clearly outmatched her, swiftly subduing her.
"Ha! Not bad," the subdued Vrykul woman expressed with obvious glee. "I surrender. Let it be known that I, Syreian the Bonecarver, take this man as my mate!" Her declaration reverberated loudly, stunning everyone present.
This time, Sylvanas didn't hold back her reaction. She allowed her head to fall into her hands, utterly incredulous at what she had just witnessed. The sheer audacity of the situation was beyond belief. She simply couldn't fathom the reality of what had transpired.
~~~~
Sally found the past few days terribly amusing, largely due to the relentless efforts of the Vrykul woman to persuade Uther into seeing 'sense' and consummating their new relationship. Her constant endeavors never failed to bring Sally a sense of amusement.
As for the others, their reactions were quite varied. Some appeared bewildered, while others seemed simply uncaring. A few, like Sally, found amusement in the situation, enjoying the spectacle as she did. On the contrary, there were those who found it deeply upsetting, conflicting with their deeply held morals and values. The stark contrast in reactions added an intriguing layer to the unfolding scenario.
Regarding Sylvanas, she had nearly fled the fortress entirely and sought refuge on the battlefield, where the chaos somehow felt more comprehensible. Of course, nobody dared suggest that this was her primary motivation.
Her stated reason had been to guarantee that nothing went amiss and to prevent any breach by the undead, or something along those lines. However, those who had witnessed her response to the incident could infer the genuine cause behind her actions.
Regarding the matter at hand, Sally unexpectedly found herself favoring the Vrykul woman. In her view, Uther had appeared overly tense and distressed about his failure to secure Vrykul allies. However, now that he had succeeded and Syreian had affirmed that with fighters of Uther's caliber, they could attract strong Vrykul women willing to test their strengths and, if defeated, join their cause.
Admittedly, it was a barbaric way of life; Sally conceded to that point. Yet, on the other hand, life on this continent was harsh and unforgiving. Ensuring the ability to protect one's home and family necessitated strength.
In a sense, the women were simply taking essential precautions. The reason humans in the Eastern Kingdoms had largely moved beyond such practices was due to the prolonged period of ease and comfort they had enjoyed.
It's essential to note that the women's readiness to embrace these methods might seem unconventional, but it stemmed from the necessity to survive in a challenging environment.
Undoubtedly, the very first humans who were led to the Eastern Kingdoms by their Vrykul parents likely followed similar approaches. However, as they established their own settlements and as safety increased, such practices were gradually abandoned.
The most significant threat their kingdoms had faced were the trolls, but these adversaries had been subdued long before any of the present generation were born. Thus, while maintaining military strength remained a priority, the majority of the populace led simple and secure lives, contending with different types of challenges.
Each time Sally believed she had grasped an understanding of the world, a new revelation emerged, proving her previous notions wrong. Nevertheless, she welcomed these revelations as they contributed to her knowledge of the world and life itself.
Undoubtedly, she had much more to learn, and there would always be aspects that would elude her understanding. Nevertheless, she found solace in the fact that her path was set, and she was determined to navigate it, utilizing all that she had learned to make the best of her journey.
As for the others, their reactions were quite varied. Some appeared bewildered, while others seemed simply uncaring. A few, like Sally, found amusement in the situation, enjoying the spectacle as she did. On the contrary, there were those who found it deeply upsetting, conflicting with their deeply held morals and values. The stark contrast in reactions added an intriguing layer to the unfolding scenario.
Regarding Sylvanas, she had nearly fled the fortress entirely and sought refuge on the battlefield, where the chaos somehow felt more comprehensible. Of course, nobody dared suggest that this was her primary motivation.
Her stated reason had been to guarantee that nothing went amiss and to prevent any breach by the undead, or something along those lines. However, those who had witnessed her response to the incident could infer the genuine cause behind her actions.
Regarding the matter at hand, Sally unexpectedly found herself favoring the Vrykul woman. In her view, Uther had appeared overly tense and distressed about his failure to secure Vrykul allies. However, now that he had succeeded and Syreian had affirmed that with fighters of Uther's caliber, they could attract strong Vrykul women willing to test their strengths and, if defeated, join their cause.
Admittedly, it was a barbaric way of life; Sally conceded to that point. Yet, on the other hand, life on this continent was harsh and unforgiving. Ensuring the ability to protect one's home and family necessitated strength.
In a sense, the women were simply taking essential precautions. The reason humans in the Eastern Kingdoms had largely moved beyond such practices was due to the prolonged period of ease and comfort they had enjoyed.
It's essential to note that the women's readiness to embrace these methods might seem unconventional, but it stemmed from the necessity to survive in a challenging environment.
Undoubtedly, the very first humans who were led to the Eastern Kingdoms by their Vrykul parents likely followed similar approaches. However, as they established their own settlements and as safety increased, such practices were gradually abandoned.
The most significant threat their kingdoms had faced were the trolls, but these adversaries had been subdued long before any of the present generation were born. Thus, while maintaining military strength remained a priority, the majority of the populace led simple and secure lives, contending with different types of challenges.
Each time Sally believed she had grasped an understanding of the world, a new revelation emerged, proving her previous notions wrong. Nevertheless, she welcomed these revelations as they contributed to her knowledge of the world and life itself.
Undoubtedly, she had much more to learn, and there would always be aspects that would elude her understanding. Nevertheless, she found solace in the fact that her path was set, and she was determined to navigate it, utilizing all that she had learned to make the best of her journey.
~~~~
The snow and ice crunched beneath Alexstrasza's feet as she approached the individual she sought to speak with. As was his wont, he was alone—a silent guardian, observing from above. He had withdrawn further and further, evidently preparing others for...
She shook her head, dismissing those thoughts for now. Her purpose for being here was different. Behind her, another set of steps echoed, belonging to the person who had requested to accompany her on this journey after she had assisted Chromie in the caverns of time and had exchanged words with Nozdormu.
Her brother had been... obstinate, but Alexstrasza had remained steadfast. He had become so engrossed in manipulating time that he had forgotten a simple truth—to truly live.
The reason for her visit weighed heavily upon her. She sought to rekindle a spark of life within her brother, to remind him of the beauty and purpose beyond the intricacies of time. Alexstrasza aimed to break through his obsession and bring him back to the present, where life's vibrant moments awaited.
To live means to experience success, failure, and the constant cycle of rising after every fall. Life is a journey marked by its peaks and valleys. Embracing both is essential; striving for an immaculate existence is futile and often ends in disappointment or, worse, calamity.
Attempting to grasp every potential choice and its consequence is an exercise in futility that could drive one to madness. This futile pursuit gave rise to the Infinite Dragonflight. Their obsession with crafting an impeccable timeline led them into madness, transforming them into mere pawns manipulated by the Void.
A heavy, weary sigh escaped her lips, echoing the weight of countless trials and tribulations borne from everyones relentless pursuit of perfection, a pursuit that often morphs them into monstrous beings, erasing their essence along the way.
As she finally ceased, standing beside Light's Chosen, she allowed her eyes to wander across the sight before her, drawing strength from the scene unfolding. Amidst the unity and cooperation, albeit somewhat coerced, a promise of transformation lingered—a prospect of evolving into something superior. It was this potential that she chose to believe in and place her faith upon.
The howling wind became the sole audible presence as they lingered there in silence, each lost in their own contemplations.
After a while, Light's Chosen broke the silence, questioning, "Why have you come?" Alexstrasza remained silent, recognizing that the query wasn't directed at her but at her companion—Soridormi, the one who had approached her earlier, filled with confusion, seeking guidance to lead her to the figure standing beside her.
"To understand," was Soridormi's answer. Ever since she beheld this person, something had drawn her to him. Worse still, she could feel her own power lingering from this individual, yet she couldn't recall ever meeting them before.
Lost amidst the howling winds, a soft sigh escaped the Light's Chosen. "There is nothing to understand—nothing for you to learn here, at least, nothing you do not already suspect."
Pursing her lips, Soridormi spoke matter-of-factly, "You are displaced from your timeline, and I was the one to do so." It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. "Why?" Her longing for an answer lingered palpably.
"Because I failed, and she lost her last shred of hope. In her grief, anger, sadness, and hopelessness, she lashed out," the Light's Chosen spoke, his tone masking his own emotions on the matter. "After which, I awoke here."
They stood there in profound silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, processing the weight of his words and the gravity of Soridormi's actions. Yet, amidst the quiet, Alexstrasza and Soridormi harbored the same burning question: what had he failed?
"What did…" Soridormi attempted to ask, but her words were abruptly halted. "It doesn't matter. I've come to terms with what has happened and what I've become. I've chosen my path and will see it through to its conclussion," he replied sternly, an edge to his tone that signaled his reluctance to delve further into the matter.
Alexstrasza turned towards him, her expression a poignant mixture of understanding and acceptance, and offered a sorrowful smile. She then shifted her gaze to Soridormi, recognizing the array of questions etched across her face, and subtly shook her head.
Soridormi swallowed her questions and bowed her head, her departure marked by a few grains of sand carried away by the wind.
As Alexstrasza turned around and prepared to depart, she felt the need to express one more sentiment. However, it appeared that she wouldn't have the chance. "Save your pity for others; I have no use for it," Light's Chosen spoke, devoid of mockery, simply stating his acceptance of the past and the future.
With that, Alexstrasza departed, her heart heavy with sadness for someone who had already sacrificed so much and was prepared to sacrifice even more.
She shook her head, dismissing those thoughts for now. Her purpose for being here was different. Behind her, another set of steps echoed, belonging to the person who had requested to accompany her on this journey after she had assisted Chromie in the caverns of time and had exchanged words with Nozdormu.
Her brother had been... obstinate, but Alexstrasza had remained steadfast. He had become so engrossed in manipulating time that he had forgotten a simple truth—to truly live.
The reason for her visit weighed heavily upon her. She sought to rekindle a spark of life within her brother, to remind him of the beauty and purpose beyond the intricacies of time. Alexstrasza aimed to break through his obsession and bring him back to the present, where life's vibrant moments awaited.
To live means to experience success, failure, and the constant cycle of rising after every fall. Life is a journey marked by its peaks and valleys. Embracing both is essential; striving for an immaculate existence is futile and often ends in disappointment or, worse, calamity.
Attempting to grasp every potential choice and its consequence is an exercise in futility that could drive one to madness. This futile pursuit gave rise to the Infinite Dragonflight. Their obsession with crafting an impeccable timeline led them into madness, transforming them into mere pawns manipulated by the Void.
A heavy, weary sigh escaped her lips, echoing the weight of countless trials and tribulations borne from everyones relentless pursuit of perfection, a pursuit that often morphs them into monstrous beings, erasing their essence along the way.
As she finally ceased, standing beside Light's Chosen, she allowed her eyes to wander across the sight before her, drawing strength from the scene unfolding. Amidst the unity and cooperation, albeit somewhat coerced, a promise of transformation lingered—a prospect of evolving into something superior. It was this potential that she chose to believe in and place her faith upon.
The howling wind became the sole audible presence as they lingered there in silence, each lost in their own contemplations.
After a while, Light's Chosen broke the silence, questioning, "Why have you come?" Alexstrasza remained silent, recognizing that the query wasn't directed at her but at her companion—Soridormi, the one who had approached her earlier, filled with confusion, seeking guidance to lead her to the figure standing beside her.
"To understand," was Soridormi's answer. Ever since she beheld this person, something had drawn her to him. Worse still, she could feel her own power lingering from this individual, yet she couldn't recall ever meeting them before.
Lost amidst the howling winds, a soft sigh escaped the Light's Chosen. "There is nothing to understand—nothing for you to learn here, at least, nothing you do not already suspect."
Pursing her lips, Soridormi spoke matter-of-factly, "You are displaced from your timeline, and I was the one to do so." It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact. "Why?" Her longing for an answer lingered palpably.
"Because I failed, and she lost her last shred of hope. In her grief, anger, sadness, and hopelessness, she lashed out," the Light's Chosen spoke, his tone masking his own emotions on the matter. "After which, I awoke here."
They stood there in profound silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, processing the weight of his words and the gravity of Soridormi's actions. Yet, amidst the quiet, Alexstrasza and Soridormi harbored the same burning question: what had he failed?
"What did…" Soridormi attempted to ask, but her words were abruptly halted. "It doesn't matter. I've come to terms with what has happened and what I've become. I've chosen my path and will see it through to its conclussion," he replied sternly, an edge to his tone that signaled his reluctance to delve further into the matter.
Alexstrasza turned towards him, her expression a poignant mixture of understanding and acceptance, and offered a sorrowful smile. She then shifted her gaze to Soridormi, recognizing the array of questions etched across her face, and subtly shook her head.
Soridormi swallowed her questions and bowed her head, her departure marked by a few grains of sand carried away by the wind.
As Alexstrasza turned around and prepared to depart, she felt the need to express one more sentiment. However, it appeared that she wouldn't have the chance. "Save your pity for others; I have no use for it," Light's Chosen spoke, devoid of mockery, simply stating his acceptance of the past and the future.
With that, Alexstrasza departed, her heart heavy with sadness for someone who had already sacrificed so much and was prepared to sacrifice even more.
I will strive to finish this story, but I make no promises when that will be. Sorry.
Ayashi
Connoisseur.
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2018
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I have to agree that how the loyal the Vyrkul have been made to the Lich King in canon is a bit strange.
Sure the Vyrkul have been literally made to fight, but they were created as soldiers not glory hounds or blood knight berserkers... to say nothing about how they should have been aligned by Arcane/Light(maybe even Life) rather than (un)death...