The icy winds of Northrend were pierced by the Ebon Flame as we laid Sindragosa, Queen of the Frostborn, to her final rest.


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Valithria Dreamwalker was saved from the nightmare of becoming a frost wyrm... only to return to her Emerald one.



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We made sure the blood of our brothers and sisters were Blood Queen Lana'thel's last supper.

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They call the San'layn the Lich King's immortal champions. We put their reputation to the test.

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Azeroth is not big enough for TWO diabolical geniuses!

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Through toxic gases and gallons of mucus, the Ebon Flame burns brighter than a thousand stars!



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as chronicled by Archmage Deva Victrix


Son of Saurfang, Saurfang the Younger;

You honoured the heralds of the Horde and came,

From Draenor’s drum you dreamt of glory,

To make your father proud, you fought to the fiercest of ends.

The din of spear, the snow-storm fears,

From time-to-time the weather of weapons.

The sky jewel slumbers on the slopes of Northrend.

Bitter chills, carrion crow and icicles of blood.

On a bleak background of the blood soaked snow,

To the lion’s aid you breeched death’s barricade and rode.

Like the breaker of trees, Boreas blew a path

To your end, to your boiling bloody end, to defend your foe.

From on high his sky steed, your father saw your deed,

Against the Lord of the Raven’s Harvest one orc stands

Walk the earth you did, what wanders did you behold?

What wander awaited you in death?

Your father’s armour and axe, tempered with Nagrand’s pyres.

Heart of Draenor, Hero of the Horde, your banners.

Forever kept flying is your fabled standard

We do not mourn you. You live reborn with the honoured dead.

My dear lady,

It is with great regret that I must inform you of the death of your son, Reginald Sanders. He died as he lived, with the greatest honour, completing a mission of vital importance to the guild and the Alliance as a whole.

Reginald was instrumental in our successful assault on Icecrown Citadel. He fought with the vigour and bravery that made us proud to call him one of our own. He fought alongside his brothers and sister at the Order of the Ebon Flame in order ensure his family a brighter and safer future and you have the right to learn about his heroic deeds.

Our initial assault on Icecrown Citadel – while claiming many lives – has been a success. We managed to secure much of the lower levels. It was during our push towards the ramparts of the vile place when we encountered Horde warriors locked into combat with Alliance soldiers. As we found out, the Horde broke away from the main army, pursuing their own goals in the Citadel. We found ourselves fighting on two fronts on the ramparts, the Scourge pushing us on one side, the Horde on the other.

Nevertherless, we prevailed and soon took the skies on the Alliance's gunship the Skybreaker. Our goal was to reach the upper levels of the Citadel and secure a new base of operations there. Unfortunatelly the Horde's own gunship, Orgrim's Hammer, was awaiting us in the air, determined on hindering the Alliance's advance in the Citadel. Failing to reason with the Horde army, we were forced to engage in an aerial battle with Orgrim's Hammer.

Reginald fought with relentless vigour, his bravery on the battlefield belying his young age. His unwavering faith in the Holy Light saved the lives of many of his comrades that day and will ensure that his brothers in the Order of the Silver Hand will remember him for years to come.

Even when he received the killing blow from one of the Horde's maleficent spellcasters, he managed to lunge himself at him, pulling the sorcerer off the ship into the depths below. It was his selfless sacrifice that gave us the edge to force the Horde gunship into submission and emerge victorious.

Rest assured, we will make sure Reginald's sacrifice will not be in vain. As we march deeper into Icecrown Citadel, we will do everything in our power to uphold his vow to ensure the safety and peace for our people back home.

Our prayers go with you and we will keep Reginald's memory alive in our halls, until the end of times.

Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss.

--Kinta Riftsong
(This letter is marked with the seal of the Ebon Flame.)

From the personal log of Roderic Blackchill, Knight-Captain of the Ebon Blade:

Retribution is a funny word. It provokes images of a just cause. We, the Knights of the Ebon Blade know no such justification. But we do know revenge. We were raised, unwillingly, into His service as death knights, and not one of us does not loathe what we've become in some way. But not everyone was thus bound to His iron will.

I speak, of course, of the Cult of the Damned. Those men and women of all races that willingly submitted themselves to Him, praising his name, claiming He is the key to salvation. Many of us feel sick at the thought of such betrayal, not to a king or ideology, but to life itself. For this reason, we hunt the cultists night and day. And we kept hunting them, even in the bowels of the Dread Citadel itself. It was thus that we came to behold the head of the serpent.

Her name was Lady Deathwhisper. We rushed into the Oratory of the Damned, that damned place where the cult holds court around her. By the look of things, we had interrupted her sermon, and it was probably in part due to this that we succeeded. The Ebon Flame, though glorious, would have been hard pressed to battle these men and women had they been prepared, for I have never seen such determination in a cultist before. However, it was now for naught.

At the height of the battle, the Ebon Flame champion, Faela I think her name is, rushed up to the Lich and drove her sword right through that ultimately brittle skull. The tortured shriek of the Lady still echo in my head.

With their foul mistress dead, it did not take long for the cultists to fall, flee or both. We took no prisoners. The Ebon Blade made sure of it. We were, however, unable to find a phylactery... And if experience is any indication, I would think we stand the risk of fighting this particular minion again.

To Father Leander, bishop of the Church of the Holy Light:

Year 625, by the King's Calendar, December 10

Holy Father,

Our march within Icecrown Citadel is unstoppable. With each passing day, we push deeper and deeper into the Citadel, the rightousness of our cause bolstering our spirits, the warmth of the Holy Light lifting our hearts!

Not even the Lich King's most powerful minions are able to halt our progress! The first test of our spirit was that of Lord Marrowgar, Guardian of the Spire atop which the Frozen Throne sits. -It- was truly a monstrous sight to behold. Whispers amongst the troops say the Lich King himself has animated the bones of thousands of adventurers in order to create this... mockery of life and I'm inclined to believe that. One would be hard pressed to find words to describe the terror this fiend presented.

Lord Marrowgar made quick work of the initial assault, its terrible weapon mowing our troops down as if they were nothing but blades of grass. Its visage was that of terror and its horrible voice froze the blood in our veins. We would have surely perished, if not for the stalwart hearts of the men and women of Ebon Flame. This group -for they bow to no king or country- of likeminded individuals fought with the fury and strength unlike anything I have ever seen. Where others have given up hope and were destroyed by the hands of this skeletal abomination, the warriors of the Flame pressed forward, relentlessly striking at the beast.

It was almost as if the Holy Light itself manifested on the battlefield, in the form of these Champions of Justice. Their actions bolstered our belief that our cause was just and that the Light is truly at our side even in these cursed halls. It was thanks only to their courage and unwavering spirit that we managed to overcome Lord Marrowgar and advance to the inner sanctums of the Citadel...

Eternal servant of the Holy Light,
Sir Daric Brighthammer, Knight of the Silver Hand