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[The Ebon Redempion] Prologue

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Archivist of the Flame

Joined: 18 Jan 2007
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 03, 2010 5:13 pm    Post subject: [The Ebon Redempion] Prologue Reply with quote

The Ebon Redemption

Fallen Champion

The wind shrieked like a child in pain.

Ignorant of the tempest raging outside, a lone figure knelt before an ancient altar sheltered by cold, saronite walls. Despite the storm that seemed engulfed the structure, the interior was deadly calm, allowing the figure to concentrate wholly on the rythmic sounds of his own breathing.

His meditation was broken by a sudden gust of wind, sweeping through the benches, snuffing out the few candles that littered the room, providing the faint illumination. The figure's long, elegant ears twitched, as they registered the sound. The wind died as suddenly as it came, leaving the room once again in deadly silence. His concentration broken, the figure rose, the heavy platemail he wore creaking in protest of the motion. He opened his eyes, once burning with bright amber, now glowing with an unnatural blueish hue. His glaring eyes surveyed the now dark room, trying to pinpoint the source of the eerie gust of wind. It was more of a motion out of sheer habit, for his heightened other senses have long ago registered the other presence in the room with him.

As if on cue, a new figure materialized itself out of thin air. There was no mistaking of this one's spectral nature: his body was completely luminescent, emitting a faint blue glow, similar to the armored night elf's eyes next to him. The spirit too was night elf, though his features were significantly smoother than that of the average kaldorei, who spends most of his life in the forest. There was an unmistakable air of nobility around the ghost, as it gracefully floated around the room, his spectral feet never touching the cold stone floor of the room.
He set his eyes straight at the armored figure, holding up his hand, pointing an accusing finger at him.

„Thalos!” came his first word, his voice shrill and unearthly. „What have you done to us?!”

The armored night elf sighed deeply. He had no desire to converse with his dead predecessor again.
„Leave me, spirit!” Thalos growled. „I have no desire to listen to your pestering! I owe you no explanation!”

„You betrayed everything our Order stood for! You betrayed your friends, your family! You betrayed the oath your predecessors took ten thousand years ago! You betrayed your legacy!”

„My legacy?!”
Thalos spat angrily at the ghost. „I was but a tool of your accursed Order, a puppet of your precious Ebon Flame who was conveniently nearby when the last of your kind died! You forced this destiny upon me, a destiny I did not choose!”
Thalos knew the spirit well. Ana'rathiel Firesoul, the ancient leader of the Order of the Ebon Flame. During the War of the Ancients, it was he who gave his oath to the lands of Azeroth, that the Flames would watch over and protect it for all eternity. The oath was sealed by the Ebon Flame, the magnificent gift of the Mother Moon, Elune herself. It was this Flame that shone brightly in the souls of every man and woman who took up arms to defend Azeroth for millenia. And it was this Flame that died out the moment Thalos, Last Keeper of the Flame, turned his back on the Order and its oath.

„I owe you nothing, spirit! For five years I have been the servant of the Flame, given the illusion of free choice! But in the end all my actions, all my decision have been for the Flame!”
It was true. Thalos never choose to become the leader of the Ebon Flame. It was a choice made for him, by the last member of the Order. After the Third War a frail and sick night elf found his way to the forgotten city of Eldre'thalas, in the dense forests of Feralas. Thalos, who was assigned to guard the gates that day, rushed to the night elf's aid, only to be too late. The old elf died in his arms, with his last dying breath passing on the mystical Ebon Flame to the only mortal nearby. In ancient times of the Order, a new leader was preparing for months, even years before being ready to accept the Flame. Thalos was given no such luxury. As the knowledge and power of ten-thousand years overwhelmed his soul, Thalos fell into a deep coma that lasted for several months. During his long sleep, he was visited by the spirits of deceased member of Ebon Flame, aiding him in his recovery. When he awoke, he did so with renewed purpose: to rebuild the ancient order and carry on its legacy. The spirits continued guiding and aiding him whenever he needed and soon he found new allies to join their cause. In a mere years, the Order grew into a veritable army, with Thalos as its commander.

„You betrayed everything you believed in for this?” the spirit retorted, waving his arms around, taking in the sight of the dark room. „To serve the Lord of the Dead? To aid him in ending all life on Azeroth? This is not what you believe in! Open your eyes, boy!”
As the years have passed Thalos begun to question their cause. No matter how many enemies they defeat, no matter how many fiends they destroy, Azeroth can never be safe. He and his Order was doomed to an eternity of servitude to a land that was beyond saving. They would find no salvation, not even in death, for as the spirits have told him, every member of Order was bound to the Ebon Flame. When their time comes, their souls are not granted rest, instead they remain on the mortal world, chained in eternal servitude to the goddess' gift. As Thalos was driven deeper and deeper into despair by the futility of his situation, he began to hear whispers. Whispers of a creature so immensly powerful, that even the mighty spirits of the Flame cowered in his presence. This mighty creature, this Lich King offered Thalos something he thought impossible: salvation. In exchange he asked the night elf to join his cause, to scour the world clean of the taint of the living. Thalos, who over the years has seen what manner of horrible deeds mortals can accomplish, agreed. On one fateful night, he turned his back on his people and left Ebon Flame to join the Lich King's Scourge.

„Enough! You do not understand the master plan of the Master, Ana'rathiel! How is this different than serving a land that was doomed from the beginning? The Lich King has granted me the power to vanquish enemies that the Flame never could! In the end none will be able to withstand the Scourge! The time of the living is at an end! You asked me what I have done, Ana'rathiel... I'll tell you what I've done: I've traded one master for another. The only difference is that this time I did so by my own choosing!”
Thalos was indeed a valuable ally to the Lich King. His considerable skills in battle quickly earned him the privilege of becoming one of the Lich King's chosen: a fearsome death knight. But far more importantly, Thalos was the only mortal man spiritually bound to the Ebon Flame and thus to its spirits. When the Las Keeper offered his services to the Lich King, he bestowed upon his master a veritable legion of ancient spirits. Now these spirits reluctantly follow their new master in his quest to conquer the world of the living.

Thalos's train of thoughts were interrupted by the sudden, desperate cry of Ana'rathiel's spirit. He watched as the spectral body fell to the ground, screaming in agony. It's transculent body twisting and deforming, the ghost looked at him, his face distorted by agony. A few seconds later the spirit dissolved, leaving a trail of white mist behind him.

Only then did Thalos understand what had just transpired, for where Ana'rathiel was a few seconds ago, now stood the Lich King himself, towering above the night elf in his dread armour. Thalos immediatelly fell on his knees, bowing his head in reverence.

„Very good, my champion.” the Lich King praised him, the depths of the darkness in his voice shivering Thalos to the bone. „You have stood your ground againts the remnants of your past. You may yet be worthy of leading my armies to glory!”

„What is thy bidding, my master?” Thalos whispered, not daring to lift his head and look into the endless void that were his dark master's eyes.

„One final test awaits you.” the Lich King began, fixing his impenetrable gaze upon Thalos. „The Horde and the Alliance have been a stain on my domain for far too long! I have crushed their armies at the Wrathgate and now it is up to you to finish the task. You will travel to the dread citadel Naxxramas and aid the archlich Kel'thuzad in crushing any resistance the living may show! Leave none alive!” the Lich King turned and started walking away, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dark room.

„Yes, my master...” Thalos whispered into the darkness. The Lich King has given him a task to destroy every living being in the Dragonblight. To crush both the Horde and the Alliance once and for all. So his Master wishes. So it shall be.

So it shall be... death to the living...


Thalos awoke, desperatly gasping for air. He rubbed his temple, surveying the room around him, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the darkness engulfing him. He was in his tent, in the large camp the Ebon Flame has chosen to spend the night. He was amongst friends here. Family.
Every night since his redemption, Thalos has been haunted by images of his terrible mistake. He still cursed himself for believing in the Lich King's lies. „My champion” he called him. Thalos spat angrily on the ground. The Lich King does not have any allies. He only has slaves.

The magnitude of his mistake manifested itself on that fateful night atop the dread citadel of Naxxramas. His former allies and friends, the Ebon Flame, has dealt the defeating blow on him and his armies. Surrounded by them, he desperatly cried out to the Lich King, pleading his master for aid. But the Lich King never answered. He had abandoned him. Like an empty satchel, once he had what he desired of him, he was discarded.
There, atop Naxxramas, on that fateful day Thalos cursed the Lich King's name as he awaited the killing blow from his former friends. But it did not come. Ebon Flame has shown him compassion and forgiveness. With ancient magics they have broken the Lich King's terrible hold over him and freed his soul. They reminded him of his loved ones, of people who care for him. They made him realize what a terrible fool he has been.

He has been living with that guilt ever since. Even though his comrades have shown him forgiveness, he could not grant it himself. The reprecussions of his betrayal still hung heavy on his soul: the Ebon Flame has been extinguished, possibly forever. The ancient spirits of Ebon Flame are still bound to the Lich King's iron will.
He did not know if he still deserved redemption. He did not know if his terrible mistake could ever be mended. All he knew that the Lich King must be brought to justice for everything he had done. He owed this much to his guild. He owed this much to his friends and family. He owed this much to himself.

„My lord” came the voice of a courier from outside his tent. „The camp is breaking up. We continue our journey to the Argent Tournament Grounds. There we shall meet with the armies of the Ashen Verdict and the Horde. And then the march to Icecrown Citadel begins.”

Thalos smiled to himself.

And so it begins...
"The road to hell is paved with good inventions"

"I've got the soul of an artist... right here in my jar"

"You can't spell 'slaughter' without 'laughter'" - Warlock's Creed

Last edited by Fenmapus on Sun Jun 19, 2011 12:16 pm; edited 6 times in total
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Scourgelady (melee offence officer)

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PostPosted: Wed Apr 14, 2010 8:18 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Seja watched without interest as another steam tank trundled along the path she and her companions had won through not an hour past. The crude machine crushed and splintered the jagged icy surface of the glacier under its ponderous wheels, pouring a stream of gravel behind it as it went. Another would be along presently, and then again, each thickening and widening the road Fordring’s army needed to carry themselves and their supplies to Icecrown’s walls. The road itself was still littered with shattered skeletal remains, a weak force and no match for the Ebon Flame.

It had been too easy.

Seja stood up and turned back from the road, climbing slowly up a tumbled heap of ice and rock onto a windswept plateau.. It afforded good views of the road to the fore and rear, and it was here that the Flame had made camp. She made her way quickly through the camp to her tent, looked around briefly, and ducked inside.

“Took your time”

Seja’s sword flashed from its sheath and was pointed into the shadows in a heartbeat. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my tent?”

“Oh come now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” The shadow moved slightly, and slipped its hood back, revealing a pale face. A night elven woman. “You kept me waiting. You know how I hate that.”

“I don’t recall inviting you here.” Seja sheathed her sword and went to light the brazier. Shadows fled at the wan light, and danced around the corners of the tent. “What do you want, and why are you here? The Ebon Blade camp is a mile behind us.”

The night elf stretched out like a cat and yawned exaggeratedly before standing up. She was very tall, and very silent, wearing no armour but preferring black leather - the better to remain unseen. She stalked around the tent for a few moments, poking through Seja’s few possessions, before deigning to answer. “I was bored, and craved company. Your company. Is that so bad?” She picked up a dagger and examined it. “I made this long trip through cold ice and hard rock to pay my little friend a visit and she is not happy to see me. I am so hurt.”

“I don’t have time for your games, Selaphiel.” Seja snatched the dagger away and sheathed it. “You aren’t supposed to be here. State your business and go.”

“You are so boring sometimes.” The night elf sighed and withdrew a sealed scroll before handing it over. “I bring a message from our dear friend Darion. He told me to deliver it to you, personally. It is so nice to have someone who still appreciates my talents.”

Seja took the scroll and examined the wax. It was unbroken. “As long as you didn’t kill anyone to get in here, that’s fine by me. You’ve delivered your message, now go.”

As the other woman slipped out into the gathering darkness, Seja sat down slowly on a camp stool and broke the seal on the scroll. She paused for a few moments before unfurling it, wondering what it might contain. Mograine had a habit of saving the most difficult and dangerous tasks for the humans under his command. Arthas’ betrayal rang most strongly with them, he said. Anger gave them strength to face his forces. The treachery allowed them to see past his deceits. And vengeance … the lust for vengeance would ensure that they would let nothing stand in the way of their goal; to bring him down.

Seja opened the scroll slowly, and read thusly:

“Fordring believes he can challenge Arthas and have the victory. He believes this because he is a fool. At Light’s Hope, it was different. That was hallowed ground, a sacred place. The Light was triumphant there. But a strong light casts a deep shadow. Icecrown is a place of dark magic, and evil. Light wanes in its dim halls, and the Shadow grows. But not all shadow serves the Throne. Not all evil answers to the Lich King. And perhaps there lies our hope. We can do that which must be done, that which the pure of heart would never consider. To face the evil of Arthas, we must use his own power against him. For only dark powers can hope to rival him in those cursed halls. I have a task for you, which will require all of your strength, skill and cunning. It will also require your discretion. Not a word of this must reach the Argent Crusade. Meet with me as soon as you are able, and I will tell you what you must do. Suffer well, sister.”

As she fed the letter to the flames, Seja watched the paper blacken and curl, shedding soot and crumbled ash into the red coals. She felt no warmth in her heart, only a dark chill. A chill which had begun to spread. She looked to the walls of her tent and felt the oppressive shadow which loomed beyond sight, in the cold darkness ahead. There would be no Light in the halls of that dread citadel, only ice and chill and a thousand shades of those who had come before, and been consumed. And it was to these dark powers they must turn in their quest for vengeance?

Seja got to her feet wearily and wrapped herself in her sable cloak. The cold air outside whipped around her, tearing at her hair, its icy fingers cutting through wool, leather, silk, skin and flesh, right to the bone. Snowflakes spun and danced through the darkness of the camp, obscuring the blazing torches which flickered and guttered against the onslaught. Night had fallen. Seja looked around at the shadows and nodded.

“I am ready. Take me to him.”

The shadows fell in behind her as she strode from the camp. The summons must be answered.
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 14, 2010 10:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Midnight swept over Wintergarde as the ringing of hammers on steel carried on relentlessly. Tyrondus overlooked the site where once legions of undead had swarmed. All was going along schedule. The last of the undead in the area had been exterminated, the rubble of the once mighty Naxxramas had been cleared and the roof of the mausoleum had been taken away, laying bare a massive pit in the ground, not entirely unlike a quarry. The pit had been turned into probably the most massive workshop the Alliance had ever built, used to complete the most massive engineering project thusfar conceived. Large pieces of canvas covered the workshop to keep prying eyes in the sky from peeking.
The Skybreaker, Wrynn had called it. It was supposed to represent the might and glory of the Alliance. Tyrondus had seen the plans. I just looked like a giant, flying ship. With a lot of guns. He wasn't very impressed.
"Nothing ever impresses you, does it?" Thyeva had told him once. He never admitted it, but she was right. Spending months fighting the armies of not one, but two gods of death in the freezing cold of Northrend, after having spent even longer on a broken rock flying into nothingness, killing demons had seriously diminished Tyrondus' ability to feel marvel at things.
Still, he could appreciate the general idea of a flying weapon's platform. Initial scout reports from Icecrown had yielded no suitable location for a base of operations on the ground. Anything that was even remotely defensible was swarming with undead. The Scourge was very well entrenched in the area. With the undead removed from southern and eastern Northrend, Arthas knew that his situation was beginning to look like a last stand. And if anything, Tyrondus mused, gods of death were notoriously bad at going down quietly.
Which presented another problem: Tyrondus had also seen the records of the resources being used for this project. The vast amounts of steel, blasting powder, food and capable hands drew away from the front lines. At the moment they were pretty much relying on the Argent Crusade to hold the line at Icecrown, but if the Argent Vanguard fell, the undead amassed in the valley would pour out and overrun the rest of Northrend again. And all they would have to show for it was a ship that maybe could fly.
"My lord? This letter arrived for you." Tyrondus turned around and nodded at the messenger who handed him a rolled-up and sealed letter. The seal bore the signet of SI:7, but was deep purple, instead of the mandatory blue. Upon opening it, Tyrondus also saw that it wasn't coded. Not that it needed to be.

He's done it. Might be prudent to return.

There was no name, but in it's stead a flawless ink drawing of a black rose.
Tyrondus swore under his breath. Knowing full well what 'it' was, and what that would imply. He left his room and went to the sanctum.

There he found a young draenei girl who seemed to stare into nothingness with her dull-grey eyes. She sat with her legs crossed and her palms facing upwards, a globe of water hovering above each one. A staff lay down at her hooves.
"Kaila... Walk with me for a second."
The girl moved her hands sideways and the orbs flowed away a short distance, before falling down and splashing into puddles on the floor. She reached for her staff and used it to push herself up.
"You seem... tense, sir. More than usual. Is something wrong?" She asked as they walked towards the Skybreaker's construction site.
"My inside in SI:7 tells me Wrynn has closed off all foreign relations with the Horde. He's also doubled his spy network in Orgrimmar and Undercity. He's up to something, and if it's war with the Horde, we're all doomed."
They arrived at the site, where Tyrondus knocked on a metal plate. "Oi! Tirry! Get over here!"
After a few moments, a gnome crawled from under the plate, smears of oil on her clothes. She lifted her goggles from her eyes to her forehead as she addressed the knight and the shaman. "Yes? What? Was in the middle of something! Would like to finish it if you don't want your cannons falling off this thing!"
"Things've changed. Wrynn's going to kill us all, diplomatically, and I need to return to Stormwind to try and glue as many pieces together as I can pick up. If anything changes here, I want to know it ASAP."
"Yeah, sure!" the gnome replied, looking eager to get back to work.
"And remember. What we're doing here is technically treason. If any of this gets out, we're all dead, so if anyone asks, you have no idea who I am."
"Yeah, yeah! I know, I know! Now can I go back? I'd like to work on the engines next, before it's finished. That thing looks huge!"
"Go play with your toys, then." The gnome let out a slight cheer, put on her goggles and disappeared under the plate again. Tyrondus spoke to the Draenei as they walked back up. "I have another task for you. Probably the most dangerous yet."
"I trust your judgement, and that what you deem necessary, is necessary, Tyrondus."
"Oh, this definitely qualifies under necessary. I want you to go kill the Lich King."
"You... what?" Tyrondus didn't know it was possible for a blind woman to look surprised, but there you had it.
"Not on your own, ofcourse. I want you to join the Ebon Flame. I'll send a letter to Allistair. He owes me a few, and with luck he should be able to get you in. They're marching on Icecrown as we speak. I suggest flying there. There talk to Enerdhil. He's in charge of their ranged division. Show him what you can do, and if he doesn't know a use for you then, he's even blinder than you are."
"I- are you sure about this?"
"Kailania... I need someone I can trust on the front lines. More importanly, I need someone who is powerful enough to actually survive the front lines. Wrynn and Hellscream are set on plunging the Horde and the Alliance into a new all-out war, so their support is token at best. Tirion is a paladin, and we know how well they are at doing what needs to be done. The Ebon Blade is reliable, but their numbers are few. No, it must be the Flame. And it must be you who joins them."
They were back within the keep now, and Kailania seemed to be lost in thought.
"You can do this, Kai... I have seen you in action, and your potential is so great. The world needs the Lich King to die, and I need you to be there when it happens."
"I... I'll do it."
"There's a girl. Go, Kaila. Go, and may the Light shine over you, always. I'll stay in touch, but unless Wrynn sees sense, which I doubt, we won't meet again until all this is over."
Kailania nodded. "Naaru watch over you, friend." she turned to get her few belongings before heading to the stables. Tyrondus returned to his room to prepare his journey home.
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Baron Rivendare

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PostPosted: Thu Apr 15, 2010 8:18 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Within the valley where the boarders of the fjords and the hills met there was a lone cart motionless in the field. An armored clydesdale grazed and nibbled on the surrounding grass, frequently darting its head up and ears rotating. Wolves roamed the fjords and the bottoms of the mountains and where more then willing to announce their presence.
Atop of the cart was a hunched over figure wrapped in a large woolen cloak. Light teal hair thrashed about in the wind of which she attempted to part in order to look down at the grazing animal. The harsh northern wind bit into her cloak and clothing as if they werent there and coiled up her spine with an icy touch. The horse below looked up at the shivering creature on top of the cart...wasnt windy down here, not even the grass fluttered.

Sitting on top of her cart was normally the best place to meditate, surrounded by her chosen element Air. In the past she would sit and calm herself, blocking out all the distractions of the world and just listen to the voices of the elements. But since travling to northrend they had grown silent. They could be heard when they wished and deathly silent when they didnt, this worried her. What was a shaman who could not commune with the elements? There where Farseers who spoke with the spirits of the dead but this Draenei had prided herself on the fact that the elements worked through her, fighting wherever she was called with the power of lighting at her fingertips.

An eerie voice carried on the wind broke her train of thought
She paniced and fell backwards off the roof of the cart, slamming the back of her head into the frozen ground. The pain of the impact coursed through her spine and head...still in shock from what she heard. Whincing as she opened her eyes and peered up at the top of the cart. The small scrap of cloth she had tied up there in the past remained motionless yet she was certain of the harsh wind that assaulted her. She shook herself off and stood up, grabbing onto the cart for support. Once stable on her hooves she clambered back into the warmth of the cart.

Over and over again the same repeating words where drummed into her skull as she slept, what little rest she didnt get that evening she couldnt say.
Once again startled by the voice, and once again she hit her head on the ceiling of the cart. The cart was too small for a real bed so she rested in a hammock attacthed to the walls.
Rolling off the hammock she threw a cloak over her shoulders and proceeded out the door, one hand on the door frame she swung around to the ladder situated just outside leaning on the cart. Clambering up onto the roof once more the shaman was once again met with that strong northen wind. Undaunted this time she stubbornly sat down and attempted to meditate. The same eerie voice greeted her again as the wind brushed against the back of her neck and sent shivers down her spine.
Kraaniyouwilllistentousnow! Werequireyoutoabandonyourpath
Jolted out of her meditation from what she heard...they where finally leaving? This seemed like some sort of petty relationship parting rather then the elements refusing to channle through her..something wasnt right. Rolling her shoulders back she concentrated again and the chill of the wind seemed to bite again.

This made no sense whatsoever...the elements had shown her many many times their fury and now speak of restoration? But then she had not heard a word from them in over three months...
Youwillgonorthyourfirsttask, icecrownwheremoralsbattle
And with that the wind died down untill completely gone, she stood up and looked towards the north. Naxxramas's green hue could be seen over the greens in the dawn myst. If north she was to go then she would have to do as told. But the elements didnt bother with the wars of mortals, they had their own agendas, she was keen to learn why she was being told to take the role of healer instead...

Jumping off the roof and skidding over the frozen ground she plodded into the cart and grabbed her travle bags. The horse was sleeping behind the cart but not for very much longer as the shaman gave it a quick pat to wake the beast then proceeded to attach the bags. It had no saddle but she never had the intension of riding, starting a quick jog the cloak dropped to the ground as what remained underneath was a fat furry malamute. She barked at the horse and it quickly followed. Heading off through the grizzly hills northbound.
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PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2010 5:17 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Deva was quite comfortable. The candle lighting was adequate, even if it was still needed at midday in Icecrown. The gales had died down; there was no sheering coming from the canvas tents, no clink-clanking of plate or mail from the people outside. She was quite warm, despite having complained of the cold for many moons past. The ink pot was full, the quill sharp. The coffee was strong and sweet. “Just how I like my men.” She though, now quite pleased with herself. “Note to self: must use that joke again at an inappropriate moment.

The air carried the discernable scent of spring. The icethorn was in bloom. Nothing was especially or personally bothering her. She was rested, fed and watered.

So why the hell can’t I finish this damn line!?”, she growled, returning her head to her hands in defeat. She had been sat like this for a few hours, chewing the end of her quill, starring dreamily out of the window awaiting the muse’s kiss. Parchments covered in doodles and patterns could be seen alongside a poem on her fold-away bureau, this must have really stumped her – she wasn’t the sort of person who doodles. Not since her pink leatherette five year diary she had when she was a student at least.

It was the poem that was bothering her. She looked at it one more time.

Right, that’s it. I can live with it as it is.” she told herself. “Because they can stick it up their arse if they think I can do better right now.

She hurriedly sealed the parchment and had it dispatched to Dalaran, where it was copied and published. She personally made sure that it was displayed prominently in the guild hall.

    Heroic hearts will pass the trials of time.
    In shame, a coward never writes his story.
    Forgotten hearts can never beat to rhyme.
    Despair not, victors never choke on glory.

    We face the northern wind’s remorseless breath.
    I ask, is victory worth the fighting for?
    The path from laughing life to frozen death
    Will tarnish all the gold you seek and more.

    We pledge our lives to flame’s eternal guide.
    But shadow’s fog reveals what light cannot.
    Our goal is death, of our own choice with pride,
    No wreaths or plaudits, vainly not forgot.

    In link by link we stand and fight the tide.
    So frail, the life of mortal man can teach.
    On winter’s air we plant our tears with pride.
    Forever sleeping heart is ours to reach.

    It’s fools who think that winning sets them free,
    And life’s too quick and death too soon arrives.
    If blood is wine I’ll drink for you and me.
    Cathedral bled immortal’s heart survives.

    Unmarked around us sink the good and wise.
    All songs must end; they’re going, going, gone.
    Imperfect jarring world’s tumultuous cries.
    The toll in lives from new despair is one.

    Ebon Flame, it’s not the doing, it’s the done.

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PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2010 4:02 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

As Thalos wandered through the Ebon Flame encampment he felt his neckhairs twitch. He stopped and turned his head left quickly, his eyes up towards the cliff overlooking the camp. He didn't see the gheist get down instantly, hiding from the Ebon Flame leader, softly panting with excitement. Thalos narrowed his eyes and continued his way through the camp. The gheist licked his lips and peeked over the cliff again, his legs and arms spread out almost spider-like, keeping as low as possible.

About thirtyfive yards away Jadenn nodded at Faelwen, who was on the opposite side of the ghoul, while taking a small rock in his hand. The moment he saw Fael get up, starting to aim her bow he threw the rock towards the gheist, making it land about eight feet behind him. As the creature turned, Fael released the arrow, it whizzed forward with tremendous force, piercing the gheist shoulderblade and throwing it on it's back.

Jadenn reached the monster first, sprinting towards it and throwing himself on top. The gheist grunted furiously, spitting and mowing it's arm around in grotesque movements. "Calm down stupid beast" Jadenn punched the creature in the nose, breaking it with a loud crack. As if the pain released some hidden form of energy, the gheist slammed its feet on the soil, raising its body and throwing Jadenn off. Caught off guard the ghoul slipped through Jays fingers and ran off staggering, clawing at the arrow in it's shoulder.

The huntress raised her bow and waited, slowly breathing in and out, closing one eye. Jadenn looked up at the huntess and saw her take a deep breath "FAEL!! NO!" Too late.. the arrow whizzed towards its target, entering the gheist's skull with a nauseating crack, throwing it lifeless on the cold frozen rocks. "Damnit Fael we could have brought it in for I dunno.. questioning maybe?". The huntress shrugged and pouted her lips. "Ah well.. at least it won't spread the word" Jadenn sighed. "Let's report back to Chess. I bet she'll be pleased".
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Archivist of the Flame

Joined: 18 Jan 2007
Posts: 853

PostPosted: Sat Oct 23, 2010 4:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

„On the eighth day of the third season of winter the war against the Scourge was slowly coming to an end: the assault on the Lich King’s domain, Icecrown Citadel began. After the end of the Argent Tournament, champions of the Argent Crusade, led by Highlord Tirion Fordring, struck an alliance with the Knights of the Ebon Blade, led by Highlord Darion Morgraine. Thus the Ashen Verdict was born. A combination of opposing orders for a common purpose. Under the banner of this new alliance was raised an army unlike anything the world has ever seen. Orc and human, night elf and troll, blood elf and draenei, the Free People of Azeroth have all united under a single banner to battle an enemy that threatened their very exisence.

The Order of the Ebon Flame once again stood on the frontlines - as it has for the past ten thousand years - lending its strength to Highlord Fordring’s army. And although they fought in the name of justice and rightousness, for the first time since it came to be, the Order fought for its own legacy. The Lich King has wronged many in his dread campaign against the living: he has destroyed entire kingdoms, ordered the genocide of entire nations and spread his influence into every corner of the world.

So too has he poisoned the mind of the Order’s leader, the eleventh Keeper of the Flame, Thalos. With the promise of unfathomable power, he has twisted the mind of the Order’s master into doing his bidding. As Thalos was drawn into the dark embrace of the Lich King, the ancient oath that served as the foundation of the Order was severed, the Eternal Flame extinguished. And although Thalos has found redemption in the end, the Lich King has achieved his terrible goal. The Eternal Flame remained dead and the Spirits of the Flame, ancient spectral allies of the Order, have been bound to his will and became terrifying agents of the Scourge.

Unbeknowst to the rest of the Order, there was one amongst them who would play a far greater role in the final defeat against the Lich King than the rest of her comrades. Seja Victrix, a young woman of an especially tumoltous background, has been chosen by none other than Highlord Darion Morgraine to be his instrument of vengance. The Lord of the Ebon Blade placed the terrible burden upon young Victrix’s shoulders to be the forger and eventual wielder of the runeaxe Shadowmourne, a weapon that would match even the fearsome Frostmourne in power. However, creating such an unholy weapon requires a sacrifice far greater than any mortal should ever know... young Seja Victrix would learn that soon enough...

The call to arms has been sounded. The army stood ready. And once again began a battle for survival."

- excerpts from the Ebon Archives
"The road to hell is paved with good inventions"

"I've got the soul of an artist... right here in my jar"

"You can't spell 'slaughter' without 'laughter'" - Warlock's Creed

Last edited by Fenmapus on Tue Nov 02, 2010 11:51 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostPosted: Sat Oct 23, 2010 6:01 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote


Blue and white.

And black. The old druid wandered his hand on the tip of his wooden staff rather calmly, gazing at the allies gathering nearby. Then he looked far back, the soldiers of the Alliance were making their way slowly towards the gates of the Citadel. He took a deep breath as he heard the Knights talking to each other a few miles away.

    "Will we wait for that reinforcement to assault?"

    "You know the answer to that..."

    "Yes...but I thought maybe this once.."

    "Arthas is no different than the last betrayer we've slain, friend. Flame gets the job done, with them, the knight motioned the marching army with his head, or without."

Two other knights' voice covered the rest of the conversation, the druid tilted his head to pick up what the newcomers were onto.

    "FAEL!! NO! ....damint, Fael, we could have brought it in for I dunno...questioning maybe? Ah well...at least it won't spread the word, let's report back to Chess. I bet she'll be pleased."

The druid stopped listening and made the connections in his head, picturing the recon force slaying an enemy rather than capturing. Even the knights are tense, not a good sign. Suddenly, he heard another voice.

    "Shall we double the guard, my king?"

    "No, let them in...Frostmourne hungers."

Suddenly a swarm of words assaulted his ear; "Concentration is the key of this technique, his father had said, you don't want to hear every sound in a mile radius." He tried to cover his ears with his inhuman members, in vain.

    "As you wish my lord."

    "Lord Fordring arrives, ten hut!"

    "...another patrol Fael, up there!"

The druid was in a free fall now, trying to get back his balance by lining his winds with the airflow, but the voices kept confusing his mind. Mind and body, after all, when one was amiss, what could the other do.

    "Get that horse back into the line, private!"

    "He has arrived, my king."

    "My bow will take care of them."

Clear your mind, focus, dream.

    "We will wait for the paladins at least it seems. They seem to have brought camp supplies"

    "First Sergeant reporting for duty, my lord!"

    "We're capturing this one Fael.."

The bird managed to steady its form a few feet above the ground and suddenly got out of the dive, turning towards the sky with a wing flap and rushing through the wind as fast as he can.

Blue and white.

The knights were still chatting, as he flew up and above.

    "Camp supplies? Good, it was getting cold."

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Baron Rivendare

Joined: 19 May 2010
Posts: 180

PostPosted: Thu Oct 28, 2010 4:37 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

He hadn't known what to make of most of the strangers who took part in the Tournament, and that went double for this group. Skilled and sharp beyond a doubt - their prowess in the arena had proved that - but an odd mix of souls and minds. Some cynical and brooding, some grinning and light, and almost no-one in between. Irreverent and self-confident, and led by dark sorcery and fury. And he'd heard that they were an old Night Elven military order, which made it all seem that much stranger.

He hadn't thought much more on it, even when their names had become the meat of awed talk amongst the Valiants, and of gossip and curiosity amongst the Crusaders. Not until he was summoned before the Highlord.

"The Ebon Flame have won their place in the front lines," Lord Fordring said, as squires strapped on the man's armour. His voice was as it always was - firm, a statement of how things Will Be. "They are the vanguard of the Ashen Verdict. We must support them as best we can."

Eustan nodded, his breath momentarily catching in his throat as the Ashbringer was brought forth, and placed in the Highlord's hand. A sword, and a symbol - the golden disc set within the blade mirroring the symbols upon their tabards. It had been that sword, this man, that had given him new life and purpose. The reason he he could keep warm with faith even in the bitter cold at the end of the world.

For those reasons, he felt his stomach drop as Lord Fordring continued.

"We need a liason. Someone to make sure messages are recieved, and requests are understood, from both sides. We can't support the Ebon Flame unless we know what the Ebon Flame is doing, and what the Ebon Flame needs." Some of his disappointment must have shown on his face, for the Highlord frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

How to voice what he felt? He wasn't sure. He wanted to march into battle with those who bore the golden sun of the Crusade, buoyed up by the spirit of those like him. Among the Crusade, he felt... brave. To follow in the steps of some motley assortment, a collection of bloody-handed slayers likely heedless of the Light? The thought unsettled him, even here. "No, lord," he ventured. "I... I just thought I would be fighting with the Crusade, I... this seems like a Squire's work." He cringed a little at how self-important his own words seemed, coming out of his mouth.

The Highlord stared at him for a few moments, before giving him a nod and gesturing to one of his armourers to tighten a gauntlet-strap. "This puts you at the cutting edge of the assault, Colwyn, a tough place to be - especially for a squire." Lord Fordring looked at him again, his voice softer, a little more understanding. "And a young Crusader fresh to the fight makes a poor officer. I need someone who keeps their head, and keeps their head intact. Do you understand?"

There was no refusing the Highlord, no matter what. Eustan bowed his head in assent, and Lord Fordring stood, offering him a bound scroll. "Here. Show this to their commander. It should explain what you're there to do. Support the Flame as best you can, and do your part in keeping them alive." The Highlord smiled. "Light's favour, we'll see you on the other side."

And that had been that. He moved without thinking, drifting through the camp, saying farewells and exchanging prayers and good-lucks to those faces he recognised, before reaching the stable and readying Chester for the flight to Icecrown Citadel.

He heard a quiet rattling then, and looked down to see his gauntleted hand shake. He tightened his grip on the reins, shutting his eyes tight and taking a slow breath - before opening them again, and giving the horizon in the direction of the Citadel a hard stare.

Not again, he thought. I swear it. This time, you will not break me.

With one foot in the stirrup, he swung onto the gryphon's back, and took to the sky.
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