Of Trolls and Fire
From EFWiki
Contents |
Evil in Stranglethorn Vale
In recent weeks Thalos heard rumours of a strong force of trolls inhabiting the jungle of Stranglethorn. Taking the opportunity of a guild meeting where some of the most powerful members of the Flame were gathered, he led an expeditionary force down to the gates of the place they call Zul Gurub. The area outside was quickly cleared of enemy scouts, however, once inside the fortress the Flame were hit hard by waves of elite troll warriors, supported by snakelike beings. Despite a valiant struggle, we fell and were forced to retreat.
Since then another force entered to scout the area and returned with more success and some minor plunder. We are slowly getting the measure of these beasts - after some brief discussion with Marcus Jonathan in Stormwind Thalos has obtained approval for a more direct assault. Look for the time and date in coming days.
A Deeper Challenge
Today I spoke to the mages of Stormwind. They informed me that their studies on the coins we recovered were complete, but that they had learned little, only that the magics surrounding the items were related. They urged me to send my troops once more back into battle, and I reluctantly agreed.
Accordingly I am arranging a meeting of the guild in the coming days to journey back to the Zul Gurub temple and find more of these cursed items. I fear for my people, but they have grown strong in recent weeks slaughtering the Blackrock menace. Perhaps we will yet survive. I also work hard at my own sword arm, with the trainers of Ironforge, knowing that this time, I too will do battle there. It will be good to fight among my folk, good to assume command.
More information on this journey I have posted elsewhere on the boards. I must now wait and see who of my finest can attend. Happily it is not just on the shoulders of the highest standing to meet this threat, however, for I have decided to enlist those of lesser experience to guard our homelands while we journey away.
Now, I must go, and sharpen my axe for the days to come. We will take their candle.
The Dogs of War...
I am so proud of my brothers and sisters of the Flame this day. From the moment we rode from Stormwind, heads high and eyes gleaming with battle ahead, I knew that this would be a very different day than that a few weeks ago where we wandered, badly prepared, to the gates of that foul place and tentatively did battle with its evil.
Yes, today was a proud day for the Flame. In the Scarlet Monastery, Angrboda and her friends kept the Scarlet Crusade busy, to avoid them making mischief while so many of our warriors were engaged elsewhere. In the deserts of Tanaris, Quendy led other friends on journey to Zul Farrak, preventing the trolls of the Hydromancer from joining her allies in the north of the vale.
And in that vile place known as Zul Gurub, a shining mass of plate and holy light wended its way through the darkness of the jungle. Sometimes hard pressed, often bloodied, we cut our way as far as a strange square room with a dais, upon which was palpable evil. Venoxis, he called himself, and after a raging battle we finally defeated him.
We have learned much in doing so. First, that these trolls have strange crafting magic - Trucido now owns a breastplate far beyond human skill in craftsmanship, which was left behind by Venoxis as he fell. Second, the coins they have are somehow connected. The archmage in Stormwind informed me of some trolls, friendly ones, who may hold the answer. We have recovered many type of coin, but I think we shall need many more to decipher this puzzle and obtain the help of these strange allies.
I am tired, so will leave it there. Hail to the Flame, and thanks to all who joined us this evening.
A Troublesome Stalemate
So we have fought the trolls in Zul Gurub twice more since my last writing here. Still the priestess Jeklik teases us with her strange abilities. Each time we plug a gap in our tactics, and our defenses, something else happens to make us fall. She is bewitched.
However, hope is at hand. In the dying hours of our last campaign, I tore up accepted wisdom and redivided our forces. Despite half of our troops falling under a swathe of flapping wings, it was the right half - with thick hide and metal armour we emerged relatively unscathed while in the meantime our frail but powerful mages and warlocks had reduced Jeklik to near death. Only a lucky heal on her part saved her from our wrath.
While this is positive and fills me with hope for the next battle, what worries me is the relatively slow progress of this war. I feel it is a long campaign, and armies that face only one, very difficult foe are hard to motivate. I have therefore taken the decision to send some of my troops to aid in the rescue of Marshal Windsor, in the hope that he may, when recovered from his kidnapping, provide us with some tactical advice or help in our campaign. After we have freed him, the battle will hopefully continue. We may also need to speak with the Thorium Brotherhood some more. Many of our armoursmiths are well versed in their methods, but there are dark whisperings of strange gods coming from the Searing Gorge. While my troops seek to free Windsor I will go to investigate.
Death...
Many believe dying to be a cold, numbing experience. In my case yesterday, it burned.
I was travelling to the Searing Gorge to investigate rumours that the Twilight Cult were attempting to summon a being using some strange portal. I dealt with the guards easily, but soon became choked and confused by the smoke that billowed from a lava pit around which they were all worshipping. As I hid behind the altar, I felt a terrible sense of dread. Rooted to the spot, I watched helplessly as a molten figure rose from the pool, spraying lava in all directions. It looked at me and spoke, huge dark eyes burning through me, voice a thundering noise that shattered my ear drums.
"You have come to my attention, elf. The Ebon Flame poses a threat to my plans, and that I will not have. Others are stronger, but none have the sense of purpose your pitiful band has. You may be able to interfere, and that must be prevented. You are the leader. You shall I strike, and watch the others fall."
My chest burned, and I looked down to see my breastplate struggling to contain the heat from this being, the outer layers already turning to char, buckles snapping in the head. The figure raised its hand and flame erupted forth. I yelled magically to my guild members to aid me as I dived to the floor, flame resistant cape covering my body, but at that moment, I lost consciousness. I do not know what transpired next - nor I fear does anyone except the being Ragnaros.
Yes, Ragnaros. For some reason, some how, his followers were able to summon him. I do not know why he did not kill me - perhaps someone called him elsewhere, or he sensed that I was already dying. But whatever the reason, that he can be summoned in such a way out of his domain poses a great threat to the Kingdoms.
To return to my story. I awoke, dimly, to searing pain and the voice of my guild members in my ears. Behind I could hear noises of battle, as the followers of Ragnaros were dispatched by the raid. Healing magics flooded through my body, dispelling some of the pain, but I was still unable to move, barely speak. After some time, I felt a familiar tugging at my soul. Kinta?
Cold stone floor. Towering spires up above, light creeping in through painted glass. The Cathedral in Stormwind. Purple hair above me, worried little face. Kinta. I close my eyes for a moment. A plated glove rests on my shoulder, hand shaking with worry. Maelor. Others crowd around. Sinnocence casts healing prayers almost constantly, crying to the light. Ilathud and some of the other heavies keep the crowd of onlookers back. Xanduill paces, unnerved by an enemy he cannot fight.
I hear Benedictus speaking. Suddenly the healing pauses. Have I been given up on? Am I to die, with so little accomplished! Anger courses through me, and I struggle, but am restrained. Suddenly a chorus of voices explode around me, and life swells in my breast once more. A rush of healing beyond any which I have experienced floods every chamber of my body, and I know that at once the flaming rot of Ragnaros has been forced out. With nowhere to hide from the spells, it simply dissipates.
I stand, forced up by the flow of magic, and look around. Grateful, relieved, exhausted - yet knowing I must lead still.
The rest you know my friends. The events of yesterday were grave, but you dealt with them very well. The challenges that lie ahead are just as severe. We cannot rest with this stone unturned. The threat identified must be dealt with. In the coming week, particularly this weekend, we must send troops to find the lair in which this creature hides. Slowly, surely, we will uncover its location, and then its secrets, and then marshal an army sufficient to defeat him.
We must also not forget our other commitments. The trolls of Zul Gurub pose the same threat as they ever did, and we must meet it. Looking down the rosters of the Flame, I see many willing servants. We can manage a battle on two fronts - just. Some of us, our best warriors, who have the most time in service, must regularly ride south and keep the trolls at bay, forcing them to keep regenerating. Meanwhile, it will take the total forces of the Flame to survive wherever this elemental "god" lives. We will lead cautious expeditions there, with more of our strength, as we first did.
And meanwhile, one more priority must be set. To travel the world, and increase the quality of our equipment, and our skills. Adventure must *never* take a back seat to these two main objectives, for adventure makes us strong, wise, and happy too.
I will see you all in the field. First - a surprise attack on Zul Gurub, this very night.
Thalos.
Marshal Windsor rescued!
Over the past few days I am proud to report that brave warriors of the Flame have rescused Marshal Windsor from the depths of Blackrock mountain. We anticipate meeting with him on his triumphant return to Stormwind later today, at 19.45pm Azeroth time.
All are welcome to attend what should be a joyous and for once, battle free occasion.
Battle weary
A long, hard walk it has been, training my army to face the trolls of Zul, only to then be captured and forced to make them fight on another front. Aye, a long walk, and hard on the soul. Forcing people to battle even when things are hard is a tough task, and one made tougher by the inevitable politics which goes with any leadership of men (and women).
Lately, the burdens of my spirit flames, the experiences of those I have carried since my chance meeting with the previous Guildmaster in a Darnassus ale house, have been heavier than normal. As I said to a few who gathered in Stormwind recently, it may be some time before I am commonly seen awake in the realm.
Yet, all is not lost. There are many good people who have the instruction and the imperative to carry on what I have begun. Those who would cause trouble to them I tell you this - be careful what you wish for. Be careful that you do not see false hope in some distance dream, and lose the special guild you are a small but worthy part of. The iron fist has gone for a while, but it shall return, and the Flame will burn eternal.
So writing, I lay down my GM's scribe for a while, and watch with interest through my many contacts how the flame fares without its leader. I miss you all, yet know as I sleep that Ragnaros will surely win sould I let myself weaken any further. So I must do this, and trust to fate that my brothers will keep their cause and not be distracted with petty squabble.
Thalos.
Scribbled notes from the master
As I rapidly move my quill across the parchment of these pages I hope that someone will receive this hurried note I hand to the innkeeper before once again my waking time is lost and I must sleep.
Progress, it seems from the war reports Kinta and Maelor send me, is good. The first of Ragnaros's lieutenants has fallen, in the form of Lucifron, and also the queen of spiders within the lair of Zul Gurub. These are good things.
Yet I sense from their writings that there is some tension. The Flame lies a little directionless. Yes, some progress is being made, some great treasures found, but why is there not more? Or, why is there not less?
We are a large group, yet so we have been larger in the past (RP). Within any such group, there will be those who tread carefully, and enjoy the journey and their minor skills. Others, will seek aggressively to push back the boundaries of their skill, and naturally take risks in doing so.
In any case, to our objectives, I add one overriding one - make the Flame a place where apprentices can train their craft. Build for the future, while not compromising the present. Make those of lower skill welcome - share with them your talents, your insights. Not in a clumsy mechanical way, but create writings (postings) which showcase the best practice of our people. In game, take 2 hours out to demonstrate the epic skills you have with those who are younger, guarding them in the dark places, before setting them a test.
In short, help them clear an area of foes, but let them slay the foulest ones themsleves. Make their life convenient, help them with your skills, but do not let them expect a free ride and build in them the sense of achivement which grows with skill.
In the longest time will those young folk grow, and turn into a sword at your side which suddenly wards off the killing blow you were about to receive. Treasure them, while at the same time concentrating on your other duties. It is a balance, and one we must never lose.
With that, I must rest once more. Be proud, my friends.
Time of Dreams
Long did I sleep among the spirits of the Flame. While the weeks passed by swiftly, for those left carrying the standard the time was filled with daily challenges. The process of fashioning armour to defend our forces in the land of Ragnaros was hard, hot work, and Chisai, Zert and Redrum are forever honoured in the Flame for the work they did in learning their craft, and forging items of great power with it. Thusly armoured, the forces of the Flame fared well in their initial battles, overcoming Lucifron, the guardian of the core, and his puppy dog Magmadar.
It was then however that my sleep was disturbed. I woke to find the prophet next to my bed, a concerned look upon his face. At his side was Kinta, her hair in its usual candyfloss state, yet singed at the edges and with dark smudges across her forehead and cheeks. Looking back at Maelor, I saw his once fine Lightforged plate was tarnished with soot and several savage dents.
“We need more troops, Thalos” squeaked Kinta. “We press the attack, but while our hearts are loyal we don’t consistently have enough numbers to do more than hold them. We need more, or our efforts will fail and Ragnaros may escape before you wake again”.
I sighed. Maelor reached out his hand, and I slowly swung out of bed, the weariness of ages on me. Only moments ago I had been discussing cavalry strategies with a paladin from our distant past, long now passed into the light. It was a dizzying experience, the blending of our past and future in my head as I slept, barely less real to me than the waking times. My head spun with the images, before settling again on Kinta’s concerned face. But yes, we must attend to the present.
I rose, throwing my tabard over my head and taking up my boots, striding outside to recruit more allies to our cause. Speaking with some of the more powerful folk, it soon became clear that the allegiances of the Kingdoms were fragmented, easily broken, and chaotic. There was not enough time to fully consider new people, to test how strongly the Flame burned in their spirit, and I did not like the look of those who still wore no badge of allegiance. The situation, it seemed, was dire. There was a powerful group called Vir Mortalis, yet they could not be relied on for aid. Greed ran deep within their soul – they sought not to vanquish Ragnaros, but to plunder his treasures for their own purposes. No, I would not turn to them.
I crashed down upon my bed again at the end of the day, It was useless. Peasants. I had already found those whose heart beat with true fire. All the others were simply skilled strangers. I paused. Skilled strangers…. and I realised that the flame needed allies, not necessarily new brethren.
The rest, as they say, is history. With the help of a few hired hands, the armies of the Flame conquered much of the Molten Core, gaining strength and new equipment all the while. Gehennas, Garr, Geddon… the victories piled up like rubies in a dragon’s hoard. Yet something was held back. The victories were clinical, the spirit in the campfire that of any army marshalling under siege. There was a sense of both expectation and loss in the air. Loss of the driving force, and expectation of its return. The Flame missed its leader. Much of the art, the glory, the shared pride, rested in my chest, became alive through me, and I knew that each day I spent sleeping was one day too many. Still, a wounded Thalos needed his rest.
Long did I sleep, and many things did I see. The Flame bore up well in a testing time, despite some difficult moments as some amongst our member became seduced by the lure of mercenary groups, or fell into darkness. As my people toiled, I learned much – that the greatest challenges still lie before us, and that many spirit warriors stand with us, unknown and waiting for the times when they will be needed. These tortured souls, captured by their death at the hand of a particularly evil foe, have told me how they must be freed, and as time allows, the Flame will assist in freeing them. For their honour – and for the power we gain by summoning them to our aid once more.
But, to more immediate matters. On a very ordinary Monday, early in June, as the flowers bloomed on the slopes of the Dun Morogh hillsides, a cry went up. Thalos had awoken.
The Return
I woke, again, and felt… different. The link that had been mine to the souls of our former spirits had been masked. My waking senses were mine, once more. I looked across the room, and smiled. It seems someone, perhaps one of the smiths, had seen to my armour, ready for my return. A new helm of black plate lay on top of the shining adamantite breastplate, while new leggings of the thickest thorium replaced my old legguards. The armour shone, many hours of loving care having been put into each link, each strap, ready for battle. I stretched and stood up, taking the carefully folded tabard from my bedside and laying it next to the armour. I looked at the axes on the wall, blades still sharp and looking eager. Yes, it had been too long.
I dressed quickly, the cries growing louder from outside. “To Stormwind” I pulsed to Maelor, who quickly led my followers to the gates of the city ready for me to greet them. A swift griffon ride later, and once more I walked the streets of Stormwind, a human city I have often favoured, despite my forest blood. The people looked the same as ever – a little more war torn, perhaps – and more than one cheered as they saw the sigil on my tabard, a bright flame over a dark background. It seems my people had been busy, and the peoples of the Kingdoms noticed their success.
Much celebration greeted my arrival at the gathering point. Entry into and out of the city slowed to a trickle as we blocked the bridge of heroes, cheering for the end of a difficult era. Many of the local peasants stopping to utter words of encouragement – or otherwise. I looked around, my eyes gleaming. Truly we had come a long way since that first party on the shores of Lakeshire. Yet there were familiar faces. Maelor, Miyva, Olerat, Xanduill, Verannion,… holding Kinta’s hand?? I laughed. Truly a dangerous combination, that – I for one would not like to be present during one of their domestic arguments! I made a mental note to buy them a non-combustible wedding present.
In any case, once the initial euphoria had died down we got quickly to business. Several long overdue promotions were followed by our first military assignment as a new unit – a return to the sands of Silithus and a rematch against Emissary Ro’Khan. I had secretly hoped to start off my return with the awakening of one of the Flame Spirits, by killing the dragon Ysondre or the demon Kazzak. But my scouts told me that they were hiding from us – or already dead by another’s hand – and so the emissary was our chosen target.
Things went well, and it was not long before on the first attempt of the day the great jackal headed figure crashed down into the sands at our feet. I checked the sun setting in the sky. Not much time left before we needed to rest. I remarshalled the group and moved on the Core. Suddenly I was hungry for blood. Suddenly, I wanted to meet this Ragnaros, and show him the new strength at my command.
Sadly, time eluded us, and we did nothing more than clear the way. But as we did so, we recovered a good number of cores, and three new pieces of armour for Flames to wear. I looked around. We looked tough. Eyes shone with spirit. Yes, it was good to be back, even if the imprint of my boot on Ragnaros’s neck would have to wait for another day.
Death on Wings
Before my long sleep, I helped the Flame rescue Marshal Windsor. As we returned to Stormwind, he uncovered the secret of an elaborate masquerade, whereby the Lady Praetor was not at all a lady, but instead a member of the black dragonflight. The lady did not take kindly to being unmasked, and with her guards (also in disguise) she quickly killed the Marshal.
I presume at that point she intended to take over the throne by force, but she did not reckon with the power of Bolvar Fordragon and the Flame as a combined force. Much dragonblood was spilled that afternoon, and she was soon forced to flee by teleport to the safety of her lair.
Bolvar then tasked us with finding her lair. In my absence, the scouts were successful in finding the strange creature Haleh, and through her, the information to forge a key to the lair of Onyxia, and a way of protecting us from her flaming breath. At last!
In the days since my return, we sent many scouts and warriors to Haleh, so that they may all receive her protection. Many times we visited the upper reaches of the spire, spilling the blood of the immortal Drakkisath so that we may gain its protective power. Finally, after much toil, I saw that we were ready for perhaps our greatest test so far.
Battle scarred warriors in Ironforge told dark tales of Onyxia’s cavern, and Kinta carefully researched these tales to uncover the wisdom we have written in our halls. Every flame should read it, for tomorrow we ride forth to avenge the havoc wreaked by Onyxia on the Kingdom of Stormwind. I will choose my finest for this battle, for I know we will be heavily tested. Death may come, to us or our foe, but whatever the result I know that Onyxia will receive much pain for the hurt and confusion she has caused.
The Flame will ride forth, and with our fine crafted weapons and shattering spells we will slay this beast. I, Thalos, will make it so!
Blackened pages carefully stiched together
Well. That is the last time I attempt to fight a dragon with my diary in my backpack. <carefully smoothes down the burned pages>
I am sorry that it has been so long since I last wrote in this, my clearly magical but obviously not flame retardant volume of the Flame. So much has happened since I managed to find an enchanter capable of fixing this book - we have cast down the great dragon Onyxia, and also finally taken revenge on the fire lord.
Ah yes, Ragnaros. We stood before him, encouraged by our previous battles, and although we fell, we fell knowing that he was mortally wounded struck hard by the rain of blows, bullets, arrows and spells unleashed by our forces. Then again we healed, came back, and stood once more defiant. Fire blazed in our eyes, and the flames of Ragnaros could not penetrate our hearts. In the end it was done, and with suprisingly little drama. One minute, he was roaring defiance and anger, the next, everything was eerily still.
Since that day, a growing disquiet has come upon me. As leader of the Flame, I must guide my people, strengthen them, both in heart and in ability. We have done well - as well as I had ever aimed to do. We have challenged great beasts and won. But whereas before I felt this was the end... our target... today, standing here, wreathed in ancient armour, I realise it is only the beginning.
If I knew what I know today, I sometimes think I would have refused my duty. But then I look up and down this ragtag group of people and wonder who else would have chosen them. Who else would have grouped them, who else would have led them. There is no obvious linkage in them, yet together they are much stronger than they first appear. Perhaps there is purpose in my gathering them beyond what I anticipated, beyond what I dreamed.
There must be purpose - I am certain of it. We are strong enough to defeat the fire lord, and my capture long ago and the threat to the Kingdoms generally of his potential return, has been avenged and prevented. Yet there is disquiet. Not the sense that we can relax, put up our boots and drink ale and watch gnome dancing until the early hours. Something looms, even the most new of us feel it. The Flame is restless. It gets to us. Makes us fight among ourselves. Causes worry, concern, anger. I wonder if already we are not under attack by some insidious force, yet I cannot identify it.
I have set our guards on alert, and we will take care as we patrol the core and other areas. Whatever happens, we must not be caught unaware...
