A Death Knight's Tale: Diplomacy

With Acherus won and a good night of rest behind me, I am aching to get back into action. The one who administered my stitches says I must allow my shoulder to rest before returning to battle, but dead flesh will never truly mend. I see no need for further rest, all I see is red, I want Him dead.

The medic gets his wish, for first Mograine requires a mission of diplomacy, a plea to the Alliance for tolerance and peace. I do not relish this kind of task, but perhaps it is a test, to see if I am beyond my bloodthirsty ways, to see if I can control myself in "polite" society. So I go, through this portal, to Stormwind, the heart of the Alliance.

As I walk through this jewel of a city I can feel the eyes glaring at me from all directions. It grows worse the closer I come to the Keep. The crowd grows bold, afterall, I am but one monster in the midst of hundreds. They throw curses as well as rotten food, rocks, whatever they can find, at me. One particularly daring human runs right in front of me, screaming, "Get out of our city, Scourge Fiend!" and spits in my face. This does not distress me, although it isn't particularly pleasant either. My escort, the city guard, pushes him away gently, as I nonchalantly wipe the spittle from my face with the back of my hand.

These people distrust me, and I don't blame them. Look at what I once was. The names they call me are fitting. I am a murderer. They are right to cower in fear at the sight of me. They are right to spit at and curse me.

Yet this letter I carry, signed by no less than Tirion Fordring, represents me as better than that which I once was. By this man's word alone I am permitted entry into Stormwind and presented to the King himself. Our newly formed order needs allies, and what better than to appeal to the King of Stormwind himself?

And yet, I wonder if I am truly able to be a part of this group of the living. My sole purpose now is to end the Scourge. I have nothing else in common with these people. I no longer even remember what my life was when I was alive. Physically, I am obviously of the Draenei. How I came to die in a place where the Lich King would find me and resurrect me as his warrior, I have no idea.

There have been a few since who claim to recognize me, to have known me from before, but there is no memory of that for me. I have no desire to learn of my history. The history that I remember is painful enough, I would not add more to the abominations I have already to account for. As such, I have no feelings for the Draenei as a people, as my people. The Order is now my family, my race, my heritage.

Knowing the atrocities I have committed in His name, I feel I have no right to a future. I will play the hand that is dealt me. I will go to this King of Stormwind and plea for our acceptance. But I can only do so as a logical next step. There is no feeling of loyalty to the Alliance for me. There is only the need to kill Him. To do so we need help. I will ask for help, and I will honor any contract we engage in with the Alliance. Beyond that, who knows?

DING!

Too busy to blog post... must... hit... 85...!

And now back to your regularly scheduled blogging...

Ice Ice Baby (not so much of a baby anymore)

Despite this past week of silence, I have not disappeared. Neither has Icelica, even though I haven't written about her in months. I've been leveling her alongside Torq mainly by tanking random dungeons in moderation. It has been a slow process, but very successful, and I am proud to announce that she isn't a baby anymore.

That's right, Ice has reached level 80 and is beginning her adventures in the Cataclysm zones, and in doing so may have cemented herself as my "main" for the expansion. She has a long road ahead of her though, not least of all is the continuing story that I am waaaay behind on writing.

You can expect for there to be some changes to the site now that I have a "main" again, not least of all will be a page dedicated to my little adventures in fan-fic writing. Don't worry. The changes won't be too dramatic. And in no way does this mean I am abandoning my babillion alts.

More to come.

Icelica's Resting Place: The Quest for the Perfect Blade

This week's Blog Azeroth Shared Topic is The Perfect Weapon (suggested by yours truly). Here's my answer for Icelica.

The search for the perfect weapon for my fledgling Death Knight was truly a quest in and of itself, and a perfect way for me to delve a little deeper into the psyche of this troubled toon. I began with limited ideas, only knowing that Icelica prefers swords over other weapon types, being a Blood tank, of course that would mean a 2-handed sword.

I thought I would end up with a much longer search and in the end only come up with ideas that would lead me to forming my own weapon with its very own story. I was mistaken. Never underestimate the power of WoW to offer something for everyone.

I began by searching Wowhead, taking a peek at each and every 2-handed sword listed. I saw Ashkandi, Greatsword of the Brotherhood, and thought it was beautiful, but it wasn't quite right. What does Ice care about dragons? Right now her mission is vengeance, an end to The Scourge. Then I saw the Twinblade of the Phoenix, and found it beautiful as well, but too delicate for Ice. She'd be worried it would shatter at first use.

 Finally, I found the Runeblade of Baron Rivendare, and it is beyond perfect for her. It is a runeblade, perfectly suited to her as she is a Death Knight. She will have to go through Baron Rivendare and countless Scourge to get it. There's nothing she would like better, and it will be a well earned prize, to go along with her Blood armor. My only wish is that it would be more useful. Maybe some day Stratholme will be revamped to Heroic, and drop max level loot again. I can't really complain, as the Blood armor is her RP outfit anyway.

Rest assured, she will own this blade, and there will be a great story to tell of her victory against Rivendare (now if only I can get him to drop his mount at the same time).

A Death Knight's Tale: A Minor Victory

We are many, so many of us only just re-awakened from the nightmare that was His control. We march for Acherus, for Mograine, for revenge.

By the time I reached Acherus the Hall of Command had already been retaken. Mograine advised that while He had escaped to Northrend, He did leave behind a mess for us to clean up on the central floor.

As we made our way into the Heart of Acherus, I could feel the thrill of the day coursing through my body. I was anxious to exact some kind of revenge even if I couldn't reach Him directly yet. The changes to Mograine left him a fierce and strong commander and his fury spread to all of us. We felt invincible.

The stench hit me first, then the buzzing of flies. Being undead this is not something unusual, but it did forewarn the extent of the force awaiting us. As I entered I could see a large army of abominations and Val'kyr, and at their center Kel'Thuzad's own avatar of war, Patchwerk. Could we really take on this behemoth?

With a unified roar we surged forward to cut into the army of lesser abominations and Val'kyr, our runeblades sinking into rotting flesh. As we began working our way through his army to reach him Patchwerk asked, "Death Knights come play?" I felt a hook in my back and a chain drawing me to one of these creatures that had not yet been engaged, the pain numbed by the fervor of my desire for vengeance, I fought on.

I brought my blade up in a quick movement, slicing through the arm that held the chain and hook. The flesh golem's arm went limp and I felt some relief from the pain in my back. There were still two other arms to deal with. I blocked and dodged the wicked cleavers held in those hands, searching for the perfect moment. These beasts are not wise and often leave themselves vulnerable to attack; their only thoughts are of destruction, not their own well-being. The moment came. The creature swung both cleavers towards me. I ducked and both it's weapons were caught in the wall. As it struggled to free them, I steeled myself to the task at hand and plunged my blade up into the creatures gut, twisting to ensure I'd take out any vitals.The creature let out a noise similar to flatulence as its body disintegrated above me, covering me in gore.

Over the din I could hear Kel'Thuzad's creation say, "Why you want hurt Patch?" I almost felt sorry for the thing as it was obviously confused by the situation. We had once been on the same side. We had all once been Scourge.

Our numbers overwhelmed them quickly and soon it was all over. We were victorious. The Ebon Hold was now ours. I wouldn't call it a bloody battle, but it certainly was a mess. It will be much work to clean the place up.

Many of my comrades fell this day, but I will not shed any tears for them, just a slight regret that it wasn't me in their place. My will is consumed by the need to put an end to His nightmare reign. It is not much to live on, but I will fight until I see Him dead or until I am no more.

Time for a quick stitch up of the wound on my back and a long shower.

A Death Knight's Tale: Touched by The Light

"Stand down death knights. We've lost. The Light... This place... No hope..."

I awoke to these words on my commander's lips, my body forced to kneel before the power of The Light. I glanced over myself and my fellows, all wet with the rain mixed with the blood of those we had slain. I listened as the paladin spoke the truth of our situation. I watched as the realization of what had happened came to Mograine's mind. I saw Him appear before us, dark and deadly and powerful as always. It had all been a game, a ploy to lure Fordring out. We were all just sheep before the slaughter, a tool for Him to use.

I watched as The Light cleansed Mograine's heart as well as his weapon, the Ashbringer. The glow of The Light was blinding, radiating warmth and life. My heart and mind were cleansed by its power. The image of Tirion Fordring wielding that wonderous weapon now cleansed of all taint is branded in my mind.

Would that we could cleanse Frostmourne too. Would that He could return to us as the child He once was. What has been done cannot be undone. He can no longer be mended, just as I can no longer be whole. Too much has happened.

All memories before this moment are indistinct. I do not remember my life before undeath. My earliest memories are of His voice, deep and dark, echoing through my mind, commanding me to kill or be killed. I remember a blur of frenzied violence and slaughter, and then this miraculous day when this monstrous killer was touched by The Light.

I am not healed. I am not whole. But at least now I am no longer under His control. All I have known of "life" is violence, and that is all I still know. My body aches to fight, and so I will allow it, but now I am my own. I decide on which side I fight and I have decided that He must die.

I join with Mograine and his Knights of the Ebon Blade. As Mograine has said, "We must make amends in the only way we know how: Death..." And so I march with my brothers and sisters to retake what is rightfully ours, to reclaim Acherus, our Ebon Hold.

Icelica's Resting Place: Home

Last week's Blog Azeroth Shared Topic was Home Sweet.... While I am quite a bit late on this one, it sparked ideas in my mind. Each of my toons will be making an appearance with their ideas about what home means to them. Here's where Icelica considers home.

 I do not belong in this world. I died long ago. I should have rotted in the grave long ago.This life, if you can call it that, is only a bitter reminder that I do not belong. While I will not take the coward's way out, I still anxiously await going home. Sweet oblivion cannot come soon enough.