(64) - Light's Hopelessness

Griffonclaw stood at Tirion's side at Light's Hope Chapel, exhausted and weary, although more in body than in spirit, elated by his daughter Demolitia Lunafarae, who had earned widespread respect, and the affections of many of his compatriots in the Argent Dawn. Few gnomes served in their ranks, and her hard work, her skill with weapons, and her unflagging cheerful and generous nature, had earned her many friends. He would never embarrass her by saying so, but that she had chosen service with the Argent Dawn had been one of the proudest moments of his life.

Tirion had sent him orders to rendezvous at Light's Hope Chapel, to consult with the leadership if the Argent Dawn. While they had prepared for a crusade to Northrend, Arthas had been building forces for an invasion in one of those damned floating cities, hidden from Alliance eyes by the Scarlet Crusade, and had launched a series of attacks against both Alliance and Horde cities, as well as an increased offensive against the Argent Dawn in the Plaguelands.

Word had come from Dalmilandril that the Scarlet Crusade's enclaves beyond their fortress of Tyr's Hand had come under constant attack, and now - once again - the Order of the Silver Hand would fight on two fronts.

When the horde -- no relation -- of Death Knights poured down on Light's Hold Chapel, Griffonclaw fought on Tirion's left flank. He heard the opposing commander of the death knights shouting over the battle. "The sky weeps at the devastation of sister earth! Soon, tears of blood will rain down upon us!" the enemy leader shouted. "Death knights of Acherus, the death march begins! Soldiers of the Scourge, death knights of Acherus, minions of the darkness: hear the call of the Highlord! RISE!"

And upon them Scourge minions and what seemed like an endless procession of Death Knights descended upon them.

"Squire Griffonclaw! Attend me, boy!" came the shout from the enemy lines, and Griffonclaw turned, half-expectant, and half-fearful. Standing out from their lines was a human, long since corrupted in the service of Arthas, his sworn liege.

"Come, Dane... come to my service once more," the unholy creature spoke, his voice thundering with unnatural volume. "You served me well in Lordareon, hunting orcs who had escaped from the camps, at Brill and Andorhal... so you lost your nerve at Stratholme, and turned to the traitor Uther... I forgive you, Dane. Come - its clear you have grown in power" The spectral knight extended his black-gauntleted hand. "Come, and ride by my side again, Dane Silverlaine!"

"I left your service when your master turned from the Light, and slaughtered Stratholme to stop the Plague. History shows he chose poorly...." replied Griffonclaw, his voice pitched high enough to be heard above the din of battle. "I see you have stayed the tame cur to Arthas' hand." The paladin made a beckoning motion. "Come, Sir Khavren - shall we see whose path was correct? Shall we test my Light against your Darkness?"

The death-knight sprang forward with a snarl, his darkling runed blade matched against the sword Griffonclaw had taken from Sir Thomas, the Headless Horseman of the Scarlet Crusade. They strove long enough that had their been more time, it was clear that Griffonclaw would have been the victor, but the press of battle tore them apart before their conflict could come to a final resolution.

Griffonclaw focused on staying near to his Highlord, slaying minion after minion of the deathless Scourge. The forces of the Argent Dawn were only some three hundred strong, and Tirion's own safety was paramount. Griffonclaw and the other paladins guarding Tiron sent wave after wave of the Light's Wrath in overlapping circles, chanting prayers of consecration. Griffonclaw planted his standard of the Argent Dawn where Tirion stood as the Highlord shouted "For the Dawn! To me!", rallying the defenders alongside Lord Maxwell Tyrosus and his staff.

Slowly, the enemy commander, who Griffonclaw supposed was the Highlord Darion Mograine, moved through the ranks, closing on Tirion and Tyrosus. Again, Mograine called for his troops, urging the destruction, the Ashbringer held on high.

"Rise, minions! Destroy them!"

Griffonclaw was close enough in the battle to see Mograine pause, and close enough to hear him as he brought Ashbringer down before his visor, staring at it in amazement.

"Power...wanes... " he said, his voice redolent with incredulity. "Ashbringer defies me... You will do as I command! I am in control here!" He was practically raving at his blade, those around him looking at him uncomfortably.

"What is this?! My... I cannot strike... " he said, as Tirion's band broke through to where Morgraine and his guard were paused.

"You cannot win, Darion!" shouted Fordring. Death Knights began to flee the field, as Mograine's voice took on the timbre of despair. "Stand down, death knights. We have lost... The Light... This place... No hope... "

"Have you learned nothing, boy? You have become all that your father fought against! Like that coward, Arthas, you allowed yourself to be consumed by the darkness...the hate... Feeding upon the misery of those you tortured and killed!" pronounced Tirion loudly. "Your master knows what lies beneath the chapel. It is why he dares not show his face! He's sent you and your death knights to meet their doom, Darion."

"What you are feeling right now is the anguish of a thousand lost souls!" continued the leader of the reformed Order of the Silver Hand. "Souls that you and your master brought here! The Light will tear you apart, Darion!"

"Save your breath, old man. It might be the last you ever draw" sneered Darion, as the shade of Highlord Alexandros Mograine arrived.

"My son! My dear, beautiful boy!" Alexandros cried, seeing his son in such straits.

"Father!" Darion Mograine cried. "..what...is..." Slowly, the man who was the Highlord Darion Mograine faded, becoming a shade of his past. Years of hard fighting and torment shed itself like water falling from a stone as the shade walked up to his father.

"Father, you have returned!" the ghostly Darion exclaimed, embracing his father. "You have been gone a long time, father. I thought... " Griffonclaw stood, amazed, as the two shades reinacted a scene from Darion's youth.

"Nothing could have kept me away from here, Darion. Not from my home and family."

"Father, I wish to join you in the war against the undead. I want to fight! I can sit idle no longer!"

"Darion Mograine, you are barely of age to hold a sword, let alone battle the undead hordes of Lordaeron! I couldn't bear losing you. Even the thought... "

"If I die, father, I would rather it be on my feet, standing in defiance against the undead legions! If I die, father, I die with you! "

"My son, there will come a day when you will command the Ashbringer and, with it, mete justice across this land. I have no doubt that when that day finally comes, you will bring pride to our people and that Lordaeron will be a better place because of you. But, my son, that day is not today." The shade of Alexandros faded, his last exhortation fading in the silence that hung over the battlefield. "Do not forget..."

The shade of Alexandros disappeared, as Arthas Menethil, the Lich King himself, materialized. All the light and Light of the battlefield dimmed as the creature some considered Darkness Incarnate confronted Tirion. The shade of Darion solidified, and aged to become himself once more.

"Touching..." shouted the Lich King, mockingly.

"You have forsaken me, bastard! Face the might of Mograine!" shouted Darion, enraged.

"Pathetic... " commented Arthas, "He's mine now..."

"You're a damned monster, Arthas!" raged Tirion at his former Prince.

The Lich King turned to Tirion. "You were right, Fordring. I did send them in to die. Their lives are meaningless, but yours..." Arthas continued, "How simple it was to draw the great Tirion Fordring out of hiding. You've left yourself exposed, paladin. Nothing will save you... " The Lich King began to speak in a low gutteral voice, and a dark nimbus of dark necromantic power surrounded him.

The Highlord Tirion Fordring gasped for air, and Griffonclaw was not the first to lunge forward as Lord Tyrosus called "ATTACK!!!"

The Lich King raised his own hand and shouted "APOCALYPSE!", and the charging forces of the Argent Dawn fell down, dead. Had Griffonclaw been among the first, he would have died on that field; as it was, he could not stand, and fell heavily to the dirt. Unconscious, he would not see Darion throw the corrupted sword Ashbringer to Tirion, purifying the blade in Darion's act of selflessness, and breaking the spell that held Tirion. He would not see Arthas run from the field, driven by the uniting of the Order of the Silver Hand and Argent Dawn. He would not witness the alliance of the Silver Hand with the Knights of the Ebon Blade, broken from Arthas' control.

But he would awaken, healed by his Highlord, to be one of those who would take the battle to Northrend.