((Because a friend has a writing thing, where she provides prompts and her friends provide content, I thought I'd participate, and so there is now a post-script to Griffonclaw's life))
Dear Diary,
This will be my last entry.
Probably.
Hard to write an entry when you're dead, and I do not expect to survive today. Duty, and loyalty to my Commander, will take me to the Icecrown Citadel today, and while the Argent Exodus has survived many, many things... this is Arthas Menethil.
I wish I had time to see my wife, my daughter, again, before we leave... I can only trust in the Light that they know how much I love them.
Here's hoping I'm wrong, and that there will be further entries.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Griffonclaw on SWC
((I consider the different servers to be alternate worlds of each other - base lore stays the same, but the details... ah, the devil is always in the details, neh? In any case, those of you who miss the rapscallion named Griffonclaw might enjoy his WrA analog, the fellow named Jon Greyhawk)).
Thursday, February 4, 2010
(68) - Before the Citadel (by Craft Ramsey)
((Written with my knowledge and consent))
With great thanks to Griffonclaw, who inspired this.
Lord Tirion Fordring called, and Azeroth answered. After months of massing, months of winning and losing skirmishes against the Scourge in Northrend, the Argent Crusade felt the time was ripe, and that Icecrown Citadel was ready to be sieged. The Cavalry of the Crusade had been doing their best to eliminate the soldiers stationed outside the Citadel for almost a year, but the small scale attacks on the Scourge were doing little to decrease their numbers. The heroes of Azeroth, however, had made good progress throughout Icecrown, pushing back Scourge forces, and establishing outposts and attack positions. Icecrown Citadel remained the last true bastion of the Scourge in Icecrown, but it would not be easy to take. Before they even set foot inside, they would have to win their way to the sturdy saronite gates that protected the citadel, defeating what forces the Lich King sent out to assault them. They would have to control the area around the Citadel while they broke through the giant gates, then establish their first position inside the citadel, the outpost they would strike against the heart of the Scourge.
So Fordring called, and members of all races answered. Commander Craft Ramsay was one of them, and with him, he brought his experienced members of Argent Exodus. Craft, a Death Knight himself, brought an insight against fighting the Scourge, and many of the men and women that followed him had done so for almost four years now. It was an odd mix of veterans and newly minted recruits who would get their first taste of battle at Icecrown Citadel. Craft knew many of his people would not survive the siege, and he wondered which new recruits he would have to send notice home about? Or, perhaps, which veteran who had long followed Craft would fight in his final battle. Craft stood frowning, as Fordring outlined the battle plan for the gathered forces. They had to clear a path to the gates of the citadel, and defend a large battering ram while it worked against the thick saronite doors. Fordring believed that the push to the doors would not be so dangerous as the assault they would face while defending the battering ram. Craft had to agree, sorties were made against the scourge outside of the citadel daily, with little retribution. The plan was straight forward, simple, and in Craft's mind, likely to have to change the moment the first blade was drawn.
The march to the Citadel was quick, as the army of the Crusade pushed hard against any Scourge that dared oppose them. By the time the main force had arrived at the Argent Camp in the courtyard before the citadel, the auxiliary forces had claimed and taken their targets.
"To the Citadel!" Fordring ordered, and Craft gestured for his men to follow him. The dwarven paladin, Asan, flanked Craft and grinned up at his Commander, "Time fer ah good fight, eh Crafty? I'm lookin forward ta it!"
Craft grinned, unsheathing his Runed sword, the markings on it glowing with power, "Aye Asan. Let's give these Scourge bastards a good ass kicking."
Craft looked back over his shoulder and saw him friends and soldiers following him. Redric and Aea, two druids were in deep conversation. Nikomus and Frostfall were in step with them, listening silently. Griffonclaw walked just behind them, the veteran paladin's face somber, for he had served Tirion longer then most. Gnifty rushed to catch up to most of the group, her short legs moving quickly through the freshly fallen snow. Ciann and Cecili, two mages who had been with Argent Exodus for years watched the skies intently, ready to fall any airborne threat to the army that marched to the Citadel. Coriolos stumbled along, distracted greatly by the large battering ram that was being hauled by bulky mammoths.
Tirion's voice shouted from the head of the column, and though Craft could not make out what was said, he knew what was being warned. They were in the shadow of the Citadel, and they were under attack.
"Finally!" boomed Asan from Craft's side, "Either needed to be fightin' or drinkin' soon, after all this blasted walkin'!"
The dwarf threw himself as the first undead that approached the column, his hammer swinging wildly, knocking undead back. With a massive overhead blow, he brought the hammer to the ground and unleashed holy energy, sending it radiating out from him, consecrating the ground, "C'mon you piles of rotting flesh! I've got judgement to bring to you unholy bastards!"
Aea was the next into the fray, shifting quickly to her cat form and dashing towards a charging abomination. In mid leap, Aea shifted again, growing in size, changing from the sleek cat into a massive, muscular bear. Aea roared as she collided with the abomination, knocking it from it's sturdy feet, and slashed viciously at it's dead flesh. As another abomination approached to smash Aea, she shifted again to her cat form, darting from the clumsy powerful blow of the second abomination and leaping to it's back. Sinking her claws in, Aea shifted one again to her bear form, and with a triumphant roar, tore at the abomination and dropped it to the ground.
Gargoyles began to join the fray, and were met by all the elemental forces of the mages, being blasted with ice and fire and sent reeling from the sky. Craft grinned and raced to the head of the column where the fighting would be most intense, his blade glowing in anticipation of battle.
"Commander!" Griffonclaw shouted as he dashed after Craft, but his cry fell on deaf ears.
Craft arrived at the head of the column, and stepped over the fallen, both living and scourge. Fighting still raged, with abominations, ghouls, geists and all manner of scourge creature locked against all the races of Azeroth. Craft's blade sang as it swung through the air to slash through a ghoul, with Craft spinning after the strike, directing his hand towards an abomination and summoning the cold to surround and freeze the large stitched horror. Craft charged at it, unleashing bolts of unholy energy as he did, and as he approached, he leapt forward, ready to drive his blade deep into the guts of the great scourge creature. With a roar, Craft pulled his blade from of the beast as it fell, spraying dark ichor as he did, and falling to the trampled ground. Grinning, Craft pulled himself up to his feet, and placed his horn to his lips, blowing and summoning the rest of his men to the gate of the Citadel.
Exhaling deeply, Craft turned to face his next challenge, a pair of geists leaping at him. Craft hacked, but was just not quick enough to make contact with the nimble leapers, his sword swinging through empty air where the geists had been mere moments before. Cursing in frustration, Craft hacked again, and this time as he missed, he reached out and grabbed the thick rope that the geists often wore as nooses around their necks. Yanking at it, he brought the first geist to him, and thrust his sword through it. As Craft tried to wrench his weapon free of the first leaper, the second pounced on his back, it's long slender arms wrapping around his neck and torso gripping tightly. Craft gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air, as he knew that despite the fact he was a Death Knight, he needed to breathe, and as he did, the geist squeezed tighter. Craft's cold blue eyes dimmed, and a haze started to set over his vision, weakness forcing him to fall to one knee and drop his sword.
Unintelligible gibbering flooded in Craft's ear as he tried to force himself to remain conscious, and with an expenditure of energy Craft sent what power he could to his weapon. In an instant the blade came to life, slicing through the air and connecting with the Geist, who let go of Craft, leaving him gasping on the ground. The leaper tried to evade the blade, but the rune-empowered sword, while slow and powerful in Craft's hands, was quick and deadly for the few short moments it could act on it's own. The Geist found itself skewed by the blade, which soon lost the power it had, and dropped to the ground.
"Bloody things..." Craft coughed hoarsely and looked around. The battle was going well, the Argent Crusade had cleared a path to the citadel and the ram was there. With a loud clang, the Titansteel head of the battering ram collided with the cold saronite gate as Craft stepped on the fallen Geist's head and pulled his sword free.
Craft turned to move to the ram, and Tirion Fordring when cold cruel whispers began to echo in his mind. Whispers he had not heard in over a year. They started quiet but soon grew louder and louder, eventually making Craft's skull ache as if it wanted to split.
"You cannot escape me, I command you. You will obey me." The whisper turned to shout commanded.
Craft staggered forward, and noticed that all the members of the Ebon Blade who had joined the assault were crumpling to the ground, their heads clutched.
"SERVE ME!" the voice boomed and Craft looked to the sky. There, hovering over the battle field was a Val'kyr, garbed in black saronite armour, with a long wicked spear, serated with a hook near the tip. On her face was a cruel looking ram's head helmet. From his dreams long past Craft recognized creature as more then a regular Val'kyr. This was the Herald of the Lich King, the one that had brought his broken body to the master of the Scourge. The one that had empowered him and created a monster who only served the Lich King.
"Serve, and be rewarded."
Craft cried out, refusing to listen, but around him, many of the former Knight's of the Ebon Blade accepted the offer, and joined the service of the Lich King again. It was chaos as Crusader fought against many of their allies, those Death Knights strong enough to resist had little power left to do anything other then lay on the ground and wait to be killed.
"Enough!" boomed one voice, that of Darion Morgaine, who had somehow forced himself to he his feet, "You must not listen! You are free!"
His voice was not heeded, and Craft tried to force himself to his feet to add his voice to the Leader of the Ebon Blade's, as Morgaine found himself swarmed by attacking scourge. His blade hacked at the ghouls and geists that surrounded him.
"Craft Ramsay...." The voice echoed in Craft's mind and infront of him, as the herald floated infront of him, "You will serve us. We will give you all you desire."
"No..." Craft gasped as he started to raise his blade.
"Yes." The Herald countered, and Craft's sword fell from his hand.
"No!" came another shout and Craft soon felt himself enclosed in a shield of holy energy.
"No! The Commander does not serve you!" roared the voice of Griffonclaw fitzSilver, who moved to stand between Craft and the Herald. His armour glistened and his eyes raged with holy power, "Back you unholy beast!"
"Back?" The Herald laughed, "I have delivered the soul of many a paladin to my King, and they served him willingly enough. The Light will not protect you. Even the greatest can fall. And you, paladin, are no-where near the greatest."
The Herald thrust her spear, crackling with dark energy, but it was deflected by Griffonclaw's shield. He swung his hammer in counter, with a strike so surprisingly powerful, the Herald staggered back.
"You surprise me child, you will serve the Lich King well."
"Never," Griffonclaw spat.
"Forever." The Herald countered calmly and swooped forward, a flurry of strikes with her spear only barely blocked by Griffonclaw as he stepped backwards under the assault. Griffonclaw slipped as he staggered backwards, and he quickly empowered his hammer with holy energy tossing it with all his might at the Herald.
Griffonclaw groaned as he hit the ground, and saw through blurred vision his hammer of light deflected away by a swat of the Herald's wing.
"Enough of this. Serve!" The Herald commanded and thrust with her spear. Griffonclaw felt his chestplate shatter and the spear pierce his flesh. He cried out in pain as the spear was twisted, blood pouring from his wound and his mouth.
"No..." Craft groaned, and forced himself forward, grasping his blade once again. The sight of his fallen friend enraged Craft, he felt an all too familiar rage boiling inside of him, and he was able to ignore the constant whispering inside his head. Fueled by this rage, Craft charged forward, and for a brief moment in time, he was no longer a Death Knight, but rather a warrior like he once was. He felt no unholy power coursing through his blood, only rage, and using that rage he brought his runeblade down onto the spear that the Herald held piercing Griffonclaw and shattered it.
The Herald screamed, and flew backwards, away from Craft, "You cannot resist me forever, Ramsay. You will serve me again!"
Craft glared up at the Herald, the cold blue glow returning to his eyes, "No. Never again. None of us will!"
The Herald laughed coldly and flew up to the upper reaches of the spire. Craft heard in his head, one final voice as the Herald vanished, "Then come into the Citadel and find me."
Craft sighed and fell to his knees beside Griffonclaw.
"C...Commander..." Griffonclaw spat, as Craft took his hand, "I... I think I can no longer... ser... serve you.... Sir..."
Craft shook his head, "You'll be fine Griffonclaw. We'll have a healer over here in a moment! Morales! You're not going to die, damnit, that's an order."
Griffonclaw laughed chokingly, "I'm sorry sir... I'm going to ... to have to disobey this one... Commander... Craft..."
Craft was speechless, for a long moment there was no sound but the crash of the Titansteel ram head against the gates of the Citadel.
"One last re...request sir..."
Craft nodded, squeezing his fallen friend's hand.
"Take me to Ironforge, to Kestralil. Take me home."
Craft nodded, and bowed his head as he felt the life leave his friend.
With the final crash of the ram against the door, Griffonclaw died on the blood stained snow, and the Citadel was breeched.
Craft and Tirion Fordring carried Griffonclaw from the Citadel on his shield. Neither saying a word. When they arrived at the camp at the base of the Citadel, Ciann was waiting and created a portal to Ironforge. Together they carried Griffonclaw through it. To Ironforge. To Home.
With great thanks to Griffonclaw, who inspired this.
Lord Tirion Fordring called, and Azeroth answered. After months of massing, months of winning and losing skirmishes against the Scourge in Northrend, the Argent Crusade felt the time was ripe, and that Icecrown Citadel was ready to be sieged. The Cavalry of the Crusade had been doing their best to eliminate the soldiers stationed outside the Citadel for almost a year, but the small scale attacks on the Scourge were doing little to decrease their numbers. The heroes of Azeroth, however, had made good progress throughout Icecrown, pushing back Scourge forces, and establishing outposts and attack positions. Icecrown Citadel remained the last true bastion of the Scourge in Icecrown, but it would not be easy to take. Before they even set foot inside, they would have to win their way to the sturdy saronite gates that protected the citadel, defeating what forces the Lich King sent out to assault them. They would have to control the area around the Citadel while they broke through the giant gates, then establish their first position inside the citadel, the outpost they would strike against the heart of the Scourge.
So Fordring called, and members of all races answered. Commander Craft Ramsay was one of them, and with him, he brought his experienced members of Argent Exodus. Craft, a Death Knight himself, brought an insight against fighting the Scourge, and many of the men and women that followed him had done so for almost four years now. It was an odd mix of veterans and newly minted recruits who would get their first taste of battle at Icecrown Citadel. Craft knew many of his people would not survive the siege, and he wondered which new recruits he would have to send notice home about? Or, perhaps, which veteran who had long followed Craft would fight in his final battle. Craft stood frowning, as Fordring outlined the battle plan for the gathered forces. They had to clear a path to the gates of the citadel, and defend a large battering ram while it worked against the thick saronite doors. Fordring believed that the push to the doors would not be so dangerous as the assault they would face while defending the battering ram. Craft had to agree, sorties were made against the scourge outside of the citadel daily, with little retribution. The plan was straight forward, simple, and in Craft's mind, likely to have to change the moment the first blade was drawn.
The march to the Citadel was quick, as the army of the Crusade pushed hard against any Scourge that dared oppose them. By the time the main force had arrived at the Argent Camp in the courtyard before the citadel, the auxiliary forces had claimed and taken their targets.
"To the Citadel!" Fordring ordered, and Craft gestured for his men to follow him. The dwarven paladin, Asan, flanked Craft and grinned up at his Commander, "Time fer ah good fight, eh Crafty? I'm lookin forward ta it!"
Craft grinned, unsheathing his Runed sword, the markings on it glowing with power, "Aye Asan. Let's give these Scourge bastards a good ass kicking."
Craft looked back over his shoulder and saw him friends and soldiers following him. Redric and Aea, two druids were in deep conversation. Nikomus and Frostfall were in step with them, listening silently. Griffonclaw walked just behind them, the veteran paladin's face somber, for he had served Tirion longer then most. Gnifty rushed to catch up to most of the group, her short legs moving quickly through the freshly fallen snow. Ciann and Cecili, two mages who had been with Argent Exodus for years watched the skies intently, ready to fall any airborne threat to the army that marched to the Citadel. Coriolos stumbled along, distracted greatly by the large battering ram that was being hauled by bulky mammoths.
Tirion's voice shouted from the head of the column, and though Craft could not make out what was said, he knew what was being warned. They were in the shadow of the Citadel, and they were under attack.
"Finally!" boomed Asan from Craft's side, "Either needed to be fightin' or drinkin' soon, after all this blasted walkin'!"
The dwarf threw himself as the first undead that approached the column, his hammer swinging wildly, knocking undead back. With a massive overhead blow, he brought the hammer to the ground and unleashed holy energy, sending it radiating out from him, consecrating the ground, "C'mon you piles of rotting flesh! I've got judgement to bring to you unholy bastards!"
Aea was the next into the fray, shifting quickly to her cat form and dashing towards a charging abomination. In mid leap, Aea shifted again, growing in size, changing from the sleek cat into a massive, muscular bear. Aea roared as she collided with the abomination, knocking it from it's sturdy feet, and slashed viciously at it's dead flesh. As another abomination approached to smash Aea, she shifted again to her cat form, darting from the clumsy powerful blow of the second abomination and leaping to it's back. Sinking her claws in, Aea shifted one again to her bear form, and with a triumphant roar, tore at the abomination and dropped it to the ground.
Gargoyles began to join the fray, and were met by all the elemental forces of the mages, being blasted with ice and fire and sent reeling from the sky. Craft grinned and raced to the head of the column where the fighting would be most intense, his blade glowing in anticipation of battle.
"Commander!" Griffonclaw shouted as he dashed after Craft, but his cry fell on deaf ears.
Craft arrived at the head of the column, and stepped over the fallen, both living and scourge. Fighting still raged, with abominations, ghouls, geists and all manner of scourge creature locked against all the races of Azeroth. Craft's blade sang as it swung through the air to slash through a ghoul, with Craft spinning after the strike, directing his hand towards an abomination and summoning the cold to surround and freeze the large stitched horror. Craft charged at it, unleashing bolts of unholy energy as he did, and as he approached, he leapt forward, ready to drive his blade deep into the guts of the great scourge creature. With a roar, Craft pulled his blade from of the beast as it fell, spraying dark ichor as he did, and falling to the trampled ground. Grinning, Craft pulled himself up to his feet, and placed his horn to his lips, blowing and summoning the rest of his men to the gate of the Citadel.
Exhaling deeply, Craft turned to face his next challenge, a pair of geists leaping at him. Craft hacked, but was just not quick enough to make contact with the nimble leapers, his sword swinging through empty air where the geists had been mere moments before. Cursing in frustration, Craft hacked again, and this time as he missed, he reached out and grabbed the thick rope that the geists often wore as nooses around their necks. Yanking at it, he brought the first geist to him, and thrust his sword through it. As Craft tried to wrench his weapon free of the first leaper, the second pounced on his back, it's long slender arms wrapping around his neck and torso gripping tightly. Craft gasped, trying to fill his lungs with air, as he knew that despite the fact he was a Death Knight, he needed to breathe, and as he did, the geist squeezed tighter. Craft's cold blue eyes dimmed, and a haze started to set over his vision, weakness forcing him to fall to one knee and drop his sword.
Unintelligible gibbering flooded in Craft's ear as he tried to force himself to remain conscious, and with an expenditure of energy Craft sent what power he could to his weapon. In an instant the blade came to life, slicing through the air and connecting with the Geist, who let go of Craft, leaving him gasping on the ground. The leaper tried to evade the blade, but the rune-empowered sword, while slow and powerful in Craft's hands, was quick and deadly for the few short moments it could act on it's own. The Geist found itself skewed by the blade, which soon lost the power it had, and dropped to the ground.
"Bloody things..." Craft coughed hoarsely and looked around. The battle was going well, the Argent Crusade had cleared a path to the citadel and the ram was there. With a loud clang, the Titansteel head of the battering ram collided with the cold saronite gate as Craft stepped on the fallen Geist's head and pulled his sword free.
Craft turned to move to the ram, and Tirion Fordring when cold cruel whispers began to echo in his mind. Whispers he had not heard in over a year. They started quiet but soon grew louder and louder, eventually making Craft's skull ache as if it wanted to split.
"You cannot escape me, I command you. You will obey me." The whisper turned to shout commanded.
Craft staggered forward, and noticed that all the members of the Ebon Blade who had joined the assault were crumpling to the ground, their heads clutched.
"SERVE ME!" the voice boomed and Craft looked to the sky. There, hovering over the battle field was a Val'kyr, garbed in black saronite armour, with a long wicked spear, serated with a hook near the tip. On her face was a cruel looking ram's head helmet. From his dreams long past Craft recognized creature as more then a regular Val'kyr. This was the Herald of the Lich King, the one that had brought his broken body to the master of the Scourge. The one that had empowered him and created a monster who only served the Lich King.
"Serve, and be rewarded."
Craft cried out, refusing to listen, but around him, many of the former Knight's of the Ebon Blade accepted the offer, and joined the service of the Lich King again. It was chaos as Crusader fought against many of their allies, those Death Knights strong enough to resist had little power left to do anything other then lay on the ground and wait to be killed.
"Enough!" boomed one voice, that of Darion Morgaine, who had somehow forced himself to he his feet, "You must not listen! You are free!"
His voice was not heeded, and Craft tried to force himself to his feet to add his voice to the Leader of the Ebon Blade's, as Morgaine found himself swarmed by attacking scourge. His blade hacked at the ghouls and geists that surrounded him.
"Craft Ramsay...." The voice echoed in Craft's mind and infront of him, as the herald floated infront of him, "You will serve us. We will give you all you desire."
"No..." Craft gasped as he started to raise his blade.
"Yes." The Herald countered, and Craft's sword fell from his hand.
"No!" came another shout and Craft soon felt himself enclosed in a shield of holy energy.
"No! The Commander does not serve you!" roared the voice of Griffonclaw fitzSilver, who moved to stand between Craft and the Herald. His armour glistened and his eyes raged with holy power, "Back you unholy beast!"
"Back?" The Herald laughed, "I have delivered the soul of many a paladin to my King, and they served him willingly enough. The Light will not protect you. Even the greatest can fall. And you, paladin, are no-where near the greatest."
The Herald thrust her spear, crackling with dark energy, but it was deflected by Griffonclaw's shield. He swung his hammer in counter, with a strike so surprisingly powerful, the Herald staggered back.
"You surprise me child, you will serve the Lich King well."
"Never," Griffonclaw spat.
"Forever." The Herald countered calmly and swooped forward, a flurry of strikes with her spear only barely blocked by Griffonclaw as he stepped backwards under the assault. Griffonclaw slipped as he staggered backwards, and he quickly empowered his hammer with holy energy tossing it with all his might at the Herald.
Griffonclaw groaned as he hit the ground, and saw through blurred vision his hammer of light deflected away by a swat of the Herald's wing.
"Enough of this. Serve!" The Herald commanded and thrust with her spear. Griffonclaw felt his chestplate shatter and the spear pierce his flesh. He cried out in pain as the spear was twisted, blood pouring from his wound and his mouth.
"No..." Craft groaned, and forced himself forward, grasping his blade once again. The sight of his fallen friend enraged Craft, he felt an all too familiar rage boiling inside of him, and he was able to ignore the constant whispering inside his head. Fueled by this rage, Craft charged forward, and for a brief moment in time, he was no longer a Death Knight, but rather a warrior like he once was. He felt no unholy power coursing through his blood, only rage, and using that rage he brought his runeblade down onto the spear that the Herald held piercing Griffonclaw and shattered it.
The Herald screamed, and flew backwards, away from Craft, "You cannot resist me forever, Ramsay. You will serve me again!"
Craft glared up at the Herald, the cold blue glow returning to his eyes, "No. Never again. None of us will!"
The Herald laughed coldly and flew up to the upper reaches of the spire. Craft heard in his head, one final voice as the Herald vanished, "Then come into the Citadel and find me."
Craft sighed and fell to his knees beside Griffonclaw.
"C...Commander..." Griffonclaw spat, as Craft took his hand, "I... I think I can no longer... ser... serve you.... Sir..."
Craft shook his head, "You'll be fine Griffonclaw. We'll have a healer over here in a moment! Morales! You're not going to die, damnit, that's an order."
Griffonclaw laughed chokingly, "I'm sorry sir... I'm going to ... to have to disobey this one... Commander... Craft..."
Craft was speechless, for a long moment there was no sound but the crash of the Titansteel ram head against the gates of the Citadel.
"One last re...request sir..."
Craft nodded, squeezing his fallen friend's hand.
"Take me to Ironforge, to Kestralil. Take me home."
Craft nodded, and bowed his head as he felt the life leave his friend.
With the final crash of the ram against the door, Griffonclaw died on the blood stained snow, and the Citadel was breeched.
Craft and Tirion Fordring carried Griffonclaw from the Citadel on his shield. Neither saying a word. When they arrived at the camp at the base of the Citadel, Ciann was waiting and created a portal to Ironforge. Together they carried Griffonclaw through it. To Ironforge. To Home.
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