((Zam has started a storyline with connections to the Tarnished Knight))
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/2674990688
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
(70) - Dwarven Afterlife
Somewhere in the deep caverns of Khaz Modan, Griffonclaw slept the sleep of the dead, and dreamed. He imagined his adopted nephew, a gnomish lad by the name of MacLhir, was playing the gnomish lute and singing the song they had produced from Griffonclaw's first exposure to the folk of Ironforge, the folk who had taken him in and made him one of their own.
When Craft Ramsey had returned his lifeless body to his wife, Kestralil Shadowhawk, she had in turn given it over to Griffonclaw's adopted people, the Order of the Silver Hand of Ironforge. When the human Order had released Griffonclaw from his vows because the paladin had dared to kill Alliance soldiers who were raping Horde civilians, the dwarven Order had re-sworn him, and King Magni Bronzebeard himself had made Griffonclaw a "legal dwarf", granting him full citizenship, swearing Griffonclaw to his personal service as one of his "privy agents of the Iron Throne".
They had taken Griffonclaw's body with reverence; he had died protecting his Commander from the rapacious minions of the Lich King in desperate defense of his final citadel, and had fallen, his Ironforge tabard and the armor underneath shredded. He was given the full funerary rites of a fallen Ironforge paladin, and as the Sworn of King Magni, was laid out in the Royal Crypt so that his spirit could guard his King in death as he had in life.
Visitors to his sepulcher didn't realize that the stone effigy of Griffonclaw was the paladin's actual body, turned to stone.
Griffonclaw's spirit listened from where he sat in his King's Hall, listening to the song. As the song played, he sipped at his never-empty tankard of dwarven stout and wept unashamedly, listening to the words spawn memories of that horrid, wonderful day.
As a squire, Griffonclaw had made the choice to cleave to the path of Uther rather than follow his sworn master down the path of Arthas at Stratholme. When Arthas declared the Order dissolved, he had followed Lady Jaina Proudmore to Kalimbor, and eventually to the slopes of Mount Hyjal.
As the Burning Legion had drawn near, the defenders of Hyjal had asked for volunteers to fight a desperate holding action in the mountain road which led up the slopes, to give them time to finish their hastily-erected defenses. The Hammer of Magni, an elite dwarven unit sent by Magni, had responded to the call, and as they were short-handed, Griffonclaw was assigned to them to supplement their own paladins.
While Arthas had officially dissolved the Order of the Silver Hand, that action had resulted in no effect upon the strength of Griffonclaw's sword nor his ability to manifest the Light to heal his compatriots. Griffonclaw had spent the hours before battle at the forge, doing any task requested of the Master Smiths, putting edges on weapons, helping the dwarves arrange their defensive works that sat athwart the road.
"They say Azeroth is bleeding
When every warlock soul is born
Beckoning to the infernal
Brimstone eyes are full of scorn...
We are forty against thousands
Facing demons and deadly strife
Our task - delay the Burning Legion
Buying more time with our life
They will charge us come the morning
When the midnight becomes day's sky
The felhounds will feast upon our bodies
Our clanmates and our wives will cry.
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge.
Our Lady Captain, she lays bleeding
And she then calls out to me
"The defenders need at least twelve hours
for even hope of victory"
I look up all around me
And see Rogue, Paladin and Priest
Sharpening blade and making ready
To buy them half a day, at least.
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge.
The sun rises over mountain
We see the land below quite clear
Distant sacrifices sscreaming
As our enemy draws near.
No more words need to be spoken
Just a drink to say good-bye
They descend upon our battle-line
To the sound of dwarven battle cry!
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge."
The demons and other fel beasts had come shortly thereafter, and no quarter had been given, nor expected. The Hammer of Magni, already having taken many casualties in the various skirmishes up to this point, had proven that they had iron in their spirits.
They had held for six hours. Three of the dwarves had survived the battle; the warriors Skallagrim and Orri, the battle-priest Tbelle.
And Griffonclaw. He had been wounded, and his body had been buried under other casualties while the battle raged past him. He had awoken to the gentle touch of a kaldorei healer, who had pulled him back from the brink of death with her druidic magics.
The four of them had recovered, and gone their separate ways, but friendships, bonds of mithril and steel had been forged that day between them, bonds that would be renewed in Thelsamar, years later.
When Craft Ramsey had returned his lifeless body to his wife, Kestralil Shadowhawk, she had in turn given it over to Griffonclaw's adopted people, the Order of the Silver Hand of Ironforge. When the human Order had released Griffonclaw from his vows because the paladin had dared to kill Alliance soldiers who were raping Horde civilians, the dwarven Order had re-sworn him, and King Magni Bronzebeard himself had made Griffonclaw a "legal dwarf", granting him full citizenship, swearing Griffonclaw to his personal service as one of his "privy agents of the Iron Throne".
They had taken Griffonclaw's body with reverence; he had died protecting his Commander from the rapacious minions of the Lich King in desperate defense of his final citadel, and had fallen, his Ironforge tabard and the armor underneath shredded. He was given the full funerary rites of a fallen Ironforge paladin, and as the Sworn of King Magni, was laid out in the Royal Crypt so that his spirit could guard his King in death as he had in life.
Visitors to his sepulcher didn't realize that the stone effigy of Griffonclaw was the paladin's actual body, turned to stone.
Griffonclaw's spirit listened from where he sat in his King's Hall, listening to the song. As the song played, he sipped at his never-empty tankard of dwarven stout and wept unashamedly, listening to the words spawn memories of that horrid, wonderful day.
As a squire, Griffonclaw had made the choice to cleave to the path of Uther rather than follow his sworn master down the path of Arthas at Stratholme. When Arthas declared the Order dissolved, he had followed Lady Jaina Proudmore to Kalimbor, and eventually to the slopes of Mount Hyjal.
As the Burning Legion had drawn near, the defenders of Hyjal had asked for volunteers to fight a desperate holding action in the mountain road which led up the slopes, to give them time to finish their hastily-erected defenses. The Hammer of Magni, an elite dwarven unit sent by Magni, had responded to the call, and as they were short-handed, Griffonclaw was assigned to them to supplement their own paladins.
While Arthas had officially dissolved the Order of the Silver Hand, that action had resulted in no effect upon the strength of Griffonclaw's sword nor his ability to manifest the Light to heal his compatriots. Griffonclaw had spent the hours before battle at the forge, doing any task requested of the Master Smiths, putting edges on weapons, helping the dwarves arrange their defensive works that sat athwart the road.
"They say Azeroth is bleeding
When every warlock soul is born
Beckoning to the infernal
Brimstone eyes are full of scorn...
We are forty against thousands
Facing demons and deadly strife
Our task - delay the Burning Legion
Buying more time with our life
They will charge us come the morning
When the midnight becomes day's sky
The felhounds will feast upon our bodies
Our clanmates and our wives will cry.
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge.
Our Lady Captain, she lays bleeding
And she then calls out to me
"The defenders need at least twelve hours
for even hope of victory"
I look up all around me
And see Rogue, Paladin and Priest
Sharpening blade and making ready
To buy them half a day, at least.
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge.
The sun rises over mountain
We see the land below quite clear
Distant sacrifices sscreaming
As our enemy draws near.
No more words need to be spoken
Just a drink to say good-bye
They descend upon our battle-line
To the sound of dwarven battle cry!
Ironforge, we're coming home
To the deeply delved dark tunnels
And the great halls carved from stone.
Our souls are running fast
leaping o'er the gorge
We're coming home to Ironforge."
The demons and other fel beasts had come shortly thereafter, and no quarter had been given, nor expected. The Hammer of Magni, already having taken many casualties in the various skirmishes up to this point, had proven that they had iron in their spirits.
They had held for six hours. Three of the dwarves had survived the battle; the warriors Skallagrim and Orri, the battle-priest Tbelle.
And Griffonclaw. He had been wounded, and his body had been buried under other casualties while the battle raged past him. He had awoken to the gentle touch of a kaldorei healer, who had pulled him back from the brink of death with her druidic magics.
The four of them had recovered, and gone their separate ways, but friendships, bonds of mithril and steel had been forged that day between them, bonds that would be renewed in Thelsamar, years later.
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