Saora's Benediction: Icecrown Citadel (5) "Y'evah notice," Grifton yanked his sword from the rotting corpse he'd just impaled, "that ev'ry assignment we're given has someone that needs savin'?"
"No one knew Fordragon were here," his cousin wiped his sweaty forehead.
Armod grunted, the wound in his side closing with Saora's heal, "Or even alive. How'd he survive the plague? An’ the dragon's breath?"
"Does it matter?" Dhaja towered over a few mercenaries, casually tossing them heals, "The Highlord is a great champion for Stormwind and the Light. It is our duty to assist him."
Saora swallowed, careful to keep from drawing the draenei's attention. She'd always looked up to Bolivar Fordragon. She admired his quiet nobility and the guidance he'd given Stormwind's young prince. When King Varian disappeared, Bolivar became a voice behind the throne, his kingdom's safely always his first concern. Saora met him once when he gave her a mission to take back Stratholme
Saora's Benediction: Icecrown Citadel (4) Tirion Fordring was an imposing figure. As tall as an elf and covered in gleaming gold armor, he stood out among the battle hardened mercenaries and soldiers surrounding his makeshift platform. To his right stood Varian Wrynn, king of Stormwind and the only human to become a champion as an orc's enslaved gladiator...and live to tell about it. The brutal fire in his ice blue eyes matched his crazed black hair and the terrible scar under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Tirion was a sharp contrast to the wild look of his king. Long, grayed hair swept gracefully away from his face, matching a neatly trimmed beard. His wide green eyes were stern and noble. One glance at the paladin and you knew he was a man of honor.
"This is our final stand," he announced, his hands clasped behind his back. "What happens here will echo through the ages. Regardless of the outcome, they will know that we fought with honor. That we fought for the freedom and safety of our
Saora's Benediction: Icecrown Citadel (3) As expected, King Wrynn was hardly thrilled to see the same mercenary band that refused to attack Thrall during a seige of Undercity. He flew into a rage when Kasino informed him that Zodiac would assist in leading the Citadel's assault whether he liked it or not. It was only Tirion and Guider that kept them from coming to blows, and even then just barely. Normally, Saora would have done her best to stop the fighting. However, deep down, she wished she had the nerve to stand up to the king like the mercenaries did. Zodiac and Guider's troops were focused on unseating Arthas and saving Azeroth. All Varian wanted was blood.
Verita took the distraction as time to introduce Saora to most of the mercenaries with her. The priestess was a bit nervous, recalling just how many lives these people had taken. Many were polite, saying hello or cracking a joke to put her at ease. Some just tossed a smile or offered a handshake.
A small group made of a blonde, female human p
Saora's Benediction: Icecrown Citadel (part 2) They made short work of the ghouls and skeletons waiting on the Citadel's steps. The death knight commanders were more trouble, one of them nearly lobbing several heads off with a single blow. But they were no match for the army, especially with Stormwind's support, and soon the Alliance controlled the entrance to the Citadel.
Guider quickly set up a perimeter, blocking any wandering corpse from flanking them. The Ebon Blade death knights entered first, followed by the Argent Crusade's highest ranked members and the king of Stormwind himself. Saora busied herself with healing the wounded, careful to stay out of the king's eyeline. Fortunately, he was too busy strategizing with Tirion Fordring, paladin leader of the Argent Crusade, the dwarf king Muradin Bronzebeard, and a mysterious man calling himself the Ebon Watcher to notice the little priestess. She breathed a sigh of relief and caught the eye of Armod as he stuck his tongue out at the king's fading figur
Saora's Benediction: Icecrown Citadel (part 1) Black metal rose from the fog like a dragon's clawed foot. The center steeple stretched impossibly high overhead, taller than any structure in Azeroth. Despite the snow constantly falling over the fortress, the metal was clean and only coated with ice. Some believed the ice added protection for the structure, a theory strengthened by every unsuccessful bombing.
A priestess, an insignificant speck compared to the fortress, shuddered and wrapped her thin arms around herself. The thick cloth she wore during battle held off the low temperatures but could do nothing against the cold terror in her gut. She pulled uneasily at her mousy brown hair, combing away snowflakes. She bit her thin lips, her wide eyes glazing over, as her mind saw all the horrible things inside the fortress that they'd meet: walking corpses, breathing vampires, undead dragons and, worst of all, the one who controlled the puppets, the prince who betrayed his people and annihilated her hometown,
Fall of Gnomer 6 - End
"We were surprised at the silence of Gnomeregan durin' the Third War, High Tinker. Had we known of the treachery underground, we would've sent aid."
Magni Bronzebeard settled back in his massive stone throne, thick and calloused fingers stroking his long, red beard. He could barely believe the story he heard, the invasion and annihilation of one of his strongest allies. Still, he'd never seen so many gnomes in one place before. Hundreds of them swarmed through his gates just a few hours ago. The masses overpopulated Ironforge, their tiny bodies filling every possible housing space, but it was nowhere near the number believed to once fill Gnomeregan. If the story was true, the last remnants of an entire race bleakly occupied his halls.
Gelbin scowled, crossing his strong arms, "You wouldn't have sent aid, Magni. Your war encompassed the entire p