Post by Tamorat Bloodhorn on Apr 12, 2009 2:01:49 GMT -5
((This was also my Submission for the Blizzard Writing Contest. I hope I get something!))
Winds of War
I have been there. I have seen it all. I was present at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, so long ago. I used the Bronze Dragonflight’s portals in the Caverns of time to fight for Warchief Thrall’s freedom, to open the Dark Portal to Azeroth and Draenor, and the Battle itself. I was present when the Gates of Ahn’Qiraj were opened. I aided in slaying the mighty Old God, C’thun…I have waged war against Illidan’s forces, laid siege to his Temple. I saw the mighty Anubisaths, the wings and horns of Illidan, and the towering might of Archimonde. Across the new frontier of the North I have personally decimated countless Undead and Vrykul. I have battled legions of Centaur trying to establish a home for the Bloodhoof Tauren, and I have killed countless members of the ‘Alliance,’ in the name of Warchief Thrall’s Horde, across every piece of land in Kalimdor and in the ‘Eastern Kingdoms.’
I am Tamorat Bloodhorn, last of my tribe, but devoted to the Bloodhoof and their goals. I have participated in every type of battle across every piece of land. I know the smells of each battlefield, and of each foe. The winds of each individual war change and are different from one another. There are always similarities between an enemy’s scent, and I can assure that the smell of war shifts based on every factor from my own personal fear to the battlefield itself. The smell of the Demon Lord Archimonde is forever embedded in my mind, as is the taint of Kil’jaeden that was present on both ‘Lord’ Illidan and ‘King’ Kael’thas Sunstrider, as well as the smell of that particular Demon Lord himself. The smell of demon is hard to forget; the only way to even hope to describe it is to use the word Chaos. The Burning Legion literally smells like Chaos itself.
Then there are ‘mortal’ foes, and the wind generated by conflicts with them range and vary more than I could hope to describe to you. Centaur smell of dirt and grime, and when gathered in force the very ground they stand on becomes infected with the smell, as does the air surrounding such an unfortunate gathering. The ‘Alliance’ has a distinct wind that I find always blows about any land they are present on. It is a wind of attempted Honor, I would say. They think themselves honorable men and women, but to look upon their tactics at times, to look upon their brutality towards even the young of my kin and other members of the Horde…the ‘Alliance’ knows not of true Honor, and one does not need to be tied to the Earthmother like I am, nor be an Orcish Blademaster, to know what true Honor is, and how it dictates a warrior’s actions. Of course, there are some who know of true Honor amongst the races of the ‘Alliance.’ One such person is Tirion Fordring. I have seen him in combat, dueled him in my spare time…he is with more honor that I thought possible in a human. His vows as a paladin, combined with his almost Orcish heart…he is an amazing individual.
Alas, the scent that is the second most memorable is comes from the most feared force on the planet Azeroth; The Scourge. While, during the Third War, as it came to be known, the Scourge was nothing more than an instrument of the Legion, it was discovered by the races of Kalimdor that it was a far larger menace. I myself never thought that I would see the undead ever again until the Dark Lady herself appeared before Thrall, seeking allegiance to the Horde. And, while others were…extremely opposed to the addition of the living dead, these “Forsaken” to our ranks, I must say that I was on the other side…but I ramble. The Scourge, that’s what I was speaking of…yes…there is nothing quite like the scent on the wind of a Scourge battlefield, this I know. The Forsaken reek of disease and experimentation when en masse, but the Scourge smells of pure, unrestricted death. Their Plague was the proverbial foot in the door for them, and while it paved the way for a growing army of forgotten corpses…the masters behind the undead armies…those are the ones who spread the smell of death.
Even in the North the smell of the undead remains the same. The climate of the Dragonblight, or Icecrown, could not be more different than the western or eastern portions of Northern Lordaeron stagnate with the Plague of Undeath that they are…and yet, even though the slightest whisper of wind can chill an orc or human down to the bone, the smell of death is only greater at the place where it all began…
He is a powerful entity, the Lich King…I found it most interesting to behold him, or at least, the image of him, several times while on the ‘Roof of the World,’ as I’ve heard it called…I can’t say I’m too sure how much of his power comes from his life and training as a Paladin, and how much is merely magical backing generated by the being Arthas has merged with. I saw what he did to Saurfang the Younger, yes…I saw that, and the army of dead he called forth while giving his speech to the human, Fordragon.
But I also saw, before my death at the hands of the Blight created by Forsaken traitors…I also saw how he faltered. The Lich King, the strongest being on the face of Azeroth as we know it, stumbled and stooped in response to being hit with the Blight…I am still amazed at the fact that such a weapon could be concocted by the Forsaken…But then again, having found and given them a great number of ingredients, and tested many variations, I can see where they were able to put the right mix of plants and magical agents together in order to create an embodiment of death that was the Blight.
…No doubt I have confused you, by this point. You heard me correctly, though, my death came to me at the Wrath Gate. I fought the disease as hard as I could, but it replaced the air around me with its foul presence, and I could do not but succumb. You hear the story from Tamorat Bloodhorn the Death Knight of Acherus, at this point. In my time I’ve had many things transpire in my presence, or occur directly at me. All I remember hearing from Arthas’ voice…I was fortunate that, in my haste to escape the Blight, I had bounded into a place that, as I died, ended up being out of the reach of the Red dragonflight’s flame. My body was not burned by their life-giving heat, though the Blight within me was purged by it…I suppose that is what made it possible for me to raised into the Lich King’s service.
I remember how much of a grip he kept on me during my training, and afterwards, too. After the Highlord Darion Mograine escaped from his mental grasp…after they, as Knights, failed to die at the hands of the Dawn, he did not wish for any sort of repeat of history. I did what I was told, and I found that I didn’t care if it was an order I would have normally stood against, even if it was an order that came from Warchief Thrall himself. I remember finding and slaying dozens of ‘adventurers’ and ‘heroes’ in the name of ‘The One True King.’ Both the Crusade and the Onslaught were nothing more than toys for me to play with as I saw fit.
Looking back, I suppose I was an incredible asset to the Lich King. All of my combat experience no doubt helped me in mastering the ways of the Death Knight, and it also was key to my success on the field. I was, as I had always been, the absorber of damage. Attacks would always be focused on the eight and a half foot tall avatar of death I was, while bolts of death flew from the necromancers behind me and laid waste to our foe…
I was fortunate, then. At least, I was fortunate in my own eyes. I do not think the Lich King appreciated losing me to the Knights of the Ebon Blade. But, to return to what I was telling you about…ah, yes. I was sent to put an end to the taking of the Crusader’s Pinnacle in Icecrown. It was the typical arrangement of Scourge forces; our ghouls and skeletons led first, followed by skeletal archers and a few abominations sprinkled in. Then I rode in with half a dozen skeletal mages (utter glass cannons, if you ask me…) and the true battle commenced. We were closing in on another victory for the Scourge when I saw a dark portal open out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to either greet reinforcements or slaughter enemy backup, the two human men who I shall never forget or ever repay for their deed strode through it. Yes, my friends, I found myself staring into the eyes of the Highlords, Darion Mograine of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade.
Even in the state that I was, completely under the Lich King’s control, I was dumbstruck and paused in shock. In spite of the smell of death that permeated the air all around me, the Light had blessed Tirion to such an extent that he generated a wind that shot through me every memory of happiness I have ever encountered. The simple life in Mulgore as a child, throwing rocks at Plainstriders to frighten them…of my trials as a young adult, the Rites of the Earthmother! And the glory of victory over Centaur hordes and the Demons of Mount Hyjal…I found that, while these glorious memories flew around inside my head, Darion and Tirion had leapt into battle and slaughtered the undead I had rode with.
I am told that I dropped to my knees, eyes wide with disbelief…But I personally do not recall doing so. It is of little matter, although I might as well have dropped. I heard the melodic, mental voice of the Lich King commanding me to fight, and I rose in spite of the fact that I was the only remaining member of the Scourge on the Pinnacle. I rose to fight and die. And yet even as I hefted my weapon to behead the nearest member of the Argent Crusade, I heard a different voice; the voice of Highlord Fordring. I describe to you the call of the Lich King as melodic, and for a Knight or anyone who ever served him, it can only be described as such. But if the Lich King to my mind was a melody, then Tirion Fordring’s voice was a symphony of wisdom and honor and purity. The command of the Lich King to kill…I heard his voice falling away, growing softer as the words of the Highlord Tirion took over.
He was speaking of me, and what he had seen. I looked around and saw that every member of the Argent Crusade there had their weapon drawn or magical ability ready, intent on reducing my being to ashes. Even the Highlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, Darion Mograine…he too had both his blades drawn and ready, and I could smell the dark energy behind him that was a spell in the making. As I listened to Tirion, his sense of honor swept through me. Here was a man who could have turned me into particles of dust on the wind, or sent my head to the Frozen Throne as a warning, but here he was, persuading his fellow Crusaders to put away their weapons, for he had seen in my reaction to his presence, a change of heart and mind.
He has quite a way of speaking, the Highlord does. His Crusaders put away their weapons, some looking quite reluctant, others looking completely trusting in their Highlord’s judgment. Though not under his command, I saw Darion stay his blades. Tirion then turned to me, walked towards me…and even though I was twice his height, I felt like a child again. Fordring is a sight to behold, and I do believe that his massive presence is aided by the fact that he wields the Ashbringer, purified. I ramble again, though…my apologies for that. But yes…Tirion came to me, and spoke to me quietly, speaking of the Honor he had seen in my eyes, and the Tauren that I once was…I’ll never forget how he ended that encounter. His eyes locked with mine, and he whispered to me “Have you seen the Light, Tamorat Bloodhorn of the Horde?”…
While I did not reel in shock, or even experience a moment of shock, it was an eye-opening thing to say. You see, in that moment, the voice of the Lich King, that addictive and melodic tone he used to control his minions…it had never left my head during the entire encounter, but alas, with that simple phrase, it stopped! The whisper was gone from my head as though he’d never been there at all. All I heard was the wind blowing around the Pinnacle, the breath of the Crusaders around me, and the echo of Tirion’s own whisper in my head, the symphony of his voice silently fading as he stood and calmly waited for my reaction.
I drew my runeblade and knelt before the Highlord, plunging it deep into the snow while my head remained bowed to him. While I was still taller than Fordring while doing so, it made no difference as he laid a plated hand on my shoulder. Honestly, I am surprised that I did not burn to ash…This I suppose has helped me understand the righteous fury and loving benevolence that is the Light. But alas, Tirion Fordring…He turned and proclaimed to his fellow Crusaders (And Darion, who still looked ready to chop me into bits and feed me to a ghoul) “A Hero is Reborn!” I heard a great cry of victory rise up from the Argent Crusaders. I think I even heard a sigh of relief from Highlord Mograine. Regardless…Highlord Fordring turned back to me and extended a hand, telling me to rise and bask in the Light’s redemption. I rose to the smiling faces of a mix of all races, including the Forsaken, and let me tell you, in that moment, I felt more inspired to fight against the evils of Azeroth than I ever have before. To be honest, I doubt I’ll ever feel that way again, unless, of course, I charge into battle alongside Tirion once more. While such a scene has played out in my head multiple times, and as much as I’d dearly love to charge into the depths of Arthas’ Citadel alongside the Argent Highlord…I wholeheartedly admit that I will probably not be given the privilege of being directly next to him. But alas, only time will tell if I shall stand beside such a human again…
As for the Ebon Blade Highlord, Darion? Well, he’s an interesting sort. After all that I have head he has gone through…that’s really the only way I feel I can describe it. He’s an interesting sort. He’s not very optimistic, though I can understand why he might not be. After seeing all that the Lich King is capable of or can put together…his manner of speaking, even to Tirion himself, is understandable. And yet while I see no reason to be so pessimistic with a force like Tirion on ‘our side,’ I cannot blame Darion for having such an outlook on life. Or… rather, unlife, considering the state he and I are in.
To this day, however…whenever I travel to the Crusader’s Pinnacle, I find that the wind that blows there has changed. Sometimes, yes, I am there and Fordring is not, and even without his presence the wind that blows at the Pinnacle has changed. When the Scourge made it into a mockery of the Argent Crusade, it smelled of death and confidence on behalf of the Scourge. It smelled of a challenge and hatred for the foes of the Lich King. Now…now it smells of Hope. Hope, and life, and when Tirion is present there you can see a pure embodiment of this ‘Light’ that Highlord Fordring spoke of. I assure you, friends, the smell of hope is something that I’ve never truly experienced before meeting Fordring. He is a man of true Honor, and it shows in the presence he generates. Across all of my battles, from the hunting of a Kodo to rending demonic foes in half, to succumbing to the Blight at the Wrath Gate…nothing has ever smelled so distinct as the wind of Hope.
I have pledged my services to the Horde once again. I pledged my services to the Knights of the Ebon Blade after the Taking of the Crusader’s Pinnacle. I have even sworn myself to Tirion Fordring’s side. Let me tell you, Thrall was more than happy to see that I have returned to the side of ‘Good.’ While I do think that such a word is merely an outlook on an action…there are a few beings on this world and other worlds that are evil no matter whose eyes you look though. Archimonde was one of those entities, and I helped to end him both firsthand and by going back in time to aid the past. Kil’jaeden was one of those entities, and while he has not been destroyed just yet, his arrival into Azeroth was halted. For the time being, that is enough. The Lich King, however, remains here on Azeroth. The Lich King is one of those entities, and I see now that those pure evils who exist should…no, pardon, must but put to death. After all the strife I have seen the Lich King cause, after all the strife I have caused in his name…
He and his Scourge should be ended. Slain and burned so that the winds will never again smell of his power. There is enough death and strife present on Azeroth without the Lich King raising the dead and attempting to rule the planet. I have seen the new Ashbringer firsthand. I have heard the symphony that is his voice, and I have smelled the wind of change that follows him wherever he treads. And I, Tamorat Bloodhorn, Death Knight of Acherus and Warrior of the Horde, have pledged to follow that wind wherever it shall blow.
Winds of War
I have been there. I have seen it all. I was present at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, so long ago. I used the Bronze Dragonflight’s portals in the Caverns of time to fight for Warchief Thrall’s freedom, to open the Dark Portal to Azeroth and Draenor, and the Battle itself. I was present when the Gates of Ahn’Qiraj were opened. I aided in slaying the mighty Old God, C’thun…I have waged war against Illidan’s forces, laid siege to his Temple. I saw the mighty Anubisaths, the wings and horns of Illidan, and the towering might of Archimonde. Across the new frontier of the North I have personally decimated countless Undead and Vrykul. I have battled legions of Centaur trying to establish a home for the Bloodhoof Tauren, and I have killed countless members of the ‘Alliance,’ in the name of Warchief Thrall’s Horde, across every piece of land in Kalimdor and in the ‘Eastern Kingdoms.’
I am Tamorat Bloodhorn, last of my tribe, but devoted to the Bloodhoof and their goals. I have participated in every type of battle across every piece of land. I know the smells of each battlefield, and of each foe. The winds of each individual war change and are different from one another. There are always similarities between an enemy’s scent, and I can assure that the smell of war shifts based on every factor from my own personal fear to the battlefield itself. The smell of the Demon Lord Archimonde is forever embedded in my mind, as is the taint of Kil’jaeden that was present on both ‘Lord’ Illidan and ‘King’ Kael’thas Sunstrider, as well as the smell of that particular Demon Lord himself. The smell of demon is hard to forget; the only way to even hope to describe it is to use the word Chaos. The Burning Legion literally smells like Chaos itself.
Then there are ‘mortal’ foes, and the wind generated by conflicts with them range and vary more than I could hope to describe to you. Centaur smell of dirt and grime, and when gathered in force the very ground they stand on becomes infected with the smell, as does the air surrounding such an unfortunate gathering. The ‘Alliance’ has a distinct wind that I find always blows about any land they are present on. It is a wind of attempted Honor, I would say. They think themselves honorable men and women, but to look upon their tactics at times, to look upon their brutality towards even the young of my kin and other members of the Horde…the ‘Alliance’ knows not of true Honor, and one does not need to be tied to the Earthmother like I am, nor be an Orcish Blademaster, to know what true Honor is, and how it dictates a warrior’s actions. Of course, there are some who know of true Honor amongst the races of the ‘Alliance.’ One such person is Tirion Fordring. I have seen him in combat, dueled him in my spare time…he is with more honor that I thought possible in a human. His vows as a paladin, combined with his almost Orcish heart…he is an amazing individual.
Alas, the scent that is the second most memorable is comes from the most feared force on the planet Azeroth; The Scourge. While, during the Third War, as it came to be known, the Scourge was nothing more than an instrument of the Legion, it was discovered by the races of Kalimdor that it was a far larger menace. I myself never thought that I would see the undead ever again until the Dark Lady herself appeared before Thrall, seeking allegiance to the Horde. And, while others were…extremely opposed to the addition of the living dead, these “Forsaken” to our ranks, I must say that I was on the other side…but I ramble. The Scourge, that’s what I was speaking of…yes…there is nothing quite like the scent on the wind of a Scourge battlefield, this I know. The Forsaken reek of disease and experimentation when en masse, but the Scourge smells of pure, unrestricted death. Their Plague was the proverbial foot in the door for them, and while it paved the way for a growing army of forgotten corpses…the masters behind the undead armies…those are the ones who spread the smell of death.
Even in the North the smell of the undead remains the same. The climate of the Dragonblight, or Icecrown, could not be more different than the western or eastern portions of Northern Lordaeron stagnate with the Plague of Undeath that they are…and yet, even though the slightest whisper of wind can chill an orc or human down to the bone, the smell of death is only greater at the place where it all began…
He is a powerful entity, the Lich King…I found it most interesting to behold him, or at least, the image of him, several times while on the ‘Roof of the World,’ as I’ve heard it called…I can’t say I’m too sure how much of his power comes from his life and training as a Paladin, and how much is merely magical backing generated by the being Arthas has merged with. I saw what he did to Saurfang the Younger, yes…I saw that, and the army of dead he called forth while giving his speech to the human, Fordragon.
But I also saw, before my death at the hands of the Blight created by Forsaken traitors…I also saw how he faltered. The Lich King, the strongest being on the face of Azeroth as we know it, stumbled and stooped in response to being hit with the Blight…I am still amazed at the fact that such a weapon could be concocted by the Forsaken…But then again, having found and given them a great number of ingredients, and tested many variations, I can see where they were able to put the right mix of plants and magical agents together in order to create an embodiment of death that was the Blight.
…No doubt I have confused you, by this point. You heard me correctly, though, my death came to me at the Wrath Gate. I fought the disease as hard as I could, but it replaced the air around me with its foul presence, and I could do not but succumb. You hear the story from Tamorat Bloodhorn the Death Knight of Acherus, at this point. In my time I’ve had many things transpire in my presence, or occur directly at me. All I remember hearing from Arthas’ voice…I was fortunate that, in my haste to escape the Blight, I had bounded into a place that, as I died, ended up being out of the reach of the Red dragonflight’s flame. My body was not burned by their life-giving heat, though the Blight within me was purged by it…I suppose that is what made it possible for me to raised into the Lich King’s service.
I remember how much of a grip he kept on me during my training, and afterwards, too. After the Highlord Darion Mograine escaped from his mental grasp…after they, as Knights, failed to die at the hands of the Dawn, he did not wish for any sort of repeat of history. I did what I was told, and I found that I didn’t care if it was an order I would have normally stood against, even if it was an order that came from Warchief Thrall himself. I remember finding and slaying dozens of ‘adventurers’ and ‘heroes’ in the name of ‘The One True King.’ Both the Crusade and the Onslaught were nothing more than toys for me to play with as I saw fit.
Looking back, I suppose I was an incredible asset to the Lich King. All of my combat experience no doubt helped me in mastering the ways of the Death Knight, and it also was key to my success on the field. I was, as I had always been, the absorber of damage. Attacks would always be focused on the eight and a half foot tall avatar of death I was, while bolts of death flew from the necromancers behind me and laid waste to our foe…
I was fortunate, then. At least, I was fortunate in my own eyes. I do not think the Lich King appreciated losing me to the Knights of the Ebon Blade. But, to return to what I was telling you about…ah, yes. I was sent to put an end to the taking of the Crusader’s Pinnacle in Icecrown. It was the typical arrangement of Scourge forces; our ghouls and skeletons led first, followed by skeletal archers and a few abominations sprinkled in. Then I rode in with half a dozen skeletal mages (utter glass cannons, if you ask me…) and the true battle commenced. We were closing in on another victory for the Scourge when I saw a dark portal open out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to either greet reinforcements or slaughter enemy backup, the two human men who I shall never forget or ever repay for their deed strode through it. Yes, my friends, I found myself staring into the eyes of the Highlords, Darion Mograine of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and Tirion Fordring of the Argent Crusade.
Even in the state that I was, completely under the Lich King’s control, I was dumbstruck and paused in shock. In spite of the smell of death that permeated the air all around me, the Light had blessed Tirion to such an extent that he generated a wind that shot through me every memory of happiness I have ever encountered. The simple life in Mulgore as a child, throwing rocks at Plainstriders to frighten them…of my trials as a young adult, the Rites of the Earthmother! And the glory of victory over Centaur hordes and the Demons of Mount Hyjal…I found that, while these glorious memories flew around inside my head, Darion and Tirion had leapt into battle and slaughtered the undead I had rode with.
I am told that I dropped to my knees, eyes wide with disbelief…But I personally do not recall doing so. It is of little matter, although I might as well have dropped. I heard the melodic, mental voice of the Lich King commanding me to fight, and I rose in spite of the fact that I was the only remaining member of the Scourge on the Pinnacle. I rose to fight and die. And yet even as I hefted my weapon to behead the nearest member of the Argent Crusade, I heard a different voice; the voice of Highlord Fordring. I describe to you the call of the Lich King as melodic, and for a Knight or anyone who ever served him, it can only be described as such. But if the Lich King to my mind was a melody, then Tirion Fordring’s voice was a symphony of wisdom and honor and purity. The command of the Lich King to kill…I heard his voice falling away, growing softer as the words of the Highlord Tirion took over.
He was speaking of me, and what he had seen. I looked around and saw that every member of the Argent Crusade there had their weapon drawn or magical ability ready, intent on reducing my being to ashes. Even the Highlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, Darion Mograine…he too had both his blades drawn and ready, and I could smell the dark energy behind him that was a spell in the making. As I listened to Tirion, his sense of honor swept through me. Here was a man who could have turned me into particles of dust on the wind, or sent my head to the Frozen Throne as a warning, but here he was, persuading his fellow Crusaders to put away their weapons, for he had seen in my reaction to his presence, a change of heart and mind.
He has quite a way of speaking, the Highlord does. His Crusaders put away their weapons, some looking quite reluctant, others looking completely trusting in their Highlord’s judgment. Though not under his command, I saw Darion stay his blades. Tirion then turned to me, walked towards me…and even though I was twice his height, I felt like a child again. Fordring is a sight to behold, and I do believe that his massive presence is aided by the fact that he wields the Ashbringer, purified. I ramble again, though…my apologies for that. But yes…Tirion came to me, and spoke to me quietly, speaking of the Honor he had seen in my eyes, and the Tauren that I once was…I’ll never forget how he ended that encounter. His eyes locked with mine, and he whispered to me “Have you seen the Light, Tamorat Bloodhorn of the Horde?”…
While I did not reel in shock, or even experience a moment of shock, it was an eye-opening thing to say. You see, in that moment, the voice of the Lich King, that addictive and melodic tone he used to control his minions…it had never left my head during the entire encounter, but alas, with that simple phrase, it stopped! The whisper was gone from my head as though he’d never been there at all. All I heard was the wind blowing around the Pinnacle, the breath of the Crusaders around me, and the echo of Tirion’s own whisper in my head, the symphony of his voice silently fading as he stood and calmly waited for my reaction.
I drew my runeblade and knelt before the Highlord, plunging it deep into the snow while my head remained bowed to him. While I was still taller than Fordring while doing so, it made no difference as he laid a plated hand on my shoulder. Honestly, I am surprised that I did not burn to ash…This I suppose has helped me understand the righteous fury and loving benevolence that is the Light. But alas, Tirion Fordring…He turned and proclaimed to his fellow Crusaders (And Darion, who still looked ready to chop me into bits and feed me to a ghoul) “A Hero is Reborn!” I heard a great cry of victory rise up from the Argent Crusaders. I think I even heard a sigh of relief from Highlord Mograine. Regardless…Highlord Fordring turned back to me and extended a hand, telling me to rise and bask in the Light’s redemption. I rose to the smiling faces of a mix of all races, including the Forsaken, and let me tell you, in that moment, I felt more inspired to fight against the evils of Azeroth than I ever have before. To be honest, I doubt I’ll ever feel that way again, unless, of course, I charge into battle alongside Tirion once more. While such a scene has played out in my head multiple times, and as much as I’d dearly love to charge into the depths of Arthas’ Citadel alongside the Argent Highlord…I wholeheartedly admit that I will probably not be given the privilege of being directly next to him. But alas, only time will tell if I shall stand beside such a human again…
As for the Ebon Blade Highlord, Darion? Well, he’s an interesting sort. After all that I have head he has gone through…that’s really the only way I feel I can describe it. He’s an interesting sort. He’s not very optimistic, though I can understand why he might not be. After seeing all that the Lich King is capable of or can put together…his manner of speaking, even to Tirion himself, is understandable. And yet while I see no reason to be so pessimistic with a force like Tirion on ‘our side,’ I cannot blame Darion for having such an outlook on life. Or… rather, unlife, considering the state he and I are in.
To this day, however…whenever I travel to the Crusader’s Pinnacle, I find that the wind that blows there has changed. Sometimes, yes, I am there and Fordring is not, and even without his presence the wind that blows at the Pinnacle has changed. When the Scourge made it into a mockery of the Argent Crusade, it smelled of death and confidence on behalf of the Scourge. It smelled of a challenge and hatred for the foes of the Lich King. Now…now it smells of Hope. Hope, and life, and when Tirion is present there you can see a pure embodiment of this ‘Light’ that Highlord Fordring spoke of. I assure you, friends, the smell of hope is something that I’ve never truly experienced before meeting Fordring. He is a man of true Honor, and it shows in the presence he generates. Across all of my battles, from the hunting of a Kodo to rending demonic foes in half, to succumbing to the Blight at the Wrath Gate…nothing has ever smelled so distinct as the wind of Hope.
I have pledged my services to the Horde once again. I pledged my services to the Knights of the Ebon Blade after the Taking of the Crusader’s Pinnacle. I have even sworn myself to Tirion Fordring’s side. Let me tell you, Thrall was more than happy to see that I have returned to the side of ‘Good.’ While I do think that such a word is merely an outlook on an action…there are a few beings on this world and other worlds that are evil no matter whose eyes you look though. Archimonde was one of those entities, and I helped to end him both firsthand and by going back in time to aid the past. Kil’jaeden was one of those entities, and while he has not been destroyed just yet, his arrival into Azeroth was halted. For the time being, that is enough. The Lich King, however, remains here on Azeroth. The Lich King is one of those entities, and I see now that those pure evils who exist should…no, pardon, must but put to death. After all the strife I have seen the Lich King cause, after all the strife I have caused in his name…
He and his Scourge should be ended. Slain and burned so that the winds will never again smell of his power. There is enough death and strife present on Azeroth without the Lich King raising the dead and attempting to rule the planet. I have seen the new Ashbringer firsthand. I have heard the symphony that is his voice, and I have smelled the wind of change that follows him wherever he treads. And I, Tamorat Bloodhorn, Death Knight of Acherus and Warrior of the Horde, have pledged to follow that wind wherever it shall blow.