(This was written towards the end of Vanilla. I'm still not sure if I want to expound on it and write an actual story around these events. It recounts the first time Afterlight downed Nefarian. Only three paladins were left standing out of the 40, including myself. It was quite the victory!)
Blackwing Lair. The Dark Fortress of the Black Dragonflight.
Throne of Nefarian.
. . .Soldiers of Luminance, blessed by Heaven above,
a champion shall be born amongst them.
Rhulain the Herald, the Bringer of Light,
will walk upon the world. . .
On the border of the Burning Steppes and Searing Gorge looms Blackrock Mountain where the formidable dragon stronghold stands. A land of emptiness and desolation, of fire and smoke and screaming hot winds carrying smoldering embers of the distant battles past, stretched as far as the eye could see.
. . .An old Evil will command its forces
and raise itself a kingdom of pestilence,
reaching its claws of decay o’er Azeroth,
raining blood o’er the mortal orders
and spreading its darkness o’er them all. . .
Vainglorious in its dark transcendence, the Evil One seeks to usurp Heaven itself from the Light. With the forces of the Black Dragonflight as only a part of those under his command, he calls upon Hell itself to surface to the mortal world.
. . .But the battle cries of the valorous will resound,
like the thunder of Heavenly Wrath,
o’er the wasteland of the Burning Steppes.
And they will come, in grim determination,
the Light’s finest, Heaven’s elite, with their formidable companions,
with skill unheard of in this age or in any before. . .
A vanguard of valor, with banners held high, marching in step, the multitude of a raiding clan amassed together in a journey to the fortress of flames. Relentless, they stormed the stronghold, Razorgore the Untamed, the first to die. Vaelastrasz, though corrupted as he was, was a respectable foe and fell with honor. The valiant party forced on, through the Halls of Strife, slaying the Broodlord and his whelps. After the defeated cries of Firemaw, Ebonroc, and Flamegor were silenced, Chromaggus was the next to fall. Bedraggled, weary, and wounded, the raid closed in on the chamber of Nefarian, Lord of the Black Dragonflight.
. . .Then the mountain will shake, for Nefarian will awaken,
his sinewy wings unfurled, his scaly bulk advancing
towards the brave champions of the Afterlight clan. . .
“Take heart, men! We can still bring this beast down! Heal the wounded, resurrect the fallen! Don’t let his trickery fool you, we will taste our victory!”
. . .The beast is a clever foe
and will resort to turn the tables
in order to cripple his enemies. . .
“Priests, no healing! Paladins, druids, pick up the slack and double your efforts! Hunters, stow those weapons, quickly! Warlocks, control your infernals! Magi, bring them down immediately! Shadowflames, prepare yourselves!”
. . .So few of the brave raid will be spared,
as a deafening roar fills the air
and lays their legions low.
Through smoke-filled eyes will they stare,
down the maw of the great drake
as he will spit shadowflames of death o’er them all. . .
So many victims, without even time to scream before they fall. Some melted into pools of bubbling flesh, others still turned to ash and were blown away.
. . .On that terrace, the multitudes will fall,
adding to the grisly décor of the drake’s lair.
Yet through befouling smoke shall emerge
a few from the brave order of the Light.
Choking and sputtering as they will be,
Hammers of Wrath they shall let fly. . .
Volley after volley of arrows found their mark, spell after spell successfully cast, swords, daggers, and axes struck true before the brave did fall. Every valiant one dead…except for the last three. As they were shielded by the Light, they struck the beast with the last of their divine strength and Nefarian goes down for the last time.
There, in the barren desolate lands of fire and smoke, can be heard the fall of the Black Dragon Lord.
. . .And the smoke shall lift,
and there they will stand.
Rhulain the Herald and her brethren,
with their glowing blades of Truth,
the shining soldiers of Justice and Light,
the Paladins of the Silver Hand. . .
. . .Soldiers of Luminance, blessed by Heaven above,
a champion shall be born amongst them.
Rhulain the Herald, the Bringer of Light,
will walk upon the world. . .
On the border of the Burning Steppes and Searing Gorge looms Blackrock Mountain where the formidable dragon stronghold stands. A land of emptiness and desolation, of fire and smoke and screaming hot winds carrying smoldering embers of the distant battles past, stretched as far as the eye could see.
. . .An old Evil will command its forces
and raise itself a kingdom of pestilence,
reaching its claws of decay o’er Azeroth,
raining blood o’er the mortal orders
and spreading its darkness o’er them all. . .
Vainglorious in its dark transcendence, the Evil One seeks to usurp Heaven itself from the Light. With the forces of the Black Dragonflight as only a part of those under his command, he calls upon Hell itself to surface to the mortal world.
. . .But the battle cries of the valorous will resound,
like the thunder of Heavenly Wrath,
o’er the wasteland of the Burning Steppes.
And they will come, in grim determination,
the Light’s finest, Heaven’s elite, with their formidable companions,
with skill unheard of in this age or in any before. . .
A vanguard of valor, with banners held high, marching in step, the multitude of a raiding clan amassed together in a journey to the fortress of flames. Relentless, they stormed the stronghold, Razorgore the Untamed, the first to die. Vaelastrasz, though corrupted as he was, was a respectable foe and fell with honor. The valiant party forced on, through the Halls of Strife, slaying the Broodlord and his whelps. After the defeated cries of Firemaw, Ebonroc, and Flamegor were silenced, Chromaggus was the next to fall. Bedraggled, weary, and wounded, the raid closed in on the chamber of Nefarian, Lord of the Black Dragonflight.
. . .Then the mountain will shake, for Nefarian will awaken,
his sinewy wings unfurled, his scaly bulk advancing
towards the brave champions of the Afterlight clan. . .
“Take heart, men! We can still bring this beast down! Heal the wounded, resurrect the fallen! Don’t let his trickery fool you, we will taste our victory!”
. . .The beast is a clever foe
and will resort to turn the tables
in order to cripple his enemies. . .
“Priests, no healing! Paladins, druids, pick up the slack and double your efforts! Hunters, stow those weapons, quickly! Warlocks, control your infernals! Magi, bring them down immediately! Shadowflames, prepare yourselves!”
. . .So few of the brave raid will be spared,
as a deafening roar fills the air
and lays their legions low.
Through smoke-filled eyes will they stare,
down the maw of the great drake
as he will spit shadowflames of death o’er them all. . .
So many victims, without even time to scream before they fall. Some melted into pools of bubbling flesh, others still turned to ash and were blown away.
. . .On that terrace, the multitudes will fall,
adding to the grisly décor of the drake’s lair.
Yet through befouling smoke shall emerge
a few from the brave order of the Light.
Choking and sputtering as they will be,
Hammers of Wrath they shall let fly. . .
Volley after volley of arrows found their mark, spell after spell successfully cast, swords, daggers, and axes struck true before the brave did fall. Every valiant one dead…except for the last three. As they were shielded by the Light, they struck the beast with the last of their divine strength and Nefarian goes down for the last time.
There, in the barren desolate lands of fire and smoke, can be heard the fall of the Black Dragon Lord.
. . .And the smoke shall lift,
and there they will stand.
Rhulain the Herald and her brethren,
with their glowing blades of Truth,
the shining soldiers of Justice and Light,
the Paladins of the Silver Hand. . .
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