Posted: 26 Jul 2005 06:59 pm
It is the dawn of the 2nd age of Light within Azeroth, and a great battle is ensuing for every heart, mind, and indeed every soul within the land…
Two great and powerful forces position themselves for war unlike any seen before in the people's recollection. The followers of darkness, and the houses of light have been gathering their forces unto themselves, that they might all come to clash and compete for all of Azeroth’s riches and artifacts of power. These battles lay somewhere in the not so distant future, and shall occur within a realm which both sides are currently working towards mastering. A realm called Battlegrounds.
But that in itself is the grander story, and this, this is the tale of but one of the many Houses of Light who participate, the Refugees. Twas decided by the Grand High Council of Refugees – the leadership of the family - that a cadre of the Refugees elite forces would make an exploratory attempt to ascertain the power of the darkness aligned against us. To that end, Refugees’ Operational Commander, Fernmug Freehand was tasked with assembling a team to scout the area upon which the coming battles might be fought. He chose to assemble a team based both upon ability and prowess within the field to accompany him on the mission. The party ultimately was comprised of guild co-founder, Mac Klodder, a human mage and a man of great wit; the night elf druid Equinox whose skill and courage on the many fields of battle which Refugees had been engaged had become almost legendary; the human Paladin, Fortinbras who, though chaotic at times, was quick with both a heal and a swing of his blade; and the healer, Rarwin whose priestly ways had saved more than one Refugee on countless occasions. And so it was that these five set off in exploration of the land, and to scout for the forces of the enemy.
When they had not returned, nor sent word thru the land in nearly a month, the remaining forces of the Refugees command sent a second wave to find the missing the champions. This group was led by Refugees Guild Sovereign and Warlord, Lord Imajicaan Mae'Stro, a Holy Knight from the province of Kharanos, and half-brother to the now missing Refugees 1st Officer Fernmug Freehand.
What this 2nd force found is a tale which shall be retold and recorded throughout the history of the Refugees for aeons to come...
They crept silently into the mountains of Hillsbrad, these brave new souls, in search of their friends and comrades. Imajicaan, Dreamz, Nittering, Navarra, Dtaylor. As they broke camp on the second morning of their journey, a thick fog had begun to form at the base of the pass into Hillsbrad along the route they had chosen. The night elven priestess, Dreamz, spoke in a hushed tone as the last vestiges of the parties camp were being struck. ‘An ill portent is this fog my friends’, the lady whispered in a hushed tone. “perhaps we should hold and allow for it to break my liege,’ she directed towards Imajicaan.
‘Nay, milady. Four weeks past did Fernmug embark alongside our brethren in search of the enemy. They may well be in need of our aid, and I’ll not let some silly fog hold us back from their pursuit this day or any other,’ the stout Paladin retorted to his trusted aide.
The camp was struck, the parties belongings packed neatly away and onto the backs of the parties’ mounts, and the processional had begun upwards through the mist-enshrouded pass. The team had been making good time, passing the caves and hollows of the lower hills, which were rumored to be the home to many yeti’s, in just under two hours time after striking their base camp. The ground, still covered with a fresh snow from the night before, was pristine and bore no tracks of either creature nor man alike.
They had come upon what most of them knew to be a clearing at the beginning of the third hour and though the fog was still thick the adventurers could at least now see more than a foot in front of them. Though, while mounted they could not the ground beneath them, they trusted their mounts and the fact that each of them had made this trek on several occasions in the past, to lead them thru the pass. Suddenly a noise in the distance froze them all.
'Hold', Imajicaan instructed his brethren while raising his hand to motion to stop.
'Sire?' came the voice of Navarra, master Druid.
The Paladin dismounted and knelt to touch the ground beneath them all. And he raised his hand again, this time in horror as it was red with blood.
'Ahhh, Ahhh' the cleric Dreamz begin to gasp and stumble back away from the leader.
'Hold your tongue woman' came the voice of Dtaylor, the stout dwarven warrior 'Lest you bring the beasts of this region down upon our heads'. And all was silent for a moment.
Knowing that both the Yeti and a band of Ogres sometimes ran these woods, and therefor were a common sight to its creatures, Imajicaan turned to his fellow guild leader, Nittering. 'Brother, I bid thee make haste and employ your shadow skills to scout ahead. Find the source of this seeming river of blood, and then return. Quickly mind you.'
'On it Imaj' came the response of the gnome whose stealth was both legend and death to many of Refugees’ enemies.
It was quiet then for what seemed like an eternity. All the partys hearts lept to their collective throats with the briefest of sounds from the woods and hills around them as they stood with their mounts upon the southern slopes of Hillsbrad. Then a scream pierced the veil, 'IMAJICAAN' came the rogues' call from up ahead. The party moved as one in less than an instant. For Nittering to have broken the silence in such a manner meant only the gravest of matters were afoot this night. Less than a hundred yards from where they had been hiding they came to the northern edge of the clearing. A small circle of stone was here, a long forgotten place of worship from a bygone age. Many of the Refugees had passed this very spot on countless incursions into enemy territory without so much as a thought to the small formation of stone with it’s tiny little altar in the center. But this was very, very different than how any of the gathered adventurers had remembered it ever being before. In the center of the ring of stone stood Nittering, his blades both drawn and his eyes darting back and forth across the edge of the wood ahead as if in search of some as yet unseen enemy. At his feet, lay the lifeless forms of the Refugees.
The noble Fortinbras his great mace still in the deathgrip of his hands; Rarwin, fallen ten feet past Fortinbras, had obviously been trying to heal the Paladin when he himself had been struck down. Equinox, still in cheetah form lay motionless on the grass covered in blood, his thick once beautiful fur now matted to his frame like some sickly glue had been applied. And in the center of it all, side by side, not a foot apart, lay Fernmug Freehand and Mac Klodder, undoubtedly having fallen back-to-back defending one another to the last.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO' Lord Imajicaan screamed so loudly that his voice echoing off the mountains all around undoubtedly would have traveled to all the hamlets beyond the hills. He knelt and held his brothers lifeless form in his arms as the tears began to stream down his face, the pain overwhelming him. And all fell silent.
Dtaylor broke the silence which had fallen on them all. 'Imaj, look about...' he motioned all around the party behind where Imajicaan was crouched now covered in his brothers blood. He had not noticed before, but Dtaylor was right. There lay well over fifty Troll and Orcish bodies in many shapes and forms. A great expeditionary force of its own. The enemy too had been scouting for some advantage to use against the forces of light in the impending war. Fernmug’s party had not fallen silently, for some of these Horde, Lord Imajicaan recognized as Royal Guards to Tidus himself. Long had the mad troll rogue been the bane of Refugees’ existence within the realms. And he was quite possibly the maddest of all the creatures in Azeroth.
Imajicaan turned to the night elven priestess, Dreamz, tears still flowing down his face. 'M'lady, I know that you have it within your power to revive our comrades and I bid thee do so'.
'Hold, my friend,' Nittering began, 'We are not alone'.
'Weapons! Now!' The Holy Knight commanded, and in the blink of an eye all five of the party members had formed a circle around their fallen comrades, backs facing the dead heroes, weapons drawn and ready to defend themselves viciously.
Suddenly a bright light surrounded the entire party and they were frozen as they stood. But then the voice came...softly, like a whisper from a mother to a child...
'No Imajicaan...no worldly power will revive your noble brother...’
(softly, so softly the voice was continuing)…
‘But I indeed shall. For in the coming months, I will have need of such fine warriors as these, as the darkness tries to snuff out Our Light. See me now, see me all of you.'
And with that they all turned their eyes upwards towards the heavens. They found, hovering there on gigantic red wings, the Dragon Aspect, Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder. They immediately dropped in reverence. Only as they did so did Imajicaan realize the bodies of his brother and friends had disappeared. And the light which surrounded them was beginning to fade now...he knew she was taking them and leaving the rescue party behind.
And so he stood then, to face a Goddess. For the love of his brother. For the love of his friends. For the love of his family, the Refugees.
'Mother, wait, please'. And the goddess stopped her ascent back into the skies for the briefest of moments. 'Aye my noble Knight?'
'What would you have me do milady?' The dwarven lord asked in complete humbleness.
The Goddess smiled an all knowing smile which seemed to light the glade back up for a moment and dispel the fog which had enshrouded so much of this journey. The Dragon then said, 'Imajicaan, find your enemy. Find the dark one who is responsible for this. For he seeks to upset the balance of the world and to plunge the land into darkness.' And at this she began floating upwards once more.
Lord Imajicaan Mae'Stro knelt on one knee, a tear still flowing down his cheek for his brother and his comrades, and simply said, 'The Life-Binder has spoken, and Tidus WILL die upon my blade. This is my oath and I WILL have Retribution...
It is the dawn of the 2nd age of Light within Azeroth, and a great battle is ensuing for every heart, mind, and indeed every soul within the land…
Two great and powerful forces position themselves for war unlike any seen before in the people's recollection. The followers of darkness, and the houses of light have been gathering their forces unto themselves, that they might all come to clash and compete for all of Azeroth’s riches and artifacts of power. These battles lay somewhere in the not so distant future, and shall occur within a realm which both sides are currently working towards mastering. A realm called Battlegrounds.
But that in itself is the grander story, and this, this is the tale of but one of the many Houses of Light who participate, the Refugees. Twas decided by the Grand High Council of Refugees – the leadership of the family - that a cadre of the Refugees elite forces would make an exploratory attempt to ascertain the power of the darkness aligned against us. To that end, Refugees’ Operational Commander, Fernmug Freehand was tasked with assembling a team to scout the area upon which the coming battles might be fought. He chose to assemble a team based both upon ability and prowess within the field to accompany him on the mission. The party ultimately was comprised of guild co-founder, Mac Klodder, a human mage and a man of great wit; the night elf druid Equinox whose skill and courage on the many fields of battle which Refugees had been engaged had become almost legendary; the human Paladin, Fortinbras who, though chaotic at times, was quick with both a heal and a swing of his blade; and the healer, Rarwin whose priestly ways had saved more than one Refugee on countless occasions. And so it was that these five set off in exploration of the land, and to scout for the forces of the enemy.
When they had not returned, nor sent word thru the land in nearly a month, the remaining forces of the Refugees command sent a second wave to find the missing the champions. This group was led by Refugees Guild Sovereign and Warlord, Lord Imajicaan Mae'Stro, a Holy Knight from the province of Kharanos, and half-brother to the now missing Refugees 1st Officer Fernmug Freehand.
What this 2nd force found is a tale which shall be retold and recorded throughout the history of the Refugees for aeons to come...
They crept silently into the mountains of Hillsbrad, these brave new souls, in search of their friends and comrades. Imajicaan, Dreamz, Nittering, Navarra, Dtaylor. As they broke camp on the second morning of their journey, a thick fog had begun to form at the base of the pass into Hillsbrad along the route they had chosen. The night elven priestess, Dreamz, spoke in a hushed tone as the last vestiges of the parties camp were being struck. ‘An ill portent is this fog my friends’, the lady whispered in a hushed tone. “perhaps we should hold and allow for it to break my liege,’ she directed towards Imajicaan.
‘Nay, milady. Four weeks past did Fernmug embark alongside our brethren in search of the enemy. They may well be in need of our aid, and I’ll not let some silly fog hold us back from their pursuit this day or any other,’ the stout Paladin retorted to his trusted aide.
The camp was struck, the parties belongings packed neatly away and onto the backs of the parties’ mounts, and the processional had begun upwards through the mist-enshrouded pass. The team had been making good time, passing the caves and hollows of the lower hills, which were rumored to be the home to many yeti’s, in just under two hours time after striking their base camp. The ground, still covered with a fresh snow from the night before, was pristine and bore no tracks of either creature nor man alike.
They had come upon what most of them knew to be a clearing at the beginning of the third hour and though the fog was still thick the adventurers could at least now see more than a foot in front of them. Though, while mounted they could not the ground beneath them, they trusted their mounts and the fact that each of them had made this trek on several occasions in the past, to lead them thru the pass. Suddenly a noise in the distance froze them all.
'Hold', Imajicaan instructed his brethren while raising his hand to motion to stop.
'Sire?' came the voice of Navarra, master Druid.
The Paladin dismounted and knelt to touch the ground beneath them all. And he raised his hand again, this time in horror as it was red with blood.
'Ahhh, Ahhh' the cleric Dreamz begin to gasp and stumble back away from the leader.
'Hold your tongue woman' came the voice of Dtaylor, the stout dwarven warrior 'Lest you bring the beasts of this region down upon our heads'. And all was silent for a moment.
Knowing that both the Yeti and a band of Ogres sometimes ran these woods, and therefor were a common sight to its creatures, Imajicaan turned to his fellow guild leader, Nittering. 'Brother, I bid thee make haste and employ your shadow skills to scout ahead. Find the source of this seeming river of blood, and then return. Quickly mind you.'
'On it Imaj' came the response of the gnome whose stealth was both legend and death to many of Refugees’ enemies.
It was quiet then for what seemed like an eternity. All the partys hearts lept to their collective throats with the briefest of sounds from the woods and hills around them as they stood with their mounts upon the southern slopes of Hillsbrad. Then a scream pierced the veil, 'IMAJICAAN' came the rogues' call from up ahead. The party moved as one in less than an instant. For Nittering to have broken the silence in such a manner meant only the gravest of matters were afoot this night. Less than a hundred yards from where they had been hiding they came to the northern edge of the clearing. A small circle of stone was here, a long forgotten place of worship from a bygone age. Many of the Refugees had passed this very spot on countless incursions into enemy territory without so much as a thought to the small formation of stone with it’s tiny little altar in the center. But this was very, very different than how any of the gathered adventurers had remembered it ever being before. In the center of the ring of stone stood Nittering, his blades both drawn and his eyes darting back and forth across the edge of the wood ahead as if in search of some as yet unseen enemy. At his feet, lay the lifeless forms of the Refugees.
The noble Fortinbras his great mace still in the deathgrip of his hands; Rarwin, fallen ten feet past Fortinbras, had obviously been trying to heal the Paladin when he himself had been struck down. Equinox, still in cheetah form lay motionless on the grass covered in blood, his thick once beautiful fur now matted to his frame like some sickly glue had been applied. And in the center of it all, side by side, not a foot apart, lay Fernmug Freehand and Mac Klodder, undoubtedly having fallen back-to-back defending one another to the last.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO' Lord Imajicaan screamed so loudly that his voice echoing off the mountains all around undoubtedly would have traveled to all the hamlets beyond the hills. He knelt and held his brothers lifeless form in his arms as the tears began to stream down his face, the pain overwhelming him. And all fell silent.
Dtaylor broke the silence which had fallen on them all. 'Imaj, look about...' he motioned all around the party behind where Imajicaan was crouched now covered in his brothers blood. He had not noticed before, but Dtaylor was right. There lay well over fifty Troll and Orcish bodies in many shapes and forms. A great expeditionary force of its own. The enemy too had been scouting for some advantage to use against the forces of light in the impending war. Fernmug’s party had not fallen silently, for some of these Horde, Lord Imajicaan recognized as Royal Guards to Tidus himself. Long had the mad troll rogue been the bane of Refugees’ existence within the realms. And he was quite possibly the maddest of all the creatures in Azeroth.
Imajicaan turned to the night elven priestess, Dreamz, tears still flowing down his face. 'M'lady, I know that you have it within your power to revive our comrades and I bid thee do so'.
'Hold, my friend,' Nittering began, 'We are not alone'.
'Weapons! Now!' The Holy Knight commanded, and in the blink of an eye all five of the party members had formed a circle around their fallen comrades, backs facing the dead heroes, weapons drawn and ready to defend themselves viciously.
Suddenly a bright light surrounded the entire party and they were frozen as they stood. But then the voice came...softly, like a whisper from a mother to a child...
'No Imajicaan...no worldly power will revive your noble brother...’
(softly, so softly the voice was continuing)…
‘But I indeed shall. For in the coming months, I will have need of such fine warriors as these, as the darkness tries to snuff out Our Light. See me now, see me all of you.'
And with that they all turned their eyes upwards towards the heavens. They found, hovering there on gigantic red wings, the Dragon Aspect, Alexstrasza, the Life-Binder. They immediately dropped in reverence. Only as they did so did Imajicaan realize the bodies of his brother and friends had disappeared. And the light which surrounded them was beginning to fade now...he knew she was taking them and leaving the rescue party behind.
And so he stood then, to face a Goddess. For the love of his brother. For the love of his friends. For the love of his family, the Refugees.
'Mother, wait, please'. And the goddess stopped her ascent back into the skies for the briefest of moments. 'Aye my noble Knight?'
'What would you have me do milady?' The dwarven lord asked in complete humbleness.
The Goddess smiled an all knowing smile which seemed to light the glade back up for a moment and dispel the fog which had enshrouded so much of this journey. The Dragon then said, 'Imajicaan, find your enemy. Find the dark one who is responsible for this. For he seeks to upset the balance of the world and to plunge the land into darkness.' And at this she began floating upwards once more.
Lord Imajicaan Mae'Stro knelt on one knee, a tear still flowing down his cheek for his brother and his comrades, and simply said, 'The Life-Binder has spoken, and Tidus WILL die upon my blade. This is my oath and I WILL have Retribution...
----------------------------------------------------------------
