While I, as a rule, despise h*mans with a passion that burns harder than Sargeras’ balls… I need to give props to these lads for their guild referencing fairly niche cool lore about Lordain and the old tribal human lore.
big ups for that.
4 Likes
The roar of fel cannons. The percussive thumps of the siege tanks. The demonic, metallic bellows of an almighty fel reaver. The pass between Shadowmoon Valley and Terrokar Forest was hellish to every sense imaginable. Their foe was relentless, the honour guard of the pit commander Gorridon taking to the field to halt the advance of the Alliance's battle-weary forces.
Among them, the knights of the Holy Order and their new following. Convicted deserters by title, their valour in battle had earned them a modicum of respect from the paladins, and those that didn't study beneath them fought alongside them as equals all the same, for there was no time for pause and no time for division in the face of the Hand of Kharduum.
Atop the remains of Legion Hold, the annihilan commander could only watch as his forces fell to the flanking advance of the paladins, which the faded blue banner strode with. Even the mighty fel reaver was brought low by a single blast of a freshly-repaired steam tank, made possible only by the determination of the Wildhammers' salvage teams, protected by the Order.
But at last, the demons were routed. Their runestones, which enabled them to utilise the teleporter to travel across the shattered world of Outland, were collected and detonated, destroying their means of accessing the valley, and their reinforcements were stemmed. Two weeks since it began, the Hand of Kharduum's invasion of the valley was thwarted, and its shadow withdraw to the distant, secretive reaches of the world...
Having defended the walls of a castle against a pit lord, stormed the subterranean Deathforge and restored portal travel to Shadowmoon Valley, and finally broke the demons’ hold on the land route to Terrokar Forest, the Holy Order (and co.) have finally broken free of the hellish, scorched land!
Ahead of them lies a long and twisting path through the wilds of Outland and beyond as they seek to end the threat of the Hand of Kharduum once and for all. Many challenges and trials lie ahead for them, new and old alike. Maybe they’ll even pick up a few new faces along the way…
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Ortellus uses his Classic and Classic TBC pro-gamer experience to incorporate long forgotten questlines and lore from the continent into the campaign events. Very cool!
Recruitment is still open, those interested should contact either myself or Ortellus.
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Crowded around a dwarven bed, the Provost Obadiah and Sir Uriel prayed for the soul of Thane Khazgrim. Having been struck down by the Hand of Kharduum's leader, Lord Gorridon, at the siege of Wildhammer Stronghold, the dwarven commander made a recovery in the lead up to the Battle of Shadowmoon Pass. Yet at the height of the Alliance's victory, a darkness took the dwarven thane and threatened to consume him, mind, body and soul.
The paladins of the Order, and the convicts beneath them that aspired to serve the Light, deemed this to be unacceptable, and the darkness was banished. It was thus that the Thane Khazgrim demanded vengeance, and Marshal Falheim was instructed to take with him the stronghold's best fighters to defeat the Hand of Kharduum abroad, where they had fled to the old portals across Outland.
It wasn't just the knights of the Order that rode through Shadowmoon Pass and down to Allerian Stronghold first, however. The deserters that had fought alongside them went with them, as well as the Sergeant-Major that had been their commanding officer prior to the Order's arrival. An unlikely lot, they had weathered the felfires of Shadowmoon Valley together, and so it was that they would crusade across the shattered world as one.
Their arrival at Allerian Stronghold was without fanfare, though they were greeted by Captain Skywatcher, the elven ranger-captain in charge. Not an hour before their arrival, he said, the Hand of Kharduum's cultist following had lifted its own siege upon the stronghold and retreated to the Bone Wastes, where Xorothian felsteeds and their demonic riders patrolled.
The elven garrison soon gathered its strength, and at last, at the beginning of a new week, the Alliance went on the offensive once more. Across the Bone Wastes, in the shadow of the ruins of mighty Auchindoun, the Order and its followers thwarted the felsworn cult and drove them into the depths of the Shadow Tomb, opening the way to the plains to the west.
Nagrand awaited them, and the portal upon Twilight Ridge, on the far western extreme of the shattered world, would be the first to face their crusade. Yet at home, on another world, trouble stirred. Even on Outland, they were not beyond the reach of Stormwind's politics. While the knights of the Order had spent a fortnight fighting day-by-day against the hellish fiends from the Twisting Nether, the consequences of their courts martial at the start of the month had not played out in full...
The Order will soon depart from Allerian Stronghold in Terrokar Forest, venturing forth to close the portals and deny their enemy, the Hand of Kharduum, their footholds on Outland. Join today* to partake in this year's hottest demon-slaying campaign!
* or, like, as soon as possible tbh
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After the battle of Kharduum, the Order had recovered a book. A demonic, heretical text that was in the eyes of their Draenei support, a copy of something of such terrible proportions that it ought to be cast into the endless abyss.
The codex was entrusted to Uriel whom after arriving back at Halaa, burnt and bruised, set upon containing the blasphemous scripture with the aid of his own hallowed libram, away from the rest incase anything could backfire. He requested a small box from a local beforehand, inscribing a septet of runes about the container's body, together with a few passages from his libram.
It was a rough proceedure, the blasphemous codex fought back in his mind, but eventually it was silenced enough to be locked away, awaiting to be opened only once it's destination has been reached. Uriel took to wrapping the box with his cloak and storing it away in his backpack, out of sight out of mind in a way he thought to himself, assuring his own sanity in safeguarding it.
Rough battle at Kharduum but that marks the first out of three big boy demon portals to shut down, the rest taking us in adventures throughout the rest of Outland and even into less popular zones! (looking at you blade’s edge)
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Across the Bone Wastes they marched on foot, and onto the rolling plains of Nagrand. They were greeted to the sight of ribbons of magic weaving across the night sky, obscured by the vast shadow of an alien moon, and by the tumbling chunks of Draenor's shattered form drifting on the winds. Yet more than that, they were soon greeted by a familiar face.
Alongside a small host of outriders from the Wildhammer and Allerian Strongholds, Tatton Irwine, the patrol coordinator and one of the few officers remaining in Shadowmoon Valley, approached them on the road. A nervous Irwine informed the Order and its cohort that Thane Khazgrim, whose soul they had saved mere days ago, had perished, and that Lord Colburr di Athon of the 13th Legion, 1st Cohort had temporarily assumed command.
Furthermore, Lord Athon had named the Order and its following deserters.
Unwilling to face yet another injustice, there was at last a retaliation: Captain Irwine's steed was forced to flee, carrying his rider with him, and the half-dozen outriders that had come to arrest them were wrestled, intimidated and beaten into submission, though no blood was spilt and their minor scrapes and bruises were later healed. The Marshal instructed the dutiful outriders to assist them in defeating the Hand of Kharduum, and for the night they rested in the ruins of a nearby orcish settlement.
Over the coming days, they carefully made their way to the settlement of Halaa, in the eponymous and picturesque Halaani basin. Captain Irwine's whereabouts were unknown, and as it was suspected that he had followed the road to Telaar, they were wary of the fact that the Draenei in Halaa might not appreciate so-called 'deserters' in their midst.
While they discovered from Turekk, a Sha'tari Skyguard commander stationed in Halaa, that Irwine had passed through and warned the Draenei that at least some of the Alliance's officership on the planet demanded the Order be returned to Shadowmoon, they were fortunate that the Sha'tar had no interest in appeasing them at this time. They learned that the demonic portal they sought was in a high, hanging valley upon the western point of Nagrand, and, much to Vindicator Turekk's surprise, offered to enter the portal - into the unknown - to destroy whatever was keeping the portal open...
A Murmur at the Edge of Reality
Whilst the Order were proficient in horse-riding, some of the convicts under their wing were not. None of them, however, were proficient in the riding of nether rays, but the Sha'tari Skyguard provided them with harnesses that would keep them attached to the creatures as they soar across the plains of Nagrand.
Their destination was Twilight Ridge, where ahead of them the Skyguard had landed to do battle against the Hand of Kharduum's forces at the portal - a brilliantly bright rift between two monoliths of blackened stone. The plan was simple and perilous: the Order would enter the portal and vanquish what lay within. They would take the fight to whatever demon world lay beyond, slaughter their way through the fiends, and destroy the locus of power that maintained the connection to Outland.
What they found beyond the portal was surprising, confusing, to even Turekk, when the vindicator later learned of what had transpired.
There was locus of power, no hordes of demonic beasts. There was not even a world - at least, not anymore. A lone Eredar, gazing upon a calamity of unimaginable scale: entire continents tumbling in a dark abyss at the edge of the sensible universe, where the raw power of the Void sparked and crackled through the wavering veil of reality.
This was the fate of Kharduum, the very homeworld of the demons that they faced. Through some incomprehensible cataclysm, the demons' own world had been torn asunder, and the chaotic, dissonant echoes of its demise still rang from every shattered stone, every crumbling mountain. In the distance, the signature of Kharduum's destruction still roared and whispered, at times deafening to the mortals as they brought an end to the Eredar, Zaruuyan.
Yet the world's destruction was not yet final, and even as they battled the Eredar the sound of calamity and discord tore away at the outcrop upon which they battled. In the nick of time, they vanquished the demonic portal master and fled to Outland once more, taking with them a most unholy tome, whose oozing cover was that of hardened blood, and whose contents detailed abominations that no mortal mind should ever perceive...
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Our light is better than your light.
Hope to see you on the battlefield soon!
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I can’t bullieve you’ve done this.
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Ortellus has us slugging through the marshes of Zangarmarsh at the moment - definitely not the summer vacation I was promised!
The Order delves deeper into an ongoing threat in the Outlands, and needs more able bodied Light-loving paladins and priests! Join today.
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The sight of the unholy tome which the Order had retrieved from the remnants of Kharduum moments before the portal collapsed made Turekk's blood freeze. The Vindicator had only heard of the Codex of Blood in passing - a volume that spoke of horrors from the Twisting Nether unimaginable to the mortal mind, and one that had been closely related to the cataclysm of Auchindoun. His first instinct was to destroy the book outright, but he dreaded to think what this portent truly meant.
He knew of only one person that might be able to identify the book and explain what lay within: the Anchorite Xardas, who dwelled at the Temple of Telhamat. So the knights of the Order and their followers marched the long road to the peninsula, only to discover that the Anchorite had just recently travelled westwards to aid in the extermination of the Hand of Kharduum in the western reaches of Zangarmarsh.
Their journey was not without fruit, however, for they made the rest of the journey to Honour Hold in the hopes of amending the inconvienece of having been labelled deserters by new commanding officer of the 13th Legion, Lord Athon. Eventually they were granted an audience with the officership in Honour Hold, chaired by Commander Fulstein at that time, and it was revealed to them that no allegations of desertion had reached the ears of those in Hellfire Peninsula. Though the commander was at first sceptical, the words of the watchful and enigmatic demon hunter, Terenrith, supported the story of the knights of the Order.
The commander agreed, and over the weekend both he and the Marshal discussed the events that had transpired whilst the rest of the Order and its following made preparations to head to Zangarmarsh. In the meanwhile, however, some of the Order began to pursue a line of enquiry that had mostly been forgotten over the last year...
In Stratholme, there once burned an everliving flame. The scared Flame of Alonsus had been extinguished more than a decade ago by Blood Knights from Quel'thalas, and in the time since the dark forces of the Old Gods had been vanquished abroad the Order had sought to restore the flame. Their quest to understand its nature led them to the records of Brother Augustus, a cleric of Stratholme that had supposedly kept an artefact capable of safely carrying the sacred fire.
He had ventured through the Dark Portal during the Second War, and all records of his whereabouts ended there. In Honour Hold, the Order soon discovered why: the cleric had perished in the swamps that they were due to march into, and one of his last journal entries (for his belongings had been returned to Honour Hold after his passing) indicated that a Draenei by the name of Tarulaan had been gifted the artefact prior to the cleric's final battle. All roads, then pointed to Zangarmarsh, and first of all to Telredor...
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woww this guild I love it, it is a great guild big ups to boss-man Ortellus this post is entirely out of my own intent aha great RP, love it all. Paladin aspirants for the win. Please help me
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It wasn't long before the 13th Legion's skirmishers ambushed them on the road outside Telredor. It seemed, at first, that Commander Fulstein's missive from Honour Hold had not yet reached Wildhammer Stronghold. Nonetheless, the Order and its followers were unwilling to spill blood, and their ambushes were swiftly beaten into submission, as Captain Irwine's men had been before them.
Their reception in Telredor was more welcoming, and it was Tarulaan - the very anchorite named in Brother Augustus' journal - which met them there. The Order's knights were quick to enquire about the fallen cleric, and it was just as quickly revealed to them that the Lightkeeper, whose mithril chassis once housed the Flame of Alonsus, had passed from the Draenei's hands and back to the Alliance Expedition many years ago. The 'village of sorcerers' was spoken of, upon the shores of what was once Farahlon, yet Tarulaan did not know whether or not the artefact would be found there nowadays.
Nevertheless, the Order continued onwards to Orebor Harbourage, arriving amidst a demonic assault upon the walled settlement. After a brief battle, they met with Anchorite Xardas, who had been named by the Vindicator in Halaa almost a fortnight earlier.
Much to his horror, the unholy tome that Sir Uriel presented to him was indeed the Codex of Blood, or at least some replica of it. Xardas recalled his adventures into the depths of the Shadow Labyrinth and his battle against the creature - if it could be called a creature - known as Murmur. The very primordial essence of sound, this 'elemental' (of sorts) was capable of laying wastes to entire worlds with just a whisper.
Had Kharduum itself suffered this fate? Was the shattered remains of the Hand's homeworld a result of Murmur's full potential? Were the ear-splitting shockwaves that they felt tearing at every fibre, every molecule of their being the echoes of this primordial creature?
The revelation that the Hand of Kharduum had, until their intervention, held the Codex of Blood raised a great many questions, but both the Order and the Anchorite Xardas agreed upon one thing: time was not on their side. Thus the Order rode upon the winds to the second invasion point, venturing into the fiery demon world that lay beyond. Therein, they tore down the Coven of Kharduum, a witchhood of four Shivarran priestesses overseeing the preparation of an Antaen goliath, submerged beneath the lava lake which stretched out before them.
What should have been a celebrated return to the Harbourage, however, was note. While they were away, it came to the attention of both themselves and their Draenic allies that the 13th Legion had settled in the Twin Spire ruins, at the heart of the swamp, and that they intended to march upon the Harbourage to claim the so-called 'deserters' two days hence. A distraction, perhaps, but one that many of the Order were willing to take; no longer could they afford to be chased and harassed across unfamiliar lands, to the peril of the common man and woman in the Alliance's forces which pursued them.
And while frustrations grew over the persistence of this 'Lord Athon' in Shadowmoon Valley, who by now the Order suspected to be compromised by the enemy, there was one name that had resurfaced in this dark hour. The letter detailing the charges laid upon the Order - for a second time - was not penned by the enigmatic Lord Athon, but by a more familiar, more distant, and more loathed name altogether:
Calistan Enright.
The plot thickens!
The Order is less than a fortnight away from the end of its Outland epic, and yet there’s still so much more to unearth in the far reaches of the shattered world. If you’ve been keeping up with the (progressively longer) stories so far, there’s still time to get involved as the Order ventures into the Blade’s Edge Mountains and beyond!
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CRACK! … The sound of another kael’dorei glaive launcher echoes through the otherwise eerily still air of Sylvanaar. Obadiah sits in quiet contemplation beneath the shade of a young tree sapling, Thane Khazgrim’s dragon claw turning over in his hand… He couldn’t help but run that moment in his mind over and over. Tatton’s sunken eyes, his stubble speckled jaw and surges of seemingly random pain. He’d seen it a hundred times in his countless years of fighting demon-kind, he was sure that Tatton was a man possessed! How else do you explain such a deep seated conspiracy to turn the proud and honourable Alliance against loyal soldiers?
And yet, to find out it was nothing more than greed and political corruption… The same Alliance that he traversed worlds to fight for now spitting back in his face for the sake of some desk officers reputation. Obadiah believed he knew everything there was to know about evil… He never once believed that evil could be borne from something as pure as a mans soul.
He breathed a long, quiet sigh and stowed the dragons claw back behind his tabard, his hand running over the fabric of the Son of Lothar crest emblazoned on his chest. His fingers then cracked as he clenched them into a fist before he pushed himself to his feet with a start.
The Light doesn’t differentiate between man and monster. Demon or democrat… The Light shall always have Justice!
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The Order and its followers knew that their quest against the Hand of Kharduum would soon take them into the towering, alien mountains of Blade's Edge, and yet the wolves were are their heals. Encamped within the Twin Spires, the soldiers of the 13th Legion were poised to continue their quest to apprehend them, to distract them from their crusade against the fiends that infested the crags to the north.
So it was that the Order resolved to march upon the 13th Legion's encampment itself, to call forth their leadership and to settle the matter of the false accusations of desertion once and for all. Their parley was answered upon the bridge that joined the West Beacon to the central fortifcation of the Twin Spires, and forth came both Tatton Irwine and Amric Caelstan, captains from both Wildhammer Stronghold and Honour Hold, respectively.
Of the two of them, the Order knew Tatton better. The patrolmaster had been there on the day that the late Thane Khazgrim gave orders to pursue the demons' portals, and the man had shown reluctance when it came to carrying out his successor's orders to bring the Order and the Third Cohort back to face 'justice'. No matter how hard they tried to convince him, when last they saw him Nagrand, Captain Irwine would not disobey his superior's command.
Yet on that day, there was change. Amric, twice as stubborn and half as informed as Tatton was, was difficult to convince, yet the overwhelming evidence of the Order's achievements in Outland could not be ignored: the horn of a terrorfiend, taken from Shadowmoon Valley; the silver cross medallion gifted to John Librus by the Sha'tari Skyguard; the dragon tooth pendant given to the former provost Obadiah by Thane Khazgrim himself...
Disobeying direct orders issued from High Command, Tatton and Amric took the plunge, agreeing bilaterally to aid the Order in their destruction of the Hand of Kharduum. When they parted ways, they promised that they would be a day's march behind, and that they would catch up with them in Sylvanaar... yet, for reasons unknown, the 13th Legion never arrived, save for a runner sent to the night elf settlement to bring word of an ugly argument and a deep schism among the ranks.
Had Amric and Tatton gone back on their word already? Were the soldiers of the Alliance hot on their heels once more, even as they prepared to storm the third and perhaps final portal held by the Hand of Kharduum? Victory was close at hand, and this time, as the Order prepared to vanquish the third demonic portal, they would not suffer another distraction.
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A guild full of cool characters and cool people, if you’re a knight or person of the (Disgusting) Light and are looking for high quality RP then look no further! 
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Beneath the towering, vicious spikes of Blade's Edge Mountains, the Order and its followers set about destroying the third and final portal belonging to the Hand of Kharduum. Arriving at Sylvanaar, they were told of their task by Commander Kalarneth: their quarry lay in the valley known as Death's Door, like the maw of a great beast entombed within the mountainside. So naturally fortified was the place that the sentinels at Sylvanaar and their Cenarion allies at the Evergrove to the north could only hope to contain the demons at the winding tunnels that led out of the gulch.
By the time the Order arrived, however, the demons had slipped the net. A Cenarion druid by the name of Sanseviel had discovered, on his patrols of the mountains, that a demonic forge camp on the eastern edge of the mountains had become active once more, and alongside the Order set out to vanquish the demons' latest move.
To their surprise, the demon hunter Terenrith, who had spoken to affirm their worth at Honour Hold and who had guided members of the Order onto the path of reforging a long-shattered demonslaying blade, joined them there. While the Order defeated the Eredar forgemaster, Terenrith discovered the means to reverse the demons' teleportation pads, and by the next day the mortal forces in Blade's Edge had turned the tide on the Hand of Kharduum.
The fel magics of the teleporter reversed, the Cenarion wardens and the elven sentinels stormed into Death's Door, whilst the Order charged the portal themselves. Therein, they engaged the portal keep, an inquisitor by the name of Izir'duum, in a delicate battle, and were ultimately forced to turn their blades upon Terenrith as the inquisitor harnassed the Illidari's demonic nature to his advantage.
Ultimately, the vanquished the demonic portal keeper and returned to Outland alongside Terenrith, who later confessed he had not been entirely truthful with his guidance. The demonbane sword that John Librus had discovered on the road to Terrokar more than a month prior had once belonging to Terenrith, who had withheld the final reagent needed to reforge the blade until he was sure that it would fall into the right hands.
Thus the Lexicon Demonica passed into the hands of the Holy Order, where it would meet its end... eventually. For now, the unholy tome contained a valuable enchantment, one that the blacksmith David Wayne had uttered to turn a masterwork admantite blade into a powerful demon-slaying weapon. All that remained was to reforge the blade, to bathe it in the fiery blood of demonkind, and to face the master and commander of the Hand of Kharduum in battle.
Now more than ever, the Order was prepared to vanquish the pit commander. In closing the final portal, they had acquired the most deadly tool that a demonslayer could hope for: the true name of their foe.
In the far reaches of Netherstorm, Lord Gorridon awaited the arrival of the Order of Lordain...
The Order is just a day away from the climax of their 6-week long campaign in Outland, and less than a week away from their return to Stormwind! Recruitment remains open, and there'll be many great opportunities to join the Order as it looks forward to the high-action campaigns which will follow!
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Nathanael stepped through the ethereal barrier, a sheet of pure purple standing out in the night air of Netherstorm. He was instantly hit by a wall of humidity, and the sound of wildlife thriving - one of the fabled eco domes, ran by the mysterious ethereals. Him and his comrades stalked through the jungle, wary of their surrounding and the fact that they were strangers to this place. Animals of all shapes and sizes, some native to this world and some not, roamed the area, taking no attention of the wary crusaders. “Look at the size of that!” Nathanael called out, spotting a white scaled crocolisk, the size of a large wagon - the beast lumbered out onto the bank of a pond, watching the party move by with keen eyes.
Ethereals glided past them at points, tending to the grove they’d nurtured in this Light forsaken wasteland. They paid the Order no attention, and it wasn’t long before the faithful few were out the other side of the eco-dome, back on the road through Netherstorm.
Outland had surprised Nathanael; he knew to expect a hellscape, a graveyard for a thousand battles that had been fought after the portal closed and after it re-opened. The Alliance garrisons had regaled them of the tales of the heroes that braved the lands to defeat the evils there, but he could see clearly that so much remained. A reminder that no matter what the righteous could do, there would always be a battle to fight. The land simply reminded him, over and over, of the evil that the Alliance faced and the damage that greenskins and their kind could truly unleash upon the innocent and the wildlife.
“The memory of the eternal dead is entrusted to the living.” Nathanael had spoken these words across every conflict he’d found himself in, but he repeated the phrase more often during this trip to Outland. The idea that Arathi, that Stromgarde, could be reduced to such an image sickened him - and bolstered his faith. He’d stop at nothing until the Light’s will was done, and until the Horde were eradicted from the lands he called home, he’d know no rest.
The false trial that he had attended, in defense of his brother, had been designed to bring down the Order, to strip it off the laurels men and women had bled and died for. To be placed in charge of criminals and outcasts was a death sentence in the judges eyes. We will return from this continent with renewed strength; arms and armour to see our bodies safely through the righteous combat that awaits. If it is a war the elves, the orcs, the scarlets, if that’s what they all desire, they shall have it. For only in war are we truly faithful.
The Outland campaign has been a welcome change of pace from the usual Eastern Kingdoms zones the Holy Order is used to, and it’s quickly coming to an end. There’s space for fresh faces to join in, be it in Outland, or whatever new adventure the Order finds itself undertaking.
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I cannot wait for the Lordains to get back from Outland.
Side-note: I‘m amazed at this storytelling. You go, guys in banana-yellow!
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The Order's arrival into Netherstorm was a peaceful passage, at least considering the violent nature of the land that they stepped on - if, at all, it could be called land. The crumbling wastes, beneath the vast expanse of the Great Dark Beyond, criss-crossed with the myriad torrents of arcane colours, were unlike any wasteland they had laid eyes upon before. Even Shadowmoon, fel-scorched and blackened, was remotely familiar; this place, where sun and moon were not just obscured by ashen clouds but failed to exist at all, was otherworldly, on a primordial level above that of the elemental planes themselves.
At the Stormspire, they crossed paths with the esoteric creatures known as the Ethereals, representing 'the Consortium'. They soon learned that these traders were fraught with secrets ans schemes, and, moreover, plagued with problems. Most of all, they did not have capacity to withstand the might of the Hand of Kharduum, who they now discovered had been biding their time on Netherstorm's northern edge.
After gaining the favour of the Consortium, restoring power to their gateways, and awaiting the arrival of the forces of both the Sha'tari Skyguard and the Cenarion Expedition, the time to finally face Lord Gorridon had come. The night before the battle, John the Bruce and the demon hunter Terenrith partook in the process to reforge the Illidari's old demonslaying blade, that which he had quested far and wide for when the Dark Portal had re-opened the first time. All that remained was to plunge the blade into the heart of a powerful demon.
While the Skyguard, the Cenarion forces and the Consortium's shocktroopers did battle upon the hills that bordered the Great Dark, the Order and its followers stormed aboard the Hand of Kharduum's moored flagship. Gorridon awaited them therein, alongside his honour guard, and the battle that ensued was a brutal as could be expected from a fiend so hellish and so violent as an annihilan. Amidst the battle, the pit commander drew upon the souls of his slain elite, and with them brought the ritual that had taken weeks to prepare to fruition. As his cabalists had done weeks prior on their homeworld of Kharduum, Gorridon sought to bring forth the primordial essence of sound, the entity known as Murmur, from the distant reaches of the cosmos.
The calamitous sound of its impending birth into the material world, amidst the abundant torrents of arcane power in Netherstorm, was a symphony of terror upon the mortal ears below. It ripped and tore at them, quaking deep in their bones and vibrated at every sinew, every fibre of their being like plucking a string. The grim walls of the demonic vessel, inlaid with a hundred-thousand screaming faces and their trapped, wailing souls, flexed and bent beneath the ever-echoing soundscape, and so powerful was the noise that poured forth from the rift overhead that the crests of the sound waves compressed and expanded the air alternately, giving birth to lightning and cloud.
Ultimately, Murmur was not destined to return to Outland that night. The Order felt an iota of it's power as they did battle, yet Gorridon's demise came first, and with it the ritual ceased to be. Speaking his true name, the Marshal commanded the demon to stand, to fight, to die by their blades, and by chance it was the reforged demonbane blade that pierced the enraged pit lord's heart. The death throes of Lord Gorridon threatened to take John Librus thereafter, if not for the selfless acts of Sir Uriel, and of Salenne, the Kul Tiran apostate who took the brunt of the fiery blast.
There was little time to rejoice, however; the aborted ritual tore the Hand of Kharduum's flagship apart, and with Murmur's arrival denied the Order quickly returned to the precipice from which they had infiltrated the ship. There they found Terenrith, whose guidance had brought about the blade which not only struck the killing blow, but forever obliterated the pit commander's fel soul.
Mortally wounded, Terenrith asked one last thing of John the Bruce, who he named demonslayer: to take the petrified sprig of dreamfoil that had reminded him of what he fought for to the lone and sorrowful mate that awaited him on the shores of Ferelas. His favour obliged, the demon hunter asked for a merciful end to his suffering - not just from the wounds that he had sustained in denying Lord Gorridon any reinforcements during the battle, but from the shame and grief of abandoning his Goddess in years past, of lacking the faith and the resolve that these men and women had shown him in the last weeks of his life. He asked for mercy, not just of the paladins that stood over his dying and wilting body, who had every reason to despise him, but from the Mother Moon that he had abandoned.
With heavy heart and steely conviction, they said a silent farewell, one demonslayer to another. Terenrith was no more.
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Peering at the dim light that filled the room where most of the Holy Order rested, Salenne peered at the mirror once more. All she was compelled to do was to look at her reflection as she was not familiar with the person who looked back.
Her once grey eyes now a honey amber colour peered back at her. Pure white locks that cascade beneath her shoulders that was soft blonde. She sighed deeply with a small frown, an expression of worry and anticipation of what could be next.
Glancing down at her hands as a mixture of holy energy and that of a mysterious red hue flowed around her hand and wrist, the occasional flicker of energy crackled then would disappear.
“What is happening to me?”
She pondered to herself before stepping out quietly from the building towards a group of Ethereal, hopefully they would hold the answers she needed.
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