Memoires (Part 13 - Epilogue)

Letting go is never easy.

That was the thought that lingered on my mind as I stood at the window of my hospital room, peering down into the courtyard below. I placed my hands on the cool white stone and curled my toes in the thick rug carpet laid in my room as unbidden, images of Ragnaros and Nefarian flashed through my mind.

I was a broken warrior, a crushed spirit, and I was no longer fit to serve as the head of the alliance that had protected Azeroth against the malignant intentions of its foes. A part of me raged at the decision, though I had put it forward myself to step down. A part of me raged at the weakness in me, but a part of me was glad it was finally over. 

I thought after I stepped down I would find peace, although what I found was only nightmares and remonstrations.

Today I was due to be discharged from hospital, where priests and druids had chanted healing spells over me and where warlocks had tried to exorcise my demons. I was as healed as I was ever likely to get, they had told me, and the rest would be up to me.

A soft knock came upon the door behind me, a heavy oaken thing.

A serving maid entered, holding my clothes, cleaned and repaired. She was a pretty girl in her teenage years. Nothing more than a child to night elves, but nearly a woman grown in human terms. She would not meet my eyes as she set my items on the bed, and said not a word as she left as quickly as she'd come.

I sighed as I dressed, pulling on the silken breeches, then slipping into supple leather boots and pulling the robe over my head. It was to be expected; illness of the mind often feared by those who did not understand it, and it was not definitely not well understood by most.

I had no other belongings, save a letter which I tucked into a pocket, and my staff, which I picked up on my way to the door. The oaken wood of the shaft was smooth, inlaid with silver ornamentation and it thrummed with the power of enchantments as I gripped it, calloused skin on the knurling.

I walked, soundless, through Stormwind's military hospital. It was late afternoon and the place was not busy. I passed through long corridors and courtyards, simply decorated with tapestries of blue on gold, laid onto the whitestone that all Stormwind was made from. It was a cloudless day, and sunlight streamed through arched windows, making the whitestones seemingly glow.

Presently, I reached the main foyer. The receptionist was curt and perfunctory, and I signed my discharge papers in silence. He barely looked at me as I turned to leave the hospital, a place where I'd spent a month recuperating after I had left the front lines in Silithus.

The day was warm, and as I wandered through the city sweat began to prickle at my skin. I didn't mind though, the sun felt good on my face, and the cobblestones felt good beneath my feet. A few people stopped and stared as I walked past them; my face was not unfamiliar for the victories I had won for Azeroth. From henceforth though, I was no longer to be a warrior.

I passed through the trade district, filled with the bustle of people hawking their wares; the rumble of carts filled with fruits from Elwynn forest, the clucking of chickens and the shouted haggling. I made my way over a bridge spanning the canals and into a park, where white cobblestones turned to soft grass.

Birds chirped as they flitted around the tree tops as I breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of earth and plant and life. It seemed like I was smelling them for the first time. I went to the moonwell. It's blue waters lapped at the whitestone it was nestled in, and I could feel the cool air rising above the surface, filled with whispers of magic and purity.

Time to go home, I thought. Teldrassil awaits.

I left the park, emerging back into the throngs of people that were gathered on the streets of Stormwind, when behind me I heard a shout.

"Lyara! Lady Lyara!"

A red faced boy was pushing his way through the crowd, panting with the effort of some run. He reached me, too breathless to speak. I waited for him to recover, wordless.

"I...I was meant to find you before you left the hospital, but I got lost..." he wrung his hands, "I have a message from the boy king Anduin Wrynn. He seeks your audience."

"I will go to him."

An audience with the king. Somewhat unexpected.

I turned from the direction I was heading, and made for the Keep. The page boy fell in behind me.

The boy king Anduin Wrynn looked extremely tiny, sat on the massive throne that made even grown men look small. A throne should flatter a man, not diminish him, I thought to myself as I kneeled before him.

I glanced around the room as I stood at his bidding. All of the tapestries had been replaced, but there were still claw marks on the whitestones of the walls and floor where Onyxia had left her mark. To the king's right stood Bolvar Fordragon, who smiled and saluted. Nobody stood to the king's left, the place where Lady Katrana Prestor had once occupied.

"I am pleased to recieve a hero today," said the King, his boyish voice undermining the words a little.

"I am pleased to be recieved by your grace," I replied.

"Azeroth has asked much of you, and it is only fitting now that your service is ended, Stormwind be allowed to repay you in kind, for we owe you much. Name your reward, and you shall have it, Lyara."

"I have nothing to ask of Stormwind, your grace. I seek only to return home to Teldrassil."

"Then we shall provide you with a swift ship, and an honour guard," said the King.

"You are most kind," I replied.

"Lord Fordragon," said the King, "if you would."

Bolvar descended the steps towards me. Though a great man he was, he was still shorter than me, his head reaching up my chin.

"My lady," he said, "If you would follow me, I will take you to your quarters. A ship and a guard will be made ready to leave on the morrow."

Though my chambers were opulent, and the bed was the most comfortable I had ever lain in, sleep did not come easily, and when it did, it was fitful. I wondered constantly about my companions, about the war in Silithus, about the void that was the rest of my life that stretched out before me. What would I do with myself now that I could no longer fight?

I rose with the dawn, tired but also feeling restless. At my call, a servant arrived to bring me breakfast; a bowl of thick hearty porridge, freshly baked bread, warm and crusty and delicious cold meats.

It was mid-morning before Bolvar Fordragon sent for me. A score of Stormwind guardsmen clad in shining silver plate burnished with the lion crest waited for me outside the keep as he escorted me out. They were mounted on warhorses, magnificently dressed in the gold and blue of Stormwind, matching their own cloaks. I felt underdressed for the occasion. Their captain held the reins of a horse for me, a slender chestnut mare.

I mounted in one fluid motion, perhaps surprising the guard with the grace of my movements. Bolvar saluted.

"These men will see you safely to Teldrassil. Thank you for all you've done, Lyara, the realm will remember you."

I inclined my head, unsure of how to respond to such words. Bolvar nodded back at me. We turned our horses and left for the harbour, clip clopping through the streets of Stormwind. Crowds gathered to witness our passage, I could hear my name being whispered amongst them.

The port of Stormwind was a busy one, and usually seethed with activity - the comings and goings of merchant galleys, the portside fish market and the comings and goings of great warships. Today however, a path to the docks through the throng merchants, fishermen and would be passengers had been created by a cordon of guards, and they stood, their curiosity piqued, waiting to see who the fuss was for.

I felt a little out of place as the procession passed towards the docks. The victory belongs to all of us, not just me, I thought. I hope they honour all of my comrades in the same fashion.

"We'll be taking the Sunswift, my lady," said the guard Captain to me. "It's reputedly the fastest ship in all of Azeroth."

I smiled. The elves have long known ways to work the seas and winds that would make a heavy warship faster than the fleetest cargo runner that the humans had, but I allowed the captain his moment of pride.

My smile turned into a cry of joy as I saw who was assembled at the end of the wooden docks, and I kicked my mare into a gallop. I raced down the dockway and leapt off the mare.

Before me stood my guild, the Revenants, assembled in all of their glory, along with our stalwart allies from Resurrectable. I looked from face to face, they were all there. My friends and companions, those who I had commanded and fought with and laughed with and drank with and spent my life with. A swell of emotion rose in my chest, as a lump rose in my throat. They stood, their cloaks stirring in the stiff sea breeze, their armour polished, a motley crew of adventurers to be sure, but heroes each and every one.

"You're all here..." I said, my voice shaking slightly.
"We're all here now," replied Chaspal, as brusquely as ever, "You were missing before."
"I'm going home," I said.
"And we're here to see you off," he replied.

The goodbyes took the whole morning. Some were short; a simple hug or a clasp of the hands. Others were longer affairs. Someone told me once that warriors do not cry, but I was no longer a warrior as of that day, and so cry I did.

Finally, I made my way up the gangplank, flanked by my escort of Stormwind guards. The ship cast away, oars slapping at the water as they pulled to the slow beat of a drum. I watched as my companions kneeled on the docks.

"All hail!" shouted Chaspal, kneeling.
"Hail!" came the cry from those assembled. It rang through the air, above the noise of the gathered crowd.

I stood on the stern, watching as my companions on the docks shrank from view, followed by the dock itself and then the harbour, and finally the sight of land, leaving only the calm flat expanse of a summer sea to keep me company. 

The wind blew in my hair and my heart sang of joy and sorrow. I remembered a day, seemingly a thousand years ago, when I had held tight to a hippogryph as it bore me away from Teldrassil over grey seas.

The sun shone down on the Sunswift, as the golden prow sliced through the water. I prayed that for those heroes I had left, the sun would never cease to shine.

"Hail," I whispered.

Memoires (Part 12 - Burning out, Breaking down)

Like the tide, we swept through the rest of Blackwing Lair. I would not have called our progress swift, but it was implacable.

Over the next two months, we took the bosses down one by one; Vaelastrasz, Broodlord Lashlayer, Firemaw, Ebonroc and Flamegor and Chromaggus. Finally, there was only one left; Nefarian, the leader of the Black Dragonflight.

In many ways, working on Nefarian was one of the most satisfying things we did as an alliance - we methodically honed our strategies on him, practised and practised patiently, knowing that it was only a matter of time until we killed him. I felt that we had matured somewhat as a raid group, since those early days. It was natural, things fell into place.

However, when Nefarian gave his final bellow and crashed down before us, I felt nothing. The rest of the raid group shouted and screamed and congratulations flew thick and fast, just as they'd done for Ragnaros, but I remember merely sitting back in my seat, crossing my arms and forcing out a smile: I knew I should have been ecstatic, but something was missing that was there before.

The stress of constantly being there, constantly leading, constantly sorting out disputes and issues and managing a community which had now grown to over a hundred members was taking it's toll; I knew I was on the way to burning myself out.

As the next raid dungeon was not due to be released for a while, I considered stepping back from running the alliance, to allow myself to recharge. However, I was never good at letting go of things, and after spending so much energy in building the alliance and the community, I wanted to continue leading it, so I did.

However, each raid became more and more like a chore, and so over the next few weeks the fun slowly bled from the game. I would log on and just sit in Ironforge, the hub city and chat with whoever was on. I would regularly decline party invites from most of the alliance members, unless they were from a select group of the close friends I had made within the officers and senior members of the alliance.

It was not the way I wanted to be playing the game. However, I carried on anyway.

My enthusiasm was somewhat revitalised when the next dungeon was released - Ahn'Qiraj. T3M attacked the dungeon with the usual fervor and excitement, but I could not suppress the feeling that I had done all of this before. Whereas before, when raids went well I felt always a sense of satisfaction, now I only felt that this was the way things were supposed to be, and whenever raids went badly, the frustration only piled higher and higher and made me lose the will to play.

The administration side of things was also grinding my nerves; there were some problems, of course, with more raiders than raid spots some people did not get invited as much, and there were also problems with the DKP system. By this point though, I was tired to the point where I didn't react or give as much thought to these problems as I should have, leading to them remaining unsolved for some time.

Finally, the politics. In February 2006, SWE and Blue Moon had chosen to merge as a guild, and it was the perfect chance for the alliance of three guilds to become as one, thereby unifying T3M and the guild codes of conduct, and also silencing the cries of guild favouritism that had been popping up as of late. However, the idea was opposed vociferously by Chaspal, the guild master of the Revenants. In the end, the motion to pass was not voted through.

As the alliance delved deeper into Ahn'Qiraj, it seemed that the alliance was becoming ever more fractious, and I had to spend more time dealing with trifling issues than actually raiding. In short, what fun that was left in the game was quickly stamped out, as I became what seemed to me a human resources manager, bending and balancing to keep everyone happy.

Of course, this was an impossible task.

Finally, with a family holiday abroad impending, I took the decision to step back from leading. I realised that jaded as I was, I would not be doing the alliance any favours if I continued to lead them. Chaspal and Death, as well as a rogue by the name of Aldassia took up where I left off. However, things did not improve. Chaspal and Death were respectively the GM's of Revenants and Resurrectable, the two guilds left in the alliance after Blue Moon and SWE merged, and when they did the invites there were inevitable shouts of favouritism, which, being privy as I was to the officer chat channels have to say was not unfounded. However, the officers had to put a unified face to the alliance, and so I breathed no word of it hoping that Death and Chaspal would sort out the rift between them.

Aldassia had an altogether different leading style which I didn't agree with. She was hungry for success, and perhaps not as patient, and so often where I would have used the carrot, she would instead choose the whip.

Still, I was still tired by my stint at the helm of the alliance, and chose to just play my part as a healer and not get too involved publically, although behind closed doors, I gave my opinions openly.

Then, I went on holiday. A month in China. The first week was exceedingly weird, without access to the game. I somehow itched to play, not through want but through habit, and checked the forums as often as I could. However, as the holiday took my away from the game, so too did the tedium and stress that came with leading the alliance. I realised that I did not miss it, and that I had changed as a person, and the rewards I was getting out of the game was not worth the effort I was putting in.

When the holiday finished, I returned to the game. It felt different to before. The addiction was broken, the magic faded. I led a few raids when I came back, but not eagerly.

Over the next few months, I began to play less and less, and finally in December 2006 my subscription ran out and I did not renew. I still cared about the alliance, to be true, and wished with all my heart for their success, but knew I could no longer be the one to lead them to it. I was completely and utterly burnt out.

I never made a goodbye post on the forums though; it didn't feel like I was saying goodbye. I was still talking regularly to the friends I had made even though we weren't playing the same game anymore. The friendships had transcended that virtual world.

Over the years, I have re-subscribed quite a few times, to see how Blizzard had changed the world, to play new areas and to catch up with acquaintances long lost. However, the magic had well and truly departed and my visits to Azeroth were always brief.

In writing this series of Memoires, I had initially intended it to be a gateway series of tales that would explain to non-gamers the world of MMORPGs, it became more of a recounting of my own adventures, and finally now, I realise, the only fitting way to write a goodbye to a game which consumed me for close to 2 years of my life and funnily enough, four years after I really "quit", a way to provide the final closure.

There are plenty of people I want to pay tribute to; people who I laughed with, people who have proved themselves to be good friends and people who provided me with inspiration and support. The list would be long, and untimely, coming now over four years after when it was really due, so I won't write it. But if you're one of those people and happen to read this; you know who you are, thank you.

Memoires (Part 11 - Skill, Motivation and the Blackwing Lair)

I don't know what it is about epic stuff that appeals to me so much, but I just can't get enough of it. Give me shining heroes and evil villains, two armies clashing, armour and swords gleaming, set to a stunning epic orchestral soundtrack and I will be a very happy man.

Actually, the visuals aren't even necessary; play an epic soundtrack to me and I'll daydream the rest of it.

Anyway, at this point in my World of Warcraft career, it sort of felt like I was writing my own fantasy epic, along with the rest of T3M. We were gearing up to take on Blackwing Lair, the next raid dungeon which had been released by Blizzard. It was home to Nefarian (Onyxia's older brother) and his evil minions. They were determined, as evil villains of this sort usually are, to take over the world, and of course, our role as the do-good heroes of Azeroth was to stop them.

We had a little bit of downtime after Ragnaros was killed to bathe in the afterglow of our victory, but then began on working getting everyone entrance into the lair, which involved a short quest in one of the lower level 60 dungeons. Within the week, we had everyone attuned and raring to go.

We charged headlong into the lair, and straight into the brick wall that was the first boss: Razogore the Untamed. Entering the lair was quite different from our first attempts on Molten Core, given that due to the newness of the dungeon there was no widespread information regarding fight tactics. The purist gamer in me was somehow quite pleased about this, and such was my standing within T3M that I managed to convince most of the raid that it would be a good idea to figure it all out on our own anyway, because that's what real gamers do!

As it so happened, Razorgore was the most complicated encounter to date tactically speaking. Whereas with previous bosses it would have been fairly easy to work out that one had to avoid the massive clumps of fire, dispel the curses and then kill the adds even had we not known the tactics, Phase 1 of Razorgore was a completely different encounter, which can best be described as controlled chaos.

Basically, succesfully completing the encounter involved having the Hunters run around the room being chased by dragons, the Warriors run around the room being chased by orc warriors, the Rogues and Mages run around the room killing orc mages and everyone else standing around the corners of the room, with their own little things to do. Apart from Priests, who were a little bit useless in the first Phase as our heals generated too much threat. For us, it was essentially a little bit like a cartoon, where as a Priest we stood in our allotted corner of the room, behaving nicely and every so often a warrior would run by (I imagine screaming his or her head off), followed a few seconds later by a throng of stampeding orcs waving their massive swords angrily (and probably also screaming their heads off). Then, every once in a while a Hunter would run by, huffing and puffing, with a small dragon hot on his or her heels. Meanwhile, one member of the raid had to mind control Razorgore (a medium sized dragon) and run around the room destroying eggs. Once all the eggs are destroyed, Phase 1 ends. After which, Phase 2 was fairly straightforward.

Run, dwarf, run!

Rogue kill mage. Razergore kill egg.

It was a bit of a shame that the tactics were so obscure, as my opinion on it now is that it was actually a really fun encounter which tested the skill of every player in the raid.

I know I've mentioned skill several times through the course of these Memoires, and you'll probably be scratching your head trying to define what skill actually means in the context of this game. In First Person Shooters, it's fairly obvious; reactions and accuracy, however, in the raiding environment a variety of factors come into play. There are a lot of people who espouse that MMOs take no skill - after all, it's just pressing some buttons in order. However, as far as I'm concerned, that's a fallacy - I've always found it fairly easy to tell how well various players performed.

Part of the skill comes firstly from how the character is equipped - good items will increase the maximum potential for performance, for example, a Rogue will be able to output more damage, a Warrior will be able to hold threat better and a Priest will be able to output a higher rate of healing. Of course, the second part then comes from how the character is played, there is a lot of knowledge and also "feel" gained during the levelling process about the best way to play a certain class. For example, Mages will learn certain spell rotations that maximise the damage output and also have a feel for how quickly a warrior can generate thread so they don't overstep their mark, Warriors will learn skill rotations that generate the most thread and so forth.

The last part of player skill comes from concentration, awareness and in a raid setting, discipline and communication. By concentration, I mean it's easy to maximise damage for one spell rotation, but keeping it up over the course of an entire boss fight demands a lot of concentration, especially once extra demands such as movement, positioning and line of sight issues present themselves. By awareness, I mean things like healers being aware where their group is and positioning themselves to be in range of everyone, off tanks being prepared to handle extra incoming enemies if the group is caught off guard and so forth.

Finally, discipline and communication, which I guess are more attributes than skills. To keep a raid running smoothly, the group needs discipline, players need to listen and react to commands given by the leaders and also respond and communicate well with each other. These were probably the most valuable skills, because although the encounters were demanding, there were none to my mind that relied on all 40 people in the raid performing at 100% efficiency for the full duration of it, and so as a raid leader, I would rather have had 40 people who were 90% efficient but were completely disciplined and communicative than 40 elite players who were only out for their personal glory. It's like football right? You can put 11 star players out onto the field but if they can't play as a team, then they won't win.

Anyway, back to Razorgore: we bashed our heads against him for several weeks, trying various methods and tactics, and it really didn't get us anywhere. Frustration began to mount. Despite this, I insisted still on not searching the internet for hints and tips on the fight, and urged the other officers not to either. My stubbornness led to some people deciding that their time was spent better elsewhere and the number of raid signups began to drop for raids to Blackwing Lair. Conversely, the number of signups for Molten Core began to increase well over the 40 person cap for raids.

This annoyed me greatly, because the primary motivation for me to raid was to defeat the challenges laid out before me, with the shiny gear gained only as a trophy to show for my efforts. However, for many other people it was the other way around, and not only did wiping in Blackwing Lair consume 3 hours of their time per night for no apparent reward, it also rapidly consumed their supplies of in game money and consumables such as potions and scrolls. Given that I was still a teenager and had my head firmly stuck in the clouds of idealism, I openly annoyed a lot of people I think with my evangelical message of "play for the challenge, not the items!" which didn't help matters. However, I wasn't stupid, and thus implemented changes to the DKP system to award extra points to people who showed up for the Blackwing Lair raids, as well as giving them preferred spots in the Molten Core raids which had by now become routine, and so was only run to get people items.

On a side note, whoever at Blizzard thought it was a good idea for bosses that take 40 people to kill to only drop 3 items was/is utterly retarded and should be mauled by angry kittens.

Angry Kitten

Anyway, money was an issue for a lot of the raiders, because dying in World of Warcraft incurred a durability hit to items and so a lot of gold was spent on the necessary repairs (broken items don't confer statistical bonuses to the wearer). This amounted to something like 15 gold pieces per night. For the many people in T3M who had jobs and social lives to attend to, there was no quick way of replenishing this gold as they did not play outside of raids and it quickly made them broke.

I scraped by by selling weapon enchantments to other players, and broke even, but barely. My in game wallet fluctuated between zero and 20 gold and it was hard going for a while.

Finally, after a week which saw the Blackwing Lair raids signed with only 30 people, and the Molten Core with 50 (and also after a lot of moaning and heated discussion on the alliance forums), we began to make progress on the encounter. This was aided by one of our officers, a paladin named Pious, doing some in-depth research on the encounter and bringing some interesting facts about it to light on the number of different types of enemies spawned. This meant a complete revision of the tactics we were using, but also yielded noticeable gains very quickly.

Throughout this period, school had begun again and I was now starting A-levels and preparing to apply to University. Trying to juggle school and what was now becoming like a full time job became a huge challenge. I became a bit of a recluse in school, spending my breaks in the library doing homework so I could log straight onto World of Warcraft when I got back to deal with any issues before the evening raid began. I spent whole lessons just browsing the alliance forums, partaking in debates and discussions and well, let's just say it was a wonder that I ended up getting into Cambridge.

Things came to a bit of a head towards the end of September. With coursework deadlines mounting, I realised I needed to take a break from raiding, and so I did. However, I felt awful that I was somehow abandoning the alliance in a time of need, as we were still struggling against Razorgore. The fears were completely unfounded, as there were capable officers that stepped up in my absence, however, given that I had personally led nearly all of the raids that T3M had conducted since it's inception, it felt strange to hand the reins over to someone else, even temporarily.

I devoted two weeks to hammering out all the coursework I had been neglecting, but still haunted the forums daily to chat and check up on the progress of the alliance - progress on Razorgore was steady now, however the raid was still struggling to pull the execution together flawlessly.

After my enforced two week break, I was raring to get back to raiding, and on the night of my return, as if it were a welcome back to the game, we slew Razorgore. A metaphorical sigh of relief was breathed by the officers - we had finally done it.

The straightforward Phase 2: tank it and spank it.

One dead Razergore.

I vowed not to attempt an encounter "blind" ever again, and also noted down the names of those people who had kept attending the wipe raids, even though we were short on numbers and down on hope, because I knew they were the most valuable assets that T3M had. The following week, the number of people signing up returned to normal, and we began our assault on the rest of Blackwing Lair.

Memoires (Part 10 - Dousing the Firelord)

Well over 1000 man hours went into defeating Ragnaros. A lot of this of course was spent butting our heads against him in the actual dungeon (2 hours per day, 3 days a week), but just as much time was spent by dedicated members outside of the actual raids. They strip mined the world of Dark Iron Ore, a special ore needed by our blacksmiths to craft the pieces of armour which had the necessary fire resistance for the two main tanks. The herbalists emptied most of the world of flowers and herbs in order to supply the alchemists making fire protection potions for the raid and everyone else pitched in where they could by buying ingredients from other players and by collecting various items which had bonus fire resistance for use.

All this hard work yielded steady progress on the encounter. From the first attempts where we would wipe at 75% health, it steadily dropped and after some weeks of trying we felt the kill was just around the corner. Everyone was familiar with the tactics, the tanks had the necessary gear, everyone was supplied with fire protection potions and we knew all the possible tricks Ragnaros could throw at the raid and everyone knew what to do if things went wrong (i.e. if they got punted into the lava), it was just a case of putting it all together and executing everything flawlessly.

To make the following video more understandable, I will provide a brief explanation of the encounter.

Ragnaros spawns in a fixed location in the centre of the room and does not move. The tanks engage him first (if no one is in melee range in the fight he casts instant kill spells at the raid), after the tanks engage all the damage dealers let loose with everything they have.

Every 30 seconds, he casts an area of effect knockback on all the melee, this can be negated if the fire resistance is high enough, and is the primary reason why the tanks need so much fire resistance. All the melee damage dealers move back 5 seconds before this happens, and engage again afterwards.

During this time, he will be randomly casting fireballs at everyone not in melee range, which knock the target and any nearby characters about a short distance.

After 3 minutes of this, he will submerge into the lava and call forth 8 Sons of Flame, which are little fire elementals that swarm on the raid. They have an aura which strips away the mana of any nearby casters and so it is really important to get them controlled so they do not run amok. The raid is given 90 seconds to dispose of the Sons of Flame and then Ragnaros will emerge from the lava and the cycle repeats until either he is dead or the raid is dead.

Surviving two waves of Sons of Flame was very difficult and so to be successful a raid needed to kill Ragnaros before his second submerge, i.e. by 7 minutes and 30 seconds into the fight.

Right, now you know roughly how to kill Ragnaros.

Roll forward to the night when we did kill him - a Tuesday if I remember correctly. Our goal when we entered the core that night was nothing short of his death. We started off a bit poorly, as some unlucky lava splashes combined with knockbacks meant a lot of the damage dealers died, and we wiped at around 40%. After a few more tries, we got to 22%, and then, the next try, things suddenly clicked and we made it to a tantalisingly close 2%.

One of the officers; a rogue by the name of Thaleb, filmed our 2% wipe, which I present below in its excruciating entirety. Even when I watch this today I can still feel the tension and the desperation as we all realised we just needed to take 2% off his health and how we scrambled around to try and survive the second wave of the Sons of Flame, hoping beyond hope that even though half the raid was down we could somehow take off that last sliver of health before he pummelled the other half of the raid into oblivion.

For watching the video: DPS = damage per second, used in the context of "Melee DPS DPS DPS, it is analogous to "attack".

After this attempt, I was shaking from the adrenaline. We were so close. God we were so close. Everyone recovered and prepared for one more try. Collectively, we could smell blood.

In the end, it only took one more try. The first 3 minutes went smoothly without a hitch, and then the Sons of Flame were spawned, and they were handled in record time. We set back on Ragnaros, and then things began to go a little wrong - people started dying, but we were still taking his health down.

The timer informed the raid that there was 20 seconds to go until the second wave of Sons of Flame, and we re-doubled our efforts, watching as his health bar ticked away percent by agonising percent. At this point, over a quarter of the raid was dead. Finally, with less than five seconds to go before he submerged again, we killed him.

The roar over the voice chat was deafening, as near 40 people shouted and screamed their heads off. I believe in fact several people's speakers were blown out by it. Raid chat was spammed with cries of victory and joy and I had the world's largest smile plastered to my face. My hands shook so much that it was difficult to even begin selecting targets to resurrect them. We were on top of the world.

Very few things I've done in my life has really compared to the pure joy and elation and adrenaline mix that I felt from that moment. What made it so special was the fact that we had made it together as a team. We disparate players from all over the globe, from housewives in Holland to builders in Sweden, from company workers in the UK to students in Finland had come together, united for a single purpose and we had achieved what we set out to do together. Some people popped beers, and we chatted and laughed and revelled in our victory late into the night, receiving plaudits and congratulations from all that heard the news. It was a glorious day.

Memoires (Part 9 - The 3 Musketeers)

I don't think I'll ever forget the first time I lead a raid. It on a Kindred raid, one of last ones that I attended. We were making attempts on Ragnaros the Firelord, and it wasn't going well.

The Firelord himself.

A healer's eye view, to give a sense of scale (he was pretty damn big).

Ragnaros was a fight that not only was technically challenging, but also had lofty gear requirements. There needed to be two tanks, and they needed to have enough Fire Resistance so that they could block his fire based attacks. In the absence of this fire resistance, Ragnaros would punt the tanks sky high, leaving the rest of the raid open to his attacks which pretty much resulted in instant death.

Positioning was also really important, as Ragnaros had a bevy of fireball based attacks which would knock players around. This was especially important for the healers, as if a group of healers got interrupted whilst casting then it most likely meant that people were going to die.

The fight was also a push for the damage dealers, as the longer the fight dragged on the harder it became. This was due to the fact that every 3 minutes, Ragnaros would call forth his "Sons of Flame", eight at a time. These little fire elementals burned the mana from the casters and they were difficult for the tanks to get under control as they came from many different directions at once.

So, this particular Kindred raid was going badly. Tanks kept getting punted, people weren't watching their positionings and so everyone else was getting buffeted left and right into the lava. Everyone was growing more and more frustrated with each failed attempt and tensions began to run high between varying people. The raid leaders got annoyed with people not being spaced out properly, who were annoyed by the raid leaders because it was hard to judge distance correctly. The damage dealers got annoyed at the healers who got annoyed at the damage dealers, and the tanks were just annoyed, as they lacked the appropriate fire resistance to properly handle Ragnaros.

It seemed that whatever we tried, we could not get Ragnaros below 80% health. Finally, after a particularly bad attempt and a heated argument, some of the Kindred elite had had enough and left the raid in a rage. The rest of the raid milled about, unsure of what to do; the leaders had left and everyone else seemed to have lost their wits.

"Give me the lead," I said to one of the Kindred mages, who had had ownership of the raid passed automatically to him after the real leaders had left. I could tell that everyone felt a bit demoralised and the raid was on the verge of giving up, so I felt that a little speech was in order - if we were to attempt this boss seriously, I needed to get everyone focused again on the task at hand and to ignore all the stuff that had gone on before.

I proceeded to give a little speech, the specifics of which I can no longer remember, but I can remember that people responded. The raid gathered itself up and began to buff up (casting all of the necessary pre-fight spells and enchantments). However, before we were ready to go, one of the mages strayed too close to Ragnaros and started the encounter prematurely, the raid quickly wiped, ruining the good spirit that had just been built up, and so I called it a day. The mage whispered me afterwards, apologising profusely. I shrugged; what happened happened.

Soon after this raid, the alliance project began, and I stopped raiding with Kindred. This decision was met with a surprising amount of distress from the Kindred officers, who told me (and several others from The Revenants, Blue Moon and SWE), that they had been deliberately giving us raid spots over their own guild members because of our importance to the raid. That statement struck me as a bit of a falsehood; it seemed to me that they were more upset that they were going to lose two great tanks (Hildaa of SWE and Zacker from the Revenants), as well as a number of good healers and damage dealers.

With the alliance, we began back at square one: Azuregos. The process was much the same as when I did it the first time around with Kindred, except that I was now one of the experienced members. I was the one explaining the tactics and I'm sure in the raid somewhere was a young priest, listening wide eyed and rapt with attention just like I was a few months previous. We made swift progress from Azuregos to Kazzak to Onyxia, owing to experienced members filling all of the key roles such as the main / off-tank and main / off-healer.

As word of our kills spread, we garnered a bit of a reputation as the challenger to Kindred's raiding dominance on the server. We were finally also given a name through an offhanded comment made on the community forums: The Three Musketeers. It stuck, and from hence forth we were known as The Three Musketeers, or T3M for short.

Animagi from Blue Moon took the undisputed leadership position of the raid, and he was great at the job; being old and wise enough to command respect from everyone and being firm and fair with the raid to ensure everyone behaved. I took the role of tactician, regurgitating all the information I had learned from my time raiding with Kindred. In a short few weeks, we were back in the Core, ploughing through the bosses. However, Animagi soon had real life issues to attend to, and that effectively meant he could no longer raid, and so, the leadership role passed naturally to me.

It was a little daunting in some ways, but I was willing to take on the role of raid leader. It was something fresh, something challenging; a complete escape from the doldrums of life, which at that point was pretty boring. Also, proving myself as the leader of a raiding alliance and taking down bosses in World of Warcraft was to me an interesting legitimate achievement that I was passionate about, and so I embraced it with all my energy. It was also the summer holidays, which meant I had plenty of time to spare, and I sank all my spare time into the game. It was not unusual for me to play upwards of eight hours a day. My parents, given that they both worked, seemed partly glad that I had something to occupy myself with, yet also somewhat worried that I wasn't getting out enough; perfectly justified, as I didn't get out at all (unless it was to play badminton - that other addiction in my life).

As T3M progressed through the core, the infrastructure around the alliance began to really take hold, with a unified set of forums for the three guilds being set up as well as the implementation of something called a DKP system (Dragon Kill Points). This was essentially a way to distribute the loot gained from killing the bosses amongst the players in a fair way. It worked by awarding players with points for attending a raid, and then the player could "buy" dropped items (which had an associated cost) with those points. Players with the most points got first dibs on the items. It was a way to reward loyalty and continued attendance to raids and to ensure that the items which the raid obtained would be equipped on characters that attended regularly; after all, there's no point giving someone the Sword of a Thousand Truths if it's never going to be used.

To keep track of attendance and items, I wrote it all down on scrap paper. I am sure to this day there are hundreds of pages of paper somewhere in the house which have lists of names (forty at a time) and assigned items written on them.

Magmadar, Gehennas, Garr, Geddon, Shazzrah, Golemagg, Sulfuron... they all fell rapidly to the onslaught laid on by T3M, whilst Kindred were still slowly chipping away at Ragnaros. By the time we made it to Majordomo Executus, Kindred had finally managed to kill the Firelord. I didn't really pay that much heed though, concerned as I was mainly with the progress of T3M. The atmosphere within the raid was fantastic, even better than those early days with Kindred; it managed to be both relaxed and fun as well as focused. The raid had also become disciplined enough that I'm sure we would have been able to do a military parade if we had wanted to, something which I never really found was true of Kindred.

It took us a short amount of time to take down Majordomo, and so by mid-August, we were up against Ragnaros the Firelord.

Memoires (Part 8 - An Alliance is Born)

The next two months went by very quickly. Embroiled as I was in my GCSE exams, I did not manage to take part in every single raid, but I still went to as many as I could and we made kill after kill.

Kindred and Co swept relentlessly through the core, making consistent and steady progress and in early June, had managed to take down the following bosses:

Magmadar

Gehennas

Garr

Baron Geddon

Shazzrah

Golemagg

Sulfuron

Majordomo Executus

Each boss was challenging in it's own way, but the standout encounter amongst them for me was Baron Geddon, purely for one of his abilities where he would make a player "The Bomb". That player would then have a few seconds to run away from all of their friends before they blew up, lest they blow the raid up with them.

Naturally, this was a source of both hilarity and frustration, and I will long remember the feeling of: "SHIT, I'M THE BOMB. RUN!"

Another fun encounter was Majordomo Executus, the penultimate boss in Molten Core. It was a challenging encounter as the boss came with eight adds. Majordomo himself was also very hard to keep control of, as he would frequently dump the tank into a fire pit and then wander off towards the rest of the raid in search of squishy victims. This meant that everyone had to be alert and so the encounter was a very dynamic one, with tanks running left and right and it was just a lot of fun to finally pin down the execution of it.

Defeating Majordomo meant that we now only had Ragnaros left before we would officially complete The Molten Core, and also all the raiding content that was currently available within the game.

Ragnaros

In the month and a half that the raid had been together, the social dynamics within the mostly static group of people had evolved greatly. As you can imagine, if you bunged 40 unfamiliar people into a room and set them a task, there would be a lot of awkwardness at first. This was exactly what it was like at the start. Everyone was polite and accomodating, and I think everyone had the feeling that they were part of something momentous, so a lot of compromises were made in order to make the raid succesful.

As time passed however and everyone became more comfortable with each other, people began to relax back into their natural states, and a variety of cliques and personalities came out. There was the Kindred elite, as I liked to refer to them as. This included Gigamo, as well the main tank Pyrolobus and his priest, Ellen, along with several other characters. To my eyes, they kept themselves fairly aloof from the rest of the raid and socialised amongst themselves. Then, there was the friendly Kindred bunch, who were, well, friendly, and also completely bonkers. They were great fun to play with. Finally, there was "the rest", which comprised of most of the non-Kindred people.

As the weeks went by, more and more of the raid became Kindred, either through replacement of outsiders, or by people joining Kindred after feeling the rush of success and wanting more. The officers from The Revenants who were involved with Kindred (Chaspal, Zacker and myself) knew that the arrangement we had would soon become untenable, especially as now The Revenants itself had quite a few level 60's who were looking to make the jump to raiding. I flirted briefly with the idea of joining Kindred, but then I realised that although I wanted success, I wanted that success to be with The Revenants, a guild that had now come to feel like a bunch of friends, rather than a mass of strangers.

So, whilst we attended raids with Kindred and made attempts at Ragnaros. The other guild officers and I began to work towards securing the raiding future for us. Our first attempt at making an alliance didn't go particularly well - it was with a guild called Vikings of Midgard, and it wasn't that they were bad players, but their guild as a whole was too far behind The Revenants in the progression curve. This was made abundantly clear to us as we went on our first joint dungeon run. What should have been a routine run that took 2 hours actually ended up taking twice that long, and after that the alliance fizzled out.

We were then at a loss for a while as to what to do, but then, by a series of coincidences, things began to come together. During my time raiding with Kindred, I had often been put with a warrior from SWE (pronounced swee), and had become very good friends with him, along with other people from a guild called Blue Moon. As it turned out, Blue Moon and SWE were two guilds that were fairly tight, being as they were comprised of a lot of scandinavians, and players from continental Europe.

Chaspal and the leader of Blue Moon, a mage called Animagi, began talking and they got on like a house on fire. We then began joint runs to the lesser level 60 dungeons to test the waters. Given that most of the top players in the respective guilds were already fairly familiar with each other from raiding with Kindred, the runs went as smooth as honey. It also seemed to me that the ethos and goals and atmosphere within the three guilds seemed to gel pretty well and so the decision was made to strike an alliance, with the goal being to field a 40-man raid of our own separately from Kindred.

Then, we had to decide on a name. Nobody really had any good ideas, so we decided to just amalgamate the guild names.

"It should be ordered BM SWE REV," said the members of Blue Moon.
"No, it should be SWE BM REV," said SWE.
"REVBMSWE," said Chaspal.

I rolled my eyes and suggested we order them alphabetically.

And so, BMREVSWE was born. An alliance with a lot of promise, a lot of heart, but not a particularly good name.

Memoires (Part 7 - Into the Core)

The Molten Core

Nowadays in World of Warcraft, it is possible for Molten Core to be completed by less than five players (indeed, some have even managed to solo it), however, in Summer 2005, this place was the hardest and most hardcore dungeon that players could tackle.

It consisted of ten bosses, separated by many packs of lesser monsters (known as trash mobs). In order to make progress in the Core, raids needed to be long (typically 2+ hours), well organised and well led. It was also the first dungeon where the reset mechanic really began to matter. What's a reset mechanic? I hear you ask. Well, Blizzard realised that their dungeons would take a long time, so they made it so that once you killed a boss in the Molten Core, it would stay dead for a week, and then the dungeon would be reset meaning that the raid would have to start all over again.

It also meant that you were locked to that version of the dungeon for the week, so you couldn't jump from one instance of the dungeon to another one, killing the first boss over and over for the items, for example.

Flush from our success with Onyxia, Kindred began to organise raids to the Core. By this time, I was beginning to establish myself as a fairly respectable priest within the raid and so was often given the task of off-healing (where I would be healing one of the secondary tank groups).

I stood beside my frostsaber, Saer, along with the rest of the assembled warriors in front of a massive set of iron doors, which were slightly ajar. I stroked his mane, fingers twirling the soft fur absent mindedly as I listened to King Bronzebeard's edict, read out to us by Gigamo.

We stood on the precipice, steeling ourselves for what was to come. Over the past months, investigations by various factions had uncovered the true nature of the Blackrock Mountain. The Emperor of the Dark Iron Dwarves, who were sworn enemies of the bronzebeard dwarves, had freed the Firelord Ragnaros in his quest to gain greater power. Ragnaros was a malicious elemental spirit that had been trapped far underneath the ground for over a thousand years. His first act upon being released was to take control of the Dark Iron Dwarves, and put them to use creating an army of golems for his revenge. Ragnaros hollowed out the depths of Blackrock Mountain, making it his home, and opened a rift to the fire plane, allowing malcontent spirits into the world of Azeroth.

Today, we would be assaulting his lair, with the aim of stopping whatever schemes of destruction he had in place.

I patted Saer on the head, sending him away to the wild - the fiery depths of the core would be no place for a frostsaber. He nuzzled me gently and licked my face, a parting gift of affection, before loping off into the distance.

"This is not a suicide mission!" said Gigamo, raising his voice, "We can, and we will prevail. We have studied these lieutenants of Ragnaros, and we have studied him. We know how to beat him!"

I mentally checked over my list of provisions for the umpteenth time; potions, salves, bandages, food and water.

"Brothers and sisters, share your strength with each and with me, and we will not fall. Ragnaros will die. This I pledge, for Azeroth!"

Gigamo raised a fist in the air, rousing us all.

"For Azeroth!" came the unified response, our solidarity warming my heart.

Gigamo turned and marched through the doors, into the heart of the mountain. We followed, ready for anything.

As I passed through the thick iron of the doors, a wave of heat blasted my face. My eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dim light, and once they did, I saw the scope of what lay before us. The inside of the mountain had been carefully crafted by the dwarves. We stood on a walkway which circled the whole cavern. Far below this walkway, in the centre of the mountain, lay a huge broiling pit of lava, casting dancing lights of orange and red onto the walls. Suspended above the lava was a shard of rock, carved into a spiral walkway that connected the depths of the mountain to the entrance where we stood. It was held in place by great chains, each link being bigger than a person, which lashed it to the bare rock of the mountain interior.

Blackrock Mountain Interior

As I peered over the edge of the walkway, feeling the heat from the molten rock thrashing about hundreds of feet below, Chaspal came to my side.

"And guess where the entrance to this place is?" he said, a little sardonically.
"Down there?"

He nodded. "Come on, let's go."

Gigamo led the group over one of the chains onto the spiral walkway, and we followed it down and down into the bowels of the mountain. The air was thick with the smell of sulphur and ash, and with each passing step my breathing became more laboured.

The walkway led us to a small alcove with a window frame set in it, big enough for a man to fit through and carved ornately from the rock. Beyond it, I could only see lava.

Gigamo held up a small pumiced piece of rock. "Everyone, hold out your core shards!"

I did as instructed.

"Now, go through the window," he said, pointing at the alcove.

A bunch of murmers swept through the assembled raid. Gigamo did not wait to be questioned, he walked calmly through the window and leapt off the edge. We rushed forwards and put our heads through to see if he had fallen into the lava below, but there was no sign of his body.

Zacker shrugged. "Let's go!"

She was the next to leap, and as she impacted the lava, there was a flash of light and suddenly her body was gone, transported through the dimensional portal into the core itself.

"Talk about your leaps of faith," I murmured to no one in particular, before I jumped myself. I could feel the heat of the lava ripping at my body as I fell, and then, suddenly, I landed on the coolness of a rocky floor.

I was in the core.

We made progress quite quickly at first, going through the trash mobs. There were several wipes of course, as we had to learn the tactics on how to defeat each kind of monster. Gigamo was a very experienced player, having beta tested this dungeon, and so he knew his way around and provided us with valuable tactics that guided the raid. I concentrated hard on his every word, trying to commit them all to memory.

There were Molten Giants, huge behemoths that came in pairs and dealt a big amount of damage to the tanks, stressing the healers. Then there were Firelords, flame elementals who spawned little copies of themselves that would quickly replicate and overwhelm the raid if not killed in time, this tested the reactiveness of the damage dealers. There were also Core Hounds (referred to affectionately later on as doggies), which came in several different flavours and had various different abilities ranging from a mass stun to mass area of effect fire damage. Then there were various rock elementals which were hard to tank and liked to punt people left right and centre - they became a constant source of amusement / frustration as if you were not positioned correctly they would punt you off the edge and into the lava, where you would swim around taking damage until you died, and of course, the rest of the raid would point and laugh whilst this happened.

That first raid in the Molten Core was awesome. I really felt like a pioneer. This was the cutting edge of the end game and we were the first to attempt it. We were the best. I like being the best.

Finally, after some hours we made it to the first real boss. Lucifron.

Lucifron the Harbinger

Lucifron had some fairly nasty abilities which completely stomped us at first. There was an area of effect curse which doubled the cost of any ability (if it wasn't removed promptly, the healers ran out of mana extremely quickly). There was another area of effect curse which counted down from ten seconds and then inflicted a massive amount of damage. This led to no end of wipes as he would apply the curse to everyone in the raid, the curse removers would take too long and then half the raid would die instantly. He also mind controlled random players in the raid, and came with two helpers, just to cause extra chaos.

Even though Gigamo had told us all of this beforehand, the execution of the tactics was still difficult as it was the first time any of us had encountered this type of fight. I was assigned to heal one of the off tanks. By the end of the first raid, we had made some progress on the encounter, but had not fully managed to beat him.

Screencap of the Lucifron fight taken from a video made in 2006. By then, the encounter was routine.

On the second raid, we nailed it and he died, to rapturous celebrations. We had officially made our first steps into the Molten Core. Word spread quickly through private messages and various guild chats and soon the congratulations began to roll in. The mages set up a town portal to Ironforge, the major hub city of the game at the time, and we rode in, announcing proudly in the general chat that Lucifron was down - it felt like we were heroes returning triumphantly from battle, which I guess, in the context of the game, was exactly what we were.

Memoires (Part 6 - Onyxia)

...and beyond.

"Lady" Onyxia

The Kindred and Co group enjoyed much success after the Azuregos kill. As word of our deed became more well known around the server, and as more and more people began to reach level 60, there was a clamour building to get spots in the raid group as at that time, no other guild was able to pull together a raid group with any noticeable success. However, slots were not just up for grabs and as the group became tighter raid spaces began to become reserved for regular goers - we were beginning to gel as a team and that was a really good feeling. The Kindred guild leadership were quite good about this, and it became a regular group of Kindred guild members alongside a regular group comprised of members from mainly three or four other guilds.

We took down Lord Kazzak shortly after Azuregos, and then turned our attention to Onyxia. This encounter was on a whole new level of difficulty. The fight was split into 3 phases, with varying tactics for each one that had to be memorised and honed to a high degree of competency. We set about this with gusto - the end game was still new to us and this novelty factor combined with the collective hunger to beat the encounter provided us with quite a high level of focus. If I remember correctly, it took us about two weeks to finally master the encounter, with something like three evenings per week dedicated to attempts. I'm not going to go over in detail the nature of the fight in this post, however, interested readers can visit here. Instead, I'll post some screenshots which I still have!

There she is!

The main tank gets her attention whilst the rest of the raid runs in and gets into position (half the raid goes to her left and the other half goes to her right).

Dragon hits main tank, damage dealers hit dragon.

Phase 2 is a war betwen her breaths of fire and our ranged damage dealers (she won many times).

But that doesn't mean the melee fighters are left standing - they had to kill all of Onyxia's little whelplings.

Phase 3 is her landing. Cue lots of lava eruptions which are pretty painful. If you're curious about the interface, it shows the health and mana status of each member in the raid in the boxes on the left hand side. As you can see, the majority of the raid is dead.

She kicked our ass many a time.

We got her back just as many times in the end.

The fight where we first took her down lasted over 15 minutes. 15 minutes of intense concentration, with all the raid members playing their roles like following the steps in an intricate dance. The elation and rush when she finally went down was incredible, I think it was partly due to the fact that there is something intrinsically satisfying about co-operating as team - it was the same sort of feeling I had from playing the violin in my school's string quartet, except of course, slaying dragons was much cooler, and 40 people is more like an orchestra than a string quartet, making it feel very epic indeed.

However, the other part of the rush came from my innately competitive nature - we were the first to do it on the server. We had made our mark on the virtual world, and our names would be forever embedded in the history of this server. I think everyone wants to make an impact and leave a legacy, and when Onyxia was slain, that's what it felt like - we were shaping history in this virtual world.

When we slew Onyxia, we took her head back to Stormwind City, and it was hung up in the city as a grisly trophy.

Onyxia's Head

As her head was hoisted, a rallying cry went out through the whole city announcing her death and crowning the raid as dragonslayers. Suddenly, the chat channels exploded with people offering their congratulations, and as the raid gathered underneath the head for some screenshots (which I sadly no longer have), many other players came to see the head and to check out the raid which had killed her. There were of course some snarky comments, which I put down to envy, but on the whole the response was overwhelmingly positive and honestly at that point, things felt awesome.

Memoires (Part 5 - The Great Masquerade)

I'll never forget the first time I visited Stormwind City. It was after our defeat of Van Cleef; the local Captain had referred us onwards to the keep in the capital itself, where we were to receive commendations for our valour. We set off on foot with Zacker leading the way, although this was hardly necessary, given that the footpaths in Elwynn Forest were well trodden and well marked with directions.

The path we trod wound ever upwards through the verdant forest, threading it's way through thick oaks and wild grass of a brilliant shade of green. The canopies of the trees were not so thick as to block out sunlight, and so the trail was well lit, with everything bathed in a golden green hue. Bird song filled the air, which smelled to my keen elfin nose of life in all its vibrancy - somewhat different to the placid and timeless musk of Teldrassil.

Suddenly, as we crested a rise in the path, the trees suddenly thinned and the entrance to Stormwind was revealed. The polished white of the city walls jutted out from the grey of the surrounding rock. The gravelled path beneath our feet gave way to pristine white flagstones as we passed through the front gate, comprising of two massive wooden doors that were currently swung wide open, welcoming any and all. The on-duty guard gave us a courteous nod as we passed. Overhead, the cries of gryphons could be heard as they bore travellers to and from the busy trade districts on great thrusts of white feathered wings.

Directly beyond the front gate was the so called Valley of Heroes. The wide walkway was bordered by sheer drops on either side - fifty metres at least to the deep moat below. It was flanked by four statues - two a side - dedicated to the brave heroes who sacrificed themselves in order to keep the demon hordes of the Burning Legion beyond the Dark Portal. The gilded marble of the four monoliths glinted in the sun, and I felt a wave of reverence wash over me. We continued walking and saw a fifth statue stood at the head of the path.

"Hail Turalyon," murmured Zacker, almost out of reflex, as we walked past.

The keep of Stormwind was quiet, perhaps held in the grip of a mid-morning lull, as we entered and showed our papers to the guards. They escorted us through the marbled corridors, resplendant with woven tapestries and painted glass, to a side room, for an audience with the Captain of the guard. As we passed the throne room, I couldn't help but sneak a glance in. My eyes met that of a woman's, who returned the gaze coldly. Although I knew she probably meant no malice, I somehow felt a shiver run through me.

"Zacker, who's that woman in the throne room?" I whispered to our resident human, not wishing to disturb too much the austere silence within the corridors we walked in.
"The one in the red dress with the cold stare?" she replied, and upon seeing my nod, continued. "That's Lady Katrana Prestor, one of the advisors to the king."
"One of?"
"The other one is Bolvar Fordragon, you must know of him, surely?"

I nodded, but then had another question, being all too aware of my pitiful knowledge of the humans as I asked it.

"Who's the king?"
"Varian Wrynn," began Zacker, and then stopped and shook her head,  "Sorry, his son, Anduin Wrynn. Varian disappeared some weeks ago on a diplomatic mission to Theramore Island."
"King!" Snorted Chaspal quietly, "the boy is barely ten years old. At that age he should be lucky to be recognised as a man, let alone a king."

We arrived then at the Captain's quarters, and no more was said.

Stormwind City Panorama

As I stepped from gravel to flagstone once again, many months later, I remembered that day and the look in Lady Katrana Prestor's eyes. Up ahead, Chaspal was conversing with a man who held in his hands evidence of a conspiracy. It was evidence that would change Stormwind forever. I gripped the knurling of my staff, feeling not only the carefully crafted oak, but also the flow of the enchantments that coursed within. Reginald Windsor, a Marshal of Stormwind, had come a long road to deliver his information, and we, the Revenants, were determined to see it through to the end.

We first happened on Windsor as he was locked in a cell, kept as a prisoner of the Dark Iron Dwarves in the Blackrock Depths. We freed him, but he refused to leave his cell; he was a man who had succumbed to the depths of despair. He talked only of his notes; ones that were taken from him by the Dark Iron Dwarves, and how they contained evidence of vital importance; evidence of treason in the keep, evidence which had to be presented lest the downfall of Stormwind occur.

We left him in his cell, but his words did not leave our mind. Deep in the Blackrock Depths, we discovered Windsor's notes in a cache and brought them back to him. His mood changed from despondancy to determination in a heartbeat, and now, he wanted to leave. We broke him out of the prison, overwhelming the best efforts of the wardens and escaped with him back to the surface. He bade us gather as much of an army as we could and to meet him at the gates of Stormwind. Chaspal acted immediately, and scarcely had a day passed that the full force of the Revenants stood assembled at the gate. The on duty guard was very confused and passerby civilians stopped and stared.

Finally, Windsor turned to address us. "My friends, thank you for coming to Stormwind's assistance in this hour of need. In these notes, I hold evidence of the treason of Lady Katrana Prestor." I felt my heart skip a beat; accusing nobles of treason was not something one did lightly.

"We march to the palace to confront her, and to bring her to justice. You join me of your own free will, friends. Let the light be with us all."

He turned and drew his sword, sliding noiselessly out of it's well oiled sheath. "Walk with me!" 

We obeyed his command, our own weapons at the ready. The clouded sky, which had all day been threatening to rain, announced its arrival with a booming thunderclap and a flash of lightning.

We walked.

The streets were emptying quickly as people sought cover from the incipient downpour. The water ran down my neck and arms, quickly drenching my robes which clung to my body. A wind whipped through the city, moaning around the trees and houses, snatching warmth from drenched bodies. Rain drummed on roofs and cobblestones.

We walked.

Through the trade district, past the market square fountain, crossing a bridge which spanned one of the many canals in the city. I could see people peering out of windows at us, wondering why such a band of armed men and women were being allowed to roam loose in the city, and why they were being led by a man dressed in the uniform of the Stormwind guard.

We walked.

The entrance to the keep was blocked. The General of the Stormwind army sat atop his horse, impassive, flanked by twice as many men as we had. Windsor raised a hand for us to stop.

"On the orders of Lady Katrana Prestor, I am to detain you and your allies as criminals," said the general.
"Marcus," said Reginald,"Katrana Prestor is a traitor. Her words are as poison to this kingdom!"

The horse whinnied slightly. Rain pelted down, drumming off the steel of the city guard's armour.

"Reginald, you know I cannot let you past."

"You must do what you think is right, Marcus. We served together under Turalyon. He made us both the men that we are today. Did he err with me? Do you truly believe my intent is to cause harm to our Alliance? Would I shame our heroes?" He paused and took off his helmet, speaking in earnest, "Holding me here is not the right decision, Marcus."

 
The general did not reply for a while, appearing to be lost in contemplation.

 
"I am ashamed, old friend. I know not what I do anymore. It is not you that would dare bring shame to the heroes of legend - it is I. It is I and the rest of these corrupt politicians. They fill our lives with empty promises, unending lies," he paused, dealing with the weight of his realisation, "We shame our ancestors. We shame those lost to us... forgive me, Reginald."
"Dear friend, you honor them with your vigilant watch. You are steadfast in your allegiance. I do not doubt for a moment that you would not give as great a sacrifice for your people as any of the heroes you stand under. Now, it is time to bring her reign to and end, Marcus. Stand down, friend."

The general wheeled his horse to face his men, gesturing with his arms as he pulled his steed to one side. "Stand down! Move aside! Let them pass! Reginald Windsor is not to be harmed! He shall pass through untouched!"

Reginald Windsor bowed his head slightly, and donned his helmet. We followed him as he walked into the keep unchallenged.

 
"May the light guide your hands," said Marcus to us, as we passed him.

The path to the throne room was straight, albeit ascending three ramped levels.

"Onward!" shouted Windsor, who broke into a jog. We followed suit. Adrenaline coursed through my body; fear and excitement, and a dreadful sense of foreboding. Surprised servants and nobles scattered out of our way as we advanced up the keep.

We burst into the throne room, swords at the ready. The drapes and tapestries billowed as the outside wind howled up the main hall through the open keep door. I looked around the room, it was a large hexagonal chamber with guards lining the walls. Lady Prestor stood at the centre, along with a man I presumed was Bolvar Fordragon. The child king sat on a wooden throne which was far too big for him.

"Majesty, run while you still can. She is not what you think her to be...!" shouted Reginald, 
"To the safe hall, your majesty!" commanded Bolvar, directing the child king away from the imminent confrontation.

Reginald waited until the king had disappeared and the door had been barred, before he advanced on Lady Prestor, who stood with a slightly amused expression on her face. However, no trace of this reached her eyes, narrowed as they were into thin malevolent slits.

 
"The masquerade is over, Lady Prestor. Or should I call you by your true name... Onyxia...!"

The Lady laughed, a sound devoid of mirth, but very much full of malice. She pointed with her staff at the Marshal.

"You will be incarcerated and tried for treason, Windsor. I shall watch with glee as they hand down a guilty verdict and sentence you to death by hanging...and as your limp body dangles from the rafters, I shall take pleasure in knowing that a mad man has been put to death. After all, what proof do you have? Did you expect to come in here and point your fingers at royalty and leave unscathed?"

"You will not escape your fate, Onyxia. It has been prophesied - a resonating vision brought to me. It ends now..." said Reginald, bringing out his crumpled and wetted notes, "The Dark Iron Dwarves thought these notes to be encoded. This is not any form of coding, it is the tongue of ancient dragon!"

Lady Prestor looked slightly taken aback. Reginald continued.

"Listen, dragon. Let the truth resonate throughout these halls!"

He looked down at his notes and began to read. Suddenly, sounds began to flow through my consciousness, a subtle sibilance which suddenly shattered the illusion of the black haired woman in the red dress standing before me. I saw Bolvar Fordragon gasp in surprise.

 

Lady Prestor smiled, "I'm curious... Windsor, in this vision, did you survive? I only ask because one thing that I can and will assure is your death. Here and now."

Things happened very quickly. I felt an eruption of magic, as Lady Prestor revealed her true form. It knocked me over onto the floor. I heard the splintering of wood as she shattered the throne with her claws and then I sat up to see the dragon that was Onyxia. Her purple scaled wings nearly stretched from wall to wall, and her head was adorned with two sharp horns, she blinked her great reptilian eyes and lunged at Reginald, impaling him with one of her claws.

I scrambled to get out of the way as claws and tail swung around the room, cleaving chunks of rock from the wall. The great tapestries which decorated the throne room were instantly turned into shreds of cloth. Windsor lay in a bloody mess in one corner of the room, thrown by the force of the blow. I heard Bolvar shouting for the guards to seize Onyxia, and I heard Chaspal shouting for us to attack. 

There was hardly any space to move, and hemmed in such tight confines, Onyxia was more deadly than ever and her frenzy had put us into total disarray. She turned and slapped with her wings, clawed and bit and whipped. But she was surrounded, and could not help but surrender an opening; as her tail caught me square in the chest, knocking me to the floor, I saw Bolvar rush at her, raising his giant two handed claymore to pierce her exposed throat. I saw her blink, and then, she was gone, teleported away. He pierced air.

The sudden silence was somehow deafening. The force of the blow had left me struggling to breathe, spots clouded my vision as I tried to clear my head. I saw through the haze as Bolvar threw down his sword and ran over to Reginald, cradling his broken body.

"Reginald... I... I am sorry."
"Bolvar... the medallion... use..."

I saw Marshal Windsor's body go limp as his life left him, forever leaving the sentence incomplete. Chaspal came over and helped me climb, teetering, to my feet. I noticed a large rip in his leather jerkin, caked with blood that seemed to radiate a soft golden glow - the sign of heavy healing spell usage.

Bolvar stood, laying Reginald carefully onto the floor. He turned to address us, holding up in his hands an oddly shaped amulet. It was sharp edged, and was purple coloured and lined with gold.

"I believe this is the medallion Reginald spoke of. It was given to me as a gift by Onyxia, perhaps as a means of subduing me. Nevertheless, it has also allowed me to see where her lair lies - the Wyrmbog in Dustwallow marsh. She must be slain."

He looked at us expectantly.

"We'll do it," I said, the words leaping their way out of my mouth. I got a few stares from the other members.

Bolvar smiled. He then handed me the amulet, "This will allow you entry to her lair. I realise the true nature of this amulet now - it is one of her scales, and will nullify the magical wards that she has placed," he paused, and bowed to us. "Go with the blessings of the light. You are all truly heroes."

This quest line was one of the best ones in the game. Absolutely epic.