Seraphim - Alliance Spinebreaker

Running across the platform, washed in an electrical energy that sent them into painful convulsions, the Alliance forces were scattered. With a torturous scream, a Paladin of the Light found himself encased in unstable energy for just a brief second before his charge amplified and incapacitated several around him in a shock wave.

"Thaddius, stop."

The massive construct of flesh, steel and living electricity kept on pounding away, every blow with his massive fists crushing plate mail, flesh and bone. He watched them scatter, watched them die, he wanted to stop but he could not. There was pain, only pain. His body was animated by the necromancer's power, his mind was there only to hold it all together.

His body was large, powerful, fast. However, even though he was built from the best cadaverous flesh money can buy, he was finding the Dwarf Warrior annoyingly fast. Wearing mismatched parts of Dreadnought armour,the black bearded Dwarf was goading the monster on, pulling him further from the fallen soldiers.

Another bolt of energy surged through the monster's hulking form and the Dwarf was shocked as the mighty hands of the construct moved with a preternatural speed. Thaddius grabbed hold of the Warrior by his chest and pinned him against the lightning coils, bathing them both in electricity before tossing him back into the Alliance forces, creating another electrical explosion.

"THADDIUS! STOP!"

And he saw her. Bathed in Elune's grace the Druid stood between himself and the raid. She had come from his dreams. She had survived. She would grant him the peace that he had sought for so long...

with us everyday
in our lives we read as words
and hear as a voice

then you went away
to be part of your own time
your choice we respect

in the game we play
we spoke when we had the chance
we didn't try too hard

things you had to say
we never paid attention
we just let it be

with us everyday
and yet we took for granted
now you're gone for good

with us everyday
close friends we may never see
learn to treasure them

for my friend. our friend. goodbye.

- a dedication to a friend. may God watch over you always.

Darrowshire.

The noises of the inn had died down for the night, it's patrons rendered unconscious either by the sheer potency of the imported lager, or by one another. From the corner that he had occupied for the past three days, at a table comfortably blanketed by shadows, the hooded stranger had been waiting, observing.

Anytime now. He had foreseen the signs. The dreams never stopped.

He was awoken again by the sounds of the innkeeper's daughter throwing a fit about a misplaced doll. He had been dreaming again. The same dream. A gigantic amalgamation of cadaverous flesh. A creature with a mechanical arm capable of injections that would mutate any living vassal into a twisted undead servant. The undead hound, tearing her apart over and over again in his dreams. And the perfect construct, brought to life by coiling electricity. But it was always her...

In sheer terror, preternatural terror, the forces of the Alliance ran from the sight of the canine construct. Mustering their resolve and backed by the inner strength lent to him by the Ironforge priests, the Dwarven warriors engaged the beast, all the while making sure that it kept following them where they wanted it to go. The green luminous grates kept bubbling, as the living dead kept crawling out of the sewers, turning the battle into a massive orgy of blood,steel,and rotting flesh. The paladins kept the zombies occupied, all the while ensuring that none of the sewer dead went anywhere close to Gluth, while the rest of the mercenary force worked hard to get the reanimated dog down.

It was always the same. He could control his actions as he dreamt, but yet to no avail. The zombies would somehow corner him no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, she would always come to his aid, wielding her faith of the Moon Goddess, Elune. Always, he would narrowly escape from the diversion she created, and always she would be torn apart.

Yet, he has never seen her in his life. But with the same dream playing in different iterations over the past week at least five times a day, the druid has become a familiar presence. Or a premonition of sorts.

He could sense the presence of Horgus. The time had come. Picking up his walking staff, the stranger got up and left the inn in a hurry, leaving behind a small purse of gold for his accommodations the past week. He knew it was a pointless gesture, the Scourge have come, and Darrowshire shall not last the night.

Watching as the stranger left the inn, little Pamela held on tightly to her doll.

Sewn together from the cadaverous remains of many, the gargantuan flesh construct hacked and slashed away at the front line of the raiding company's compact formation, every swing of it's many axe wielding arms moving with a preternatural speed uncharacteristic for something of it's size. It channeled the will of The Master, a morbid puppet of death and destruction, an instrument, a tool, which The Master placed there for a higher purpose. Patchwerk was decimating the Alliance forces laid before him, exactly like what he was designed to do as the ultimate Abomination of the Scourge.

His fellow Dalaran pyromancers were tapping the very core of their wills to take the undead monstrosity down, but a being like this was channeled by the sheer force of a greater will, it's physical form unrelenting so long as it's master wills it to move. The Gnome knew more than his peers about constructs like this, and he knew as well that the fight was just for show. As the battle waged on, so did the battle of wills being fought within his mind.

"All of them now shall fall and rise to serve me. My construct is indestructible foolish Gnome, think of it as recruitment into my army. You knew this would happen, why did you insist on seeking me out? Did the death of Antonidas not serve as warning enough for Dalaran? Even after the complete destruction i wrought upon it?"

"I seek what you have Kel'Thuzad, except that i will do it on my own terms. It is not you that i choose to serve, for you are weak and have been enslaved by the Fallen Prince. If you do not bring me to your master, i will bring these unwitting mortals to your lair, and show The Lich King what a weakling you are. The alternative is for you to relent, make this easy for me and do what i suggested. I will bring these mortals to your lair, and deliver you the Dwarf who bears the shards of the staff that you seek."

"The Fallen Prince is no more, there is only Ner'zhul..."

And suddenly, as if possessed by a force greater than himself, the Gnome released a pillar of fire far more powerful than any that the other Dalaran magi had ever seen. The pillar completely engulfed the creature known as Patchwerk, seemingly burning away every bit of control the Lich's will had over it, an opportunity that the Alliance forces used with near clockwork precision, as they ripped the construct apart. The Gnome staggered backwards and fell over unconscious. However, within his mind, there was now another who joined the conversation.

"Lich, you have no power that can stop me. Your master and i have unfinished business, and my host and his army of mortals will pave the way into your inner sanctum because of the strength i lend them. Since you will not agree to the terms of the deal i offer, then i will destroy you as well."

By the time the Gnome came to again, it was to the sight of some of the Priests tending to the wounded around him. He vaguely remembered the events of the battle they had with the ultimate Abomination, but something told him that there was something else afoot. Propping himself up with his Shadow Flame staff, he began to feel that he was just another tool in a battle that had begun far before his days as an apprentice in Dalaran. Possibly even before Dalaran existed...

From out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the Dwarf Priest watching him intently as the forces were rallied. Moving to where the rest of his Pyromancers were gathered, he knew that when the time comes, he would have to remove the meddling Dwarf first.

While we were all doing the wipefests in Naxx and farming to ready ourselves for Patchwerk, Leirdnale was being a busy little bee (bear?) getting himself some decent new healing gear (and feral too!).

Congratulations to Leirdnale! Seraphim's very own rank 14 druid! (You can get some sleep now...)

The arachnid beast raised it's frontal scythe like legs and slashed furiously at the veteran Dwarf warrior, who was doing his best to keep it distracted, while trying not to get killed by the deadly poison that dripped from her fangs. Managing a short reprieve as he slammed his scarab-like shield across the gigantic spider's eyes, he barked an order that echoed across the cavernous shaft.

"By Magni's beard! Hurry up and get the other's free!"

The raiders never expected to walk into a trap of this magnitude. They had literally stumbled into the web of Maexxna, the gargantuan spider pet of Kel'Thuzad. The beast was extremely quick, immediately spraying the small regiment with a layer of tough sticky webbing that immobilized all but the quickest of them.

"Bah! you are getting old! It is but a wee beastie! Keep entertaining it, it seems to like you!"

The former commander of the Dwarven Riflemen of Ironforge was however not only quick with his mouth, he was also quick in action. Deploying every person who was capable of a ranged offensive, he loaded his Blessed Qiraji Musket, an artifact of a civilization long forgotten, and began marking out the targets, every individual who had been cocooned onto the walls by the silken living webbing. His precise shots, not to be expected from someone with his "codename", quickly allowed his contingent to damage the webbing enough for those trapped to free themselves and reenter the battle.

With more and more being freed to help the others who were trapped, the regiment was soon able to fully combat the eight legged monstrosity. It was time to give the order to open fire, the beast was distracted with it's back turned to them.

"The fat old soldier is wheezing my friends! Let's open fire before he dies of old age!"

Fire was everywhere. Like the rain it fell, drops of destructive energy consuming all in it's path.

Her followers butchering the Alliance forces, The Grand Widow of Naxxramas stood atop the podium, her frenzied casting produced volleys of poisonous sorcery that was rapidly causing great chaos in the small army.

"You have failed! Pathetic wretches!"

Ignoring her cries, aware of his forces dying around him, the old Dwarf warrior ignored the fiery pain that was dancing upon his very flesh. He needed to reach her. With sheer force of will, and the stoneform of his ancestry, the Warrior was able to ignore her venomous bolts. However, he realised that with every step he took towards her, his flesh was being seared away by the rain of fire.

The tide began to turn as the Druids of the Claw summoned a cleansing ritual, the light of Elune removing the poisonous touch of Faerlina's foul magic. The Alliance forces however were not able to push further, the Widow's forces holding them back. Touched by Kel'Thuzad himself, she commanded armies of skittering spiders and acolytes. The battle was waged in her temple. She had the advantage here.

Faerlina knew she was victorious. As she chanted on and the elemental forces heeded her will, nothing could approach her. All except one. In mid chant, the burning Dwarf leaped upon the podium at her and knocked her down with his shield, his eyes mad with rage. She attempted to recover, getting to her feet. There was not enough time. Barely an inch away from death, the Dwarf beheaded the Grand Widow with his axe, killing her immediately and ending the fiery downpour before collapsing to a heap beside her.

Watching as the Widow fell, and knowing the battle was now in their favour, the Druid quickly ran up to the podium.

It was too late. Even though another battle was won in the Dark Citadel, the Druid knew that this time, the price they paid was far greater than before. The company had lost one of their oldest veterans, and she had lost her friend to the cold embrace of death.

"Arise my minions! Rise and fight once more!"

The numbers were overwhelming.

The Paladin knew that if the Plaguebringer had another chance to complete his rite of summoning, the undead numbers would grow far too strong for the warband to withstand. He had to do something now, and fast.

The army of the living dead crowded around the Plaguebringer, making it extremely hard for the Ravenholdt assassins to even get close to him. More and more were springing back to life, as the vile Necromancer began his final rite, which would bring all his undead servants back to life. Such was the power of a servant of the Lich King, such was the power of one who has sold his soul...

"If you can just give us a window of opportunity, my assassins will finish the battle now. Look up there, they are in position."

The Dwarven leader of the Ravenholdt assassins had deftly maneuvered into position next to him, his godslaying dagger instantly recognizable in the fray, as with three swift blows, he took out a small contingent of the advancing undead, buying the Paladin time to summon his prayer.

Calling upon every single last once of faith in his being, the Paladin unleashed a calming wave of energy, bathing the undead in a manifestation of The Light. As if there were something that could terrify their unliving minds, the undead scattered in all directions, the powers that held them seemingly disrupted. It was brief, as they slowly began to regain their formation, but it was enough.

The Paladin watched as Noth the Plaguebringer's mouth began to foam, his spell disrupted. He furiously spun around to face the Gnome who had partially disemboweled him with the Blade of the Fallen Seraph. It was too late. A second later, with a speed and agility inherent in his race, the Night Elven Ravenholdt lieutenant crossed his swords upon the Necromancer's neck, and beheaded him.

Noth the Plaguebringer was dead.