((The end of line for the Ranger Juraviel, probably one of the most beloved characters I've ever played...))
The stage was set, Alliance, Horde…both factions marched separately towards the Betrayer’s fortress in the north. Armies had gathered from across Azeroth and beyond to help in bringing down the Lich King. This assault would be the grandest battle fought since the War of the Ancients. Once again every race would take part in this destructive dance that would either save them or seal their fates. Preparations were constant and the march determined. There would be glorious victory or catastrophic defeat. The call had gone out months before. Juraviel had been enjoying a relative peace after the loss of his wife, Sinagh, in their battle against Onyxia. He had spun into sorrow after that battle. Withdrawn from all around him he mourned alone the loss of his wife. It did not take long for him to focus on his tasks as a ranger. He soon took the call to Northrend and joined the Argent Crusade to join in the fight to defeat Arthas.
The rough campaign in the frozen north had taken many lives. If it was not battle then it was the elements that took their toll on the adventurers. The soldiers were getting in rank and files, riders were making last preparations on their horses and the small Night Elf contingents were also adjusting the armor on their saber cats. Fordragon Hold would soon be emptied of the hundreds of warriors, mages, druids, priests and rangers that had helped in establishing this tenuous foothold so close to the Lich King. The air was thick with anticipation, fear, and a slight trickle of hope. Hope that this assault would prove to be the beginning of the end for the Lich King.
He sat against a catapult fitting his quiver with flame tipped arrows, best weapon against the undead, fire. His dual blades sat in their sheathes on his azure saber cat. From not too far off he heard a loud roar and smiled as it was followed by a squeal. Kadillac must have scared another squire. Looking up he wasn’t surprised to see his devilsaur trotting back to him happily with a pig hanging limply from its mouth. “You know that’s going to cost me a pretty coin my friend.” Juraviel said as his companion crunched away on his morsel, ignoring his master’s warning. Shaking his head and finishing up his arrow prep he looked away past the gryphons and down the slope where the Hold was located, there almost cloaked behind the howling, snow filled wind he could make out Angrathar the Wrathgate, entrance to the dreaded Icecrown Citadel. “Soon we will meet our destiny!” Highlord Bolvar Fordragon said, placing a firm hand on Juraviel’s shoulder. The ranger bowed slightly in salute to the human commander. “Victory will be ours m’lord.” He replied with a smile. One that was not returned by the Highlord. “May Elune hear your claim friend elf. For this battle will be fierce and unforgiving.” Juraviel began following him as he walked away. “I will have archers in place around the south east flank as you ordered.” Juraviel began to report to an attentive human who now also sneaked a glance at the Wrathgate. “We will be able to hold the line with the help of Captain Drakus’ cavalry. Once they are in place we shall follow the main force to the Gate.” Juraviel finished, studying the now silent Highlord. “Drakus…I have my reservations about that warlock and his loyalties.” Bolvar said with some concern. “You are not alone in this Lord Fordragon but in this we all agree, regardless of his aims, he will not turn on us in this battle.” Juraviel now stood next to Bolvar looking out to where the battle would be fought. “No I suppose not…still…keep a wary eye open on him Juraviel. We cannot afford any antics in this battle.” Bolvar said turning to the night elf and saluting. “A snowflake could change the tide of the fight…that’s how delicate this is going to be. I have barely managed to put these forces together…my only hope is that it will be enough…” he finished turning around and starting to walk towards the vanguard forces. Cries and shouts began almost at once as the soldiers saw Bolvar walk by them. “Highlord Bolvar! Thank the Light!”, “For Lordaeron!”, “For the Alliance!”
Juraviel watched for a moment and then walked back to his saber cat, Kadillac lying down next to it, sleeping off his pig. “Moonwell Crusaders…to arms!!!” he commanded mounting his cat and drawing his bow. The small team of Night Elves that had banded together to help the Alliance wasn’t part of a sanctioned group from Darnassus, but a rag tag force joined together for their mutual respect for the Alliance, hatred of the Scourge and compassion for the humans. Juraviel, lead mostly by the latter was also the team’s liaison and commander. Fifty archers, ten druids and five priestesses mounted and prepared to ride behind Juraviel. Down the slope of the mountain fortress they began riding. Battle cries mixed in with the sounds of hooves, plates, shields and feet. The ranger already was diverting his small force away from the main army. Heading towards a relatively low ridge just south east of the Gate. Eager for a fight he had already drawn an arrow from his quiver, whispering the enchantment to activate the flame tip. “Spread out and prepare to dismount, Elune guide our hand!” he shouted to the cheers of his fellows. The night elves formed a semicircle atop the ridge, all were ready to attack. “Prepare to fight!” the ranger commanded, eyeing Drakus’ forces that had come into sight just below them. The main army was already on the verge of their charge. The brief seconds ticked by as if they were days. Silence was only interrupted by the howling winds and grunts coming from the animals. His azure eyes looked up into the sky, grey and clouded there was little light that penetrated through. What a cold and dark place to die he thought quickly, but dismissing it right away.
“CHARGE!” he heard Highlord Fordragon cry out. They were committed. The sounds of battle soon rang out throughout the area. The stage immediately exploded into carnage. The Scourge undead met Alliance steel with terrible consequence. The Highlord lead the charge cutting a swath of death through the Scourge line so noticeable it looked as if he was parting the undead with magic. “Archers! Make ready!” he shouted, listening to his command echo down the line. “Aim….FIRE!!!” including himself a rain of fire arrows loosened off the ridge and down to the undead warriors heading towards the front line. The line buckled slightly but it was soon reinforced. A problem that all knew would happen. The undead seemed to have limitless warriors to reanimate and engage. Juraviel quickly reset his bow with arrow. “Make ready!” he again cried out. He arched a bit higher this time, attempting to hit a wider arc. “Aim...FIRE!!!” Again fire rained down on the Scourge, this time the line did falter and break under the assault that was now being supported by Drakus and his warlock contingent. Practitioners of the dark arts they rode their ghostly mounts down and charged the Scourge line. Green flames engulfed the undead as Voidwalkers went hand to hand with some of the warriors while their masters brought down fire and brimstone from the heavens. The ranger was granted a brief look at the Highlord’s advancing army and smirked as he saw it was having as much success as he was.
This all changed quickly as he heard a loud bang coming from the Gate itself. It was opening! Not necessarily a positive thing, anything that would emerge would not help the Alliance breach the defense of the Citadel. Sure enough the howl of the Scourge vrykul echoed throughout the battlefield. Scores began pouring out from inside the Citadel. Their great size overtaking the Alliance lines quickly with wide swings of their battle axes. Some poor souls were even trampled under their big boots. “Archers! Shift aim to welcome our new guests! Make them feel warm and welcome! FIRE AT WILL!!!” he ordered already loosening a trio of arrows towards one the giants. All three hit the vrykul on the left temple. It froze in place as if wondering what happened and soon fell to the ground face first, eternally still. The druids were blasting away without mercy with moonfire and starfire while the priestesses continued to erect protective barriers around the entire regiment.
“FOR THE HORDE!” Juraviel heard after dispatching another giant. He looked to the south and saw the approaching Horde forces. They were under the command of Dranosh Saurfang and although not surprised by their arrival, he was a little upset about their timing. “Leave to the orcs to ignore strategy!” one of the druids, Darrend, said to him with a sneer. The ranger smiled and hoped this would be final piece of the puzzle needed to win. It helped when he saw the wolf riders tear through the vrykul line like butter on a biscuit. The ferocity of the Horde attack reignited the Alliance’s lines. Again there was a huge surge forward. Juraviel and his team were firing freely. Tagging targets and eliminating any that got too close. The sheer number of undead had already forced the night elf line to adjust and push back several times. “Press on! For Darnassus!” Juraviel said, sending Kadillac forward to attack a group of undead warriors that were getting too close for some of the archers. Some of the druids had taken bear form and were assisting in taking most of the undead away from the main force. Within the hour it seemed there was little more than mop up left with the tattered Scourge forces. Fighting had started to die down and the Highlord, now in league with the orc Dranosh marched forward together towards the Gate.
“Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!” Bolvar yelled towards the gate, challenging the Lich King directly. Once again the ground shook as a rumble followed by a loud bang sounded as the gate opened. The Lich King emerged, branding the infamous Frostmourne blade. His breath came out like ice, freezing in mere seconds the air around him. His fallen army rising behind him as he proceeded to confront his enemies directly. Kadillac growled baring his teeth. Juraviel placed a hand on the devilsaur’s snout to calm it. The armies stood silent, waiting for Arthas’ reply that came quickly and deadly. “You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear!” he continued to move forward, more and more undead rose, soon bringing their numbers back up to what they were during the initial assault. Something caught Juraviel’s eye, he cursed to sky as he watched Drakus’ forces begin to turn and flee the field. “That coward called retreat!?” Darrend said raising a fist towards the retreating warlocks. “It was to be expected, that cretin belongs in chains.” Juraviel replied spitting on the ground in disgust.
“Enough talk! Let it be finished!” Juraviel heard the defiant cry and turned catching the foolish orc commander charging towards the Lich King. “NO!” he yelled but was too late. With the same effort as one might squash an ant Arthas brought his sword up quickly and then in a half moon arc, he smashed Dranosh’s shield and sword turning them both to brittle, his blade following through the tough armor. It met flesh and bone soon, a spray of blood exploding from the doomed commander’s chest. He was dead before he fell to the snow. The Lich King stepping forward with a growl, Frostmourne at once began to glow blue as it took the orc’s soul as its own. Juraviel brought his bow up again. “Archers….make ready!” he called out. Looking below he could see the challenge was going to extend to the Highlord at any moment. “AIM!” As one the bows rose and were still as the archers had picked their targets, tips ablaze. His own arrow was pointing squarely at the Lich King’s semi exposed neck.
Green, green was all he saw in his eyes, sky, snow, mountains. An explosion just behind them prevented the order to fire. The sonic wave hit a second later knocking down his entire force to the ground hard. His eyes burned like fire, his breathing became full of phlegm and saliva that burned into his lungs. He could not take more than two steps before falling to his knees. Looking around he saw he was not alone. All around him and all below also fell. What was worse he could hear the sound of war machines continuing the bombardment of what reminded him of the old Plague bombs from the Third War. Cries of agony echoed all around him, he tried to call for retreat but all the came out of his mouth was blood. He heard an evil taunt from somewhere above him. “Behold, now, the terrible vengeance of the Forsaken!” Crawling now and in great pain he knew that his time had come. Loyal and fierce as always Kadillac too was in death throes, but had come to his master’s side and grabbed him by the leg with his wide maw, dragging him away from the deadly mist. Juraviel was turned on his back and he could see in the distance what looked like dragons flying towards the scene. The insides of the night elf’s body were boiling, organs and flesh seemingly liquefying. Letting out one last roar of protest Kadillac fell next to the ranger, eyes open in defiance of its fate. The last thing he saw was the image of a night elf female. A face he had not seen in what seemed an age. Her face, delicate and young, hair as white as the snow had been hours before, a soothing ran through his body making him forget in that eternal second of what was to come. “Juraviel…you must not forget…my love do not forget…” Blackness…
The stage was set, Alliance, Horde…both factions marched separately towards the Betrayer’s fortress in the north. Armies had gathered from across Azeroth and beyond to help in bringing down the Lich King. This assault would be the grandest battle fought since the War of the Ancients. Once again every race would take part in this destructive dance that would either save them or seal their fates. Preparations were constant and the march determined. There would be glorious victory or catastrophic defeat. The call had gone out months before. Juraviel had been enjoying a relative peace after the loss of his wife, Sinagh, in their battle against Onyxia. He had spun into sorrow after that battle. Withdrawn from all around him he mourned alone the loss of his wife. It did not take long for him to focus on his tasks as a ranger. He soon took the call to Northrend and joined the Argent Crusade to join in the fight to defeat Arthas.
The rough campaign in the frozen north had taken many lives. If it was not battle then it was the elements that took their toll on the adventurers. The soldiers were getting in rank and files, riders were making last preparations on their horses and the small Night Elf contingents were also adjusting the armor on their saber cats. Fordragon Hold would soon be emptied of the hundreds of warriors, mages, druids, priests and rangers that had helped in establishing this tenuous foothold so close to the Lich King. The air was thick with anticipation, fear, and a slight trickle of hope. Hope that this assault would prove to be the beginning of the end for the Lich King.
He sat against a catapult fitting his quiver with flame tipped arrows, best weapon against the undead, fire. His dual blades sat in their sheathes on his azure saber cat. From not too far off he heard a loud roar and smiled as it was followed by a squeal. Kadillac must have scared another squire. Looking up he wasn’t surprised to see his devilsaur trotting back to him happily with a pig hanging limply from its mouth. “You know that’s going to cost me a pretty coin my friend.” Juraviel said as his companion crunched away on his morsel, ignoring his master’s warning. Shaking his head and finishing up his arrow prep he looked away past the gryphons and down the slope where the Hold was located, there almost cloaked behind the howling, snow filled wind he could make out Angrathar the Wrathgate, entrance to the dreaded Icecrown Citadel. “Soon we will meet our destiny!” Highlord Bolvar Fordragon said, placing a firm hand on Juraviel’s shoulder. The ranger bowed slightly in salute to the human commander. “Victory will be ours m’lord.” He replied with a smile. One that was not returned by the Highlord. “May Elune hear your claim friend elf. For this battle will be fierce and unforgiving.” Juraviel began following him as he walked away. “I will have archers in place around the south east flank as you ordered.” Juraviel began to report to an attentive human who now also sneaked a glance at the Wrathgate. “We will be able to hold the line with the help of Captain Drakus’ cavalry. Once they are in place we shall follow the main force to the Gate.” Juraviel finished, studying the now silent Highlord. “Drakus…I have my reservations about that warlock and his loyalties.” Bolvar said with some concern. “You are not alone in this Lord Fordragon but in this we all agree, regardless of his aims, he will not turn on us in this battle.” Juraviel now stood next to Bolvar looking out to where the battle would be fought. “No I suppose not…still…keep a wary eye open on him Juraviel. We cannot afford any antics in this battle.” Bolvar said turning to the night elf and saluting. “A snowflake could change the tide of the fight…that’s how delicate this is going to be. I have barely managed to put these forces together…my only hope is that it will be enough…” he finished turning around and starting to walk towards the vanguard forces. Cries and shouts began almost at once as the soldiers saw Bolvar walk by them. “Highlord Bolvar! Thank the Light!”, “For Lordaeron!”, “For the Alliance!”
Juraviel watched for a moment and then walked back to his saber cat, Kadillac lying down next to it, sleeping off his pig. “Moonwell Crusaders…to arms!!!” he commanded mounting his cat and drawing his bow. The small team of Night Elves that had banded together to help the Alliance wasn’t part of a sanctioned group from Darnassus, but a rag tag force joined together for their mutual respect for the Alliance, hatred of the Scourge and compassion for the humans. Juraviel, lead mostly by the latter was also the team’s liaison and commander. Fifty archers, ten druids and five priestesses mounted and prepared to ride behind Juraviel. Down the slope of the mountain fortress they began riding. Battle cries mixed in with the sounds of hooves, plates, shields and feet. The ranger already was diverting his small force away from the main army. Heading towards a relatively low ridge just south east of the Gate. Eager for a fight he had already drawn an arrow from his quiver, whispering the enchantment to activate the flame tip. “Spread out and prepare to dismount, Elune guide our hand!” he shouted to the cheers of his fellows. The night elves formed a semicircle atop the ridge, all were ready to attack. “Prepare to fight!” the ranger commanded, eyeing Drakus’ forces that had come into sight just below them. The main army was already on the verge of their charge. The brief seconds ticked by as if they were days. Silence was only interrupted by the howling winds and grunts coming from the animals. His azure eyes looked up into the sky, grey and clouded there was little light that penetrated through. What a cold and dark place to die he thought quickly, but dismissing it right away.
“CHARGE!” he heard Highlord Fordragon cry out. They were committed. The sounds of battle soon rang out throughout the area. The stage immediately exploded into carnage. The Scourge undead met Alliance steel with terrible consequence. The Highlord lead the charge cutting a swath of death through the Scourge line so noticeable it looked as if he was parting the undead with magic. “Archers! Make ready!” he shouted, listening to his command echo down the line. “Aim….FIRE!!!” including himself a rain of fire arrows loosened off the ridge and down to the undead warriors heading towards the front line. The line buckled slightly but it was soon reinforced. A problem that all knew would happen. The undead seemed to have limitless warriors to reanimate and engage. Juraviel quickly reset his bow with arrow. “Make ready!” he again cried out. He arched a bit higher this time, attempting to hit a wider arc. “Aim...FIRE!!!” Again fire rained down on the Scourge, this time the line did falter and break under the assault that was now being supported by Drakus and his warlock contingent. Practitioners of the dark arts they rode their ghostly mounts down and charged the Scourge line. Green flames engulfed the undead as Voidwalkers went hand to hand with some of the warriors while their masters brought down fire and brimstone from the heavens. The ranger was granted a brief look at the Highlord’s advancing army and smirked as he saw it was having as much success as he was.
This all changed quickly as he heard a loud bang coming from the Gate itself. It was opening! Not necessarily a positive thing, anything that would emerge would not help the Alliance breach the defense of the Citadel. Sure enough the howl of the Scourge vrykul echoed throughout the battlefield. Scores began pouring out from inside the Citadel. Their great size overtaking the Alliance lines quickly with wide swings of their battle axes. Some poor souls were even trampled under their big boots. “Archers! Shift aim to welcome our new guests! Make them feel warm and welcome! FIRE AT WILL!!!” he ordered already loosening a trio of arrows towards one the giants. All three hit the vrykul on the left temple. It froze in place as if wondering what happened and soon fell to the ground face first, eternally still. The druids were blasting away without mercy with moonfire and starfire while the priestesses continued to erect protective barriers around the entire regiment.
“FOR THE HORDE!” Juraviel heard after dispatching another giant. He looked to the south and saw the approaching Horde forces. They were under the command of Dranosh Saurfang and although not surprised by their arrival, he was a little upset about their timing. “Leave to the orcs to ignore strategy!” one of the druids, Darrend, said to him with a sneer. The ranger smiled and hoped this would be final piece of the puzzle needed to win. It helped when he saw the wolf riders tear through the vrykul line like butter on a biscuit. The ferocity of the Horde attack reignited the Alliance’s lines. Again there was a huge surge forward. Juraviel and his team were firing freely. Tagging targets and eliminating any that got too close. The sheer number of undead had already forced the night elf line to adjust and push back several times. “Press on! For Darnassus!” Juraviel said, sending Kadillac forward to attack a group of undead warriors that were getting too close for some of the archers. Some of the druids had taken bear form and were assisting in taking most of the undead away from the main force. Within the hour it seemed there was little more than mop up left with the tattered Scourge forces. Fighting had started to die down and the Highlord, now in league with the orc Dranosh marched forward together towards the Gate.
“Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!” Bolvar yelled towards the gate, challenging the Lich King directly. Once again the ground shook as a rumble followed by a loud bang sounded as the gate opened. The Lich King emerged, branding the infamous Frostmourne blade. His breath came out like ice, freezing in mere seconds the air around him. His fallen army rising behind him as he proceeded to confront his enemies directly. Kadillac growled baring his teeth. Juraviel placed a hand on the devilsaur’s snout to calm it. The armies stood silent, waiting for Arthas’ reply that came quickly and deadly. “You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear!” he continued to move forward, more and more undead rose, soon bringing their numbers back up to what they were during the initial assault. Something caught Juraviel’s eye, he cursed to sky as he watched Drakus’ forces begin to turn and flee the field. “That coward called retreat!?” Darrend said raising a fist towards the retreating warlocks. “It was to be expected, that cretin belongs in chains.” Juraviel replied spitting on the ground in disgust.
“Enough talk! Let it be finished!” Juraviel heard the defiant cry and turned catching the foolish orc commander charging towards the Lich King. “NO!” he yelled but was too late. With the same effort as one might squash an ant Arthas brought his sword up quickly and then in a half moon arc, he smashed Dranosh’s shield and sword turning them both to brittle, his blade following through the tough armor. It met flesh and bone soon, a spray of blood exploding from the doomed commander’s chest. He was dead before he fell to the snow. The Lich King stepping forward with a growl, Frostmourne at once began to glow blue as it took the orc’s soul as its own. Juraviel brought his bow up again. “Archers….make ready!” he called out. Looking below he could see the challenge was going to extend to the Highlord at any moment. “AIM!” As one the bows rose and were still as the archers had picked their targets, tips ablaze. His own arrow was pointing squarely at the Lich King’s semi exposed neck.
Green, green was all he saw in his eyes, sky, snow, mountains. An explosion just behind them prevented the order to fire. The sonic wave hit a second later knocking down his entire force to the ground hard. His eyes burned like fire, his breathing became full of phlegm and saliva that burned into his lungs. He could not take more than two steps before falling to his knees. Looking around he saw he was not alone. All around him and all below also fell. What was worse he could hear the sound of war machines continuing the bombardment of what reminded him of the old Plague bombs from the Third War. Cries of agony echoed all around him, he tried to call for retreat but all the came out of his mouth was blood. He heard an evil taunt from somewhere above him. “Behold, now, the terrible vengeance of the Forsaken!” Crawling now and in great pain he knew that his time had come. Loyal and fierce as always Kadillac too was in death throes, but had come to his master’s side and grabbed him by the leg with his wide maw, dragging him away from the deadly mist. Juraviel was turned on his back and he could see in the distance what looked like dragons flying towards the scene. The insides of the night elf’s body were boiling, organs and flesh seemingly liquefying. Letting out one last roar of protest Kadillac fell next to the ranger, eyes open in defiance of its fate. The last thing he saw was the image of a night elf female. A face he had not seen in what seemed an age. Her face, delicate and young, hair as white as the snow had been hours before, a soothing ran through his body making him forget in that eternal second of what was to come. “Juraviel…you must not forget…my love do not forget…” Blackness…