BaranthoreCathriniaChampion
Joined: 03 Jun 2010
Posts: 182
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re: After the Citadel: Baranthore
 by Cathrinia on 2010/11/05 9:56 am
The cold fronts of Icecrown had already begun to shift away, even moments after he fell. The heightened moral within the citadel alone was enough to shape the winds. Mere hours had passed since the Lich King had fallen above Icecrown Citadel, at the peak of the glacer, and as Tirion slowly returned to the base of the citadel, once again, the soldiers of the Ashen Verdict knelt before him.
A legend, a hero, a valorous champion who had felled the greatest enemy the people of Azeroth had ever faced, was now a man without any goal. His slow trudge was only a small show that though a great victory had been won, an even greater sacrifice had been made.
Amongst the ranks of those kneeling at the feet of Tirion, just before the pass to the Glacier cap, he noticed a pair of eery green eyes, peering up. Eyes that could see only a higher man passing, eyes filled with jealousy. Tirion knelt beside the Elf, placing his hand on his shoulder. He spoke, not in his usual tone, but in a softer voice, as if it was for only this elf to ear. “You fought within this citadel. You have felled just as many as I... do not hold anything against those that rose to the glacier cap... for they have fallen... and there has been no great victory here... not while so many have perished... You fought valiantly, and I know your struggle..I..” Tirion stopped, and slowly rose to his feet.
Tirions voice seemed to return to it’s thick and calculated tone. “Soldiers of the Ashen Verdict, of the Argent Crusade and all those who fought beside us... Rise. You see before you no man greater than yourself. You never have. Before my eyes, all I see are the great champions of Azeroth, the few willing to charge into the howling dark, regardless of the danger they knew lye before them. YOU CHAMPIONS, are the heroes today, and as we depart this forsaken place, never forget, that fighting along side heroes is a noble feat, and those that died fighting beside heroes, are just as noble. No man is greater than another within these halls. We all endured the same horrors and atrocities and no kill, no felling that one has committed commends more honor than the other. Within these halls, and forever more, we are brethren, and though our enemy is dead.... There will always be a cause to fight for. Take rise champions of the Ashen Verdict, and let us ride once more, this time, to the light of day!”
Tirion knew within his heart something was missing, that he had not lied, but had not told an honest truth. With the Lich King unable to do anymore damage to the world, there would be little for the Crusade or the Verdict to fight against...
Baranthore Sunstriker rose as he had been told to, but not as if it was a command, but as if it was a request, uttered by a companion. The speech no doubt had been hair raising and encouraging, but deep within his heart.. Baranthore knew something was amiss. Those that had ascended the spire to the glacier cap with Tirion had not been seen... or spoken of. Placing his worst thoughts aside as he had been trained to, he followed Tirion to the front gates of the citadel, and once, for the first time in a while, stepped into the light of day. Breaking through the darkened clouds above Icecrown, the sun shown so bright, the ice on the grounds around him seemed to melt away. Though nothing would ever pierce through the biting cold of the North, it was a start to see the sun.
The crusaders had mounted at the base of the Citadel, parting ways with those that would remain at the Citadel, guarding it’s entrance until it was decided what would befall the citadel. Thinking to himself, if there was no host of the Scourge... what would happen to the mindless undead that still roamed the landscape? Another thought to be pushed aside.
The crusaders passed through the opening at Corp’rethar: The Horror Gate, at which nearly a tenth of the fighting force had been mercilessly slaughtered and devoured or reborn in undeath. The worst of the fighting had happened just before Corp’rethar, and he knew within his gut he was not the only one amongst the riders feeling sick to his stomach. Tirion, who rode just beside Baranthore, showed no sign of unease. How was it possible, for one man, so simple a soul, to withstand such horrors and keep faith in the Light after all that had occurred. Just after the Battle of Mord’rethar, Baranthore himself had begun to lose faith in the Light, and only through Highlord Tirion Fordring’s guidance did he renew his faith, and formed an even stronger bond to the Light. It was during his training under Tirion at the Tournament Grounds that Baranthore had pledged his loyalty and sword to the forces of the Argent Crusade, and later was hand picked to join the Ashen Verdict and press onward towards the Citadel. Even after his renewal of faith, and with the strength of his brethren, the fight at Corp’rethar seemed to decimate all faith and hope. Tirion’s guidance and empowering tone was all that had pulled them through that last battle before the Citadel... The worst battle of the War.
The ride through The Conflagration was not as bone chilling as it once had been. The Argent Crusaders had begun to pile the bodies and bones of the fallen scourge off to the sides of the mountain pass, or simply burn those too large to be moved. As glorious a rise it was, after felling such an enemy, the stench of rotting flesh burned his nose to the point where there was no other option but to wrap a scrap of linen cloth around his mouth and nose, though that itself barely filtered the smell.
Turning south towards the Valley of Fallen Heroes seemed to even further demoralize the heralding soldiers. Though now freed from the Lich King’s grasp, the ghosts and tormented spirits of the Fallen wandered aimlessly through the valley, forever to be watched over by the towering spire of Aldur’thar. Atop the ramparts of Aldur’thar, Horde and Alliance soldiers could be seen, still fighting one another, all gunning for complete domination. Tirion shook his head as he lead the pass under the gate’s wall.Just east of the gate, high above Aldur’thar, Orgrim’s hammer could be seen, floating endlessly around The Bombardment. To the south, docked on one of the platforms of Ymirheim, the Alliance forces fended off waves of Vrykul as the engineers quickly worked to repair The Skybreaker. It was no secret that high above the the platforms of Icecrown Citadel, the two gunships had opened fire on one another which resulted in hundreds of casualties, for which Tirion had strongly reprimanded both factions for. Tirion, so disgusted by the battle, still had no choice but to press forward into the Citadel, without reinforcements from either faction, there was no way the Verdict would be able to press on.
The crusaders passed through Aldur’thar, then south through the Valley of Lost Hope, and finally made their final approach towards Justice Keep. The new hold for the Argent Crusade within Icecrown. Crusaders Pinnacle, still the only complete structure, stood high above Mord’rethar, watching over the pass into Icecrown. The comfort of a simple tent was overwhelming to most of the Crusaders, all which took down their meals and settled into soft woolen mats and covers to regain what energy they could. Tirion had announced just as the Crusaders arrived, that they would be pressing onward to New Hearthglen, and making use of the docks there to return to the Eastern Kingdoms.
Tirion had plans for the Crusade, though he would not yet share to the rest what exactly they were. All that had been said, was that they would be returning to the Plaguelands, and finishing what they had started. Eastern Lordaeron would be reclaimed, and cleansed. Baranthore, having few other plans, did have one thing to handle before his final departure. Weeks before, he had parted ways with Steadfast, destined to lead the march onto Icecrown Citdael, and leave the matter of cultists to his companions. No word, since that day had made it’s way towards the citadel regarding their progress.
Tracking Steadfast, and making his final goodbyes was all that mattered now, and with Tirion’s permission, he set off towards the Argent Tournament, determined to catch news of their location and progress. Still, even further in his mind was his pressing desire to find his daughter, still believing her to be in the hands of the cultists. It was in Steadfast’s hands to save her, and the rest of the children that had been taken, and it would be something Baranthore, would never allow to be forgotten, until his daughter was once safe in his arms.
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