The Order of the Halcyon

The official page for the -The Halcyon- A World of Warcraft Holy Guild on the WrA server.

[halcyon-wra-blog]

Pyrewood

The sounds of war filled the air. Commanders shouted orders to their units, soldiers marched in formation, and ballistae, trebuchets and catapults alike sung a blood hymn. The siege had taken days.. weeks.. months? How long had they been here? How long had the Forsaken bled them for? It was supposed to have been a quick, lightning blitz as Azurelode and Southpoint had been.. but no. The Forsaken had walled themselves off, and they had been prepared for the Halcyon's advance.

Every advance their footmen made against the Forsaken's hastily constructed palisades had been repelled with rivers of blight, fields of mines, and nigh on invisible pitfalls which sent soldiers to unceremonious graves, only for the Undead to scour the field of the fallen after the fact, resurrecting the Halcyon's chosen into more of their mindless zombies. For every Crusader that fell, another Forsaken rose. There was no mercy; there had been no mercy; there would be no mercy. In the early morning, there had been a great cry: a breach had been made in the palisade. It had collapsed in on itself, crushing dozens of Forsaken. The Halcyon's vanguard had swept in like a tidal wave, foaming and thrashing at the monstrous undead until they had broken through. Fields of decayed, distended wheat, human skulls and fresh entrails greeted them, the stench of rotting corpses invading their senses. It was all a grand show from the Forsaken, specifically designed to demoralize and disgust their living counterparts. 

Line after line of Deathguards took up formation, linking arms, locking their crude, ghastly shields together, forming a secondary shieldwall, a tertiary shieldwall, quaternary.. quinary.. senary...more and more Undead stormed into Pyrewood's streets. With a collective, thunderous roar, the first of the Forsaken lines began to maneuver forwards, the bulwark marching in unison. They formed a half ring around the breach, their swords jabbing outwards, stabbing at the Crusaders, hoping to drive them back whence they came, or better yet, butcher them like cattle. The Forsakens' ghastly lines tightened into formation throughout the narrow causeway. The semi-circle around the breach shunted, convulsing against the press of the plated Crusaders before them. Then, a bright light erupted behind the undead lines. They paused, turning, scattering to the sides, trying to see - and avoid - whatever devilry the Crusaders had concocted. The Forsaken line began to splinter. Behind them, the second line of deathguards were already marching forwards, fresh and ready for battle. Score upon score of tireless, immortal soldiers filled the gaps left by those before them, absorbing shock after shock of an impending assault. The Forsaken line soon buckled under the Halcyon's thrust, undead falling in bodily heaps to the cobblestones below. At last, they buckled completely, and the Forsaken began to march back, retreating as slowly as they possibly could. They paid no heed to the screams of their brothers-in-arms as they were turned into smoldering, sludgy pools from the Halcyon Commander’s holy fire. The second line of Forsaken were practically decimated, and their formation tightened. As one great force, they continued forwards. Their focus was singular now: Kill the one who'd destroyed them so thoroughly. It was almost a perfect pincer, the Forsaken had the Halcyon’s Commander squarely between them, with nowhere to run. The Forsaken backpedaled away as quickly as they could from the Halcyon's onslaught. They scattered, falling back to try and desperately escape the oncoming Crusaders, but time and again, they fell to the charge. The Forsaken were practically in a route now, trying with all their might to- The ground was on fire. Cracks, splinters of golden magic spread far and wide, and with a collective cry, the first bulwark of the Forsaken's defense turned to ash. A bright, purple sword careened and slashed its way through their armor, score after score of deathguards slumping limply to the dirt, with very few remaining in -one- piece. 

The next two Forsaken battalions began to slowly march -backwards- away from the breach, forming a tight, collective line just behind the ruins of two tall townhouses. Their shields rose to meet the crusaders, their helmets ducked behind the macabre barricade. Their new shieldwall, a platoon of archers, had taken up formation. With a rush of snapping string, the sky blackened with dark, feathered arrows. As several Halcyon forces made their way to the unassuming wall, from under the cobblestones there came a click. The three had set off a landmine! Shrapnel, dust and blown stone sprayed in every direction. At the sound of one of their exploding traps, the Forsaken let out a collective guttural cheer, their mocking laughter echoing throughout the township. Arrows nocked against bows and bowstrings, the straining groan of bowstrings being drawn screaming out through the streets. Then,dozens of black, steel-barbed arrows soared into the sky, casting a shadow over the houses and crusaders as they arched their way up.. up.. and then down onto their heads.

Again, the Forsaken howled and hooted with laughter as the Halcyon floundered and staggered. More arrows were nocked.Then, from behind the vanguard, there came a loud, cheering roar. Reinforcements! Through the breach they marched, their shields raised to provide their ailing allies with cover from the volleys of arrows that were overtaking them. A fresh-faced captain poked her head out, gesturing towards the wounded soldiers, "Get your asses in here, boys! We've managed to break through their citadel defenses, now c'mon! We'll get you to - and through - that wall." 

With that, her face dipped back into the column, resiliently marching through the streets, straight towards the Forsaken line. Almost immediately, the Undead’s hollers and hoots were replaced with eerie, snarling silence. The Halcyon crashed against the second shieldwall, the Forsaken shields bending, but unlike the first one, they didn't break. The Undead held firm against the Holy onslaught, however, they hadn't anticipated the magical blades of Light the Halcyon’s Lieutenant Commander hurtled their way, and moments later half of that carefully prepared line crumbled to ash. By the time her magic dissipated, it was as if the Forsaken had never existed to begin with. 

The archers, seeing that half of their defenses were already falling by the wayside, began to backpedal from the fray, until they were pressed against the ring of trees which marked the town's center. Their bowstrings pulled back, and, despite one of their number being "PINGED" squarely in the forehead by a magical hammer, they loosed another volley, right into the Halcyon's back line. The archers weren't expecting the crusaders to breach through so quickly! They saw a crusader charge through the lines, and before they could even begin to reorganize into a defensive posture, their captain had taken an arrow to the eye. A Halcyon archer’s thick shaft pierced him square in the peeper, and he fell to the ground with a clatter, the arrowhead pushing back into his brain from the force of it. 

Meanwhile, his former unit was thrown into disarray, some of them dropping their bows and turning tail to flee, others trying in vain to draw their dirks and daggers, stabbing uselessly at the plated monster in front of them. 

Though eventually they regained their composure, and as a swarm they descended upon the Lieutenant-Commander, dog piling atop her, stabbing ruthlessly with their short knives. The Halcyon's backline might be safe.. but the crusader? She was not so lucky. The Halcyon's reinforcements descended upon the remaining half of the shieldwall like a wave, pinning the deathguards close to the cliffside, even as the Knight Lieutenant slammed them in the rear and stabbed wildly at their backline. Down, down the last of the shieldwall went as they were shunted and pinned against the cliffside, their armor scraping, tarnishing itself.. until finally, with a great heave, the Halcyon's soldiery -crushed- the undead under their own shields. They were dead, once more, and they would not rise again. 

The archers, meanwhile, stabbed fitfully at the Lt. Commander, clawing to get through her armor.. and then the Commander lunged towards them, slaughtering them one by one like cattle. By the time they were done, there wasn't a single Forsaken left standing. The town's center was silent.. completely, dismally silent. Until, at the last, from what could only be considered the town hall, there came a slow, steady "clap. Clap. Clap." 

A single Forsaken stepped from the doorframe, dressed in the finest garments a lord of the Forsaken could have. For those who were attentive, this was the same Forsaken they had spied during their reconnaissance, who had marched so proudly into the town with his guardsmen.

"Well.. done," he crowed out to them in broken, strained common, his cracked lips curling into a smile. "Very well done. As lord of Pyrewood and the Banshee Queen's envoy, I bequeath unto you this town.. and surrender it willingly." His smile widened, eyes narrowing. "Well.. I would, if I didn't have another ploy up my sleeve." With that, he reached for a small, shimmering crystal about his neck, clutching it intently. "You see, one of your own lot managed to do something we'd been having quite a bit of difficulty with. We just.. -couldn't- get him working. Thank you for fixing it for us." 

With a cackle, the Forsaken's grin began to falter. He coughed, spluttered, the "life" draining from his face.. and then, in a slump, he fell lifeless to the ground. Once more, the town was silent- A rumble. A tremor? As a crusader made his way towards the noble, the Forsaken's skin began to take on a sickly shade of green. Ooze began to seep from his lips, and then, with a low gurgle, the corpse -exploded- with an eruption of bile, bone and blood. The tremors grew louder, louder, pounding in the crusaders' ears. On the Lt. Commander's orders, the column of reinforcements spread out into three even groups, all around the town's center. There came a rush, as if a waterfall had just sprung.. and then, from behind the houses, towards the great sea itself, there came a low, guttural groan. 

"Grrrrgghghghghgh.." It was wet; fleshy, and hungry. Atop the town hall, a gigantic, stone hand gripped the shingles, sending them scattering and flailing in every direction. A second hand rose up to the opposing side of the structure, and with a great heave, whatever -it- was pulled itself from the ocean. Like a child leaving a bathtub, water splashed -high- over the town hall, splattering, cascading down across the streets, mingling with blood and bile. The support beams of the building buckled, snapped, and broke. The bell tower collapsed in on the hall, crashing in a metallic heap, giving way to the towering golem that had used it so carelessly. It was gigantic, standing well above the tops of the highest trees. Not since the likes of Thaddius of Naxxramas had any living mortal seen such a creation of stitched flesh and metalworking.

  It was clad in armor, a tattered cloak falling far behind its back, with a wispy white beard and -burning- blue eyes. Upon its head was a crown, and those of Lordaeron would be able to recognize it immediately: the monster's face was a bearded caricature of Terenas. Slowly, the monster marched out from the bay, his wide legs smashing through the ruins of the town hall, reducing it to little more than rubble.. and he just -stared- at the gathering. A Knight Captain’s hammer throttled towards its forehead, clashing against its metal frame with a loud, resounding "P-tink!" but the creature barely even winced from it. It did, however, get its attention. It began to move forwards.. and then, lacing around its right arm, their Lt. Commander’ golden chains wrapped up, past its bicep, almost to its shoulder. 

It gave the colossus pause, its monstrous head turning towards the chains. With a shrug, the Light shattered, crashing into a thousand tiny pieces. Its attention turned towards the Halcyon again, and with two heavy footfalls, it reached them. A Crusader’s magic sailed towards its arm, and once again, the beast took it without complaint. If they didn't know any better, the Halcyon would be forgiven for thinking it was immune to such magic. Its litchfire eyes blazed, a deep, guttural roar emanating from its core, and its left fist rose high above its head. It snarled, and with a rush of air, the fist swung down -hard- towards the Captain. The colossus' fist crashed into the pavement, creating a crater in the ground. It let out a loud, angry yowl as a Crusader began his channeling of magic, its burning gaze turning away from its makeshift pothole towards him. Its callous lips contorted into a sneer, and its right hand reached out, sweeping away at all the crusaders that stood between it and its target. Its body contorted with the motion, its left fist rising up off the ground, leaving a crushed Captain and a smushed battle-mender in its wake. 

The wispy, light blue rune atop the monster's head blazed brightly as a Crusader attempted to siphon the magic away. But even -that- seemed to falter. The rune began to blaze a deep shade of red, completely opposing its original setting.. and the Terenas Mk. 2's eyes morphed, shifting from their lichfire blue to a bloody red. They had made it angry.

  Once its sweep was complete, it stomped its way towards the Crusader, reaching out with its left hand to attempt to lift him up off the ground. The colossus didn't have the time nor patience to realize that an archer was nocking a veritable fireball onto his bowstring. There was a twang, the head jerking momentarily to see what the noise was. The monster let out a bellowing yell, staggering, letting its grip on the Crusader go. It stumbled, faltered, and with a crash, it tumbled backwards, right into the path that it had previously swept. 

The colossus dove where a Captain had been mere moments earlier, and let out a pitiful wail of pain as a Lieutenant’s sword dug into its neck, the soldier having leapt up onto the giant and climbed onto its shoulders. The creature once more rose up to its feet, thrashing, flailing, trying to shake him off its shoulders once more. Cannons fired, trebuchets launched their stones, catapults snapped their loads, and a hail storm of projectiles careened through the sky towards the towering monster. Rocks slammed against its face, crushing its one good eye, distending its jaw, its nose.. everything. It staggered back, beginning to slow down, to stop.. and then, with one, clean, "Ftwip!" one of the Halcyon’s archers’ arrows landed squarely in the center of its rune. Its arms fell to its sides, and like a tin soldier, it began to fall backwards. The colossus landed in a heap in the center of the township, limp and dead. They had done it. Pyrewood was conquered.

[halcyon-wra-blog]

Terminus: The Point of No Return

In the early hours of the morning they had broken camp, the sounds of newly unloaded horses and marching footmen echoing throughout their makeshift dockyard. In the span of a week, Azurelode Mine had become a veritable harbor, with repurposed wood and metal from transports and felled Forsaken defenses alike fashioned into crude moors for their warships in the bay. Today was the day; the long march.

What a day it was. Clouds covered the gray sky, pattering rain coating armor, horseback, weapons and crates alike. Their captains had given them their marching orders, and in rank and file they marched out of the safety of the shoreline camp. They had been the first to leave, the last of the vanguard clearing the mine before the first of the battalion sergeants had even awoken.

Through mud, muggy weather and a downpour they marched through the Hillsbrad Foothills, keeping close to the trees and off the main roads. In the distance, the Southpoint Gate loomed like a gothic castle gateway. Shined, polished Forsaken cannons mounting its towers, indented ditches and trenches marring the cobbled Silverpine road. Gradually, as they marched behind the slick, craggy mountains that gave way to a thin, narrow pass, the ghastly structure, and all its horrors, faded from view.

Before them, the pass finally opened to reveal the valley-mouth cluttered with the white-plated corpses of Halcyon footmen, having made a mad dash for the mountain pass. It hadn't been in vain. Before them, a long, spindly trench ran the length of the pass's opening, with engineers hurriedly digging into the mud and dirt, shoveling it in piles up onto the no man's land. The toops hurriedly donned the gas-masks they had been issued. 

"In! In!" One of the engineers, a heavily bearded and scarred dwarf, called to them. "Hurry! Afore the deaders get'cher knickers!" With that, his bald head ducked back into the trench, shoveling furiously. Beyond the trench, the scene unfurled in front of them: Cannonfire bellowing onto the road against the scrambling Halcyon footmen.  A captain from an unknown team stuck his head up, “Cannons got stuck in the mud. We’re on our own, right now!” Safe in the trenches, the Halcyon was able to take a moment’s breath to truly survey the hellish scene that was playing out before them. The gate was massive, towering over the them and casting the crew into cloudy shadow. Misty plumes of sickly green were rising into the air like smoke, mingling with the turbulent clouds. Cannons were mounted in each of the towers, firing their acidic blightballs onto the army stuck on the road. Archers mounted the ramparts and the mountains just opposite the road of them. “Ready… Aim…” A voice echoed from far away, enemy archers nocking their arrows to their bows, “FIRE!” And so, they released their strings, aiming straight for the trenches the Halcyon toops so desperately clung to. Just in front of the gate, a dozen or skeletal heads rose from an arcing trench and upon their faces one could clearly discern gas-masks fit snugly over the bone. They fumbled, writhing beneath the trenches, heads bopping out like a sick game of whack-a-mole as they assembled in a line within the trench. Above, the archers were drawing another set of arrows from their quivers simultaneously while canonfire continued to rain down on the road. The pounding of feet could be heard as the thunderous first wave of Forsaken footmen rumbled onto the battlefield, lifting serrated blades and scimitars high. Half had diverted for the road crew. The other half? Straight for the now Halcyon occupied trenches.

As the wave of Forsaken crashed into the Halcyon’s trench, a trio of Forsaken managed to burst through the the lines and down into the shallow fortification.. Each three landed and turned to face the Halcyon forces. In each of their hands a crude barreled gun of sorts were wielded. Though, these were no ordinary guns. Attached to the butt of each gun was a hose, glowing bright and green, snaking  toward taut sacks strapped to the backs of the deaders. With a nod, in unison, they unleashed the acidic blight from the nozzles of their guns, attempting to spray any unfortunate enough to be inside or close to the trenches.

A small group of Halcyon soldiers broke away from the melee, rushing to the friendly cannons bogged down in the muddied earth far down the road. Rope and chain were lashed around one of the cannons, with the other sunken so far it would be impossible to move. With a grunt the men got to work. Some wrapped their hands around the ropes, tugging the cannon forward, while another two were behind, pushing. The cannon’s wheels groaned with the effort, slowly being freed from the muck and mire and trudging up towards the battlefield.

The Forsaken Footsoldiers spread their numbers out through the ranks, meeting the Halcyon forces blade for blade and pouring into the  trenches. Out in the distance, a rumble could be heard… The sound of thunder as it rolled through the Western hills.

Sound was everywhere… Thunder, cannon fire, arrows whizzing overhead and thunking into the ground, and the sweet sound of battlecries.

The clouds overhead darkened, rumbling and cracking in the swirling clouds of grey-and-green and shaking the ground beneath their feet. The chartreuse mist had been sucked up into the clouds, but why? Lightning struck, and the rain began to pour, expelling the toxins it had so easily consumed moments before. Meanwhile, a small group of soldiers from the Halcyon had managed to break through the battlelines, making their way up towards the Forsaken’s wall. Grappling hooks in hand, they began to make their way up the sheer, stone surface, heading straight for one of the undead’s cannons.

The ground beneath their feet continued to shake, and the thunder overhead turned into the thunder of hooves as ten wagons carrying cages and cages of risen Ghouls trudged their way down the road in a caravan of horse-led trailers. Behind the trailers, two hulking silhouettes could be seen in the distance, and the patter of boots on the ground signalled a small army coming their way. Judging by their direction, they’ve just come from Ambermill. The rain continued to pour, though the acid had long since been expelled from the clouds. This? This was just normal rain, pattering off stone and shield alike, wiping away the blight and carrying it into puddles at their feet. The undead were gaining on them, and the Halcyon were falling like flies. The wagons halted at the gate, the riders hopping quickly from their steeds and running to the wagons, flinging open the doors to the rusted cages. The ghouls fled, piling out of the wagons in a wave. They ran through the gates, meeting the Halcyon head on. Some mindlessly shuffled past the soldiers at the front, joining the fray of foot soldiers on the battlefield. Others remained behind, turning their clawed fingers and snapping jaws onto the Halcyon forces.

The hulking silhouettes materialized, and two giant abominations thudded their way into the fray, meat cleavers poised and heaved in heavy, deadly swings. Four arms adorned each abomination, each wielding some form of crude weaponry such as cleavers, scythes, maces, or even logs.  The marching soldiers behind quickly scrambled into position, lifting shields high and forming a phalanx-esque shield wall. Their towering shields bundled together, stakes and polearms poking through miniscule gaps. The Forsaken certainly had the advantage…. Until the Ghouls in No Man’s Land turned.

“SKREE!” they cried, snapping their jaws and poking their clawed fingers into the chests and heads of the Forsaken footmen, completely ignoring the Halcyon troops as they turned on their handlers. The rogue-ghouls turned toward the presence of Light emanating from the center of the battlefield. Like a moth to a flame, they moved in droves, shambling and shuffling toward the consecrated ground, felling Forsaken in their wake, until one by one they stepped within the perimeter of consecrated ground, and melted away on their own free will.

One by one, the crusaders of the Halcyon started to fall beneath the wicked blades of the Forsaken soldiers. Their lines began to buckle, their Crusade threatening to be stopped here and now, crushed beneath the boots of hundreds of undead soldiers. Then, suddenly, there was a burst of light. A great golden dome spread out over the battlefield, wreathing the human soldiers in blessed light and causes the dead to recoil in alarm.

Once limp fingers twitched, numb legs bent, cracked necks and sliced throats mended.. The Halcyon's army, be they footman, engineer, cavalryman or gunman, began to rise from their shallow, dirt-filled graves. They were whole, and for the briefest of moments after they had awoken from their denied slumber their eyes glowed a soft gold. The Undead may have called down another horde to challenge the Crusade.. but the Crusade itself had risen again to meet it.

The soldiers surge forward once more, renewed zeal steeling themselves against their unliving foe. The Halcyon cannon sends a reply back into the Forsaken, a shot sailing through the air and colliding into a crippled tower. The tower groans as the last few bricks keeping it aloft finally crumble. It careens towards the ground, taking the Forsaken cannon and crew with it. A few of the cannoneers take the risk and jump from the tower, landing with a sickening crunch into the blood-soaked battleground. The last Abomination finally keeled over and died, sploshing its blood out in little sprinkles as its fat flesh met the ground.

The entire army was up against the Phalanx now. A gap had been formed, but it was quickly closed up. They couldn’t last much longer, with the Halcyon troops pressing in. The Phalanx faltered, buckling under the pressure of the pushing Halcyon forces. Several holes had been created in their shield-wall, soldiers sticking their blades through and slicing and stabbing blindly into the gaps in an attempt to slay whatever forces they could. It was mostly successful.

The ball of shields was shrinking, as bit by bit the wall of Forsaken was starting to wear down. Each time a shield was lost, the Phalanx pressed closer together, closing the gap, leaving their sides exposed as they shrank away from the towers. Those who have shields ripped from their hands took to hefting up boulders and rolling them down the shields in an attempt to knock off their aggressors.

With their numbers dwindling, Halcyon soldiers pour through the gaps opening along the edge of the Forsaken’s disciplined formation. A trickle becomes a flood, and the blessed blades of the crusader’s find themselves stabbing into the backs of the undead horde. The battle was lost for the Forsaken. The flank causes the last strand of morale of the undead to shatter. The formation collapses, skeletal soldiers break away from the melee in a panic. Only a handful managed to slip through the envelopment, with the rest driven to slaughter by the blades of the crusaders.

The battle was won for the Halcyon, but at what cost? The number of white-garbed dead seemed almost innumerable. It would be a hard road for the newly formed Crusade.

[halcyon-wra-blog]

Operation: Endgame

“Alright boys.. this is it.” Volran's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the choppy waves and clanking, metallic gears of their transports. “We all know our orders. If we fail here today, our Crusade won't live long enough to regret it. Stick to the plan, follow your Captain's' orders, and you just might make it out of this alive. Teach these Forsaken a lesson they won't forget, Halcyon, and may the Light be with you.” With that, the comm clicked off.. and they were on their own, waiting in their bulky, armored, gnomish transport ships for landfall. With every churning wave, the ship “jumped,” its gears and cogs whirring and whining to compensate, water lapping over the lip of the vessel's raised metal flanks, sloshing down into the crew pit below. It was an uncomfortable, compact mess, with soldiers packed like sardines rather than warriors.. but perhaps that was the point. After all, their transport was just one of two dozen, and-

“-KA-BOOM!-”

A cannon shot rang out from behind them. Just one of the few several hundred – no, thousand? - they'd heard that day from their fleet, hammering into the towering walls of the Forsaken coastal fortifications, providing cover, both in the form of large smoke clouds and heavy shelling, for the transports to head inland.

At least, that was the hope. Before they'd even escaped the shadow of the Halcyon's fleet, the cannon fire had been matched with a second thunderous cry: The Forsaken's artillery. The Undead had more than just the small blight “grenades” they'd used on the Kingfish. They had cannonballs fit to bursting with blight, and for every shell the Halcyon threw at their sea wall, they fired two towards the transports. Some of them tried to escape, but they only succeeded in drowning themselves with their heavy armor. By the time they neared the beach, their two dozen transports had been trimmed down to a light seventeen.

Their transports jerked, bucked, and stopped at the shore. Outside their sardine cans, the guttural, vitriolic spat of Gutterspeak roared over the din of cannon fire. The Forsaken were preparing themselves. Horses whinnied, dogs barked and snapped.. and then.. silence. A sickly, still silence that seemed to go on for an eternity. This, perhaps, was what some might call “The Soldier's Minute,” where time all but stops and coalesces at once in one euphoric cacophony. Their last minute sane; whole; alive. After their loading ramp opened.. there was nothing but death.

The craft's pilot stood up, toying with his communicator, “T-Minus, five..” he counted, “Four… Three.. two.. one.” With the tug of a lever, their door janked, clanked, groaned, and released itself from its holdings. It flew down into the beach below, clouds of sand rising high into the air, revealing the absolute nightmare that awaited them: A battle line of Forsaken Dread Guards, dressed in royal red, replete with plague hounds and warhorses, ready to meet the invaders head on. Scores of barbed wire and entrenched pikes stabbed towards the transports, and short, quick fix defensive walls loomed near the back.

Their pilot turned towards them, gesticulating wildly towards the open bay ramp, “Go! Go! G-!” An arrow, shot from an archer behind the walls, landed squarely in the pilot's neck, his breath catching in his throat, blood already staining his white armor. He staggered, slumped, spasmed, and fell dead on their transport's floor. But there was no time for sentimentality. Already, the battle cries from the other transports rose like a hymn, the sounds of boots, paws, hooves and wings rising to meet the song of cannon shot. To either side of this concerted Hellhole, the battlements and towers of the Forsaken's sea wall rose high along the craggy Hillsbrad cliffs, the plague cannons still firing relentlessly at the fleet, just off the coast.

Arrows went wide, pinging far into the hillside as Forsaken were bashed in their fetid heads by Holy Hammers. Undead gurgled and fell into the sand as magic blasted through them, rotten gore and decayed ichor splattering across the beach. As their guts and entrails smattered the beach, Forsaken sinew turned into catalysts for explosions that rocked the entire seaboard, sand flying in chunks in every direction. An overzealous Crusader stepped forwards, and at a moment's notice, his armored form was nothing but paste, at least five of his fellows joining him in the afterlife.

A shrill cry rang out over the hills. Then came a snapping, a howling, and from behind the Forsaken line a horde of rancid plague hounds sprang out, skittering and pawing their way through the barbed fences, arrow shot and mines. They scampered, mouths slavering hungrily, and descended upon the Halcyon like a wave. They bit with cruel intent, their teeth lined with bile and etched with blight. They bit, ripped and tore, eliciting pleading screams and terrified cries from the more unlucky Crusaders.

The Forsaken assault was relentless. Wave after wave of hounds lashed out from behind the wall, the mounted dread guards all too content to wait the conflict out and let the living exhaust themselves on their pets. Overhead, the Forsaken engineers kept dutifully loading their cannons with blight bombs, their shots thundering out into the evening sky. Yet, the plague hounds were overzealous in their work, and they had accidentally triggered at least a quarter of the Forsaken mines in their charge.

The hills were covered in Undead flying and rolling down it in droves, tumbling down to the base in craggy heaps. At the top, two death guards holding tight to plaguehound leashes, were there to greet them. The dogs snapped, barked, and finally, the death guards simply let them fly. They bore down on the Halcyon, jumping and chomping at plate like it was aluminum foil. They thrashed, their necks jerking side to side, wrestling like they were in a death spiral.

Just as the Forsaken charged, a giant ball of Light flew headlong at their cannon. It shot through the air with a burning light, hissing, fizzing, sparking like a Fourth of July firework. It screeched headlong into the cannon, hitting it square with a thunderous "BOOM!" that rivaled any of their ship's cannon shots. The metal apparatus bent, groaned, and sloughed off the battlements, tumbling in a giant pile into the choppy seas below. The death guards were blown far and away, screaming as they were rocketed into the aether.

A cannon lost, the Forsaken rallied, their plague hounds retreated at their masters' whistles, scampering back behind the defensive walls. The mounted Death Guards took up their positions, blades drawn, shields ready for a charge.. and another ear piercing screech rang out across the hills, the very air taking on an icy mist, the Halcyon Crusaders' breath going cold.

The line of royal deathguards tightened, forming an inhuman wall in front of the archer line as the Halcyon's ragged line of crusaders charged towards them. Arrows nocked, bow strings drew back, "Ready!" A high, silky voice called over the din. It wasn't gutterspeak. Thalassian? "Aim!" A pause, waiting until their prey had run -right- into their line of fire. There was a glint of red, furious eyes, shrouded by a black hood. A dark ranger! "LOOSE!" With a twang, a snap, a clap, a volley of tight-knit, white feathered arrows sprang towards the oncoming charge.

"READY!" The voice called again, only to be drowned out by the clash of steel on steel. The battle had been joined, just in front of their line. The royal red of the dead guards' cloaks rising like a tide to meet the white of the Halcyon, sword against sword, axe against axe. The hounds converged, sensing weakened prey.

The death guards on top of the hill stepped forward to meet a crew of soldiers, their blades drawn.. and quickly lost to the ground as their heads fell from their shoulders from the onslaught of Halcyon soldiers. The engineers about the cannon gave each other terrified looks, and without a second thought, both rose their hands up in surrender. The cannon was silent.

"BANG!" "BANG!" "BANG!" "CLANG!" The cannon snapped, groaned, cracked and bent under a soldier’s merciless assault. By the time he was done with it, it indeed looked more like a smouldering, singed soda can than anything that could ever have been used for artillery. "Whoever did that is getting a damn -MEDAL,-" Volran's labored voice crackled over the comms, resisting the urge to let out a cheering laugh. "Excellent work, boys! -Excellent!- Reinforcements are coming in hot. I repeat: reinforcements are coming in!" And almost on cue, should any of the Halcyon look behind them, they might spy the armada of skiffs departing the motherships, trundling through the ocean towards their landing site.

A shrill scream rang out across the hills, crackling directly into the Halcyon's ears. The comm abruptly went silent, and from beyond a far hill, on some other beach along the coastline, the terrified, roaring screams of an entire regiment of the Halcyon's best and brightest rising to meet the screech. The chilly mist around the valley grew. The shrill, shuddering cry over the hills reached a crescendo, a trio of ghastly, flying revanents rounded on them. They were robed all in black, tattered robes, each clutching a scythe in hand. They swooped low, their mangled, scarecrow-esque faces contorting into wide, hungry maws as they sighted their next targets.

The death guards staggered, their lines breaking. They folded inwards, the onslaught of the Halcyon and their reinforcements all too much for them to bear. They fell in droves, regal armor clattering in dusty heaps in the sand. Archers shrieked, their arrows flying in disorganized waves as undead monstrosities ate their fill of rotten flesh. It was a slaughter, and a slaughter the Halcyon were winning.

From the pits of her fallen comrades, the dark ranger leapt up, her bowstring snapping in rapidfire patterns, neat, feathered pinpricks embedding themselves in the foreheads of those unsuspecting. She landed with a roll, interjecting herself into the sea of Crusaders, her bow discarded in lieu of two sharp cutlasses. They sang a siren's song, snapping side to side, slicing, chopping, cutting through the thinly-chained necks of crusaders before they could even reckon what had come. And not only that, but those three monstrous revenants were bearing down on them from behind.

With one voice, they let out an ear piercing roar, burning, icy breath blasting from their gaping maws, coating the back lines of the Halcyon's forces. Soldiers froze solid where they stood, looking more like popsicles than soldiers. The revenants were merciless, their shrill, freezing cries rattling across the valley, turning sand to crystalline silica, bodies into frigid cadavers, and soldiers into statues. One by one, the Dark Ranger followed up on each of their conquests, her cutlasses slicing clean through frozen flesh, coagulated blood oozing from every cut. Wait.. how was she not freezing? There, around her neck! A bright, orange glowing orb clanged against her leather armor, bouncing free from her cloak with every pirouette, every twist.

Finally, their freezing breath over with, the revenants descended to flank the Ranger, their scythes in hand, dead, empty eyes staring at their handiwork. With one body, one mind, they marched forwards, hands gripping about their scythes. Scythes rose and fell, chopping through the remaining cadre of Crusaders, harvesting them like wheat. The revenant on the left made its slow, careful march forwards. Its scythe raised, and with one cruel, downward swing, it acted to snuff the faint heartbeat out of those in his wake permanently.

The center revenant stepped forwards, spindly, boney fingers wrapped about its scythe, and trudged forwards. Unlike its brethren, it made no move to slice her or cleave. Instead, its ghastly, haunted maw opened wide, wider than any jaw would allow, and the beginnings of a concerted gust of frost coiled about its charred and cracked lips.

The revenant on the right turned, marching forwards with its brothers, dead eyes locked forward. It descended, scythe raising.. and then, from the inside out, its icy exterior went golden. Its eyes flashed, mouth agape as it let out a low, shuddering vibrato roar that rose up to a tenor, then a falsetto, until the creature practically -POPPED- from a Light overload cast by one of the Halcyon’s Knight-Captains.

The ranger yowled, recoiling away from the pain of the Light inflicted by the Halcyon’s Paladins. She scampered away, rolling her shoulder, shaking the pain off. Her red eyes flicked from the Halcyon to the revenants, then back again. "I let you get away once, pigs. I'm not about to make the same mistake twice." She dashed away, her light footfalls padding against the sand.. only to feel the flat end of a blade slap against her ankles.

Her arms threw out in front of her, her entire body sailing forwards with an 'Uhnf!' of effort, and she landed face first in the blood soaked sand, staggering, trying to regain her balance. She rolled hurriedly up onto her back, red eyes blazing furiously at the offending paladin and runic knight. With a snarl that showed teeth, she leapt up to her feet, drawing her swords once more, spinning, pirouetting, one slicing toward the rune-knight, another towards the Paladin.

"When will you humans LEARN?" She snarled, her legs kicking out, attempting to bash against plate, "This is our home, not yours! NEVER yours!"

The revenant on the right was violently shunted, sending the gigantic beast staggering to the left. They stumbled, colliding with one another, their frozen breath cracking against one another, snap-freezing them together. They were trapped. They couldn't move! They..! ACORN! In unison their heads looked up, and saw the small, teensy tiny little thing fall between them. Within the span of two seconds, the haunting creatures had been replaced by a giant oaken tree, their wizened, craggy faces jutting out from the bark, their scythes sticking out at odd angles.

The ranger let out a huffing a breath as soldiers charged into her, sending her sprawling onto the ground.. and then again, just as she'd tried to regain her composure, another came to knock her down. Swords went flying in either direction, arms going wide to either side, her body "puff"ing into the soft sand beneath her. Swords, bird pecks, punches, nails.. it was all she could do to bring up her arms to try and ward off the blows.

She felt a sword descend upon her neck, driving clean through her pendant.. and straight into her heart. Then slowly, almost peacefully, her arms fell to her side, no longer even deigning to resist. Instead, her red eyes gazed peacefully up at the paladin, druid, crusader and she smiled.

"We.. will.. never.. surrender," she blurbed, congealed, black blood oozing from her lips. "We will fight you.. wherever is needed. We will.. kill you.. we will.. never.. give up.. our homes.." Gingerly, sickly, her left hand reached to the pendant, which began to crack and splinter around the sword, glowing a bright, rich amber color.

"Glory to the Forsaken.. Glory.. to.. Sylvanas.." Her eyes widened with manic glee, and the pendant began to let out a soft chiming. The light growing more and more intense, the noise ringing in their ears. "We will.. never.. be.. slaves-" The pendant blasted the ranger to smithereens, and, hopefully for her, might just take some of them with her. Yet, the Halcyon prevailed. They had won. They now had their foothold in Hillsbrad, and it was only a matter of time before they expanded further inland.

[halcyon-wra-blog]

Please join us as we spread the teachings of the Holy Light and its peace! Sunday, June 10th at 6 PM Server! 

[halcyon-wra-blog]

Journey to Hillsbrad

Orders had been given to every member of the Halcyon to meet at the Stormwind Harbor promptly at six bells the morning. As our groggy soldiers haul their armored bodies upon the loading dock and onto the ship, many a worker stopped to turn their eye upon the vessel and wish them a final good-bye. “Damn fools off on another Crusade… How many times’ve we seen it happen, eh, Brutus? By the Light, most of ‘em look like damn kids…” Wary well wishers be damned, the Halcyon had a job to do, and with a hesitant gaze upon the relative peace that is Stormwind, some hundred or so of our crew boarded the Kingfish with heads held high and hopeful for the change they were about to bring. 

Few grew sick over the passing days as the ship endlessly rocked to and fro upon the gentle warm Eastern Kingdom seas, hurling their rations into the sea with the sound of retching punctuating the eardrums of anyone unfortunate enough to be on deck. Even more grew restless as the journey finally legged its way to a close. It was nearly time. Erienne stood at the helm to address the crew, “Alright men, we’re comin’ up fast and hot on the shores of Hillsbrad. Crows Nest reports no enemy movement, and it looks like we’re clear to disembark in---” A shrill cry came from above, cutting Erie short, “CAPTAIN. Enemy vessel spotted in the north!” 

Black sails on the horizon peeled through the mist like a hand through a curtain. Then, the figurehead came into view: a gray skull, with horns curling like vipers at either side and a pile of jagged spikes adorning the crown like some kind of demented mohawk. Several jagged wooden spikes shot out from the beak and hull of the ship. The veil of fog lifted slightly, revealing the tattered and worn royal purple sails. No distinguishing flag was run. No telltale skull-and-crossbones stitched upon sable cloth. Several skulls the size of an entire borean mammoth littered the enemy gunports, sticking their cannons through the eye sockets and training them directly on the Kingfish and her fleet. Click, click, click the cannons trained, only to meet the crew with silence. 

Click, click… KABOOM. The cannons exploded into life, and the roaring whistle of gun-stone filled the air. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Unrelenting cannon-fire sank their weight into a neighboring ship. Screams of terror and agony lit up and filled the cloudy sky with the sounds of bodies and debris splashing into water. Some managed to scratch their way to the Kingfish, howling for rescue. Most sank into the sea with the weight of their armor dragging them down. 

The sound of cannon-fire echoed around them as the Kingfish returned fire. The Forsaken ship had several holes blown through the hull, water pouring in and causing the ship to sway. Several void explosions (sent by void infused arrows) above the deck sent enemies flying through the air and landing into the waters below…. Except five. Five putrid, raggedy, undead soldiers flopped onto the deck of the Kingfish, somehow with sword still in hand. Quickly they sprang, and launched their assault on the first available soldiers, swords raised high. The cannons had been steadied again, a swift succession of booms sailed over the decks of the Halcyon, whistling past the ears of her crew. 

The Halcyon had successfully avoided the five undead that had landed on their ship, sending them to permanent death. The Forsaken vessel remained, however, leaking water from various cannon holes. The ship inched closer still, the faces of the undead momentarily glancing up toward the sky. It darkened, thrusting the Kingfish and her companions into a near night-like state. The clouds and fog had already hidden the sun from view… But this, this was different. A wriggling mass was working its way toward the Halcyon, blotting out all but the last hopeful rays the sun attempted to cast down upon them. Then, there was the thunderous sound of flapping wings and agitated chirping. 

The mass drew nearer, dark and haunting, ripped and frayed leather wings beating against the sky. Astride the back of every ghoulish bat was a rider, little green baubles criss crossing over their chest and twinkling ominously in the darkness. The first jar fell, clattering against the deck of the ship, unbroken, chartreuse swirls of sticky goop glowing ominously in the shade of wings. Next came the volley of arrows.The bats swooped and screeched,  swarming the Kingfish and her fleet. Crewmen were lifted by their shoulders, taloned toes ripping into flesh and spraying any nearby in a fine mist of blood and saltwater. The bodies were discarded into the sea, great pools of red now staining the inky black water as it roiled and frothed in agitation. The plonking sound of arrow thunking into wood beat against the deck like a heavy rain, littering the planks like little stalagmites. 

The bats swooped by, not exactly dropping their entire payload on this fly-by. The single jar that had been dropped on deck rolled noisily down the hull, until it clacked against the captain’s door. At first, nothing seemed to be happening. Though, after a time, a faint hissing could be heard… And a voice calling from below. Why could they hear the voice? It was almost as if there was a hole there! “Light damn it all, they’ve got BLIGHT BOMBS.”   

As the crews attention had been diverted to the flying monstrosities, the enemy ship inched ever closer still. Silently, it smoothed its way over the waves, coming up hot on the front of the Kingfish. Several hooks on rope were thrown over the side, clattering on the deck and hitching to the hulls. As soon as one rope made contact, the swarm began. Whatever was left of the slightly sinking enemy vessel crawled and clambered like sick little monkeys over the rope. Three more hooks were latched, carrying wave after wave of putrid body. At this rate, the Halcyon would be overcome

The retaliation was fierce. Glass jars rained down from above, crashing onto the deck. The Kingfish wasn’t their only target. The neighboring ship’s cries could be heard as blight-bombs and bats alike descended upon them. A glass jar collided on impact at the helm. There was a small explosion, and then a scream. The captain ran forward, sticky vile goop clinging to his features and dripping down the front of him. At first his eyes bubbled like a cauldron, before they popped, spraying puss and blight alike down the front of his cotton shirt and exposed chest. A hole had formed in his head, by now, and the poor body slumped onto the floor of the ship. At least he was dead and could no longer feel the acidic burn that tore through his skin like a fire consuming paper. 

As the bats rounded back around, pelting the group with arrows, blight-bombs, and the like… There was an explosion, spookily close to the Kingfisher. Upon investigation, one would find a blight bomb had erupted on the Forsaken’s OWN ship. The grenade exploded, snapping the ship in two and taking it beneath the water. 

Finally, it seemed like the Halcyon was coming out on top. -Most- of the fleet remained upright, even though there were hissing holes in their ships, and a bat was stuck to the side of their hull… Twitching slightly in its death throes and beating its wings weakly against the boat. The rest of the bats got siphoned off by the remaining fleet, and their bodies fell to the sea. The forsaken fleet had been quelled. 

The sea was a mass of bodies, both friend and foe alike. Blood, gunpowder, and traces of plague lingered on the stilling waters. Debris littered the ocean. Bits of wood, shafts of arrow, torn and tattered cloth from sail and soldier alike wafted in the waves lazily like a rubber duck in a bath. The sky had brightened, no longer polluted with the blot of wing and fog. A gentle breeze had long since blown the clouds away. It was as if the Light itself was shining down upon our victors, bathing them in a warm embrace. The sun kissed the cheeks of the survivors merrily, and the sea whispered quiet confirmations below. 

They made it.

[halcyon-wra-blog]

The Halcyon hosted our first Guild Mixer event this last Sunday! In total, we had around 40 people show up! Special thanks to <Northgarde> and <House Harthfolde> for your attendance. We look forward to hosting many more for anyone curious in <The Halcyon>! 

[halcyon-wra-blog]

This wasn't how he'd planned his day going. The Halcyon made their preperations to move out, armor clattering and shoulderbags slung, Volran watching them from the battlements of Halcyon Keep. “I should be going with them,” he thought, face contorted into a pout behind his steel casket. “But noooo, someone's got to stay behind and offer “guidance.” Oh, yeah, I can do that. I can do that while I'm killing deaders too.” Resignedly, the Paladin shook his head. There wasn't any use arguing or over analyzing the point in his head. He had a job to do; they all did. He watched the column march from the keep, taking their sharp right towards the Westfall bridge and out of sight. With one last, disappointed sigh, he turned on his heel and clomped back to the command room. Stepping up to the dais, two gloved palms rested on the planning table, upon which rough etchings and crude, outdated maps of the Hillsbrad Foothills and Silverpine Forest lay haphazardly. “T-Minus twelve minutes to arrival,” he muttered to himself, keeping a mental watch of their progress.. assuming their column the other day had been any rough assessment of their marching speed. He played lazily with his communicator, his right hand's index and thumb pinching at dials and twisting knobs. The frequency on the display changed wildly with each turn and twist. Good. It was working. “Alright,” he spoke up once Erie had given him the signal that they'd arrived, bringing the communicator up until it was level with his helmet, “listen up, boys. Remember the plan: your job is to make and break a route to Fenris, mapping it out as you go. Avoid engagement. I repeat: Avoid engagement. We aren't here to blast our way through, and the less noise you make, the better off we'll be for it.” His miniature brief over with, he clicked his comm off, letting out a huff as his eyes once again poured over the maps and notes he'd prepared himself with. “Commander,” Erie's voice clicked through, “hostiles inbound. Permission to engage?” From the background, Volran could hear the shrieking of what sounded to be a thousand banshees. “What the -fel- have they gotten themselves into?” He wondered, brows knitting in confusion. It took him a long moment to reply, with the screeching growing ever louder the longer he waited. That simply wouldn't do. “Permission granted,” the reply finally came, and, from the sounds of it, not a moment too soon. He had been keeping track of their time and location from their communicator signals, watching as the pack made their impressively stealthy maneuver around the Southpoint Gate, and their approach on the Ambermill. He had brought the comm up again to speak, and had begun to give them another advisory, when all of a sudden, the blips on his own comm vanished. Radio silence. “Halcyon? Come in.” He ordered, tweaking at his comm once again, “Halcyon, come in.” Nothing. Complete silence. Well, there was only one thing worth doing in a situation like this. Snatching up his helmet and sword, he dashed out of the command center, storming down the stairs of the keep and off to the side room which would've been their extraction destination. The portal had already been opened. Good. The mage was efficient. Plonking the tin can again onto his skull, unsheathing and readying his blade, Volran leapt through the Arcana and into the dingy, dark forest of Silverpine. And it was hell. Not ten minutes after he'd jumped through and set up his position, there came a roar, a shout from the township ahead of him, and he saw a group of figures running his way. Cautiously, he readied his blade.. no, not undead. The Halcyon! He raised his sword up in greeting, “What took you boys so long?” He called, “I was.. waiting..” The sword slowly drooped as he saw just -why- they were running. “Fuck me running,” he muttered, sidestepping to give the oncoming stampede of Paladins, druids and soldiers their free range to the portal, “Hustle, boys! Let's move! In! In!” He gestured frantically, but it was all in vain. The mage took an arrow to the head, and the portal vanished. This really wasn't how he'd planned his day going.