User blog:Drannon the Heedless/Onward! To the Citadel!

The air was cold, biting, uncomfortable. Not the usual chill of Khaz Modan Drannon was accustomed to. The Dwarf marched forward with the sound of war drums repeating its cadence in the distance. Like the Argents in-ranks before and behind him he was fatigued and exhausted. Every step a reminder of the agony his muscles endured. His resilience was strong, like the others, but his mind often returned to solemn moments in his life as the citadel grew from the horizon.

“Ah’ll nay accept,” his memory recalled. “Teh do so would admit yer defeat.”  His thoughts wandered to a days prior when he sat at a campfire across from his mentor and closest friend, Roderic. The human beamed a warm smile, his visage reflecting the orange glow of the dulling flame. “She’s taken a liking to you, Drannon. I would not see it any other way.”  Roderic stoked the flames, embers spiraled upward then flickered as they returned to the earth. “It’s all that I ask… that you watch over her.”  The Dwarf furrowed his brow, his eyes focused on the fire. He released a long and drawn out sigh. “Aye, yeh’ve mah word…”  His voice trailed to a murmur before he thrusted an adamant finger toward the man, “T’is all fer naught, though. Yer walkin’ ‘ome with me, an’ all of us!”  Roderic nodded with a feigned expression of comfort. “Of course.”

Drannon pressed on across the acrid landscape. His heels began to drag with every step as they neared the citadel, its peak obscured by a sour fog and glowing blue indicative of Arthas’ risen on the near horizon. Drannon inhaled deeply through his nostrils and peered quickly between the Argents to his left and right. Their expressions remained as blank as his. Merely days ago these men and women, Hordeborne and Alliance alike, were the epitome of comradery and motivation. But today was the last stand, a reminder that echoed through the minds of many. While they charged forward to meet the Scourge mass a smaller group would make their way through the citadel, perhaps to end this incursion once and for all. Drannon, among the first few ranks, met eyes with Roderic. The man who imbued all that was strength and determination stifled his sorrow with a quick grin and sharp downward nod at the Dwarf before focusing his attention forward and poising himself in an aggressive stance. Drannon followed his gaze and toward the Scourge, tens of meters away.

“Argents, forward!” a bellowing voice roared. The footsteps of the file quickened against the permafrost landscape as every Soldier’s voice met as one grand war-cry. The clash of iron and steel brought a realization to Drannon and others:  The great battle was finally underway. Every footman spread and collected to the front line to meet their enemy.

“Wedge formation!” the formation was commanded once again with an accompanying bugle call and signal of guidons. The armies were mixed and chaotic at the front, but the Argents were determined to drive deep into the Scourge ranks. Drannon and Roderic, almost shoulder to shoulder swung and thrust through the undead hoard. Their training served as the foundation of fortitude, despite their weakened state, that helped maintain their focus until a behemoth of bone, saronite and blue light burst through the ranks. Argents from either side were disregarded with one strike after another from the unholy construct’s massive mace. Their lifeless bodies raining down atop their brothers and sisters-in-arms. Drannon charged the giant, his shield forward, hammer low and at the ready. His pace quickened as he approached the distracted monstrosity, vaulting up along its leg and discarding his shield to attain a firm grasp to assist in making his ascent. He met the creature eye to eye before bringing his hammer down onto its forehead. The thundering strike was accompanied by a white, holy light that flung the beast into pieces and launched Drannon meters away and onto his back. The Dwarf sprung to his feet as the Scourge lay scattered across the battlefield. His awareness quickly returning through the fog of war as he rested his gaze on Roderic, being raised into the air by the thrusted blades of a Death Knight. Drannon’s eyes widened upon recognition and he sprinted forward, retrieving his shield and charging the Scourge with more rage than discipline. He struck the knight with his shield and challenged its balance, driving it to the ground. Drannon mounted the fallen foe and struck his hammer repeatedly against its rotting flesh and weathered bone. Each blow met with a scream from the Dwarf until the Death Knight moved no more. Drannon gazed briefly at his fallen comrade, his mentor and brother, with a distraught look before his bearing and disipline returned. He charged back into the fray.

The great peak of Ironforge loomed in the far distance as Drannon dismounted his pack ram. Kharanos. Home. He approached a large stone-carved door and pressed against it, his footsteps too heavy to allow an unnoticed entrance. His sister, Gal’m, looked up from the small human girl at play before her and toward Drannon as he slowly lowered his frost-covered pack to the floor. Her familiar and welcoming smile broken when she recognized the look of sorrow on Drannon’s face. The young human rose from her wooden toys strewn across the shaggy bear skin rug and sprinted across the dark room to meet him. “Unky Dran!” she proclaimed as she clutched onto the Dwarf’s leg with the excitement expected of a child in her first few years. He rested his hand on her back empathetically as his welling eyes met his sister’s, reflecting the flickering fire. He shook his head slowly and wiped at his face. The young girl bent her head backward to gaze at the Dwarf with an innocent smile. “Glad you’re back, Unky!” Drannon cleared his throat and swallowed heavily to stiffle his emotion. “T’is good teh be back, Aashe. Good teh be home.”