May 25th 2010 4:43AM Good lord, do I die a lot. A LOT. I have died to every boss in Icecrown, sometimes multiple times in one fight. The joke in my guild is that I specced into Improved Death. Six out of five points in Improved Death. I'm generally one of the top DPS, though, so they forgive me.
On one of our early attempts at Icecrown--by this point, we were farming up to Putricide--I died on Marrowgar. I was bored, so I started playing withy camera angle. We usually keep things quiet in Ventrilo during fights, in case something important comes up. Well, playing with my camera angle, I notice that Marrowgar's knuckles are made of skulls. So, I start shouting it like a lunatic over Ventrilo--in my very thick Scottish accent--because I think it's awesome. People didn't believe me, so I promised to show them on his corpse. Of course, when he dies, he explodes.
Blood Princes on an early attempt. Tab targeting is not your friend when you follow it immediately with Living Bomb. I stole like five Shadow Nuclei from the Keleseth tank and wiped the raid.
And, of course, the time that I passed out halfway through Sindragosa and brought Ice Tomb to the rest of the raid.
Apr 27th 2010 5:32AM You can. Just get the Tier Five tokens and turn them in at the Isle of Quel'Danas for Season Two gear.
Mar 18th 2010 6:53AM I'm warning you now, this is incredibly long and includes a large conversation that has no bearing on the actual fight. But I just had to share it.
Also, look for familiar quotes...some from unexpected places.
Having secured the Pit of Saron with the aid of the Alliance and the Horde, the Argent Crusade now had access to what was formerly unthinkable: a portal directly to Arthas' sanctum. The Halls of Reflection, as a deceased leper gnome had called them. As Sylvanas Windrunner and Jaina Proudmoore both separately planned assaults on the Halls, a third figure stepped forward to lead the first charge.
Argent Confessor Paletress. The cousin of the late High Inquisitor Whitemane, she possessed the same strong faith in the Light that characterized her relative, balanced by a more stable sense of morality and justice. In her time working with the Argent Dawn and, later, the Argent Crusade, her abilities had grown far beyond those of her Scarlet sister. She had confronted two of the Lich King's most powerful Val'kyr alone and succeeded in capturing them for Tirion Fordring's Trial of the Crusader. It was no accident that she helped test potential crusaders: only the best would be strong enough to defeat Arthas...and she yielded only to the best.
She had no doubts in her abilities or those of her crusaders. And so it was that she petitioned Tirion Fordring to allow her to lead an assault on the Halls of Reflection. If the rumors were true, those twisted corridors were the resting place of Frostmourne, the sword that was now gorged with souls and dark memories. Dark memories held no fears for Paletress: they were her specialty.
As the Confessor and her entourage of hand-picked crusaders passed through the portal to the Halls of Reflection, she felt a sudden chill in her blood. She attributed it to the low temperature in the Halls, but a small part of her wondered whether the Light was trying to warn her. She was in the stronghold of the Lich King with a mere ten crusaders. What hope did they have over the master of the dead?
All her fears vanished when she saw the sword. Frostmourne. The blade that had claimed Arthas' soul and damned Lordaeron. The symbol of the death and destruction wrought by the Scourge. A mere several yards away. It was so easy: no defenses, no other entrances. She almost ran over to the sword in her eagerness before an armored hand grabbed her shoulder. She caught her breath and looked over at the man next to her. Eadric the Pure. One of Tirion's top paladins, the Grand Champion of the Argent Crusade.
"Be careful, Confessor," Eadric warned her. "This is the heart of Icecrown. We did not work so hard to lose our control so close to the finish of things. I want to see Arthas fall as much as you do, but do not approach the sword until we are sure that it is safe."
Paletress flushed slightly at his words. Of course he was right. Caution was required, now more than ever. What if the Lich King were to come at this very moment to commune with his sword? She gave the signal to her crusaders and they began to inspect the chamber for traps or occupants. After several minutes of careful, exhaustive searching, the consensus was that the Halls of Reflection consisted of a single short hallway, terminating in a round room. In the center of this room, Frostmourne turned idly in the air above a skull-strewn altar. The back wall bore the symbol of Arthas' architecture: a large goat skull, identical to that on the blade's hilt.
"Well, Confessor," Eadric grimaced, "it appears that the room is all clear. You are free to commune with the blade."
"You seem reluctant, Champion," Paletress replied. "What is the matter?"
Eadric sighed. "I just don't like it. Something feels...wrong. A simple archway was all that barred us from the greatest weapon of our foe? I simply cannot believe it would be so simple. I wish Crok were here."
"Grand Champion Scourgebane chose to help Highlord Fordring and Highlord Mograine in their frontal assault on the citadel. You know that. He felt his skills were more useful on the battlefield. What were his exact words again? 'I would rather...'"
Eadric smiled. "He said, 'I would rather fall in glorious battle against Arthas than sneak around his backdoor like a beggar.' And I'm not questioning his choice...I just wish that we had him here with us. He knows more about Scourge magic and trickery than we do. I would feel more secure about the situation if the room had also been searched by him...or one of his knights."
"We've been over this," Paletress bristled. "None of the available Knights of the Ebon Blade had proven themselves enough to rely on them for a task of this importance. If they had, I would have brought them with us. I recognize that they are an important tool to defeat Arthas."
"Yes, you do," Eadric sighed. "You see them as a tool. But what will you see them as when Arthas has fallen?"
"I intend to witness the fall of Arthas," snapped Paletress, "as well as the fall of all of his abominations. Their lives are twisted mockeries of what they once were. They will be given time to set their affairs in order, but then..." She shook her head. "We are wasting time. Every second we spend talking is another opportunity for Arthas to find us here."
Turning away from Eadric, Paletress approached the glittering blade. "I shall now attempt to commune with the spirits trapped within this twisted metal. I advise you to all stand back to avoid being affected." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and extended a hand towards the blade. Tapping into the Holy Light, she did what she did best: she opened her mind to the sins of another.
Almost immediately, she cried out and fell to her knees. The crusaders rushed to her sides, then parted to let Eadric tend to her. Light flowed from his hands into her form, easing the pained tension in her face.
"Confessor..." he began.
"I-I'm fine," she replied, slowly managing to stand. "They...they were all shouting. Screaming. It was more than I expected. But now I am truly ready to face the blade."
She turned back to the sword and gasped. A crack had appeared in the back wall. As she and the crusaders watched, the two halves slowly moved into the walls, accompanied by a horrible grating noise.
"Doors," Eadric whispered.
Striding through the now-opened doors was a figure that every crusader knew. Arthas, son of Terenas. The Lich King.
"You wish to commune with the dead?" he laughed at Paletress. "You shall have your wish." He strode forward and reached his hand towards the sword. The blade spun in the air and presented its hilt. As he grasped it, the mist in the room seemed to thicken. Then...he turned away. "Falric, Marwyn," he growled as he left, "bring their corpses to my chamber when you are through."
The doors slammed shut behind him. "As you wish, my lord," replied two voices. Out of the mist strode two figures. Captains Falric and Marwyn, close servants of Arthas in life and in death.
"Soldiers of Lordaeron," commanded Falric, "rise to meet your master's call." More figures strode out of the mist: elves, dwarves, and men. The ill-fated soldiers of Arthas' northern expedition.
"Heroes of the Argent Crusade," called Paletress, "attack!" Her troops surged forward to meet their spectral counterparts.
"I'll take the one to the right," Eadric called back, "you take the other one!" He charged forward to meet his chosen foe, a spectral knight clad in armor modeled after Arthas' own.
"Death is all that you will find here!" shouted Marwyn as he swung his blade at Eadric's head. Paletress only had time for a brief shielding spell before she turned to face her own target, a pale spectre of a man encased in plate. Even as a ghost, his physical frme was staggering and those few areas of exposed skin rippled with muscle. The Confessor began with a basic confession spell, hoping to summon a shade from the fallen warrior's past. He laughed at her as her mind was flooded with images from Arthas' culling of Stratholme.
"Men, women, and children..." he drawled. "None were spared the master's wrath. Your death will be no different." With that, he charged towards her. She struck him with holy fire and retreated a few yards. Remembering her capture of the twin Val'kyr, she bound him with a shackle spell and began smiting him with the power of the Light. Taking advantage of her foe's incapacitation, she surveyed the situation. Her assault was failing. The crusaders had defeated a number of spectres, but a great many of their forces had fallen, as well. Four crusaders now faced off against the five remaining spirits. Meanwhile, Eadric was fully occupied by his combat with Marwyn. As she watched, two more crusaders fell. She began to shake.
"Fear..." Falric noted. He grinned at her and leered. "So exhilarating." He pointed his sword towards the remaining crusaders. Thin tendrils of dark energy stretched from the blade to the champions. Suddenly, Paletress' few remaining soldiers lost all control. They threw down their weapons and fled the ghosts as the dark energy crawled over their bodies, covering their eyes and entering their mouths. It flowed down their throats as they ran wildly, colliding with each other and attacking their allies. The spirits quickly dispatched the disgraced champions and dissipated back into the mist. Paletress blinked away tears. Good men and women, thrown away on her fools' errand. She had made a horrible mistake in coming here.
Suddenly, she heard a shout from the other side of the chamber. "Your flesh shall decay before your very eyes!" cried Marwyn as his blade swept towards Eadric. The old paladin dodged the blow, but not the magic that followed it. Eadric was already considered elderly by some, but now he was aging rapidly as Paletress watched in horror. Soon, he was a feeble old man, barely able to lift his mace. Marwyn knocked him away with ease, then stalked over to the trembling body.
"Waste away into nothingness," the death knight sneered as he neared Eadric's frame.
"Hammer..." the paladin wheezed. Unheeding, Marwyn readied his sword and plunged it into Eadric's midsection.
"I saw the same look in his eyes when he died," laughed the triumphant captain. "Terenas could hardly believe it."
Eadric drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. With a final effort, he gripped his weapon and tapped all his remaining reserves. "Hammer..." he choked. "Hammer of...the Righteous!" The mace lit up with holy light and flew from his hands, smashing through the armor and body of his slayer. His final effort spent, Eadric collapsed. Marwyn fell to the ground next to him. He looked over to Paletress, who was rooted to the spot.
"Run," he spat at her. "Run to meet your destiny. Its bitter, cold embrace awaits you."
"Eadric has fallen?" Paletress breathed in shock.
"Sniveling maggot," observed Falric. Paletress turned to him in rage.
"You shall pay for this treachery!" she screamed. Tears streamed from her eyes as she blasted the snared warrior with every spell she knew. Suddenly, the shackles faded. The captain grinned and ran towards her.
Paletress fled. She was a champion of the light, one of Tirion Fordring's most trusted advisors. And she fled like a frightened child. Falric slowed as he approached the spot where she had previously stood. Kneeling, he dipped his fingers in the tears that had fallen to the floor. Staring directly at her, he licked them. "Despair..." he gloated. "So delicious." He charged once more.
Paletress shielded herself and fled from him, casting spells when she could. Her primary goal was to stay away from him. When she saw her opportunity, she stunned him with a quick cantrip and dove back into his mind with a confession spell.
"Take this time to consider your past deeds," she murmured as she pulled forth a memory. Young Prince Arthas, when he was still a paladin.
"Shut up, you damned ghost," sneered the memory. As Falric turned to deal with this new challenge, Paletress bolted to Eadric's side. Summoning all of her power, she cast healing spell after healing spell on his broken frame.
"Arise, my champion," she whispered. Suddenly, the body stirred.
"At...at your side, milady," Eadric said, trying to stand. He fell back again.
"The Light has spoken!" Paletress urged, trying to pull the paladin to his feet. He waved her hands aside.
"Nay..." he said sadly. "Nay. And I say yet again, nay." He sighed. "Not...good enough." The Grand Champion of the Argent Crusade was still once more.
A pulse in her mind alerted Paletress to the fact that Falric had defeated her summoned memory. He strode towards her once more, stopping in front of her. But he did not strike her or lift his weapon.
Paletress' heart quickened. Was it possible? She was a Confessor, after all. "Even the darkest memory fades when confronted," she told the dead soldier. She placed her hand upon his brow and summoned her remaining mana. "Be at ease."
Falric looked deep into her eyes and bowed his head. Paletress sighed in relief and dropped her hand. The battle had been hard fought and costly, but she had redeemed one of Arthas' greatest minions. It was a victory.
Her new champion looked up again, seeking her eyes. There was something in his gaze. He was looking for something. Redemption? Forgiveness?
"The children of Stratholme..." he began, trailing off. Paletress reached out a hand to soothe him. He stiffened as she touched his cheek. Suddenly, there was a blur of metal. The Confessor looked in shock at the sword through her chest.
As her vision faded, Falric's grin filled her vision.
"But...what about the children?" she asked, hoping to revive that moment of vindication. Falric twisted the blade.
"They fought with more ferocity than you."