| Dagaron | Date: Thursday, 2010-09-30, 3:15 AM | Message # 1 |
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| During the campaign of Arthas Menethil and his voyage to Northrend, there was a footmen named Dalieneius Talford.
Dalieneius served as a soldier fighting in the front lines in all of the major battles leading to Northrend. He was of decent stature and size,
coming from a long line of nobles of Stratholme. He had to watch as his city was torn apart by the plague. He had his goals set as he was
rocked back and forth on the boat carrying the 10th Legion across the cold, harsh waters of The Great Sea. He had one thing on his mind,
vengeance on the malefic Dread lords. As they landed onto the shores of Northrend an eerie mist fell upon them, something was not right.
Dalieneius decided to go with a scouting platoon to find a reasonable place to set camp. As he walked through the blistering cold he could
still only think of his goal he had set on the boat. He almost did not notice the volley of arrows flying towards their group. He quickly pushed him and another scout out of the way,
just in time for the rest of the group to be struck down by the volley. As he got up readying himself for a fight, He turned and looked and
knew there was no hope in sight. A hunting party of Vyrkul numbering in at least 30. He told the other scout to report the news to Arthas,
then drew he blade knowing this was his end. In a last ditch effort to let the scout escape, he lunged himself at one of the Vyrkul,
slitting its stomach open. As he raised his sword to slice down upon the next, an arrow hit him in the back.
Quickly followed by another two, he fell to his knees. "Is this the end?", he pondered to himself quietly. He was then hit on his head and
knocked unconscious.
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| TliWaha | Date: Wednesday, 2010-10-06, 5:12 AM | Message # 2 |
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| Pretty nice. I be likin' it, mon.
ROAR.
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