It is once again time for us to take stock of what we have and think about our way forward. All members are expected to read this post and answer the questions at the end. This is critically important for us and will influence upcoming decisions.

Welcome to the new Ebon Flame front page. Following a massive amount of work by Jadenn and Kinta, this should now function more like a portal to easier reach all the most used parts of the website. I'll briefly discuss the changes:

• This central news section will no longer be used for role playing stories. Instead, we will use it to better communicate important announcements or forum topics which everyone should take note of.
  
• In the top left corner we feature our current recruitment status and supply a few convenient links to make it as easy as possible for people to apply.
  
• Right underneath that, you will see all the upcoming events. To sign up for any of those events, just click on it and it will take you directly to the raid calendar. From now, all non-raid events should also be added to the raid calendar to make these events clearly visible here on the front page.
  
• Lower down, also on the left side we have a new role playing section. We will use this to frequently feature some of the amazing stories and backgrounds our members write. A link will always be added to the end which you (non-members as well) can use to read the entire piece.
  
• Finally, in the bottom left corner, we have the Hall of Flame. We will use this section to acknowledge the members who perform particularly well during a raid (the Flame of the Night).

Ulduar's secrets and mysteries do not hold the Flame up for long.

Our march to the hiding-place of Yogg-Saron proceeds ... eventfully.

Kinta and Maelor continues talking quietly while the people of the Flame gather. Maelor is still holding the large Naaru hammer in his hand, as if it had only just been used. As the noise dies down they turn to face the crowd. Maelor rests the head of the hammer on the ground while still holding the hilt in his hand.

I thank you all for coming, and welcome to Ulduar. I’m sure most of you have been here several times to explore the ancient halls of the titans, but the picture has changed dramatically only a few minutes ago.

Thorim the Stormlord had finally awoken from his stupor, only to walk straight into a trap set by his brother Lokin. Now both Thorim and the proto-drake broodmother have been captured and taken into the depths of Ulduar. Through our attempts to gain the alliance of the Storm Giants, I fear we have made a far worse enemy.

We have been focussing so much on the war against the Lich King we didn’t even notice the slow corruption imposing itself upon us. This ends now! Our War Commander will instruct us on how we must prepare for our journey into the dark depths of Ulduar. Ebon Flame has to mobilize at once and prepare for war.

Kinta quickly steps forward and starts talking in a hurried voice.

Folks, we must prepare for the worst. We do not know what horrors await inside and fighting a hidden enemy often proves disasterous. With the little time we have Telsadar, Chess, Sofi and Faela will drive every fighter to perfect his form, every mage to study the most ancient of magic and every arrow to hit the mark. Sienn, Xenier, Friya, Carenne and Verannion, led by Grandmaster Heba, will ensure our armour is strong, our blades are sharp and our elixirs are potent. From information gathered by Sessiah's skirmishes, Ravincal will formulate strategies and Perlin will ensure the treasury is ready for war.

Each of us has a part to play now. We do not wish for this, but it is something we must do. Ebon Flame has always protected Azeroth against the greatest enemies, and so we shall do again!

Maelor nods at Kinta and starts speaking:

We go to cleanse the taint this place leaves on the world and to free our allies and us from its corruption. Perhaps we will find powerful treasures or ancient knowledge to take with us for the final assault on Ice Crown Citadel.

Let the cries of the Flame drown away the silent whispers!
Let the spirit of the Flame clash violently with the evil hidden below!
Let us remind the world why we must stand together.
For all life on Azeroth!

FOR THE FLAME!

Three dwarves casually sitting together lost in conversations of their origin and the titans. Each holding, with a steadiness rarely seen in battle, what seems to be a bucket full of some or other liquid, the smell of which will instantly rob an elf of his senses. The conversation is frequently interrupted by an outburst of laughter, swiftly followed by the clash of three buckets, a rehearsed cheer, and suddenly Friya, Ilathud and Kili start talking at the same time. So it continues and judging by the pool on the floor, all should be well. Yet somehow… it isn’t.

“It is hopeless, give in.”

It is difficult to tell whether it is a special chair, designed to perfectly support a very small man reading a book, or whether everyone should start running in an attempt to avoid the blast. Fenmapus hurries around it, rapidly making adjustments, then standing back to appreciate his own handy work, only to be followed by more adjustments and the inevitable addition of more “features.” Meanwhile, several people gather around the unknown device and even though they can’t possibly appreciate the intuition applied or perfection of design, it is already clear to them that it will be another engineering masterpiece, if it doesn’t kill them before they get the opportunity to label it as such. Yet somehow it seems flawed.

“Give in to your fear.”

A small group of people are gathering near the front, preparing for yet another excursion to the Halls of Stone. Selantaeu’s finely sharpened blade flashes in the late afternoon sun as she turns to see if the party is assembled. Annaelia’s quiver is already stocked again, after the morning’s target practice. Sofiana effortlessly calls upon the power of the light to strengthen her allies while Vynna opens a portal to shorten the journey. Jadenn, already with blades unsheathed is ready to enter the portal and start the battle. They have become powerful after years of guidance by the eternal flame, yet for all their preparedness, somehow they lack determination.

“You are a pawn of forces unseen.”

ENOUGH!

Everyone abandons what they are doing and stares at Maelor with confusion. Maelor slowly stands up from the chair and starts making his way towards the door. He suddenly halts, turns around and speaks with a loud voice, before disappearing out the door:

Meet me at the Temple of Wisdom. We made a mistake.

Dust swirled around the frozen chamber.



At it's heart stood a dark, smouldering figure, surrounded by a halo of allies. As the dust and fog cleared, the ancient dragon spirit roared a final measure of defiance, then lay still. Sapphiron was no more.

Since challenging their former leader on the slopes of Naxxramas itself, the Flame believed him fallen to his death. But the appearance of shades of Thalos and Calia gave both confusion and hope. For were he dead, was this a new beginning or an end? It turns out the answer was both.

Flying down far below, the forces of the Ebon Flame fluttered down to the snowy surface, wings beating in the air. There was no trace of a corpse, no body, just an inky stain on the snow. And driven far beneath the ice, the broken body of the former Flame lord, former death knight of Arthas, suspended in a dying trance, barely visible. Kneeling at the edge of the hole created, Ilathud, Sejavictrix, and the other fallen knights, lost without their master.

Silence fell, but then footsteps made them turn. Still walking ahead, the figures of Calia and Thalos approached, still stepping down that imaginary staircase from the citadel above. Their feet hovering above the snow, they pass over the hole, standing near it, and turn to kiss. Their kiss envelops them in light.

Silence again, but not for long. With a hissing sound, the ice around the hole starts to shift, the couple slowly sinking down into it, apparently unaware. As they sink, so the other figure rises, until both meet a few scant feet below the ice. The pair cease their caress, and turn. The lady frowns, and takes one of the crushed hands of the fallen knight in her own, looking to the other spirit. Thalos pauses a long while, then does the same, and together, they rest a hand on the darkened helm. The scene shimmers as the light of the spirits glows, and moves together. Then they fade, and all eyes rest on the figure below.

With a sucking heave, the breastplate moves....
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Standing, stern and unbeaten, two days later, Thalos looked on the drake with the rush of victory still seething in his veins. ¨I have defeated you, worm. Your magic is no match for mine. And together, reunified, my people will make you and your lords pay for the time you have stolen from me.¨

He looks towards Kel'Thuzad's chamber.

¨But first, we must wrest control of this citadel, and take it away from his use once and for all.¨

With a laugh, he turns, and looks over the living faces of those he once called kin. He knows it will never be the same. But they are loyal, and he is strong, and in these times, of all times, that would serve. The rest could come.

Greetings lads and lassies.

*the old dwarf sighs heavily, placing a much larger, more dangerous looking gun on the table, rimmed with ice from a recent journey deep into Icecrown. Leaning on his fists, he speaks again*

Well yer all knew it was coming. We've done our bit, spreading among the forces of the Alliance in this godforsaken hole. And I'm sure in many a tavern the Flame's name is mentioned as one of the strongest forces for good in the continent. But slowly, we must now withdraw and consider our own goals, band together, and act as one for good. A unified force once more!

There is much to do. I've learned of late from Commander Urik, leader of the gryphon forces at Wintergarde, that a powerful Deathknight was seen visiting the citadel of Naxxramas. From his description, it might be Thalos. I wish we had more time but... if we are to have any hope of reclaiming him, perhaps this is our only chance.

The forces around Icecrown are too strong for us to enter and survive. We cannot wait, and go there. We must strike now. This will serve two purposes - the first, to give us a greater chance of recovering our leader, and second, to aid the hard pressed alliance forces nearby.

So prepare yourselves. The ride to the citadel of Naxxramas will be long, and tough, but we will prevail!

*the dwarf raises his hands, and bangs the butt of his gun on the table* For the Flame! Soon, the lord will return.

*a tear in his eye, he turns, tired looking, and marches down the dais toward the group, ready to lead them north from Valiance Keep*

*the dwarf speaks, a scribe copying his words for those who are not present, so that all may hear the message and understand its meaning*

A long time ago, the Flame was born. And in the merest speck of time it has existed have we carried its standard into battle. And within that speck, we have journeyed far... so far it feels like a lifetime.

*sorrow fills his face*

And some of that journey has been very lonely, indeed. It is nigh on a year since Thalos was lost to us, drawn by the pull of the Lich King. Unexpected, sudden, through some magic we have only recently come to understand. His connection to the spirits of the flames past sufficiently strong for him to be drawn to that evil lord through it, drawn by the hundreds of dead warriors now in his service. Warriors whose heart beats no more, but who once shed their blood and every ounce of their strength in service as we do.

*he stands up straighter, and a fierce light fills his eyes* You know that we cannot sit and wait for Thalos to return. He will not. You and I have known this since I journeyed there, and was almost slain - his own adopted kin. Only by virtue of the help of the mage Lokara, the wise Maelor and others within the Flame was I able to understand enough of the strange magic twisting his heart to survive. To take one moment to steal from him what we could not allow to exist - his connection to all of us. That day, we saved ourselves, but our work was not done. It will not be done, until as one we try and reclaim him. For the sake of the guild, for the sake of friendship... for the sake, perhaps, of Azeroth itself we must deny the Lich King one of his prizes.

This process has been long, but it is now upon us. Illidan is slain. We have, with great fortune, wrested from him the trinket of Tyrande, and may its power be held safe in our prophets hands. We must all now band together, and drive the Flame north - deep into the occupied lands of the Lich King, deep into his fortress, to Thalos himself and force our own magic upon that black connection and break it asunder.

*the voice of the dwarf grows, taking on some of the characteristics of Thalos's great speeches, swelling with the spirit of the Flame in him*

My friends... it is time for the final phase of our time. Here begins our time in lands of dark and ice and cold. Here begins the Ebon Redemption!

*the dwarf stands with arms aloft, and gestures behind him. From the shadows, a figure walks, dressed in flowing dark midnight blue robes. Tossing back her hair, she nods slightly to those present, and then turns, with a flourish, cracking her staff to the floor. From the crack billows water and ice, which swiftly grows into a torrent that swirls and hardens over the barren wall of the guild hall, sweeping away all in its wake. At the center glows a small portal, which slowly widens, to show a barren snowfield, a rocky outcrop in the distance. With a small smile, she turns to the dwarf, who nods, and steps forward, his gun resting on his shoulder. He turns to the others, and nods slowly, assessing their strength, before turning back and vanishing through the portal.*

The dwarf watched, still sighting down the triple barrelled rifle at the bloodied and mauled form of Illidan the betrayer as he prepared to fire again. Yet with a final insult at his killers, the winged figure gasped and sagged to the floor, blades spilling from his grasp. Dust flew up from his fall, and then the temple summit was curiously silent, for a few, ponderous moments, until the armies of the Flame cheered in his ears with their familiar cry.

Slowly lowering the gun, the dwarf staggered forward, his skin and armour dark from burns. Approaching the slowly gathering crowd around the corpse, he nodded grimly, kicking it with his boot, then turned to the assembled group.

“Well lads, its done. I knew yer would do the Flame proud.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m not one for speeches, I can’t say the words like the elf, but well done.” His old eyes rimmed a little with tears. “We’re a step closer to ‘im, and its been a long, long journey”.

Gathering himself and turning to the corpse, the dwarf carefully searched the body, a quivering feeling inside him as his spirit charged senses picked up tendrils of magic emanating from the body. There! He spied a pouch around the tragic figure’s waist, and carefully cut it free. Hands trembling a little, the flames around him peering close, he opened it.

White light shone forth, tinged with a rose hue, a warming, calming light that made his heart ache as it also healed his soul. The small trinket in his hand pulsed softly, and the power of its simple magic flowed through him. This was it… it was actually here. So much talk, so much rumour… now finally proved true.

He rose, on unsteady legs, and turned to the group. Holding it up, he smiled, for the first time in many days. “Look! It is as the witch said… the Memento of Tyrande… ours. And with it, the power to free Thalos from the Lich King’s grasp.”

Dorgan turned to the prophet Maelor, and slowly handed him the trinket. “This is to be in your keeping, lad… none deserve it more, none have sought him harder, and none can bring its power to bear more than you. It is the symbol of love that we sought."

Turning to the group, he spoke louder, the notes of elvish lords echoing in his gravely voice as the spirit of the flame rose up within his breast. “Friends, we have scored a great victory. A legacy for our time carved into this barren land. Now, we must work not for our survival, but for our lost soul. We must bring the might we have found in this world to bear on the shores of the old one, to drive a path of fire deep into the icy cold of Northland, and bring the truth of the three symbols to bear against Thalos’s bond with the Lich King.”

Fire lit his eyes, and a muscular arm lifted his rifle. “Tomorrow night, we will celebrate, and pause to remember what we have done in the last year. Then, the next chapter begins”.

The assembled group nodded, and began the weary task of stripping the area of useful items before the magicians set about destroying the temple summit, and the broken demon atop it, once and for all, diving through their portals the moment the work was done. As the stones burned and fell, the dwarf looked back, the scene shimmering and fading as the portal magic faded, and he felt relief.

“Nothing can stop us… not now.” For the first time since Thalos disappeared, he felt real hope.

*In strong, dwarven script, angular and harsh*

Yet again I sneak into this cold, empty office to pen these words in the book of the Flame. My old hand shakes. Around me, his aura is palpable. Even though I know his physical form is miles away, my instincts know his thoughts still linger here. I see his eyes, dark, alien, no longer glowing as they once did with the fire.

At our last confrontation, he told me it was hopeless. The cold words sank deep, yet I sounded brave. Hearing my own voice in my head, I wonder that anyone was convinced.

And yet, they seem to be. The last few months since the passing of Thalos from these halls have been a great struggle. Against enemies without, and within ourselves. Yet we have prevailed - although some have fallen. I write their names here so we can recognise them.

Talithe. Lorf. Meiniteshade. Sofiana - although I understand it is more of a long trip than a departing, in her case, for which my heart is glad. Others who have more recently been injured or tired. To them all, we owe a great thank you. Their woundings, their struggles, their pain... while it feels like loss now, we see their contributions around us.

Since the War Commander's last missive, I have watched mostly from the sidelines, my physical strength drained by the confrontation with Thalos. What I have seen has been impressive. Good resolve, dedication, and fury - all bent toward gaining power. Power with purpose - for only a powerful, united force can challenge the Lich King's dominion over our former leader. And as I and Lokara, the ice witch, have discovered, much of that hold can be broken. If we find the right levers, and apply them. I was not able to do it alone, and now I know why.

Lokara has suggested that all of us have three key emotions which bind us to our loyalty. She has read all she can of Thalos's life, felt his connection with the Flame before his departing, and talked to many of him. She has studied with the loremasters and returned with one conclusion - that for him, the threads are Honour, Battle and Love. Each alone is not sufficient - hence my appeal for his honor was not successful. Nor would it be, coming from one source. Three powerful symbols of those qualities must be combined for his hold to even waver - and for it to be broken, a force more powerful still must be applied at the right moment.

My concern is that this analysis is just that, for now. We do not know what symbols must be provided, or what must be done, fully. But one thing is clear - the return of the Prophet Maelor was fortuitous, and has bound us with strength. As he returned, there was almost a click within us, and a force was unleashed. Perhaps he is the symbol of honour, the first of the three. A start, maybe.

For the other two, I do not know. Our explorations of Mount Hyjal, which were heavily disrupted by these events, are now almost complete, yet the great Archimonde remains. We are, yet, too weak to challenge such ancient and malginant evil. On another front, we have become embroiled in yet more work for the providers of our temporary home in Shattrath. The Naaru A'dal made us aware of the story of Illidan Stormrage, and his current home in the ruined temple of Karabor. We agreed to once again marshal, putting out explorations of the ancient world on hold, in favour of a current threat. On hearing the news, the ice witch who has become something of an advisor to me of late also came to us again, stating that she saw in the quest to reach Illidan something far more, or personal importance to us, and to Thalos. An item... one of the 3 symbols we seek?

Whether it was the inspiration of that, or the ever knowing leadership of Kinta, our forces broke upon the walls of the temple and sundered them. As I write, we are deep within, fighting for our lives and maybe more. A few more of the Demon lord's followers are dead, the others, held at bay as we study their nature.

I close this page with the memory imprints of these moments, in the hope that we may gain spirit from them, and renewed energy to gain the second of the three symbols that we so desperately need. Before the Lich King's hold gets too strong, as I fear it will if Thalos is allowed to complete his training.

Dorgan, Hunter and Steward of the Flame.
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Supremus:



Akama



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