Grim Views

(( a recount of the last moment of the final battle of season 2, it was an epic proportions battle, and a close call))

Blade's Edge arena, the battle raged on for the Irregulars. Duranor's Decapitator swung down with no mercy at a foolish rogue who had turned it's back on him. The undead rogue almost cleaved in half, his corpse fell to the floor as if hammered down with great force. Duranor felt the sharp pain of the rogue's poison, and of the relentless spells that were being fired off in the meelee. His vision, blurred by the intense blood lust that filled him when in battle, he tried looking up.

"Hmm, i must be at about half-strength, must go on... my healer, where, kharzak, no!"

Duranor looked up at Kharzak only to see him fall, in front of kharzak stood a tauren shaman of incredibly large stature. Upon the large red shoulders, bones stuck out, a very primal design, a large red helm, and a red shield...


" this is no paltry run of the mill shaman, this one had been into Zul Aman, he seems to wear ancient amani troll artifacts..."

Suddently the shaman raised his hands in front of himself, pointed directly at him. Duranor knew fear, gasping in awe, he could barely protect himself by crossing his arms in front of his face. Duranor was engulfed in a powerful fireblast, knocked back on his knees. His gauntlets disintegrated from the blast, as well as part of his armor, which started to come apart and fell to the ground.

" Almost dead, burning... my armor... how can i.... must... go on..."

His hands grasped the decapitator, his flesh was still on fire as Duranor picked himself up and started running towards the shaman, his speed increased by the sudden lack of armor.

"one last swing" he thought...

The Flaming Axe sliced through the air in a flaming roar, propelled by the flaming warrior himself. as he came down with the swing, he could see burning shadows engulfing the shaman.

As the axe bore down into the shaman's gladiatorial shield, Duranor saw 3 arrows pierce through the shaman's chest. Duranor grinned as he looked over the mortally wounded shaman's shoulder and saw Muatah, bearing down a barrage of arrows. He quickly moved aside and rolled to the ground, near death, to give his friends their line of fire....


"They lived! and they look like they are in good spirits... must heal myself"

Duranor crawled behind Muatah and assessed the battlefield. One paladin remained, behind a protective shield, looking horrified at the sight of his dead friends. Duranor began applying a bandage and dug his hands into the chest of a nearby corpse, ripping out a heart and eating it on the spot to regain vitality.

"Aaah, better... Muatah and Gavril still stand, the paladin doesn't stand a chance"

The paladin came running after Duranor as his protective spell faded, his weapon shimmering with holy light came crashing down on Duranor, further damaging his armor and spirits, making his knees buckle again. But the assault was in vain, volleys of arrows and shadowbolts engulfed the paladin and he was no more.. the battle was won....

Duranor gathered the bits of armor laying around the arena floor, he knew some of them would not be salvageable.

"Time for change anyways" he thought.

He walked slowly into the grim halls, using sword, Thunderfury as a crutch to keep himself up, his legs slightly injured from the battle. Picked up a piece of paper and began scribbling.

"Mistress, Grims, I General Duranor, am proud to announce that my team, Duranor's Irregulars have finished the season with 131 wins and 129 losses. The goblins gave a score of 1563 to the team at Season's end. I would also like to report that Deathshadow's team, Hand of the Grim, finished the season with 164 wins and 150 losses, at a goblin score rating of 1683. As season 3 looms, we will fight on, for The Grim and for the Mandate."

Pensive, he looked back at the entire season, still burned through his memory. Many people had came, many people lent their skills to the fight, some not strong enough to carry through to the end, some even abandonning him under the pressure. Most of them discovering their skills, their power, and rose up to become more than they used to be... Tempers had been flared, difficult moments overcame, harships, sadness, pain, blood... He looked around and found it poetic that in his final hour, the ones that were still with him for this last week were the same ones he started with, thus he scribbled an addition to the note:

"Special thanks go out to Muatah, Kharzak, Gavril and Regnanetah, for your continued dedication to the team and your unwavering attendance."

by Amaurn

Amaurn on seeing the notice says to himself.: " A grand battle to be sure, a shame I missed it, the nether has been pulling at me of late. Next season we will strive to do better."

by Gavril

Seeing the note in the hall, Gavril reads over it carefully. Duranor and he had been through a lot together in their existence; while this was just the closing of another stage, it was a significant milemarker in their ascension. Gavril nods decisively, leaving the hall with a new sense of purpose -- "It is, indeed, time for change."