Libram of the Dead
It is recorded by Illanna Dreadmoore.
Maw of the Damned
MAW OF THE DAMMED
Mere weapons don't often inspire fear in demons. The Maw of the Dammed is an exception. Its name is spoken with equal parts dread and awe among the Burning Legion's faithful. Even the demons disagree on how many lives the Maw of the Dammed has ended. There is only one who knows the truth. His name is Netrezaar, and his soul is bound to the blade itself.
He is what inspires fear in demons. They know of the eternal hunger that burns in his soul. A hunger so great it cannot distinguish between friend and foe. In the Legion's hands, Netrezaar's spirit consumed entire civilizations. In someone else's hands, he would not hesitate to do the same to the Legion. He would relish every moment.
Despite its long history of bloodshed, the Maw of the Dammed was not created for genocide. It was forged to take a single life: that of the great demon lord Kil'jaeden.
Kil'jaeden was one of the eredar race's most beloved leaders. With a mere word, he could sway the hearts and mind of his people. When he joined the demonic Burning Legion, many eredar blindly followed his path.
One of the first to do so was a gifted smith named Netrius. He adored Kil'jaeden, and he spent his life seeking the eredar leader's approval. Netrius was pledging himself to the Legion as the ultimate expression of his loyalty.
As a reward for his loyalty, Netrius was remade in the Legion's all-consuming fel fire. Volatile magics blazed through his soul, warping his mind and body forever.
Netrius-now known by the name Netrezaar-was never the same again. Even his feelings toward Kil'jaeden changed. What was once admiration had twisted into a dangerous obsession. It wasn't enough to simply win Kil'jaeden's approval, he needed more.
An idea took shape in Netrezaar's mind. To satisfy his obsession, he would create a weapon to consume Kil'jaeden's life force. That weapon would one day become known as the Maw of the Dammed.
Netrezaar became a smith of much reown in the Burning Legion. His war machines terrorized worlds. His blades brought ruin to entire civilizations. Yet in truth, most of these weapons were merely experiments in his quest for the perfect tool with which to consume Kil'jaeden.
Success hinged on finding a material that could draw out and contain the demon lord's life force. Netrezaar spent years searching for exotic ores, most of which proved useless.
He made a promising discovery on Nihilam, the Doom World. Long ago, a war between the Legion's ruler, Sargeras, and his fellow titans had shaken the fabric of creation around Nihilam. Their apocalyptic battle had darkened the world and infuse its metal ores with otherworldly properties.
When Netrezaar mined these metals, he found them nearly indestructible. In just the right light, the materials reflected brief images of the battle fought between Sargeras and the titans. Most important of all, these metals also leeched away the essence of any living thing that touched them.
For the first time in years, Netrezaar felt joy. He had finally found what he needed.
Netrezaar shaped the Maw of the Damned on one of the great demon forges of Argus, homeworld of the eredar. When crafting other weapons, he often infused them with cruelty and malice. Such was not the case with the Maw. Netrezaar poured all of his admiration and twisted obsession into the blade.
He labored day and night, pushing himself to the brink of collapse. Perfection was his goal. He would accept nothing less for the weapon that would kiss Kil'jaeden's flesh. The axe would leech away every ounce of the demon lord's life force and channel it directly into Netrezaar. Nothing would go to waste. He also enchanted the weapon's haft so that when he wielded the axe, its metals would not drain his essence.
When the work was done, Netrezaar had produced one of the greatest weapons in the Legion's arsenal. Nothing like it had ever been seen before, and nothing like it would ever be seen again.
The Maw of the Dammed's first victim was not Kil'jaeden. It was one of Netrezaar's servants.
Netrezaar commanded dozen of mo'arg, highly resourceful demons who specialized in engineering and blacksmithing. All of them looked up to the eredar smith with awe, but he cared little for his followers. Like hammers and tongs, they were simply tools at his disposal.
To test the Maw, Netrezaar subjected a pair of mo'arg to gruesome experiments. He slowly cut their flesh with the axe, studying how quickly it drained their life forces. The Maw worked just as planned. The demons' vital energies passed through the blade and flooded into Netrezaar.
Of the two mo'arg expiremented on by Netrezaar, one survived. His name was Gorelix, and he was the eredar smith's most devoted follower. At least, he had been. The experiments had left Gorelix shriveled and disfigured. His admiration for Netrezaar darkened into a hatred hotter than any demon forge.
Gorelix did not have the physical strength to rise against Netrezaar. Even if he could, rebelling would mean a fate worse than death. Netrezaar was one of the eredar-one of Kil'jaeden's chosen.
The broken mo'arg vowed to find another way to exact vengeance on his master. He watched Netrezaar's every movement, seeking a weakness. Over time, Gorelix discovered something odd. Netrezaar's axe was powerful, and yet he would not use it in battle. He kept it hidden from other demons, save his mo'arg servants. What was its purpose, if not to strike down the Legion's enemies?
It dawned on Gorelix that Netrezaar had no intention of ever using the axe for the Legion. He had crafted it for another purpose.
Netrezaar was pleased with the Maw, and he decided the time had come to use it on Kil'jaeden. He would present the axe as a gift to his master and then strike at the unsuspecting demon lord.
Perhaps it would have worked, if not for Gorelix. When the mo'arg learned of the meeting with Kil'jaeden, the last puzzle piece slid into place. He finally realized the true purpose of Netrezaar's axe.
He warned Kil'jaeden of the impending betrayal, and the demon lord plotted his own in return. Kil'jaeden met with Netrezaar just as planned. But before the smith could present his "gift," the demon lord struck. He used his magics to lock Netrezaar's spirit in place, while Gorelix took up the Maw.
As Netrezaar's screams of torment echoed over Argus, Gorelix slowly cut away his master's flesh. He did not stop until only bone remained.
Netrezaar's fate was worse than death. Kil'jaeden made sure of that. He locked Netrezaar's howling spirit within the smith's own skull. Then he ordered Gorelix to fuse the bone onto the Maw of the Damned.
In this way, Netrezaar would be one with his beloved axe forever. The weapon's metals would constantly drain his spirit, leaving him racked with hunger. No amount of life force would ever satisfy him. To the contrary, the more Netrezaar consumed, the worse his pangs of hunger would grow.
Kil'jaeden gifted the axe to Gorelix as a reward for his loyalty. He gave the mo'arg only one specific order: keep Netrezaar's spirit fed to continue his torture.
On a small world under siege by the Legion, Gorelix learned of the Maw's true power and potential.
He and a team of mo'arg had been tasked with building a citadel to serve as a base of operations. In one battle, this stronghold came under attack from the world's brave defenders. A massive breach opened in the wall. If the mo'arg could not repair it soon, the entire citadel would fall to the Legion's enemies.
Gorelix volunteered to defend the breach while the other mo'arg worked. Hundreds of enemies stormed the opening in the wall, howling battle cries in their alien tongue. Gorelix stood fast, rending any who came within the Maw's deadly reach. He never flagged. On the contrary, every kill infused his body with greater strength and vitality.
When the last attacker had fallen, the other mo'arg found that they no longer needed to repair the breach. Gorelix had filled it with corpses.
The more Gorelix used the Maw, the more it changed him. He grew into a hulking mass of taut muscle, dwarling every other mo'arg in size. His monstrous appearance earned him a new name: the Fleshripper.
Despite the power the Maw gave him, there were times when Gorelix did not use the axe. Sometimes he would watch from a distance while the Legion besieged new worlds. All the while, Gorelix would taunt Netrezaar's spirit, describing the battle and all the lives lost in great detail.
When the Maw began to physically tremble in Gorelix's hands, he knew that Netrezaar's spirit was suffering. The mo'arg found as much satisfaction from these acts of torture as he did from imbibing the life force of his victims.
On the world of Centralis, the Maw of the Damned secured its place as a weapon of legend.
Centralis was home to a mighty warrior people. They resisted the Legion's attempts at conquest for much longer than other races. Yet like all who stood against the demons, they were doomed to fall eventually.
Rather than simply destroy Centralis's inhabitants, Kil'jaeden decided they would make fitting victims for the Maw of the Damned. Their potent life essence would engorge Netrezaar's spirit and push him to new realms of torment.
At Kil'jaeden's command, Gorelix traveled to Centralis. He marched at the head of a vast Legion army, Maw in hand. The blade bit through the armor, flesh, and souls of all who fell under his gaze. No corner of Centralis was safe from Gorelix's reach. No creature, not even the smallest wild beast, was shown mercy.
When his long march had ended, only a dead world remained at his back.
After the massacre of Centralis, Gorelix continued learning how to maximize the Maw's destructive power. So effective was he at wielding the axe that he became one of the Legion's most invaluable tools. Rather than waste Gorelix's talents in minor battles, Kil'jaeden saved the mo'arg for special tasks.
This also allowed Kil'jaeden to keep close watch over the Maw and its whereabouts. Though he trusted Gorelix, he could not bear the thought of the axe falling into enemy hands.
While in Gorelix's care, the Maw claimed countless victims. No matter how much Netrezaar's spirit feasted, his wild screams continued echoing through the axe. Even demons began to fear the Maw and its cursed prisoner. They had seen the weapon consume entire races. An entire world. Yet still it wanted more.
Whether Netrezaar's hunger will ever die is unknown.
Blades of the Fallen Prince
BLADES OF THE FALLEN PRINCE
Before Icebringer and Frostreaper, there was only Frostmourne. The name alone is enough to chill the hearts of the living. Few weapons have shaped as much of modern history as this one. Frostmourne spilled the blood of kings and destroyed nations. The scars it inflicted on the world remain to this day.
Icebringer and Frostreaper will always carry this history with them, but they will not follow Frostmourne's path. They will make their own future. As one legacy ends, so another begins.
The tales of Frostmourne were many, but they all trace back to the Lich King. The Burning Legion molded his spectral entity for one purpose: to spread a plague of undeath across Azeroth. Deep within the trackless wastes of Northrend, the Lich King began the dark task. His influence crept over the world like a shadow and manipulated mortal minds to serve him as agents of undeath.
The Lich King also possessed otherworldly artifacts to achieve his goal. Among them was the demon-forged runeblade Frostmourne. The weapon could consume the souls of its victims, imprisoning their spirits within the blade. It could also remake the living into mindless undead servants. Yet to harness these extraordinary powers, the Lich King required a mortal vessel to wield Frostmourne.
In the young prince Arthas Menethil, he would find such a vessel.
Lordaeron was the first region cripped by the plague of undeath. The affliction claimed entire families and villages as it tore through the human kingdom. These victims found no peace in death. They rose from the grave as mindless undead creatures called the Scourge.
Prince Arthas Menethil vowed to stop these horrors at any cost. He undertook ever more extreme measures in pursuit of this goal. Eventually, against the wishes of his closest allies, he embarked on a reckless search for the plague's source to Northrend.
There, fate led him to Frostmourne. Though Arthas knew the runeblade was cursed, he believed he could use its powers for good. He was wrong. Upon taking up Frostmourne, Arthas succumbed to the Lich King's iron will. The prince's sanity unraveled, and the runeblade gorged on his soul.
He became the first of the Lich King's death knights.
From the journal of Captain Falric, royal guard to Prince Arthas Menethil:
"There is something unsettling about Frostmourne. Something cold tugs at my heart whenever I am near the weapon. But I cannot deny its power. No one can. Not after this last battle.
"Arthas led us into the stronghold of that unholy creature called Mal'Ganis. We could barely keep up with the prince. He never seemed to tire. Never seemed afraid. With that strange blade in his hand, he ripped through the undead. Even Mal'Ganis stood no chance against the prince.
"A great victory, but I am in no mood to celebrate. Arthas has been acting strange of late. After the battle, he disappeared into the icy wastes. For what reason, I cannot say. I will soon go to find him."
From chapter three of The Fall of Lordaeron and the Scouring of the Eastweald, written by Royal Historian Archesonus:
" Prince Arthas returned from Northrend to a hero's welcome. Bells tolled as the people of Lordaeron cheered their beloved prince. No one knew that he had lost his soul to Frostmourne. No one knew that he had slain his own soldiers in Northrend and converted them into undead.
" In the capital city's throne room, Arthas knelt before his father and liege, King Terenas II. It was to be a reunion of joy, but it ended in tragedy.
" The prince plunged Frostmourne through his father's heart. The blade drained Terenas's soul, as it would do to many others. With one stroke of the cursed weapon, Arthas destroyed more than a king. He destroyed an entire nation. All of Lordaeron soon fell to the dark prince and his Scourge."
As Arthas and the Scourge swept over Lordaeron, panic seized the living. Though many humans gave in to despair, some looked to the holy paladins for salvation. Uther the Lightbringer was the greatest of these righteous warriors. If anyone had the power to stop the fallen prince, it was him.
In the city of Andorhal, the two met in a battle that would decide Lordaeron's fate. Frostmourne clashed with Uther's legendary Hammer of the Lightbringer. Each weapon blow erupted in a shower of warring energies. It was a struggle between Light and darkness, between life and death.
Death prevailed. Frostmourne cleaved through Uther's gilded armor and devoured his virtuous soul. And with that, Arthas extinguised the last ray of hope that remained for Lordaeron's people.
The list of Frostmourne's victims is long. Nearly everyone killed by the runeblade suffered the same dark fate. The weapon feasted on their broken souls and locked them within Frostmourne itself.
Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner was an exception. When the Scourge invaded the high elf kingdom of Quel'Thalas, she led a fierce resistance. Her brilliant tactics stymied Arthas and his unholy forces at every turn. She fought with the courage and valor of a true hero.
When at last Sylvanas fell in battle, she did not receive the hero's death she deserved. Arthas punished the ranger-general for her stubborn opposition. He used Frostmourne to rip Sylvanas's soul from her body, and then he transformed her spirit into an incorporeal banshee.
The death of the high elf king Anasterian Sunstrider, as recounted by Magister Hathorel:
" That rabid dog Arthas came to Quel'Thalas for one reason: to steal the power of our glorious Sunwell. We did everything to stop him. Everything. And still Arthas and his foul army marched on.
" It was in those final moments that our great king, Anasterian, appeared. He bore the legendary blade Felo'melorn. Dead and living alike stopped and watched as Anasterian dueled Arthas.
" Old though he was, my king held his own. He pushed Arthas to his limits. But even Felo'melorn was no match for Frostmourne. Arthas cleaved Anasterian's ancient blade in two. Then, with a single ruthless strike, the death knight ran my king through.
" I wanted to fight on, but I knew in my heart that it was all over. Everyone did."
Not even the mighty Sapphiron was safe from Frostmourne's bite. This wise blue dragon was a master of arcane magic and one of the greatest of his kind who had ever lived. For many ages, he and his loyal draconic servants stood guard over a trove of extraodinary relics in Northrend.
It was these relics that drew Arthas's attention to Sapphiron. The death knight and his Scourge minions invaded the dragon's lair to pilfer its treasures. The battle that followed would become one of legend.
Sapphiron and his fellow dragons unleashed the full fury of their arcane might on Arthas, but he would not be denied his prize. The death knight overwhelmed his ancient foes and slew them one by one. Calling on Frostmourne's powers, Arthas then transformed Sapphiron into an undead frost wyrm.
In his new form, Sapphiron would become one of the Scourge's most terrifying weapons.
Few crossed blades with Arthas and lived to tell the tale, but the demon Illidan Stormrage was one of them.
With a mighty army at his back, Illidan stormed across Northrend to destroy the Lich King. He advanced through sleet and snow toward Icecrown Citadel, frozen capital of the Scourge. Upon finally reaching his destination, Illidan found the death knight Arthas and the undead barring his way.
As living and dead waged war upon each other, Illidan and Arthas grappled in single combat.
Armed with the mighty Warglaives of Azzinoth, Illidan assailed the death knight from all sides. The keening of their blades splintered the ice and shook the halls of the Lich King's citadel. Though evenly matched, Arthas gained the upper hand. Frostmourne tore through Illidan's flesh, nearly killing him.
The demon escaped with his life, but his wound would never truly heal. Years later, it would still ache from Frostmourne's icy touch.
With Illidan defeated and his army routed, Arthas took the final step to seal his damnation. He became one with the Lich King, his mind and soul merging with the powerful spectral entity. In that moment, Arthas the death knight was no more. He became the avatar of death itself.
Arthas had bested all of his adversaries, and now his powers had increased by orders of magnitude. It seemed that none could stand against this new Lich King, but there was one who did. His name was Tirion Fordring, and he wielded a holy blade known as the Ashbringer.
At the Second Battle for Light's Hope Chapel, Tirion confronted Arthas and showed the world that he was not invincible. With a mighty blow from the Ashbringer, he forced the Scourge ruler to retreat.
It was not the last time Frostmourne would clash with the Ashbringer. When next the two blades met, only one would remain unbroken.
No king rules forever. Atop Icecrown Citadel, Arthas would learn that lesson.
To destroy the Lich King and his Scourge once and for all, Azeroth's nations launched a massive campaign into Northrend. The bloody war culminated in a siege on Icecrown Citadel itself. Armed with the Ashbringer, Tirion Fordring led some of the world's greatest champions deep into the stronghold.
In the frenzied assault that followed, Tirion once again met Arthas in battle. The Ashbringer crashed against Frostmourne, steel howling like a bitter winter wind. After a single bone-shaking strike, Tirion did what so many other great heroes had failed to do. He shattered Frostmourne. He ended Arthas's reign.
The breaking of Frostmourne unleashed many of the souls trapped within the runeblade. It also freed Arthas from the sword's domination. According to Tirion Fordring, the fallen prince's last words were:
" I see... only darkness... before me..."
Most stories about the Burning Legion speak of countless demons stampeding over worlds, but the cunning nathrezim know that brute force is not only way to conquer an enemy. One lie can break an alliance. One drop of poison can cripple a giant. One disease can reduce a great city to a graveyard.
The nathrezim blade called Apocalypse has accomplished all of these things. It holds the power to spread plagues, incite wars, and turn ally against ally. In the right hands, this weapon has singlehandedly brought entire civilizations crashing down before the Legion's army ever began their invasion.
Apocalypse was not crafted by a single nathrezim. Many of these demons forged and shaped the blade as a tool to hasten the fall of worlds.
Over the course of centuries, Apocalypse passed from one nathrezim to another. Each wielder used it to weaken mortal civilizations and leave them vulnerable to conquest by the Burning Legion. Through the creation of plagues and famines, Apocalypse stoked the fires of paranoia. Through acts of murder and betrayal, the weapon drove the Legion's enemies to turn on each other. Even the mere sight of the blade was enough to sap the strength of mortals and cause them to tremble in fear.
Whenever Apocalypse changed hands, its nathrezim owners would alter and refine it. Through the lessons learned from their conquests, they endowed the blade with new plagues and maledictions. In this way, Apocalypse became a fusion of all dark arts the nathrezim had at their disposal.
The last of the nathrezim to wield Apocalypse was named Kathra'natir. The weapon passed to him during Legion's invasion of Navane. This world was home to a handful of intelligent races. Though they shared a history of enmity, they put aside their differences and united against the demons.
The alliance was tenuous at best, easy prey for Kathra'natir and Apocalypse.
Kathra'natir walked among Navane's resistance forces, disguised as one of their own soldiers. He whispered rumors of betrayal in every ear, inflaming old hatreds and ancient rivalries. All the while, Apocalypse clouded the defensers' ability to reason. They began to fear each other as much as the Legion. In one night of wanton bloodshed, Navane's army went to war with itself.
Kathra'natir admired his handiwork from a distance, listening of the symphony of chaos that filled the night. By sunrise, nor a single soldier remained to oppose the Legion.
Thousands of years ago, the city of Dalaran was inundated by reckless spellcasters. Their abuse of magic inadvertently tore open rifts in reality. Through one such rift, Kathra'natir clawed his way into Azeroth.
Kathra'natir found Dalaran ripe for upheaval. Many of the city's non-magic users were superstitious, and they viewed spellcasters with thinly-veiled unease. Kathra'natir used Apocalypse to inflame these fears. He tainted Dalaran's water supplies and food stores. Gruesome plagues ravaged the city, which the common fold believed had originated from the magi.
If not for Guardian Alodi, Dalaran might have destroyed itself. He was part of the Council of Tirisfal, a secret order of magi formed to protect Azeroth from demons. After a series of grueling battles, Alodi narrowly defeated Kathra'natir and banished him from the world.
Though the demon was gone, Apocalypse remained behind.
An account of Apocalypse from the journal of Alodi, the first Guardian of Tirisfal:
" In the blade's presence, I am physically weakened. Strange thoughts swim through my mind. Dark things I will not repeat here. The weapon has a way of dregding up fears long forgotten and giving them new life. And these are just some of its tamer qualities.
" I have requested that we destroy the weapon, but the other council members have reservations. They would prefer we lock it away alongside other artifacts recovered from demons. It is not the ideal course, but so be it. If this council is to survive, it must do so through mutual trust and understanding.
" My only hope is that it never sees the light of day again."
Long after Kathra'natir's defeat, Apocalypse resurfaced. It was a time of great turmoil for the Council of Tirisfal. The current Guardian, Aegwynn, had gone rogue. Seeing no other recourse, the council created a new order called the Tirisgarde to capture the troublesome Guardian.
The Tirisgarde armed themselves with mighty artifacts to overwhelm Aegwynn. They soon learned that artifacts alone were not enough to best a Guardian of her caliber. Aegwynn outwitted her hunters time and again. Out of desperation, the council finally unearthed Apocalypse and other closely guarded relics. They distributed these dangerous weapons to the most loyal and gifted Tirisgarde members.
Apocalypse was entrusted to Laith Sha'ol. From the very moment he held the blade, a darkness bloomed in his mind. It would continue to fester and swell until it consumed him entirely.
Apocalypse granted Laith Sha'ol more power than he could have hoped for, but it came at a price. Hatred tainted his thoughts. His wish to see Aegwynn brought to justice became a wish to see her dead.
Laith narrowly missed cornering his prey in the small human village of Corwell. He interrogated the townsfolk, accusing them of conspiring with Aegwynn. Though Corwell's people knew nothing of the Guardian's whereabouts, they succumbed to Apocalypse's influence. Before long, neighbor regarded neighbor with suspicion. Paranoia sank its poisoned fangs into the quaint village.
In a fit of rage, Laith cut down the town elder. The death ignited a wave of violence. Friends and family turned on each other with bare hands, teeth, and whatever else could serve as a weapon.
Only Laith walked out of that village alive.
From chapter eight of On Plagues, Curses, and Blights by Royal Historian Archesonus:
" There is an odd period of history during which we see an increase in disease, famine, and violence. The exact cause of these hardships is unknown. One interesting theory associates them with a nameless horseman who carried a sword of sinister origin.
" In some legends, this figure rode a pale horse. In others, a black mare with eyes aflame. Wherever the horseman passed, trouble followed. Crops withered. Diseases festered. Innocent folk simply dropped dead. For this reason, the horseman was known by many names: War, Death, Famine, and Pestilence.
" Did such an individual really exist? I think not. Attributing plagues and such to a physical entity was just a means for the people of the time to cope with phenomena beyond their control."
When Guardian Aegwynn learned of Laith Sha'ol and Apocalypse, she made a stand to spare the world from the demon-forged blade.
Aegwynn lured Laith into a trap, expecting to make short work of her adversary. She had underestimated Apocalypse's true strength. Laith unleashed the blade on the Guardian, draining her life force. None of Aegwynn's spells could shield her from Apocalypse's vampiric power. On the verge of collapse, she screamed a desperate incantation that shattered the connection between Laith and the sword.
In that moment, the darkness in Laith's mind vanished. He remembered everything he had done while under Apocalypse's influence. All the heartache. All the vile deeds. All the deaths.
Overcome with horror, he dropped Apocalypse where he stood. Then he ran, and he never looked back.
An account of Apocalypse's whereabouts from the Council of Tirisfal, author unknown:
" It is unclear where Laith Sha'ol disappeared to, or whether he is still alive. As for Apocalypse, Tirisgarde agents have reported that Aegwynn attempted to destroy the blade and neutralize its powers, but she failed to do so. She then took steps to seal the weapon away in a place where no one would find ti.
" There are a few prevailing theories about its current resting place. The first is that Aegwynn buried the sword at the site of her battle with Laith and shrouded it in a veil of magic. The second is that she encased the weapon in an arcane shell and cast it into the fiercy heart of Blackrock Mountain.
" Though it will take time, our agents will uncover the truth and reclaim the blade."
Laith Sha'ol never saw Apocalypse again. But in a cruel twist of fate, it would pass to his offspring.
After his battle with Guardian Aegwynn, Laith settled in Stormwind City and started a family. He spent his days helping those in need as a way to atone for his past. His son, Ariden, did not live such an altruistic life.
Ariden traveled the lands of Stormwind with a group of dubious merchants. These grifters sold counterfeit elixirs and artifacts, swindling innocent folk out of their personal fortunes. When the merchants tried to sell their wares to Guardian Medivh in Karazhan, their luck changed.
Medivh saw straight through their lies. To punish the merchants, the Guardian cursed them to act as his servants. Ariden and his fellow con artists became known as the Dark Riders. From that day forward, they would haunt the land, seeking out lost artifacts and bringing them to Karazhan.
Ariden knew nothing of Apocalypse's origins or its deadly powers. But due to his father's history with the weapon, he felt an unnatural pull toward it. The need to find Apocalypse burned within Ariden's soul, and he led the Dark Riders on a feverish search to uncover the mysterious artifact.
The Dark Riders scoured the lands of the Eastern Kingdoms before finally discovering the blade in the Badlands. Despite Aegwynn's efforts to hide Apocalypse, it had somehow surfaced again. Who had abandoned the weapon in this place, Ariden did not know. Nor did he care.
Ariden held the blade aloft, and the burning need within him finally subsided. In the years to come, he would pilfer many other artifacts, but none would ever exert the same pull on him as Apocalypse.
None would ever feel so strangely familiar.
Note from the Author
Research efforts press on... there's more information to be uncovered in these texts. The only thing that can hold me back is time.
Come back after further research has been completed and I will continue to expand this tome.
- Head Archivist Illanna Dreadmoore
- Patch 7.0.3 (2016-07-19): Added.