Vyprania's Story: We Press On

After defeating the young orc, The Left Claw entered the upper spire of Ice Crown Citadel. Arthas had clear been busy during his years of exile here in the North, constructing an enormous fortress high above the plateau. Perhaps it extended deep into the glaciers as well - it was hard to judge the scale of the place. One could not help but feel tiny and insignificant amidst such gigantic architecture.

I suspect that was the idea.

We left Muradin and his marines to guard the landing platform while we advanced into the citadel. At first resistance was light - evidently they had not expected us to be able to defeat Saurfang, and had not concentrated reserves behind him. Within an hour, however, we began to be attacked from above by winged Val'kyr. We managed to drive them off without anyone being knocked off of the catwalks, but there were several close calls. We reached an unexposed section of the citadel, and realized we were in the heart of Arthas' research department. Huge tubes with plague solutions running through them, undead gnome scientists in gas masks, dogs constructed from spare body parts and wearing collars identifying them as "Precious" and "Stinky". Completing the nightmarish horror were two giant abominations, even larger and more powerful than the patchwerk monstrosity that had once roamed the halls of Naxxramas. At the center of it all we found "Professor Putricide", the mad scientist behind it all. He looked like he might have once been someone's sweet but absent-minded uncle, but he fought us with everything he had - slimes, plagues, transforming potions. We took casualties, but in the end we slew him.

And then we pressed on.

It took four days to work our way through the citadel, clearing room by room. We slept in shifts, some resting while others pushed forward. Sometimes the Argent Crusade or the Knights of the Ebon Blade were able to lend us reinforcements, but usually we were on our own. We were tired, hungry, bloodied. Scared. Would we reach the end of this nightmare alive, or was it all just another of Arthas' traps? We fought through the San'layn, the Darkfallen, the doomed one-time followers of Kael'thas, now helpless minions of the Lich King. Were we destined to end our days like them? I watched hopelessly as the Val'kyr champion Sister Svalna struck down Captain Rupert of the Argent Crusade, only to raise him up as her minion. He had been one of the few Argent Crusade officers to accept me as a peer and show an understanding of what it meant to be a former agent of Arthas, even though he was Forsaken and not a death knight. Nevertheless, when he began throwing his grenades against us I was forced to cut him down with my swords, and the voices in my head cried out for his blood as strongly as they did for any other enemy. It made me weep in bitterness and frustration.

And then we pressed on.

We rescued a member of the green dragonflight, Valithria Dreamwalker, who was being held prisoner and tortured. We fought through waves of undead Nerubians and Vrykul. We reached the nesting platform of Arhtas' greatest weapons, his frost wyrms. There was Rimefang, who had caused so much disruption to the raid at the Pit of Saron. There was his sibling Spinestalker. And there was Sindragosa, once the proud consort of Malygos, slain by Neltharion, and now yet another of the Lich King's puppets. She was a powerful, spiteful foe, and her frost aura and icy tombs nearly destroyed us all. But we held firm, and our healers kept us standing, and in the end she fell before us. Perhaps now she could be at peace. If so, then maybe there could be hope for me as well.

And then we pressed on.