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Originally written Feb. 8, 2009.

There are times when my thoughts of allies back home distract me too much during battle. Unexpectedly, the Scourge amassed a large offensive at the Broken Front, taking myself and my few other Crusade brothers and sisters by surprise. The battle was nearly a slaughter until reinforcements from the Vanguard arrived.

 

But the Scourge proved too many. We fought them on tainted grounds where their necromancers only needed to lift a finger to raise a new dead into their ranks. I still seethe when I recall the sight of these risen dead still clutching at their Alliance-issued swords, or brushing away shattered Horde armor. If the Alliance and Horde were more focused on the traitor prince and less on each other, more of Icecrown would be taken, and the Scourge armies would have less bodies to its ranks.

 

We were forced into retreat, our second line of reinforcements brought gryphons from the skies to assist in the flight from the battlefield. I seized a grphon and one of my wounded brothers, and made for the Vanguard, but my wounds were too great. I was ambushed from the sky, and my Crusade brother fell to what I can only guess was his death. I too, nearly perished, but the gryphon beneath me seemed just as determined to live. We both eventually made it back to the Vanguard alive after I safely landed to rest and heal my wounds.

 

These times are dark. For ever victory we make against the Scourge, its bolstering numbers have pushed us back. And everyday I see the Horde and Alliance tear at one another in the skies with their immense flying machines, or stab one another in the backs while they fight on the ground.

 

Some of the few Alliance shoulders I've tended to have the hateful word, "Garrosh" on their dying lips. I have little knowledge of such a person, or orc, should he exist. The dying Horde spit out the name with utter devotion, as an Alliance soldier would reverently speak the name Bolvar Fordragon at the time of their death.

 

Dark times, indeed. When all our heroes fall again, just as they've fallen in the past, and we're left with war raging on every side. The Highlord is just, and even the Ebon Blade sees the true enemy – although I often question their methods. Icecrown is the true battlefield of our time, and yet sightless others are determined to create needless ones elsewhere.

 

The Light of the Argent Crusade either cleanses or fights with the Alliance and Horde's remains. We must prevail elsewhere, against a greater enemy. But the others do not see.

Author Ari
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