1. may i sugest (for future years probably since i doubt they will implement this right now) to make 2 separate winners for this event? one for digital craftings and one for hand made? would be nice to diferentiate and recognize the works of artists using computer design programs and the ones of hand made skill.

  2. Can I write here about my legendary weapon and then edit my message later with the artwork which will take time ?

  3. Yes, you can edit. Submissions will be locked into place when the event ends.

  4. Estel Navaer

    Weapon type: Two handed sword

    Class specific: Paladin, Warrior, Death Knight

    My drawing skills are on par with my singing skills. What follows is my imagination of the blade.
    A slim, elongated sword with a fairly simple blade, with a straight cross-guard and a delicate grip. Noticeably high-elven in make, the hilt is golden with elements of purple and adorned with several small jewels.

    I wouldn't know too much about stats so I'll just leave that empty.

    Weapon special: Chance on hit to immediately deal 200 % weapon damage in a circular area around the (caster? player?),
    blinding enemies for a few seconds.

    "Pure resolve seems to radiate from the intricately aligned jewels."

    Now for my favorite part, THE LORE

    The fall of Lordaeron marked the beginning of one of the darkest eras in all of civilization. After murdering his own father, the scourged prince set his sights on the Sunwell in Quel' Thalas. Standing between him and it however, were thousands of elves who wouldn't give up the source of their power so easily, if at all. Arthas' Scouge would prove to be too powerful however and they decimated everything they came across.
    Living in Silvermoon at the time were two young sisters, Virnande and Estrien. When the Scourge started tearing their way through to the Sunwell, they were among the ones caught in the chaos.
    "I can't even count how many of them are out there"- uttered Virnande, who was peeking through a hole in the wall.
    "How do we get out of this Virn... where do we go?"- asked Estrien, visibly shaking.
    "Arthas may have destroyed Lordaeron, but other kingdoms remain. We just have to make the trek to Southshore, and we can decide where to go afterwards."
    Virnande continued her observation from behind the hole in the wall. As her cerulean eyes scanned the area, something caught her attention. It was an eerie sphere of shadow floating in the air. As soon as she focused her gaze on it, it turned towards her, penetrating her thoughts with its dark, narrow pupil. Not two seconds afterwards, hundreds of undead were converging on their position.
    " Estri, we gotta move. Come on, get up! They are coming towards us!" shouted Virnande. They were running through the ruins, desperately trying to impede the Scourge by knocking down objects, or using fire. It had little to no effect, however. At last, they made it to an old alchemy shop. Virnande barricaded the door with what she could find, hoping to buy some time so that they could plan.
    "Virn, look!" - Estrien shouted. Virnande turned towards her sister, who was holding a rune of teleportation.
    "Can you use that? Do you know how to make a portal to Ironforge? Or Stormwind?" -Inquired Virnande.
    "I think so... yes I can. But Virn... it's a teleport rune... not a portal one."
    "One gets left behind... Estri... you must warn Stormwind of what Arthas is doing here. Maybe... maybe they will be better prepared than us."
    "Don't ask me to leave you here to die Virn, I won't, I just won't!"
    "You have to Estri! Either you save yourself and warn the world, for all the good it will do, or we both die here for nothing..."
    Virnande wasn't even finished when the barricade was broken. Standing tall was Falric, one of Arthas' captains.
    "And what do we have here... two small lambs waiting to be slaughtered, I see."
    Virnande stood in front of her sister. "Start charging that rune, get out of here"- she whispered to her.
    " I don't think you'll be going anywhere. Well definitely not alive, at least."
    Virnande wasn't flinching. She knew she was her sister's only hope for survival. She unsheathed her sword and took a battle stance.
    "You think your pathetic swordsmanship is enough to deal with the Scourge? Arrogant little girl. Let me show you how much you are mistaken!"- shouted Falric and pointed his hand towards Estrien. She was pulled towards him and he grabbed her by the neck.
    "See now what happens when you oppose the Scourge!"
    Virnande's eyes grew wide in horror as Falric prepared to kill her sister. She muttered under her breath:
    "Light... anyone.. if you are listening... give me strength to strike this beast down and save my sister..."
    A single beam of light seemed to strike her sword, making it radiate. Astonished, Virnande grasped the hilt firmly and ran towards Falric. Falric averted his gaze towards her and ordered minions to strike her down. Virnande struck one of the undead and all the others around him seemed to fall with him, their shambling corpses obliterated in a flash of light. Falric dropped Estrien on the ground and charged towards Virnande. She prepared her blade to parry and the resulting clash sent a wave of energy that almost collapsed the building. Virnande then ran towards her sister, grabbing the rune with her.
    "Focus now Estri, focus! Get yourself out of here! GO!"
    "I love you sis... I love you so much..."- teary eyed, exclaimed Estrien.
    Virnande smiled softly.
    "You are everything to me."
    In a small flash Estrien was gone. Virnande stood to face Falric who got back up.
    "So... you can empower weapons.. the Lich King has special plans for you."
    Virnande took her stance once again, but before she could react, Falric thrust his blade in her stomach.
    "You will know pain... and you will know suffering."
    Virnande coughed up blood. She looked Falric dead in the eye and proclaimed, full of hatred:
    "And you will know of my vengeance." And with that she gasped and her blade left her hand.
    "Take that blade with us. We can turn it into a powerful tool against these fools"-Falric ordered his minions.
    But the blade never even hit the ground. It was gone.
    "Amusing..."-uttered Falric and ordered his minions to continue their killing spree.

    ADDENDUM
    The lore of the weapon is heavily inspired by my two "most important" characters in WoW, a death knight Virnande and a paladin Estrien. The story is my imagination of what my two characters lived through and how they are what they are. Hope you enjoyed it.

  5. The Sward of Endless Mana

    Tools a young paladin from West Fall had a normal life until he turned 10. This was the day that he decided what he would do with his life. To be Holy and heal his friends while they slew the great beasts of the world and when the fell in battle revive their souls so the could continue the war. To be Retribution and swing a mighty hammer into the faces of young Horde children for fun. Nether of these options would satisfy him. he decided to follow his father and become Protection itself to lead raids on the many enemies facing the Alliance and the world. There was just one problem he ran out of mana every 5 mins while doing heroic dungeons. sure he had mana while in a raid and was receiving the benefits of spiritual atunement but it just wasn't enough. So he went to Imindrill Spearsong, a smoking hot Weaponsmithing Trainer in Dalaran. After Paying her way to much she began to train him in the arts of smithing and before long she began to show him tricks to the trade and in other things.. Eventually Imindrill spoke of what he sought a way to link a weapon to the nether to draw endless mana to its user. Tools asked her to forge his weapon but she refused. He asked her why and she said he did not deserve it. He asked what could he do to be deserving. She said if he would kill 100 low lvl newbs she would reforge his weapon, quickly Tools agreed and left for South Shore. Later that day he returned to Imindrill and told her he had done what she had asked. Thrilled she took his weapon and crafted The Sword of Endless Mana. After it was complete he asked her why the 100 low lvl newbs and she replied "Because I hate ****ing newbs"."Fine" Tools said "and now make me a shield with some shield block value ohh yea and add some to my freaken sword"


    The Sword of Endless Mana Description
    As tall as a small dwarf
    very light blue glow
    tanking stats with shield block value
    spells and attacks trigger/refresh Divine Plea

    Shield of Endless Mana
    as tall and wide as a medium sized dwarf
    rugged square build
    tanking stats with shield block value
    Says Tools on the face
    Edited: December 21, 2017 Reason: forgot some stuff

  6. is there anny chance that such weapon ( i assume winner ) would be implemented in game as unique transmog?

  7. is there anny chance that such weapon ( i assume winner ) would be implemented in game as unique transmog?
    Not possible, everyone playing the game would have to download additional patch for the weapon model to be visable, 90% people wouldn't do it so they wouldn't be able to see it anyway. Also it would be a big *** project to make a model for the weapon and it would take skills that i honestly think staff of warmane doesn't have because their job isn't creating weapon models and items but managing a private server, even warmane developers don't have this task in their job description. If this was a retail event blizzard could do this but given that we are playing on a private server of a finished game you can't expect this.


  8. up to when do we have time to post? i mean, when does the event end?

  9. Disclaimer
    I don't quite have the time nor the skills currently to draw or create art for the staff, but instead I've aimed to describe it in detail in the story below. If this does not count as artwork for the weapon (please do let me know whether or not it does, Mercy), I'll try to find a picture from another game or toss together a rough hand-drawn sketch, but I hope you'll be understanding! Nevertheless, I thank you for this event - it was an interesting opportunity to practice writing and creativity, and I had a lot of fun thinking this up. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Happy holidays to everyone around the world!



    Limi'Nal, Greatstaff of the Lost Archmage

    Story
    Limi’Nal is an old mythical greatstaff belonging to the Emberdawn lineage of Kirin Tor archmages, a family with a natural affinity for fire magic. Its origins are unknown, but rumors tell of a collaboration between the Kirin Tor and the Cenarion Circle made more than three centuries ago in order to produce the staff. Supposedly, its initial purpose was to assist druids and mages alike in a war whose purpose has since been lost in the sands of time. What is known, however, is that it remained unused for hundreds of years after fulfilling its original purpose, giving rise to several myths about its true powers. Its whereabouts are currently unknown, but it was last seen by the end of the Second War in the hands of a human archmage named Archibald Emberdawn.

    During the time before the First and Second War, the staff was kept sealed away by the Council of Six in Dalaran, allegedly due to its highly dangerous magical potency. Although having been locked away, it had always unquestionably belonged to the Emberdawn family of mages, but it was neither necessary nor desired that Archibald or anyone else should carry it. At the time, Archibald was a Kirin Tor apprentice and close friend of Archmage Antonidas, whom he looked up to and respected deeply for his immense knowledge and mastery of the arcane arts. They had often worked alongside each other, but the Emberdawn legacy inevitably drew Archibald towards a mastery of destructive fire magic, forcing him onto a different path. During his diligent research into the nature of fire magic, he discovered ways to harness mana in order to empower Fireballs into what later came to be known as Meteor spells used by many archmages. Shortly after the discovery, he became one of the mages considered for apprenticeship under Medivh before it ultimately went to Khadgar. Instead, the Council of Six granted Archibald the title of Archmage for his discoveries and immense potential as a master of fire.

    At the start of the Second War, the Council of Six ordered the now Archmage Archibald to assist in the battle near Southshore. Facing the overwhelming threat of the Horde invasion, the decision was made to finally bestow upon Archibald the mysterious greatstaff that had been locked away for such a long time. Although this decision was not made unanimously and caused a lot of discord, it was ultimately deemed necessary. Archibald had heard of some of the myths and rumors surrounding the staff before, but had paid them no mind. Even if it was his birthright to carry it, it had been locked away for a reason, had it not? And as the long, slender staff was placed in the archmage’s hands, both its potential and the reason for why it had been locked away for all that time immediately became known to him. Its mythical power seemed to lie in a volatile amalgamation of the combined destructive power of the Kirin Tor archmages and the amaranthine restorative powers of the World Tree, Nordrassil. He could feel it; it was made out of wood from the original World Tree, there was no mistaking it - so the rumors about the Cenarion Circle's involvement were true after all? Magical runes were inscribed along the staff, glowing malevolently of fire magic. The head of the staff split into several twisted branches that converged at the top, forming what looked like a cage with the shape of a pointy leaf. Within the cage, a small fire-red orb ceaselessly chased a same-sized green orb in a perfect circle. There was a faint red-green shimmer around the staff - palpable energy seemed to emanate from it, and it felt tense in the archmage’s hand, unlike any other staff he had carried before. Just by holding it, Archibald knew that a proficient caster was all that was needed to shift the unstable balance of power within the staff one way or the other to unleash its vicious potential - either for immense destruction or for boundless restoration. Why someone would combine these two contradictory powers was beyond his understanding, but it must have required great effort to do so. He was also stunned at the resilience of the wood - it wasn’t just holding out against the might of the Kirin Tor elite; it was fighting it on even terms. His amber-colored eyes gleamed and his crimson hair shone in the setting sun as he gripped the staff with his hands and lifted it towards the sky. He felt empowered. Smiling confidently, he knew that with this on their side, Southshore would be saved.

    When the fierce battle finally ended, it ended with a victory for the Alliance, but not without casualties. Although the Horde had been driven back, Southshore had nearly been obliterated; not only because of the Horde, but also because Limi’Nal had finally been given a chance to bare its ferocious fangs again. The landscape was left charred, the ground littered with craters. Ashes drifted in the wind like dark snowflakes on a somber winter night, and the air reeked of burning death. Fire and brimstone had rained from the heavens that day, all at the hands of one potent archmage and his staff. After the battle at Southshore, Archibald was called back to Dalaran to await further instructions. He was never called into battle again, however, for the Alliance had managed to mount a counter-attack, pushing back the Horde and soon thereafter ending the war.

    But in Archibald’s mind, scenes from the Southshore battle kept replaying themselves long after the end of the war. The agonized screams of members of the Horde and Alliance alike, the hellish inferno and the ravaged landscape were testament to the massacre he had been a part of. He knew he possessed enough power to cause such carnage, but the staff acted as a catalyst of destruction in ways he could never have anticipated: his meteors had been much larger, and the fires he conjured had burned with vicious intensity. It frightened him to his core. The events that took place that day ended up tormenting him and made him question what could possibly have justified such ruthless slaughter. Sure, the battle was won, and he, along with thousands of others, would live to see another day because of it - but the line between good and evil now seemed irrevocably blurred. Shortly thereafter, Archmage Antonidas published theses on the nature of the Orcs, claiming that the Orcs had been under demonic power for generations, becoming corrupted and filled with bloodlust by warlock magic. Once Archibald got to know this, he saw the burning corpses in the Southshore fields not as enemies, but victims. To him, it seemed they had been nothing but puppets led to their death through years of corruption by forces beyond their understanding, marching blindly into a war fueled by someone else’s hatred. Hence, Archibald saw himself as a hero no longer, but an executioner instead. Realizing the danger of having the power of the staff end up in the wrong hands, he left the Kirin Tor and disappeared, never to be heard from again.

    Almost two decades later, after the Battle for Mount Hyjal had concluded and Archimonde had been defeated, Nordrassil was left scarred and wounded. When the battles had been fought, the Horde and Alliance forces all left Hyjal. However, some reports tell of an unknown mage passing the soldiers and heading towards Hyjal instead, with his staff concealed on his back. Neither the reports nor the mage’s presence in Hyjal have ever been confirmed, but legends say it’s a once-powerful mage trying to repay the World Tree by helping to restore it.

    Unique effect:
    Use: detonate your healing over time or damage over time effects on the target, removing them and instantly healing for 30% of their total healing amount or dealing damage equal to 30% of their total damage amount.
    Classes: Druid, Mage

    “The boundary between life and death is delicate, but holds infinite destinies.”
    Edited: December 24, 2017 Reason: Expanded upon the lore and corrected grammatical errors for the millionth time, added color emphasis.

  10. up to when do we have time to post? i mean, when does the event end?
    The event ends and voting begins on Jan. 2nd

  11. @Antigona15 I coud try make story for ur wepon if you want ;s.

  12. Weapon appearance:

    Weapon stats:

    Lore:

    Many have heard tales of the half-giant race the Vrykul, how they are said to be masters of arms and incredibly fierce fighters but not much else is known of this nomadic raiding people by the races of Azeroth...

    The Vrykul have many traditions in their lives, their trials for becoming a warrior and their worship of the titanic watchers as gods. The watchers that are often times seen in Vrykul carvings are Freya the beautiful and fertile life giver, Thorrim the fierce warrior whose berserker rage is idolized by many, some even praise the deceitful Loken whose silver tongue can turn brother against brother, but above all the Vrykul revere Odyn.

    Vrykul warriors are trained throughout their entire lives and all ultimately aspire to obtain a glorious death in battle so that the golden val'kyr handmaidens of Odyn will lift up their spirits to the Halls of Valor so that they can feast and fight for all eternity. During their early years they are instructed on all forms of weapon combat and spar with their peers daily. They are taught about the gods by the runespeakers, who recently adopted the Lich King as a god of death.

    One Vrykul warrior, Einar Durlaggson, was born to the Dragonflayer clan in the village of Nifflevar in the fertile lands of the Howling Fjord. Einar was a stout boy, who seemed to have an incredible sense of self-worth like a fire burning within his heart. As the lad got older he grew stronger with each passing day and was often seen wrestling the shoveltusks and bears outside of the village to train his body. He would even make the trek to Gjalerbron and train with the warriors encamped in the wintry fortress. The time came when he was to partake in his coming of age ritual and so he went to the foundry beneath Utgarde Keep to forge his personal weapon. Einar valued strength and valor, so he chose to create a greataxe which he saw as a weapon that embodied those traits. Many hours were spent at the great forge shaping and honing the metal for the blade, carving and shaving down the wooden and wrapping it in animal hides for the haft. Proud of his work he vowed that he would continue to improve the weapon just as he worked upon himself always seeking to bring glory to himself so he may be noticed by Odyn.

    Einar would train fiercely each and every day and spar against any other warriors who would stand up to him. In time he was told that he should make the pilgrimage across Northrend to seek out the arena of Valhalas in Icecrown, it is there that surely the gaze of Odyn would be upon him and he would become a true champion. As Einar made his way across the realms of Northrend he continued to arduously work upon his axe, the more he poured into his weapon the more that it seemed to reflect the fire burning within himself. He sought the boon of the runespeakers who could supernaturally enhance his weapon with enchantments passed down through the ages. By the time he reached Icecrown the axe's appearance had gone from a simple double bladed greataxe to something far more... The blade's edge glowed with an inner flame that was seen occasionally erupting from the top of the haft which was adorned with a skull-like motif, Einar would name his weapon "Dauðadagr" which means "death day" as any who would oppose him or stand between him and the Halls of Valor would breathe their last.

    After finally crossing the entirety of Northrend and reaching the Northwestern shores of Icecrown he laid his eyes upon the arena Valhalas. He was told that he must first prove himself worthy of entering the arena by defeating the many aspirants who were scattered across Jotunheim. Einar grinned and boasted he would be back shortly to the overseer of the arena, a hulking Ymirjar named Gjonner the Merciless. Each foe fell before Einar and his mighty greataxe Dauðadagr, and with each victory the fiery glow seemed to get brighter as the weapon was a reflection of himself. Before long Einar returned to Gjonner and proclaimed himself worthy, he then dropped a sack full of the heads of his challengers. Gjonner let out a great laugh and applauded Einar's ferocity before blowing into a horn announcing that a challenger has risen to take on the arena of Valhalas. As the horn's call echoed out across the iced over Jotunheim many aspirants answered the call and gathered at the ring's edge to bear witness, while the people gathered an ethereal visage descended from the heavens. Geirrvif the val'kyr arbiter of the arena set her gaze upon the Vrykul challenger and welcomed him to Valhalas before announcing his challengers. One by one Einar felled those who entered the arena and with each victory he knelt down with his weapon and gave thanks to Odyn for the glory.

    Standing at the heart of the arena triumphantly crying out "glory to odyn!" a strange icy mist began to flow all across the arena, all of those present aside from Einar fell quiet as the grave. Einar turned to look behind him as a gateway materialized and from it emerged a titanic figure garbed in armor and brandishing a fiendish runeblade. The Lich King stepped forth from the gateway and looked upon the new champion of Valhalas raising Frostmourne with the tip pointed towards the Vrykul.

    "Einar Durlaggson, champion of Valhalas, you have been chosen!" the Lich King's voice, carrying an odd duality between the Prince Arthas and the spirit of Ner'zhul, echoed across the entirety of Jotunheim as all else was silent. "Serve me and gain power unimaginable, or fall before Frostmourne and you will still serve." The Lich King chuckled. Einar's body tensed as he felt both fear and anticipation, was this to be his glorious death in battle? Would this be what gains him the favor of Odyn?

    The Vrykul took up Dauðadagr and charged at the Lich King. As the two titans clashed sparks flew from their weapons, amazingly the Vrykul's axe held its own against the sinister runeblade Frostmourne. As the spectators would regale, it was as if watching fire and ice in a violent dance. The fiery glow of Dauðadagr met against the chilling aura of Frostmourne with every clash of blades. As the battle went on in a stalemate Einar's body began to feel exhaustion, his muscles ached and the chill winds began to gnaw on his flesh. The Lich King sensed his opponent's resolve begin to falter and at that moment thrust his runeblade through the warrior's heart.

    Einar stared down in disbelief, he had been bested in combat. The runic etchings along the blade of Frostmourne began to thrum with unholy power and an unearthly chill began to flow from it into the Vrykul's body. As Einar felt his life essence seeping out into the blade embedded in his chest he roared defiantly and took one final swing of Dauðadagr at the Lich King aimed right at his neck.

    Arthas stood over the now lifeless body of Einar Durlaggson and let out a sigh of relief, the greataxe Dauðadagr clanged loudly on the frozen earth of the arena when just moments prior had been mere centimeters from the neck of the Lich King. Turning his gaze downward and focusing upon the corpse necrotic energies began to flow into Einar's body reanimating him, soon to become a champion of the Scourge who would help the Lich King raze the kingdoms of the Horde and the Alliance. As the necrotic energies did their work and Einar's eyes opened, filled with an icy sheen he turned his gaze towards the sky above. A single shaft of light pierced through the dense clouds overhead and a golden val'kyr descended upon the pair in the arena. The gilded visage offered her hand to Einar and when he took it his body fell lifeless once more to the ground as his spirit was lifted upwards into the heavens and to the Halls of Valor. As his spirit neared the clouds he let out a triumphant warcry "GLORY TO ODYN!" before they faded and the light disappated.

    The Lich King stood motionless pondering what had just transpired, a val'kyr had just stolen what would have been one of his greatest champions from him. He had stayed his hand because the val'kyr were all servants under his command and yet this golden val'kyr seemed to have free will. Shaking his head and cursing the strange gilded entity before they disappeared he turned his gaze down to the greataxe at his feet... Surely though he may have lost a champion, he still had a mighty weapon at his disposal. So as the Lich King returned to Icecrown Citadel he bestowed Dauðadagr to one of the Ymirjar Chosen Warriors who dwelled in Ymirjar, these mighty frost Vrykul served the Lich King unwaveringly and it is from one of these warriors that YOU may obtain one of the only weapons capable of matching the cursed Frostmourne!

  13. TalahSin

    Disclaimer! Artwork does not belong to me, nor do I know the artist, so I can't give credits. Found as random post on Pinterest.
    Will compensate however with a few notes on the detailed appearance of the item, take the picture as merely a rough reference.




    - - - - - - Description: - - - - - -
    A one-handed sword crafted in what appeared to be a San'Layn fashion, seeming to stand as yet another child of the union between the Scourge's morbid aesthetics and Thalassian elegance.
    With a grip wrapped in petrified sinew, and a pommel shaped vaguely in the form of the San'Layn crest, the sword's guard seems to stand a stylized imagery of a morbid looking skull, with menacing fangs and a murderous, blood-thirsty glare forever captured in the glinting eye slits and the polished bloodstones that fill their sockets.
    From beneath it's jawline extends a blade forged of the same Saronite as the rest of the construction, seeming a Runeblade of relatively conventional appearance, aside for a sleek and vicious profile, with an acute point, reinforced blade geometry towards the false edge, and a few short serrations dotting the blade's edge, giving off the appearance of a monstrous jaw ready to snap.
    While it's over-all shape could befit both the description of a falchion or a broad messer, the subtly curved blade seems to be most finely fashioned for thrusting, but still equally capable of heavy, rending cleaves.

    - - - - - - The Lore: - - - - - -
    Keyndor Sunsorrow, a name now likely forgotten to the cold wastes of Northrend.

    Long ago, he was a talented instructor of the Arcane Arts at the schools of Dalaran, for decades even before the opening of the Dark Portal and the First War. For decades he served there, among the other mages, assisting in teaching and living his life content to ignore the struggles and burdens of the world outside the city's gates. Still, during the Third War, as the city of Dalaran found itself besieged and sacked by the zounds of Scourge Fiends in the service of the Death Knight Arthas Menethil, and with the elven capital city of Silvermoon already sacked and their precious Sunwell defiled and stripped of it's powers, Keyndor found himself no longer a mage with a reasonable position in society, but a stray, a survivor, starved for power as many others and suffering of his eternal addictions.

    Making his way back north, to gaze upon the destruction wrought by the Scourge in the months prior, Keyndor found himself meeting a conglomerate of elves, donning crimson banners and following both bitterly and hopefully the leadership of their prince, Kael'thas Sunstrider. With no option at the horizon, Keyndor followed them as well, onwards in their crusade, through the service of Illidan all the way towards their assault on the frozen ramparts of the Scourge in the blistering cold of the lifeless North.

    His will and resolve had proven to be instruments of a true survivor, battling with determination and a hunger to see himself and his bretheren victorious and free of their magical ailment, but fate seemed to have in mind a different twist for him. Rather than victory, Keyndor instead found himself once more standing on the side of the defeated, however fearing the wrath promised to Illidan's followers should they have failed their tasks... Rather than have faith in the Betrayer to guard them from the Arch-Demon's wrath, Keyndor as well as many others stood behind and continued battling for their lives and survival in the North, but as with many others, his life would come to an end, only to be defiled, twisted and brought back as the vampiric incarnation of the Lich King's cruelty, reborn as a noble Prince of Blood, who's will would forever be subject to the Lich King's control... But...

    ...The hand of fate was not yet done with Keyndor. Unlike the most, who's resolve would've easily shattered before the Lich King's control, Keyndor's mind still found a final mast to cling onto, one last thought that could keep him solace and comfort, and allow at least one in every thousand thoughts running through his mind to indeed be his own... The thought of hatred, of intense, unbridled hatred for all those who've wronged him in so many times before, hatred for the Scourge that had destroyed everything he ever could care about, hatred that would drive him to seek a means of escape from this curse. In the battle for his will, at least, he would alas be the victor.

    Without giving off too much of his mind, the Prince asked of the Scourge's metalsmiths to fashion a blade, a weapon for him to wield which he would himself enchant to the best of his ability to be a weapon to strike fear in the hearts of the living, a gift to one day bring before the Scourgelords that he may show his loyalty and earn the Lich King's pardon for his thoughts of rebellion...

    To his demands was fashioned a magnificently fearsome looking blade, hammered out of the purest samples of Saronite, quenched in the blood of fallen Heroes of Azeroth, and with an edge tempered to the jagged fortitude of a weapon of myth. Returning to the relative solace of his own quarters, Keyndor began weaving a complex pattern of enchantments upon the blade, drawing their power from the very life in which's sacrifice the blade was tempered, and however many others it would come to betray in it's lifetime. The magical boons would guide the blade with a degree of supernatural thirst, woven to guide it into forever striking true and dealing the most grievous wounds. Almost as if swinging with a mind of it's own, given only a command by the fingers of the wielding hand to end up striking deep for an ever-present wish to kill, to carve it's opponents with a blade of the darkest of metals, one able to rend flesh as well as spirit... Indeed, it would be a fair release.

    Without a second thought, Keyndor had stepped out to the outer ramparts of the citadel, raising up his blade as he would beckon forth the attention of the Scourge's overlords, asking for a moment that he may show to them his greatest creation. His finest craft, and with it as well, his finest farewell. As if to make an example to the entirety of the Scourge, Keyndor tilted the blade, pointing it's tip to his chest, and before even the Lich King's will could have him wrench it to a side, the blade's enchantments guided it to thrusting through his heart, filling him with a sensation of cold, stinging pain... It seemed to be eons until his body finally stumbled and fell off the citadel's ledge and broke against the hard-packed snow and saronite beneath, body and spirit alike broken far past any hope of reanimation. Alas, Keyndor had achieved his victory, and found his release.

    That, however, would not be the ending of the tale of Talah'Sin, "Dead Blood" in the elven tongue, as one day it would inevitably find itself in the hands of yet another wielder, be that of a leader of the Scourge's forces, or those of one who would then come to cull them...



    The stats there were decided in such a way as to keep the blade's mechanical statistics fitting to it's chosen lore.
    Also, the blade was made with the role of a one-handed legendary for melee classes or specs that don't have access to Shadowmourne, such as Frost Death Knights, Combat Rogues, or in PvP Protection Warriors and Paladins.
    The editor I used there didn't allow me to add them, but the weapon should have two Red Sockets, with a socket bonus of +24 Attack Power.

    That's my entry, tried to keep it in tune with the theme of Wrath of the Lich King, hope y'all enjoy it! ^-^

  14. I am going to try this, its my kind of thing just haven't drawn in years. Could I draw on paper or need be computer generated?

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