End of Galatian von Lichtenreid, The

=The Battle of Crown Guard=

The lines were drawn. A vast force of undead encroached upon the Eastern Plaguelands. Hearthglen was under siege already, but had not yet fallen. The valiant defenders still held fast before the tide. Still, the vast majority moved on into the Eastern Plaguelands, headed for the Crusader stronghold of Tyr’s Hand. This attack, however, had been foreseen, and a resistance had been mounted. A strong army of veteran Crusaders had been mustered; Ranks of Infantry, archers, cavalry, and even some artillery had been brought to the front. The morning sun was rising, and the footmen had gathered their gear, and ate their breakfast. In stoic ranks the companies and battalions marched in perfect order and unison. Their shields and weapons glinted like ice as the first rays of the sun shone upon them. The Archers formed the first line, arrows nocked, ready to fire into the barbaric horde before them which had no order whatsoever. Second were the footsoldiers, ready to charge and hack away at their foes, and at the left and right flanks were the Cavalry, with their swords, shields, and spears at the ready, prepared to run down any routed foes, or skirmishers. The entire cavalry force wore the tabard of the Crusade, for they were formed by Sergeants and Knight brothers and sisters. The majority of the infantry and archery divisions did, however, this was an experienced force. The lower-rankers without their tabards wore scarlet and brown clothing.

Galatian, now twenty-five years older than he had been when he was stationed in Stormwind (As we knew him ICly in WoW, he is now 52.), had grown a little scruff of hair, curly and no longer than an inch, and now bleach white. He was now fifty-two years old, and an aged shadow of what he once was in the face, not saying much, but still towered over the other men in the line. He marched on the first rank, shield at port before him, and a long battle axe in his main hand at his side. It could easily have been a two hander for a lesser man, but he wielded it easily with a shield. It was four feet long to the head, and the axe bit itself was about eight or nine inches. He still had his punching dagger in the small of his back, along with a short sword on his hip. He could throw his axe if he needed to, and chances were he would. It’s Galatian after all.

He had left his armor to his son, our dear Galatian had fallen in love with a prostitute he frequented and the pair married and had a son ten years prior. Galatian von Lichtenreid the Younger stayed in Stormwind with his mother while Galatian the Elder was called to the front. Now, he wore a chainmail that reached his waist, and had sleeves to his elbows. He wore segmented plate bracers, and greaves. His thighs were given no protection, and were only afforded a pair of old baggy trousers. He wore a coif over his short shag. He wore plate spaulders on his shoulders, made of interlacing plates that allowed his arms some movement, and also afforded his shoulders protection.

“Halt!” Commander Arland, the commander of the army, yelled from horseback as he and his entourage of twenty praetorian knights led the army forward. “Archers!” He yelled next, and a herald, wearing a padded cloth tunic and a standard with a golden bow and quiver over the Scarlet flame and white field, rode before the lines.

“This is it, eh?” Galatian said to a younger lad next to him.

“Yep… I guess… What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Big battles like this, you look like you would know…I mean, you look like you’ve seen a few.”

“I ain’t that old, boy. Haha, just keep your shield up, and keep swinging. Push when I push, and you’ll be fine.” Even in this dark hour, at the end of his life, Galatian maintained his attitude, and his temper.

“Thanks, sir… Light save you.”

“Let’s hope it will, this time.”

The archers then drew back their arrows, and prepared to fire a volley, the forerankers of the Undead now coming into range, “FIRE!”

“Fire!” The arrows were loosed and whistled their screams through the air as they began zooming from heaven down unto the Scourge forces, bringing the Light’s redemption as they left the sun’s domain. The arrows slammed into the skulls, shoulders, chests, armor, and shields of the undead warriors. Some fell while others howled their pain and rage, and remained standing.

“Prepare another volley!”

“FIRE!” The Light was brought again, with better effects, because now the undead had marched even closer, and those arrows which had fallen short now had a target. More fell, yet still more remained, and came over the hill of Marris Stead.

“Pull the archers back behind the infantry, and send the Calvary around the left flank. We’ll drive them into the mountainside and cut them down.”

The orders were given, and the infantry staggered their positions to let the archers fall back. The Calvary thundered around the flank and positioned themselves at Darrowshire, waiting for the rest of the undead force to come through. Now was the time for the poor bloody infantry to make their stand.

“Infantry! Ready your arms! Forward march!” yelled the commander, and Galatian looked to his neighbor again.

“This is it, get ready, time to put some hair on your balls, haha.” Galatian teased the poor boy, and the force marched forward in unison to the sound of war drums. Step by step the Crusaders marched forward, till they were within spitting distance of the horde as they made their own march. Crown Guard Tower stood between the two armies. This one lonely tower would become the pivotal landmark to gain, for whomever gains control of the tower, will soon have the entire field.

The Commander took his position behind the infantry lines, and raised his sword to heaven. The Sun had risen now, and shined upon the two armies upon the brink of battle.

He took a deep breath.

“CHARGE!” And the Crusaders leapt into action, loosing their defiant cries to heaven as they ran forward with complete abandon for their lives or health. The undead rushed forward, and the sickening crunch of flesh and bone upon metal was heard all the way in Light’s Hope Chapel. For a moment both forces stopped, regaining their senses after the great clash of forces, and then the killing began. The Undead lacked adequate arms or armor, all they had being what they wore when they died, or whatever armor they wore on whatever field they fell. Their weapons barely scratched the Crusader’s shields, but occasionally the undead weapon would find flesh, or a head, and that poor soul would find himself fallen if he wasn’t aided by a friend soon enough. An Undead might slash or tear at the Crusade with his teeth and nails, or he might be felled with a stroke of the sword, or mace, or axe, or become like a spit boar on a spear. The fight raged on and the Crusaders yelled their hate as they became drenched in decaying blood.

Galatian blocked a blow with his shield, and kicked the Scourge back with his boot, swinging his axe into its shoulder, and then yanking the weapon free he’d hack it into the skull of another, and a great circle formed around him where he cleared away the undead with ease. One rushed him, and found itself on the ground as its leg was cut off at the knee, still another came from behind and found its neck broken by a swift, powerful backhand with his shield arm. He swung his axe down into is chest, and stepped on it to rip it free. As he ripped the head free from the corpse another came at him, with its aged blade raised for a chop that would take his head off. Galatian blocked the blow with his shield and axe together, hooking the head around the blade when it hit his shield. He headbutted the undead, and thrust his axe head into its face, sending it staggering backwards. Galatian took the opportunity to hack off its kneecap, and in a golf-style swing, send it onto its back a gurgling, bloody mess.

Galatian looked back at the Crusaders who stood behind him, watching him kill the undead in awe. “C’mon! I bet the tower’s got a nice view! Let’s throw ‘em from the top!”

He charged forward, and found himself with friends as they pushed the undead back. The undead buckled in upon themselves, and were trampled when they lost their footing. Galatian took great care in making sure they did not rise again, stomping on the head of any he might find as he hacked away at the Scourge soldiers.

Galatian hacked and slashed his way to the gates of the tower, and even inside of it. He fought his way across thirty feet of undead, and thirty feet away from his comrades. It was too late to get back to them by the time he realized where he was. His tenacity was his downfall. He ran inside the tower, cutting down two undead in his way, and grabbing a spear off one of them, as he burst inside. He found a few warriors inside, and hastily slew them, spearing the first as he came, and then breaking the second’s neck with his shield, and slashing the throat of the last with his shield’s rim. As he turned to close the door, he had to combat the strength of a thousand Scourge to finally bar the door, and when he did he locked it, and barred it with any furniture he could grab. He again took up his spear, and pushed back his coif. He hadn’t been aware of how hot he was, and the sweat and blood matted his hair and formed a gross grime on his face and armor. He prepared to fight whatever may come, and over the clamor of the fighting outside, he heard a quiet roar…

And fire exploded about him. The artillery that the Crusade had brought had begun firing into the Scourge forces, behind their lines, where Galatian was. One of the incendiary shells was fired, and blew apart the tower, leaving not but a few piles of rubble, and no walls to keep whatever is outside from coming in.

Galatian sprung into action before the first undead leapt over the pile of rubble. He threw his spear and took the first of them down while he was still in mid-flight, and hurled his shield at the second, pinning it to the wall where it sunk through his gut. The next two he took down with one great cleave, sending them backwards spilling their innards on the dusty, bloody floor. He drew his sword, and as the spearmen amongst them attacked, he batted away the spearpoints, and hacked off their shield arms, kicking their heads back off their shoulders, or slicing it off with a sword, or cutting them across the chest. There were many amongst them, and the dead piled high. He fought his way to what was left of the staircase, and made his way up it, killing them one by one as they came. Sending them tumbling back down the stairs or over the side into the great piles that formed. He was cut and stabbed as he grew tired, sweating profusely that the blood of himself and his enemies would have been washed away if not for what more came.

He fought his way to the top of the tower, and could hardly lift his arms to fight any longer. Another came up the stairs, and he stepped aside as it charged, sending it over the side into the fighting below. The next came with a sword, and it was killed easily with a parry, and a sword thrust.

His last challenger came, armed with a spear, and Galatian was too tired to defend himself. He took the spear in the chest, the point ripping through the Scarlet flame, and the two plummeted off the top together. Galatian dropped his weapons as he fell. During the swift descent to the ground, he took his punching-dagger, and drove it into the Scourge’s heart. And then, with mighty Galatian’s final dying breath, he loosed his family’s warcry. “Lichtenreid!”

With a thud against the ground, amidst the bodies of dead Scourge and Scarlet, Galatian’s eyes turned white, and stared forward as his dying blood oozed from his wounds and formed a puddle about him. The Life of Galatian von Lichtenreid the Elder, of Duskwood, Sergeant of the Crusade under both Saidivh and Embophur, had fallen.

The Calvary charged the Scourge’s flanks, and cut their way through them while the infantry pressed their front. The Scourge were driven against the mountain and cut down like grass. Searching the battlefield for wounded and retrieving the dead for burial, the young man beside Galatian found his broken body beside the ruined tower.

“Poor old man…” The youth said, “Rest in peace, for as you wished, the Light did save you…You no longer need fight.” The young fighter closed his comrade’s eyes with his gloved hand, and moved on to search for more wounded.

Galatian was buried in Duskwood on his family’s farm, as he wrote in his will, prior to his transmission. He deeded his land to the Crusade (his wife lives in Stormwind) and is now being used as a stable, and garrison against the worgen and undead that still roam the region. It is said that the spirits of Galatian and his family still haunt the town, and he can be seen in the Scarlet Raven tavern, or in the armory inspecting weapons, or on the farm tending the fields or walking in the woods.

To this day, Galatian the Younger serves in the Crusade, striving to become as great a warrior as his father. He shows great charisma and strength, and will someday assuredly lead his own force in battle against the Undead, as his father did in the charge for the Crown Guard Tower.