Legend of the Sword of Orman

Orman of Stromgarde, first Captain General of the Scarlet Crusade to be honoured in the Hall of Champions within the decrepit monastery of Tirisfal. Scholars say he was lost at the mouth of Icecrown Glacier like so many that voyaged to Northrend, never to return. Lost though he may have been, his legend had only grown in the minds of the crusaders, his stature standing testament to a time when the order was strong, pure and righteous. They whispered of the day soon to come which would change everything for the Scarlet Crusade, that day Orman would return and push back the tide. Many latched onto these tales in the rotting husk of Eastweald, even when the ziggurats loomed the sky, and when knights of death swept across the last green field. When the dam finally burst they were little else but a bump in the road, the champions of old had not returned, and in a cruel twist of fate the Ashbringer had damned them all. Those that survived sailed north into the frozen wastes under grand prophecy, landing on those haunted forgotten shores. Guided in deceit they hoped to claim final victory in their campaign against the Lich King and any who would oppose them. Not only were they blessed with terrible power, but the crimson crusaders claimed they had found the Sword of Orman itself.
No matter their blessings the Onslaught fell, and in the sacking of New Hearthglen the Sword of Orman vanished. In the years to follow those left in the desolate capital let the legend fade; leaving the abbey library to rot. Few now whispered of the dawn to come, and the legacy that would save the crusade - for it had faded once more.
Years passed by, the dead slumbered and the damned searched for a frozen heart in the wastes. War had landed on the icy shores for a second time, and so too did crimson pilgrims, taking safe passage hidden amongst blue banners. They had a fortress in their sights for they wished to pick scraps off bones. Some would call it plundering, they called it holy work. In the abbey they discovered a tome, and in the night one woke in a cold, shivering sweat; a vision of a blade seething in the waters. Then, a Priest of Ravens did appear.
On a forgotten shore she showed them the way, and in the icy depths of Northrends waters they returned with a great prophecy in hand - for the Sword of Orman had been found once more.
Word had spread of its discovery and the crows descended for the prize. Battle took place on the dead sands and towards the gate of the ruined capital. Destiny was stolen from the chosen, the sword clutched in the hands of a rotting man and his dead men.
Driven to obsession it’s former was consumed by an unnatural hunger. The pilgrims pursued what they believed to be rightfully theirs. This folly proved to be a miserable end, those who had survived were driven mad by grief - and those who died met a worse fate. The Sword of Orman resided in the hands of the dead as a warning to all living who would try to claim it. But not even they could control it’s rage in the end -- they fell to their own, consumed by the power offered by His legacy. It was taken to the frozen coasts in search of answers.
It was lost, cast into the ocean. It’s searing edge boiling the icy waters as it descended into the dark. Abandoning its wielder to their fate.
Still there are those who speak of its great power, it’s legacy. The sword offers destiny to those that hunger it’s glory. The living and the dead have not forgotten Orman’s legacy.
Woe to the weeping man in the whispering gardens, for they do not know the price they must pay.

Item type

Weapon, Melee