The Krokul Lore Museum on Argus

PTR Geposted 10.08.2017 um 17:52 von perculia

Der ArgusvorstoßArchivar Ionaa

Before you are remnants of memories past, echoes of what our people were before the Dark Titan came.

When one of our kind breaks away from the Legion's grasp, sometimes they return with a memento of our old way of life.

These relics symbolize all we have lost...and serve as a reminder of what we fight for.

Crafted by an ancient Krokul smith,. the scythe's markings reveal a strenuous history of battle between the Burning Legion and the Krokul.

Its foggy, shale-colored blade is chipped, speckled with a darkened, dried liquid around the blade's edge.

The taut handle crafted from talbuk hide is well-worn, with a slight imprint of where its owner's grip once wielded this magnificent tool-turned-weapon into battle.

Long ago, the withering slaves of the Annihilan Pits held their ground in a rebellious effort to free the people of Krokuun from their bonds.

These shackles remind the inhabitants of Krokuun of the struggles endured to retain what semblance of freedom remains.

Tales often echo throughout the hovel's porous, rocky surroundings. Whispers of brave krokul scouts--those responsible for locating survivors after the Burning Legion made their mark upon this world.

One such tale speaks of an encounter with one of the Dark One's fel-emblazoned demon lords whose size was only surpassed by its power to wield destruction.

This monstrous, horned skull cap is all that remains. A reminder to the Krokul people that tales often begin with eager exploration in search of hope, and often end in grievous distress and suffering, but sometimes...victory.

Most of the flora on Argus has long succumbed to its inevitable demise, though a once-journeyed cavern, whose location was never truly revealed, yielded this magnificent specimen.

Since its arrival, the aura surrounding this mysterious plant has yet to dim below toe level of a radiantly glowing crystal, once a prominent fixture among the Argussian landscape, but now only a memory of stories past.

The ink is marred from endless eons of weathering, rendering the text illegible.

Long after the emerald flame took our home, the Legion took to open a gate to a new world. Never had they lusted for any conquest as much as this lush, primitive land.

Just as their armies set forth, a green-skinned warrior stepped through the gate. He wielded a single blade--and roared a single cry for battle.

Mountains and flesh and bone grew as he carved through the demons' ranks. His defiance drew the attention of the Dark One--who came to see his end.

The warrior struck but one blow before he fell, but it was never forgotten.

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