#ask/invite #canon: lost light universe #era: six hours before high noon #no but for real it's a fantasy au #era: morning light
It is a time of legends.
The world has never known more peril than it does in these halcyon days, nor has the sun above it ever shone brighter for the brave and noble souls that stand against the forces that want the mortal world for themselves.
Twenty years have passed since the greatest of Man's princes turned traitor and took up the mantle of the Lich King, sitting in his citadel of ice and bone in the far north of the world, plotting the downfall of all things good and pure in existence, and yet all his necrotic might and icy hatred has been for naught against the heroism of the cities that were once his and the arms and armies of other cities still that never trusted him, even in the days where he yet possessed a soul of his own.
It has been ten years since the disaster at Kaprika, an entire civilization vanishing overnight, sucked screaming into the realm of Chaos and leaving behind a frigid hellscape of capering demons and embittered, haggard survivors, a place where the veil between material and immaterial is treacherously thin and the unknowable things that wish to gnaw on the bones of the myriad mortal races and spit the gristle out claw feverishly at the bars of their cages, shrieking and gibbering where none can hear, but for every demon that bursts through reality like a swollen, diseased pustule, there are twenty silver-armored figures of the Seventh Legion to stamp it out, purple bolts of witchfire splashing off their armor like greasy smoke and tortured, inhuman shrieks falling on deaf ears as these few elite among Stormwind's countless defenders condemn the beast to another eternity of seeking an entrance into the materium.
It has been five years since the formation of the Orders, fraternal organizations that seek to look beyond border disputes and age-old blood feuds to protect their various homes and ensure all are ready for the next inevitable crisis, for there are always more crises, more than could ever be put into words; those named are but a few among innumerable, just as the glories and honors of these days. The orcish warriors of Orgrimmar raise a shout of joy and pride to rival any cheer of Stormwind's human sons at