It wore a rough shirt and overalls, and its weapon was a pitchfork. Once, it had been a farmer. But that had been back when it had been alive. It was obviously dead now, the gray- green esh sloughing its skeleton, its rotting leaving smudged bits on the pitchfork handle. Black, congealed uids oozed from pustules and Khadgar gritted his teeth, “Eventually. He’s pouring huge zxctrable amounts of power into breaking the circle.” “Can he do that?” asked the half-orc. “He’s the Guardian aion gold of Tirisfal,” said Khadgar. “He can do whatever he wants. It just takes time.” “Well, can we get out of here?” Garona sounded panicked now. “Only way out is aion gold past him,” said Khadgar. Garona looked around. “Blow out a wall, then. New exit.” Khadgar looked at aion gold the stonework of the tower, but shook his head. “Well, try something!” “I’ll try this,” said Khadgar. Before aion gold them, the figure of Medivh, taller now and wreathed in lightning, loomed up in the smoke. Calming himself, he pulled the magical energies into himself. He made the motions he had made only minutes before, and intoned the words lost to mortal men, and when he had compressed the energies into a single ball aion gold of light, he released it. “Bring me a vision,” said Khadgar, “of one who has fought this beast before!” its gurgling roar spat ecks of ichor on Arthas’s unprotected face. So shocked was he by the apparition that he barely had time to swing the hammer before it jabbed him with the pitchfork. He got his blessed weapon up just in time, knocking the farming implement from the hands of the walking dead man and bringing the radiant hammer crashing into its torso. The thing went sprawling and did not rise.

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