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On a hard fought Sunday evening (back on the 9th August), Apocalypse chose to try to kill Steelbreaker last. Even though he offered the largest target, our DPS was forced to focus on smaller fish first, and after many attempts, tank explosions and the obligatory 1% wipe, the big guy fell before we did.

There are few things more nerve wracking than the agonising wait for the last 2 or 3 drops which never seem to happen. For the last few weeks every boss kill was preceded by a collective intake of breath and a fervent prayer for a fragment drop.

Those must have been effective as Xilaran is now the proud owner of Val'anyr, Hammer of Ancient Kings! (one of the 3 Val'anyr on the server. Shun)

PS: On the night Apocalypse also killed Vezzax without a death.

Should you, by chance or happenstance, find yourself using Dalaran as a springboard towards the new territory of Northrend you will have noticed that there is a new crop of Rusted Proto Drakes proudly displayed by their Horde riders. (First Horde rusted Proto-Drakes! Shun)

One Saturday not long ago an epic battle, which started early in the afternoon and ended late in the evening, was fought and won. Three achievements separated our valiant group from the promised drake, two of those were some of the hardest fights to be found inside Ulduar: Knock, knock, knock and Firefighter, the third required only a blood sacrifice of a number of Dark Iron Dwarves. (Ably seconded at times by yours truly. Shun)

It has been said that machines don't have a heart.

Any of you who have had the misfortune to face the terminally annoying highpitched whinning of XT or have endured the ramblings of Tin Man will know that the proper action when faced with one of those machines with heart delusions is to lower it into a vat of molten metal.

Should this option not be available, you could call upon the services of the Apocalypse squad who will first sever its heart from the pesky mechanical teen and then proceed to extinguish the remainder of its life. Errant life sparks will be decisively stamped on by determined ranged while the shadowy pits of gravity wells will be easily avoided. (As long as it's not fire to dodge! Shun)

Machines are not meant to have a heart. Apocalypse will keep it that way.

Tonight was the night when, under the disco lights of the four towers, we danced and twirled around Flame Leviathan.

Amid the chaotic ballet of flames, colored beams, ravenous flowers and under the constant deadly firework of missile volleys, the raiders of Apocalypse slowly but steadily circled around him destroying this unyielding construct cog by cog until, at last, in a desperate creaking and clanging of exhausted metal he collapsed in a shower of parts. (Literally parts since I took him apart afterwards. Mwahah!. Shun)