Today I come to celebrate the one year anniversary of Legacy’s defeat of Kel’Thuzad, and the continued progress and stories of Grobbulus Classic Era with Requiem and The Exiled. Come join us today!
The flickering torchlight casts long shadows against the ancient stone walls, the scent of parchment and candlewax thick in the air. You stand amidst the great hall of Ironforge, deep within the Hall of Explorers, where relics of the past whisper their forgotten tales.
Adventurers gather here in hushed conversation, their armor still bearing the scars of recent battles, their weapons resting against the old wooden tables worn smooth by time. Some lean in close over maps of the Eastern Kingdoms, tracing routes to fallen cities and war-torn frontiers. Others nurse flagons of ale, recounting victories and defeats alike, their voices low but steady.
A dwarf scribe, his beard streaked with silver, unfurls a thick parchment before you. The edges are burned, the ink slightly smudged, as if carried from distant lands where the air itself is thick with battle. His eyes, keen and knowing, fix upon you.
“You best read this, traveler. There’s still a fight to be fought. New heroes are needed on Grobbulus.”
He slides the parchment forward, and as your eyes scan the words, the world around you begins to shift. The flickering torches seem dimmer, the walls colder. The sound of steel on steel, of war cries and spellfire, echoes faintly in your mind.
And so the tale begins.
The chill air of Naxxramas was heavy that night, as though the cursed necropolis itself knew what fate approached. For weeks, months, years, perhaps, Kel’Thuzad had stood unchallenged, his icy hand clutching at the very heart of Azeroth from his seat in the Plaguelands. Legion after legion had attempted to breach his fortress—some large and mighty, others small and determined—but all had fallen.
And then came Legacy.
It did not start as a march of triumph. It began in silence, in humble whispers among the Alliance. A few stubborn adventurers, scattered across Grobbulus, who would not let the light of Classic Era die. Some of them hailed from the days of old, when the gates of Ahn’Qiraj were newly opened and Onyxia’s head still swayed above Stormwind. Others had arrived later, amidst the quiet ruins of a dwindling world, seeking only comrades and a chance to face the darkness of Azeroth together.
When they gathered, they did so not with the certainty of victory—but with the refusal to quit.
A few dozen at first. They stood in the molten depths of Blackrock Mountain, eyes fixed upon the Firelord. “This is madness,” the cynics whispered. “The server is dead. Naxxramas will never fall. Why even try?” But Legacy did not listen. They slew Ragnaros. And then they turned their eyes to Blackwing Lair.
They were twenty-six when Nefarian fell. The beast bellowed in rage, his lifeblood spilling across his own obsidian throne. It was then, in late 2022, that the first whisper of hope began to creep into the hearts of Legacy. “Perhaps…” someone dared to say. “Perhaps we could do this.”
Ahn’Qiraj was next. The Twin Emperors, creatures so vile and powerful they had broken entire raids before them, were overcome by sheer willpower and grit. On that night, Retributus, the iron-willed paladin who stood alongside their leader Angry, muttered in disbelief: “We are actually going to do it.” And they did. Soon after, the Old God, C’Thun, had been vanquished.
And then came Naxxramas.
It was not swift. Nor was it painless. Week after week, Legacy threw themselves against the horrors within. Patchwerk’s cleaver claimed many. Thaddius’s cruel experiment brought suffering. Gothik, the Horsemen, and Sapphiron—they all extracted their toll in blood. And then… at long last… they stood before Kel’Thuzad.
March, in the Year of Our Lord 2024. Nearly one year ago to the day.
The great Lich stood atop his throne, his voice dripping with mockery. “You have come a long way just to die,” he sneered. The Scourge erupted around him, a tide of undeath poised to sweep Legacy from existence. Heroes fell. Shields shattered. Healers’ mana ran dry. At one percent, their cloaks were hung in defeat. “We were so close…” they whispered.
But did they quit? No.
They came again. And this time… they did not falter.
Kel’Thuzad’s bones collapsed in a heap upon his frozen dais, his final shriek of rage echoing across the void. And as his crown rolled lifelessly across the stone, a truth dawned upon those gathered: They had done it. On a dying realm, with dwindling numbers and a world that had turned its back on Vanilla, they had achieved the unthinkable.
The necropolis fell silent. And Legacy stood victorious.
Now, a year has passed. The sun has risen and set hundreds of times. Seasons have turned. The FrEsH realms progress, and the Dark Portal will soon open again. Azeroth has moved on. Many of the great guilds have departed, eager to chase new enemies beyond the veil. The Plaguelands are quieter now—but not empty.
For still, week after week, Legacy returns. They do not seek glory. They do not chase loot. They do not fight for conquest or status. They fight because they love the battle. Because deep down, they understand something few others do: Vanilla is eternal.
Some weeks, there are thirty of them. Other weeks, perhaps twenty-five. On a rare blue moon, the roster fills to forty. But still they march, their banners unfurled, their resolve unbroken. They face dragons, firelords, Old Gods, and Liches alike—and they do so with smiles upon their faces.
But they are not alone.
Requiem, the dark champions of the Horde, have endured as well. Long have they ruled the battlegrounds of Grobbulus, their blades drenched in Alliance blood, claiming The Rock their own. But they are more than warriors—they are raiders, growing stronger with each passing night. They have felled Ragnaros. They have slain Nefarian. And soon, their warbands will march into Ahn’Qiraj.
And beyond them, a new force gathers. The Forsaken have begun to stir in Andorhal, their banner raised beneath the name The Exiled. They are neither Horde nor Alliance, but something else—something dangerous. Their numbers swell with each passing night. And though their leader, Eightlug, speaks in whispers, his message is clear: Azeroth has abandoned us. It is time to rise on our own.
So now, I ask you, heroes of Azeroth — will you join us on Grobbulus, and where will you stand?
Will you fight for the Alliance, joining Legacy as they purge the horrors of Naxxramas and stand defiant against the Horde? They raid Monday’s and Fridays 7-10 PM Pacific, their banners raised high in the name of honor and perseverance.
Will you take up arms with Requiem, the hardened warriors of the Horde, who sharpen their steel in PvP and raid progression alike? They raid Saturday’s at 7:00 PM Pacific, their war drums echoing across the battlefield.
Or will you walk the darker path, forsaking both factions and forging a new destiny in the ranks of The Exiled? Their numbers grow, and soon, their purpose will be revealed.
Azeroth has forgotten Grobbulus.
But Grobbulus has not forgotten Azeroth.
If you seek a fight that will never fade, if you long for battles that are won not by numbers but by will, then the path is before you.
Join us. Stand with us. Fight with us.
For the battle is not over. And the Lich still stirs in his tomb. Old God’s must fall again. Dragons tamed, and Firelords banished. New factions emerge, their fate to be seen.
Long Live Legacy.
Long Live Requiem.
Long Live The Exiled.
Long Live Grobbulus.
Long Live Classic Era.Yours in Battle,
Jarl
Legacy (A) raids M/F from 7-10pm PT. You can find our discord here: https://discord.gg/Ux5m9wPYe3
Requiem (H) raids Saturday from 7-10pm PT. You can find their discord here: https://discord.gg/U4wMGSa88X
The Exiled (H) are gaining numbers. You can join their ranks here: https://discord.gg/6whxpz5cQP
rest up!
take it one step at a time and get to 60 in a year or so