I was level 35ish when a dwarf named Rucha joined the guild. He and I were fast leveling up, racing toward that magical milestone: level 40, where we’d finally get our very first mounts. It was a huge deal back then—no more running across half of Azeroth on foot. Riding would be a game-changer.
Our questing grounds? The ogre-infested Arathi Highlands. I somehow calculated that we had to kill roughly 4,000 ogres to hit level 40. It became our daily grind: hack, slash, loot, repeat.
“One!” I’d shout when the first ogre fell.
“Four!” Rucha would echo as another met its doom.
It was endless, but we were determined. Right when we thought we’d become permanent fixtures of Arathi, Sandrae, our guild’s wise old druid, popped up with a suggestion.
“Forget ogres,” he said, his voice full of that mysterious druid wisdom. “You need a real challenge—Scarlet Monastery.”
Sandrae had this way of making even the most tedious dungeon sound like an epic tale. “It’s the stronghold of the Scarlet Crusade,” he explained. “Fanatics, zealots, and relics beyond your wildest dreams. The Crusade’s been at war with the undead for ages, believing anyone touched by them is corrupted. They’ve grown mad over time, cleansing anyone they deem unworthy.”
This was intriguing. Fanatics, relics, zealots—sign us up!
And just like that, the ogre slaughter was put on hold. Rucha and I headed to meet Sandrae, along with our now-level 42 badass hunter, Aramai, and a priest named Finshan who could rock a dress with unmatched confidence.
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Scarlet Monastery was split into four wings: the Graveyard, where the dead refused to stay dead; the Library, full of dark lore and guarded by fanatical scholars; the Armory, where warriors trained with fervor; and the grand Cathedral, the heart of their twisted faith.
Sandrae gave us the rundown as we stood outside the imposing gates. “The Scarlet Crusade was formed after the fall of Lordaeron, determined to rid the world of anything undead. But their devotion turned into madness. They became as much a threat as the Scourge itself.”
We ventured inside, our group ready for anything. The atmosphere was tense, the halls filled with whispers of the Crusade’s devotion. We cut through wave after wave of soldiers, and Sandrae kept dropping lore bombs about the history of the place.
“That big guy in the Armory? Herod, the Scarlet Champion. He’s a beast, but watch out for his whirlwind. He’ll turn you into mincemeat.”
As we fought through, Aramai—at her impressive level 42—was like a one-woman army. Every time I looked over, she was mowing down enemies with ease, giving off this boss-like vibe. I remember thinking, “I want to be that awesome someday.”
The battles were tough, but our little guild squad held strong. Finshan’s heals kept us alive through the chaos, Sandrae’s knowledge of every nook and cranny guided us, and I… well, I tried not to let Dave the sabre do anything stupid, like pulling extra mobs.
But then, in the heart of the Cathedral, when we faced off against the High Inquisitor Whitemane and her cronies, things got intense. She resurrected Mograine right as we thought we’d won. I’ll never forget the chaos that ensued—bodies flying everywhere, everyone yelling orders in Skype, and somehow, by the skin of our teeth, we managed to pull off the win.
By the time we left, we were battered but victorious. Sandrae, always the storyteller, gave us one last bit of wisdom as we exited the Scarlet Monastery’s doors.
“This place, it’s a symbol of what happens when good intentions go too far. The Scarlet Crusade wanted to save the world, but in the end, they became the monsters.”
Looking back, that dungeon run wasn’t just another XP grind. It was one of those moments where Warcraft became more than just a game. It was a story, an adventure with friends, and a memory I’d carry with me through every quest, dungeon, and raid to come.
And somewhere in the chaos, I realized—this was just the beginning.