As we had completed 8/8 in the Looking for Raid as we were down on numbers for a progression run we decided to have a crack at completing some of those achievements that we never quite reached.

One of those was the old observer himself, Algalon. He seemed a little easier with the majority of the group packing 380+ gear level.

As we were down a main tank for our regular Icecrown Citadel run, we decided to have a brisk jaunt through Ulduar with a few of our alts.

After a couple of comedy moments against XT and then a rather scary moment when the AoE accidentally took down the Left Arm of Kologarn we shuffled our way into the Garden of Eden.

Elders were despatched with some nice rewards and finally a quick run through of the tactics (and then a further run through of the tactics during the fight) and were in combat with Freya herself.

As the combat progressed we started taking on the adds here, taking on the adds there and then suddenly as a bit of a shock to everyone Freya fell to the ground.

Tada, another guild first, well done guildies.

After yet another frustrating night on Thorim a few days ago a band of intrepid SF heroes gathered again for the wipefest that we call progression.

After sorting out the group in the room tactically correctly this time round (tank closest to Thorim did indeed help) things seemed to look up - only for the gauntlet group to join in with the wipes. However, with the feeling that the tactics were finally right surely it would only be a matter of time until we finally got to Thorim itself. And low and behold - a few tries later we finally did manage to engage the boss itself - only to kill him first time round we ever got him into phase 2. Well done all - another SF first!

Like a curmudgeonly uncle barring the door when you want to go to the pub, Kologarn straddles the shattered walkway and sternly forbids access to the fun within the antechamber of Ulduar.

Clearly he under-estimated the desire of the Shining Force regulars to get to the pub. We broke his arm, punched him in the face, stabbed him in the chest and singed his facey hairs. Still he glowered down. Much like my real-life uncle Lloain, lazers burned from his eyes to the ground chasing the raiders in all manner of disguises - from wolvar to furbolg to pirate - like some sort of psychopathic fancy dress party. With maces.

But, to paraphrase the Rolling Stones, all his love was in vain and his train left the station. Crumbled, decapitated. A sad end for a sad man.

Another step to ultimate glory for the SF 25manners. Onwards and upwards my brothers from another mother.