Homecomming
I didn't expect there to be much left of my home. Darrowshire fell long before this place became known as the Plaguelands. But I never got to see my home burned to the ground as the Scourge swept across it. My father sent me to Lordaeron with relatives, and he and my mother stayed behind to try and save our friends and neighbors. It didn't do any good. Ask I walk between the broken shells and frames that are all thats left of houses; homes; I can only imagine how they fell. I'd like to hope they stood strong by the side of Davil Lightfire, fighting the betrayer Redpath.
I crouch down, letting my twisted fingers run through the dust and ash, almost seeming still sticky with the blood of the defenders of Darrowshire, and can only think of how proud I was the last time I saw them. Mommy and Daddy were going to save Lordaeron! They could do anything in thier bright armor and defeat any undead monster with thier magical swords! I wish I were that girl again. The filth of reality clings to me still, like the gravedirt that my parents are buried in.
But they did fail, betrayed by thier own, and abandoned by all thier allies. So now I'll start my own war, against the Alliance that swore to protect my family, and the Silver Hand who are so blinded by thier zealotry that they failed in every aspect of thier original creed. In the depths beneath the ruins of Lordaeron, in the hidden Undercity, a new plague is brewing. Alliance and Scourge alike shall fall to it, and maybe then my desire for justice will be fulfilled.
Am I evil now? Has the pain in my soul twisted me that much?
But I'll never shed a tear. The Forsaken cannot cry.
I crouch down, letting my twisted fingers run through the dust and ash, almost seeming still sticky with the blood of the defenders of Darrowshire, and can only think of how proud I was the last time I saw them. Mommy and Daddy were going to save Lordaeron! They could do anything in thier bright armor and defeat any undead monster with thier magical swords! I wish I were that girl again. The filth of reality clings to me still, like the gravedirt that my parents are buried in.
But they did fail, betrayed by thier own, and abandoned by all thier allies. So now I'll start my own war, against the Alliance that swore to protect my family, and the Silver Hand who are so blinded by thier zealotry that they failed in every aspect of thier original creed. In the depths beneath the ruins of Lordaeron, in the hidden Undercity, a new plague is brewing. Alliance and Scourge alike shall fall to it, and maybe then my desire for justice will be fulfilled.
Am I evil now? Has the pain in my soul twisted me that much?
But I'll never shed a tear. The Forsaken cannot cry.