I turn 40 this year.
When I was 29, Lordaeron--my home--fell to the scourge, and my wife and two small children perished.
For the last eleven years, my life has been one unending toil of war--of blood, and pain, and weary loss.
Horde apologists want to know why I hate the Forsaken, why I seek to destroy the last vestiges of my countrymen--men and women who, whatever else they may be, will always be the chief victims of those evil days.
The answer is because they are not my countrymen; they are monsters.
These fetid corpses of my fallen friends--empowered by foul magic and wrought for evil--are nothing like the dear ones I loved.
They have brought plague and a curse to Gilneas. They follow a banshee witch who makes dark bargains with the Queen of Hell. They feast on human flesh.
Those I love would have died--and did die--to stop such as these.
And I also will not rest until the bones and souls of my countrymen have peace at last, and the sun shines bright once more in Lordaeron the Fair.
For Lordaeron!
When I was 29, Lordaeron--my home--fell to the scourge, and my wife and two small children perished.
For the last eleven years, my life has been one unending toil of war--of blood, and pain, and weary loss.
Horde apologists want to know why I hate the Forsaken, why I seek to destroy the last vestiges of my countrymen--men and women who, whatever else they may be, will always be the chief victims of those evil days.
The answer is because they are not my countrymen; they are monsters.
These fetid corpses of my fallen friends--empowered by foul magic and wrought for evil--are nothing like the dear ones I loved.
They have brought plague and a curse to Gilneas. They follow a banshee witch who makes dark bargains with the Queen of Hell. They feast on human flesh.
Those I love would have died--and did die--to stop such as these.
And I also will not rest until the bones and souls of my countrymen have peace at last, and the sun shines bright once more in Lordaeron the Fair.
For Lordaeron!
