They promised me divine power. They promised me retribution. They promised me my child's life.
"Kathrine will be alright, I promise. You can get her back, Langley."
It was a lie. It was all a lie. They never knew the fate of my daughter. They never knew any priest who condoned their actions that wasn't a part of their scheme. The Prince's scheme. I was a fool for falling for it.
A child's love is the most powerful thing in the world, they say. More powerful than a mana bomb. It can drive mothers to murder. It can bring grown men to their knees and force them to weep bitter tears. A child's love can kill.
All things have an end. Even the dead will eventually fall again. Centurion Vurk'Gol Bladebreaker was no different. He too had an end, no matter how hard he tried to convince the world and himself that he was immortal. This is the story of his downfall.
Quel'thalas will burn before they are able to claim the War Machine cannot touch it. Cannot hold strict domain over it. Cannot clap each and every one of those treasonous swine in irons and make each of them spit-shine the Warchief's boots.
Hart thinks differently. My mate, my love, my everything -- disagrees with me about our people.
Its slithering, fleshy mass hung heavily around its stick-like figure. My best friend had imploded into a mass of sticky good - flesh and sinew. It was all I had left of him. All I had left of him. His gross pound of flesh that sat at my dinner table.
He teased me because of my wheelchair. Why did I keep him around? He teased me because of my hair. Why did I keep him around? He teased me because of my voice. Why did I keep him around? He teased me because of my loyalty. Why did I keep him around?
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