It is cold here. Cold enough to freeze the herbs I gather to the point where they are unrecognizable at a glance. If I look into the sky I can see dragons flying about now and then, growing more numerous as I move further into this frigid land. The Blue Dragonflight makes their war against the rest of the world, and the other flights, the mages of the Kirin Tor, as well as us must stand against the Spellweaver as stalwartly as we must stand against the Lich King.
There are other reasons for me to aid in such a conflict. Personal reasons. I was not there to be a part of it myself. If I were involved I might well be smoking ash by now. However, any orc who has a sence of honor in his heart would still feel the burden of a debt unpaid when it comes to the Dragonqueen and the crimes of my people against her broods. In the many years of my life I have seldom come to tears about anything, but standing before Alexstraza today, even though she was in the guise of an elf, seeing her knowing smile, without a hint of anger or vehemence for what we have done to her in the past, was about enough. I would die to carry out this being's will, anything short of turning against my own Warchief.Enough of these feelings though. There is work to be done. Our foothold in the Dragonblight has been anchored quite well. We have new allies in the brave Taunka, cousins to our Tauren brothers, we have stemmed the tide of the grotesque spiders of Azjol'Nerub, and now we must bare down upon the gates to Icecrown itself: Angrathar.
The son of Saurfang leads our forces there. It is time to storm the door to Icecrown!
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