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The Final Hour

May 12, 2010

It is always cold here. Long ago, when I joined the Silver Hand, I felt the healing warmth of the Light within me always and rejoiced. Now it is a chilling, searing desire for justice calling me to bring retribution on those who have destroyed so much that was holy and beautiful.

I was a knight of Lordaeron once. I remember being bored once, guarding the gates to the Cathedral. I did not know then how lucky I was. I looked at the stained glass windows and marvelled at the heroics portrayed. I listened to a young priest extolling the caring of the Light. Now the windows are shattered, the priest chants mindless blasphemies through the rotted lips of his undead body and I guard one of the last bastions of human civilisation left in these plagued lands.

In my soul, I feel the undead hordes around me. Yet I dare not leave my post to oppose them. In my holding of this tower lies a mighty trust and even the searing of the Light’s revulsion cannot cause me to betray it.

A dark elf comes. Even in death he is beautiful: strange and fey as all high elves are. I rember one who fought at our side earlier before the high elves split into warring factions and those corrupted tool sanctuary with the foul orcish horde.

This one bears so many symbols of corruption that I find it hard not to vomit as I feel the evil rolling off him. Corrupted by the fel energy of the Burning Legion, infused with the necromantic energies that pervade the land and wearing symbols of allegiance to the horde, he is a terrifying sight. The Light within me burns to oppose him but still I remain at my post. I will endure.

He advances, challenging my defense. The power that burns within him terrifies me but my duty is plain and I bid him begone. He raises his hands. In anyone else I might think it a sign of peace but the evil within him is plain and I know his kind.

In desperation, I move forward to oppose him. The Light rises within me to strike against this blasphemy of natural order and I channel it into the blade that I received so long ago whenthe world was purer. He parries my blow and his own unholy power opposes the Light.

I am outmatched. I know it. The Light calls out for vengeance but I am weak. He wrackse with ice and disease, his blade cuts through armour and flesh. The Light protects me and heals my wounds but his cursed powers can even steal the life it grants me.

I must defend my tower. It is my sacred trust. But he is so strong and the pain is so fierce. I am weakening and soon will die, yet another death in these lands that were once so fair and are now so foul.

He terrifies me, the beautiful face contorted with rage and spite. The aura of evil and power that surges over me. He will destroy me, take the Tower and noone will ever know. When the supply trains come he will destroy them and their innocent blood too will stain the tainted ground.

*****

I fled.

I broke my trust.

I deserted my post.

I feel the Light no more within me.

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