A blackened heart that could not beat,
Lay still beneath the bone.
The rotted flesh, alive no more,
As grey and cold as stone…
Yet he spoke, with words so soft,
Of love and times long past
When, ever cautious, he would walk
Throughout the world so vast.
And to this weary wanderer
He told his lonely tale,
Of how he came to this un-life
Beneath the moon so pale.
A plague tore through his land,
And slaughtered all it found,
And yet they rose, where they fell -
To the Lich King they were bound.
Then came the great Sylvanas,
Who led them to this fate.
To fight the Lich King’s power,
And those who wished them hate.
They walk the world with humans,
The race from which they came,
But always have we shunned them
In a way so inhumane.
He looked down now, upon me,
And I shed a silent tear.
For in him I saw man,
And a very real fear.
That those who let hate rule them
Would kill him once again;
That ever would his life involve
Darkness, death, and pain.
I laid my hand upon his cheek,
Not knowing what to do,
For if I should defend his kind
My death would come soon too.
A conflict waging in my heart,
I quickly grabbed my sword
For though I understood him then,
Undead are still the Horde.