What? No. Of course I can do this. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? You act like I’m upset or something. Go away, Bellwether, I have writing to do. You’re making me, now let me do it.
I am not crying! You’re seeing things. I don’t cry! I’m a Paladin, we don’t cry.
Okay, she left.
Look, okay, fine. You know, Bellwether has said the crew needs to stay in Outlands. It’s not a good idea to just up and leave when the Burning Legion is still being active and everything. Plus I can’t mine the stuff in Northrend, and the Captain needs to free some dragons. It…I mean…okay, so it is a good…thing…that we’re doing. I know. But…but…
Fordragon’s dead! My heroes are dying in Northrend and I’m stuck on this Light-forsaken Void-rock! For what, goggles? I don't need to be a better engineer or miner to rip an undead monstrosity's skull open and shove a hammer inside.
I…I could have done something. I would have given my life for him, for Fordragon, for the Alliance, against that abomination that is the Lich King, against those…those…Forsaken rats. Instead, I’m picking pieces of ore out of the ground while the Arthas drop-outs run around like they own the place. Make them fight the Legion as penance for what they’ve done, not me.
Let me at that gate that separates us from Arthas, and let me chip it open. Let me invade the Undercity and bring that bloated rat to justice. Let me into that thrice-damned cold and I’ll burn it with the fire of vengeance, of retribution.
I swear by the Light, I will cut a path through that land like none have known, or die trying.
But there will be justice.