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| - Here he stood, a new sense of power, of destruction, and of evil coursing through his black veins. The wingless dreadlord, an anomaly, and a traitor, to his kind, looked out towards the legions of the undead he was now entrusted to command. The hellish army, all of whom previously having led mortal lives which contained emotions such as love, passion, and finally fear, were now just servants of the Lich King. A grin like an orca, yet a thousand times as malicious.
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| abstract
| - Here he stood, a new sense of power, of destruction, and of evil coursing through his black veins. The wingless dreadlord, an anomaly, and a traitor, to his kind, looked out towards the legions of the undead he was now entrusted to command. The hellish army, all of whom previously having led mortal lives which contained emotions such as love, passion, and finally fear, were now just servants of the Lich King. The best thing Paggorn had ever done was to come north to the icy domain of the Scourge. To kneel at the feet of Kel'thuzad and plead for an audience with the mighty Lich King, the one with terrible power and the absence of conscience that was required to use it. The request had cost him much. He was made to realize that the Nathrezim were no more a powerful and revered race, but rather a group of demons whose height had long since past. This was the age of the Scourge, he was told, as the wings that he had cherished were ripped from his back, and fed to plague-hounds. He would never get those back. As he grovelled on the floor, the floating form of Kel'thuzad looking down upon him, he was filled with both embarrassment and awe. Embarrassment that he, a dreadlord, was being forced into something that he had never thought possible. He felt like a common pleb, a common slave, a common mortal. It was not something he was happy to feel. But the awe overrode that. It was an awe not even the Burning Legion could fulfil. It was the awe of being humbled by a force much more powerful than himself. And now, he was that power. He had finally been given that chance. Wingless he may have been, but now he had more potential than ever! The Scourge had given him an army worthy of the Nathrezim, and not a single demon was amongst it. It was beautiful, in a sense. These creatures were shells that used to contain humanity, and now they mindlessly crushed the ones that had left behind, without any hesitation, without any acknowledgement that what they were doing was wrong. The Scourge that he commanded were truly just machines, just like the ones those despicable gnomes and goblins, the small races who needed other things to do their bidding for them... just like they created. 'SCOURGE!' he howled, looking up to the skies of Icecrown. He addressed his new magnificent rabble in the courtyard of Icecrown Citadel. He was aware that, on the top stair, the Lich King gazed down at him, and his new army. He had a presence of evil that Paggorn had never experienced. It was true nefariousness. 'tonight is the night that we start the purging of our enemies!' A gurgling cheer came out of the mouths of a few abominations present. Paggorn looked at them, and smiled. A toothless mouth, because wings were not the only things that dreadlords cherished, formed into a grin. A grin like an orca, yet a thousand times as malicious. 'Abominations, Banshees, Gargoyles, Nerubians, Vykrul, Worgen, Wraiths, Geists, Frost Wyrms, Flesh Giants, Death Knights, Wights, Necromancers, and the rest of you beautiful undead! You are all the heralds of this world's doom! I will lead you through the path to conquest, and to victory, and to the annihilation of those you have left behind! They, like you, shall soon serve a new master, a master as terrible and as evil as any mortal would dare to imagine! There shall be nothing to stop us in this, and our first target will be those pathetic orcs! My former masters, stupid and incompetent as they were, could not deal with them! They could not wipe out the Horde, but we shall! Warsong Hold will not burn, it will not be razed, it will not even be crushed. It will be as though it was never there in the first place! Where it now stands, there shall only be plagued earth!' Another howl, and this time, the abominations were joined in their cheer by all the blights on the land gathered. It was the most horrifying cheer ever to form outside of a bingo hall. Paggorn looked over his troops. There was no way the filthy Horde could ever withstand even a quarter of this delicious army. The Warsong would come to an abrupt, and well-deserved end.
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)