Once more unto the breach dear friends!
Too long has Christmuklaus tarried in the sparkling Alliance capital of Stormwind!
Too long has my mace rested upon my belt as I aided the cause of our war effort in special tactical service to The King, the Most Noble Varian Wrynn!
Too long have I spent my days pouring over maps and dispatches from the front, while the sublime power of The Light slumbered in my veins!
Too long.
And now, at last, the time has come for me to depart the silken sheets of my hard-earned and hard-won home in gleaming Stormwind City, to resume the active life-at-arms in the service of our effort. Destination: Northrend. Objective: thwart the Lich King, and his campaign against the living (especially the human race and our allied folk). The price of failure: Armageddon.
Before departure, I intend to put my affairs in order. First, a short trip to the Cathedral District to bid thanks to the light for the many blessings bestowed upon me and my people, and to engage in a brief skill session with my old teacher, Grayson Shadowbreaker. Next, a meeting with my "man in Stormwind," my "cousin" from the orphanage, Cristbank, to set my business affairs in order. Finally, one last briefing with my King at Stormwind Castle. And then, onward, to a path that I believe from the intelligence gathered thusfar will lead me into the heart of Ulduar, silent for centuries . . . until now.
But before I may reach my ultimate challenge in the North, I have unfinished business within the Sholazar Basin. Business which dovetails with my assignment to learn of what is brewing within the halls of the ancient stronghold of the Titans. What's more, there is reliable information that the Lich King's most- dreaded flying-fortress of Naxxramas stirs once more. All of this is to say nothing of the neverending treachery of Thrall and those green-skinned devils, the Orcs, and their ghastly union of freaky bull-men, flesh-eating undead, bottom-feeding trolls, and . . . blood elves. Ah, the beguiling promise of battle to come . . . Soon my Hammer will slake its thirst upon the blood of all who oppose our righteous cause! Assuming they have blood . . .
A part of me will miss the day-to-day comforts and splendors of this greatest city of men! This is to say nothing of my home among my Dwarven "kin" in Ironforge, just a short trip away via Deeprun Tram, and to ignore mention of my villa in the seat of Elvish power and culture in Darnassus. However, in returning to the Alliance Vanguard, and resuming a post with my old unit (the fearsome Raiding Guild known as Radical Dreamers), I find myself once again crossing the threshold of the surest home I have ever known: the sturdy structure of the practice of, and the world of, Warcraft. For the LIGHT!
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