The sound of shuffling footsteps and the intermittent thunk of wood on stone can be heard in the entrance hall. The old Orc grumbles under his breath to nothing in particular as he approaches a large, cluttered bulletin board bearing numerous notices, letters, and other such scripts. He stands there for a short moment, his eyes darting back and forth over the board. He reaches into his robe and produces a crumpled and worn piece of parchment as he moves closer to the board. Upon removing a pin from the board, several pieces of paper fall to the floor. He swears under his breath as he bends over to retrieve the papers, gathering them up with no particular care to whatever order they may have originally been placed. A forceful jam of the tack into the bundle of papers leaves a crude bunch of papers, though his document rests on top, somewhat easy for an individual to read. The shuffling and thunking resumes as he leaves the hall, a small coughing fit overtaking him for a brief moment before he exits the door. The door slams, with the latch falling into place and the fading sound of the Orc's usuall grumbles.
The script is, more or less, legible, with numerous smudges and crossed-out words. The paper has seen better days, though it is of poorer quality to begin with.
"My first task assigned to me by Dreadweaver Thalevia is to recount our efforts while fighting inside Icecrown Citadel, those I have fought alongside, and the forces the Lich King has sent against us.
It’s impossible to escape the biting cold while in the Citadel. No amount of fur and cloth protects the bone-chilling air filling that unholy place. Fire’s smothered by the chill, regardless of the magic that ogm augments it. I have learned to live with it. Healing powers from battle medics stave off the frostbite that would otherwise overtake us. Perhaps it’s our grim diti determination that keeps us from succumbing to the frigid tower and its damned inhabitants. The Citadel in Icecrown isn’t a place for the weak. No, it’s where true warriors are tested; another step to take to push your limits. A war against the frozen dead and their vile masters shows the true colors of a person. Yes, you learn your true meta mettle when you face a foe who only seeks your destruction. They’re not thwarted by pain, fear, or even thoughts. They’re slaves to their master’s will, and he wills them to destroy us. You learn who to trust when you face these creatures, because it would be foolish to charge in by oneself.
It’s during war that we learn who our allies are; those who stand beside you in the thick of battle, watching your back rather than sticking a blade or blasting a bolt of magic into it. Keeping you alive rather than simply letting you fall as one of a million lumps of meat thrown at the enemy. Yes, those are the people you call “friendsâ€