I'm not supposed to be alive. Some people call it a miracle. Others call it a curse. The purpose of my life was unknown until the Lunar Festival of the year 2025. Sometimes I wonder if I was supposed to be born. Was I? Am I not a gift from the gods?
I was born into a poor family on the streets. My mother was a tailor, my father a carpenter. They didn't have enough money to support me so I was left on the front steps of the Orphanage of the Alliance.
At the age of seven, I was adopted into the Mosnar family, unsure and alone. Mr. Mosnar abused me; Mrs. Mosnar did not care. I have never had, nor ever will have, a true mom and dad.
Growing up, I was told that I wasn't worth the time to teach; I was a waste of life and space. Somebody more important could have taken hold of the life that I possess. Little did they know what I was capable of doing.
Now, enough about me. Onto the scourge.
The scourge was one of the three major undead factions of Azeroth, the others being the Forsaken and the Knights of the Ebon Blade, but they aren't my main focus in this story. The definition of the word scourge itself is severe suffering…. And suffering is exactly what they aimed to cause people all across Azeroth, both members of the alliance and the horde.
If anybody was to stop them, it was supposed to be Arthas, prince of Lordaeron and Knight of the Silver Hand, until the day that he ordered all the deformed citizens killed. I remember that day vividly…. Nevertheless, we kept on in the fight in which victory was not assured with the undead Scourge. Many have forgotten this war, much like the holocaust some eighty-five years ago.
The thousands of us that tried to stop these filthy monsters will not be forgotten.
This is our story.