disclaimer: i do not own the products or services related to blizzard; including world of warcraft
author's note: hearing voices is never a good thing (in northrend, a shaman and forsaken meet)
summary: the cold is freezing the joints of your fingers/everything's alright, the voices have stopped
-it's a bitter cold that you can't stand anymore than the brightly coloured tabard you wear; the cold of your enslavement, the backyard of your childhood that nobody wanted to tell you was in fact, your prison. (have you not suffered enough, your voice asks, isn't it time to rest?) if only your belief in the light was stronger, but you cannot let in to the priestess's glowing hands, you are demon-marked afterall, the light and the blessed naaru have no place for you; but the lightning is bright and it hurts, and oh, please stop screaming, you will help them. (the blade is rusted like your joints and your head but you put one foot in front of the other and the desperate need for air and warm skin is the other half to your bitterness and your rabid smile and nobody gets in your way; you get the job done).
(northrend is a lonely, forgotten place and the cold is freezing the joints of your fingers)
(but everything's alright, there is nothing to fear – the voices have stopped)