#so some post legion early/pre bfa nathanos it was then

[warwaged-archive]

@iniziare​​ (anduin) said: "I'm aiming to do better." 

POETRY STARTERS.  // accepting.

Laughter resounds, so honest, so bitter, as to fill entire room. The little runt may have come farther than any would have expected, surviving what he had; Nathanos would give him this much credit. Nevertheless, it did not change he was but a child playing at war, particularly naive one at that, clinging still to delusion of possible peace, to foolish hope there could be a path not permeated by death and destruction.

In spite of laughter so sincere, there is awful little amusement left in him, and what lingers is no more than some version of it much too twisted by lingering bitterness. Rage has long since become common place enough that it is comforting feeling, familiar and welcome, but it seldom flares with as much intensity as the Blightcaller feels it then, all consuming. Anduin mocks him; mocks him with his words, mocks him with mere presence, mocks him with this outrageous idea of reuniting living and undead. Perhaps it could be excused by his youth, yet it is far too little a reason for it to quell Nathanos’ anger then and there.

Full of good intentions, was he not? Trying to do better.

Oh, it was what the Alliance always did. They preach good and peace and righteousness, though only so far as it suits them. Nathanos had fought for a Wrynn once, when his heart still had a beat and his lungs still needed air and the Alliance seemed to him worthy fighting for. Another life, in all senses expression could have, and one Nathanos was glad to leave to rot; a decade of his life had been wasted in winning them a multitude of victories, and all it had earned him was the honor to be hunted and slain like a mindless beast when the king he had served declared what he had become was no more than a stain on the Alliance’s pristine image.

Just as well. He had long since embraced the role they had given him; if a monster was all they would see, no reason to waste efforts in trying to be anything else. It is what makes it worse, perhaps; now the son ascended to the throne and spoke of amends, of reparation, of doing better, as if such a past could be erased. But it was much too late for that now, wasn’t it? They were Forsaken for a reason.

“Better.” Word scoffed with venom, spite shining in the Forsaken’s red eyes. What was the point of this, regardless? Did Anduin Wrynn think to make Sylvanas more amenable to listen through her Champion? Foolish, if so. “And here I thought being king would demand some effort. When your predecessor merely branded us monsters and put us to the sword, doing better seems awful easy to do, boy.”