One of my favourite moments in world of warcraft,
where it all began,
I was level 8, a male druid born by the leadership of Malfurion and the touch of the great tree. I ventured just north of Dolanaar, drawn off the path by the distant hymn of nearby harpies. Before me lay a den, I feared its presence. My fear was overcome by curiosity and a determination to cleanse the corruption that plagued my homeland.
Furbolg lay before me, as deep as i could see in the den. There were white Furbolgs and brown Furbolgs, some carrying axes and some carrying staves. A deep dark problem perplexe
