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Looking Back

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Nenicirene's picture

Nenicirene isn't the name under which I was born. That name was lost the night that Gnomeregan fell, along with everything that had mattered to me up to that point. I didn't name myself after some legendary hero capable of seeking vengeance. I have neither the hubris to think I am legend nor the humility to limit my achievements to those of the past. I just made up a name. No one else has ever had it before, and it fits me. I needed something to call my own, and if I had nothing else it would have to be my name.

There are two possibilities: my family and friends died that night, or they did not. While I do not know for certain, I have come to realize that I prefer the latter. For, had they survived and escaped, they would surely have regrouped with the other survivors at Ironforge, and I would have seen them. Thus, they did not escape, meaning that if they are still alive, they are mad lepers lurking in the bowels of the earth working fervently to destroy all they once held dear. Some fates are, in fact, worse than death.