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Today, we had a big fight with the Alliance scum. After they crushed our forces in Lakeshire, I knew that there was no other way. I charged boldly in the midst of their troops and challenged them all to a dance competition. A human paladin with very awkward grooves and a female dwarven deathknight danced against me, and the thunder of our steps shook the very foundations of Azeroth. The air of the woodland forests hushed as the birds looked on to our fiery display of coreography. The sun stopped in its ancient tracks and stared at us, longing for our mortal vivacity. My opponents began to wear down. They sweat and panted. It was clear that they could not match the virility of my fistpumps or headbanging. Here it was! The taste of victory was sweet upon my undead lips like the breast-ichor of Sylvanas herself!! And then, two traitors, furious that they were already disqualified from the dance, interrupted our competition in the final moments and left me as a bloody scrap of rotting skin and broken bones on the red rocks south of Lakeshire.
It was a good dance and the Alliance, doubtless, know in their hearts that they have been single-handedly defeated by Lord Porkflower.
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