Sapphiron: At last, it is I, mortals, Sapphiron. None may come to the Master except by me. Who am I, that I should be the prime guardian of the Great King’s elect? He was the first, you know. When the clarion resounded from the depth of the glacier, it was he who responded. Forsaking all for the service of the Great King, my Master is chief among the servants of our King. What memories of bliss! It was he, our King and Father who sought me out within my wretched existence, within the cavernous space of infantile life! What joy had I in guarding the inanimate relics of ancient kings long past to the wiles of time? Did I glean happiness from fellowship with my brethren, the Blue Ones? What a joyous day it was when he came, seeking my soul that I might be blessed in his service. That blade, my surrogate mother, carved my rebellious flesh and excised the malignant tumors of my banal desires and my base life. My life began anew that day, and I count all as loss against the unsurpassed glories of my King’s service. When the Master ascended to the heights of lichdom, it was I whom he chose to safeguard the sanctity of his holy domain. It Shall Not Be Spoken has become by home; It Shall Not Be Spoken has become my very life and I grant only whom I will to partake of an audience with the Master. My cold and lifeless bones I animate with my undying soul, and those who seek the Master’s downfall shall incur my wrath unabated. I was a prince in my former life, a lord of frigid magic. Though no match for my King in battle, I shall not allow any to live a single moment who seek the Master’s fall. My gargantuan form is not easily harnessed, nor blithely felled. In my former life, I was father and patriarch of my brood; all bowed before me, the preeminent in strength and vigor. Mortals, you too shall quake before me! My claws shall rend your flesh into ribbons; my vicious jaws shall rip the marrow from your bones; my tail shall crush your puny frames upon the cold walls of my sanctum. What of my icy breath? Who shall stand before me? The hoar that pours from my maw brings the very soul to a halt. There is power in my breast to still the stirrings of a thousand souls. I can rain shards of ice upon your fragile heads and spill your insignificant brain matter upon my floors. You desire still further to die? Proceed, mortals, invoke my wrath! An edifice of ice I shall create with one of your bodies. Quickly! Scurry behind the frozen corpse and look into the tortured eyes of your compatriot. His blood is stopped up; the soul has departed unto judgment before the King. Only a small portion of your number can fit behind it; choose this day whom shall live but a few moments longer! The end is upon you! I shall expel a mass of frozen energies the like of which you have never seen. At consummation, none but the few behind the edifice shall be left alive. They too shall fall. I, the prince of Naxxramas shall escort all who desire death to the throne of the King by my deadened wings. None but those whom I will survive my wrath.
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