Wrathion studies Anduin a long few seconds as he lets go, the expression on his face. The twist of emotion.
Anduin Wrynn always felt everything so keenly. His own pain, the pain of others, and no doubt he feels this too: the loss of his companions back home, the longing to see them again, the regret that this voice is nothing but a trick.
He moves through the doorway, kitchen knife in hand, and as he turns finds himself face to face with... a rather poor imitation, in his opinion.
Hello there, it chirps, and although sound of his voice is technically correct it's also all wrong. He works his jaw, annoyed.
"I sound nothing like that," he complains, and ducks quickly as he moves to drive it hard into a wall. There's a loud crack, and he growls as he feels it begin to try and grab for his throat.
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Anduin Wrynn always felt everything so keenly. His own pain, the pain of others, and no doubt he feels this too: the loss of his companions back home, the longing to see them again, the regret that this voice is nothing but a trick.
He moves through the doorway, kitchen knife in hand, and as he turns finds himself face to face with... a rather poor imitation, in his opinion.
Hello there, it chirps, and although sound of his voice is technically correct it's also all wrong. He works his jaw, annoyed.
"I sound nothing like that," he complains, and ducks quickly as he moves to drive it hard into a wall. There's a loud crack, and he growls as he feels it begin to try and grab for his throat.