Hallam sneered in disgust, but this was a front to hide his sorrow. This is what his people had been reduced to, scummy corpses rotting away in the sewers of a once great city. Where commerce and culture had once flourished among Humanity now there was only the rickety war machine of the Undead and the Scourge's corruption seeping like tendrils into formerly sturdy homes to turn them into weak rotted shells with no purpose. If he did not sneer he would cry, anger and hatred were easier to deal with than grief and desolation. Besides, he did not trust the others to understand, much less trust them with the true emotions he held in his heart.

He felt the Light's blessing settle around him at the Orc's behest, but it was little comfort, only another reminder of how far they had fallen. At least the Orc's practical knowledge was of use, he'd half expected the old entrances would be collapsed and on fire. To think, Prince Arthas had done this. He scoffed. Defeated on all sides Lordaeron hadn't stood a chance, the betrayal of the Prince only hastened their defeat.

Then the sounds of battle reached him, it seemed their enemies were distracted with each other. Lucky indeed. "Let us hurry then, their skirmish will only last so long." He advised quietly, it wouldn't do to speak so loudly as to draw attention after all.