Behold the finest of ironies. The living ascribe unto undeath all the most sickly attributes of their own lives--hopeless servitude, savagery, stillness of the spirit. We serve! The living serve, too, though they serve kings, warlords, druids, priests, gods, men, and beasts. We serve only the mighty, unifying will of the Lich King, which compels us unto prosperity and unity!
For all the endeavours of men, there exist only endless records of tragedy, cruelty, betrayal, and selfishness. For the Scourge, there is only efficiency and totality. Serve the Lich King in life, or serve him in death. His is a way of choice whose roads lead only to fulfilment!
Cold in flesh, but warmed by unity. The mighty Scourge are one nation, one mind, one being. True cold dwells in the heartless gaze of the guards who turn away sickly refugees from their neighboring country in a time of war! Are not all men of one kind? Nay, divided in their icy hearts.
Raise high our ideals, and bring low our foes! Fold their broken into our number until all serve the Frozen Throne!