I wrote a poem about the current content. Apologies to those of you who would like more rhyming, but you do get two lines at the end.
Knee deep in ash, their hero is not me,
re-rolled copy of her former self.
Undead hands clear history’s course:
cap anticipation, late game rebellion.
Anger scorched Teldrassil burns, furnace
full, innocent lives consumed;
fundamental comprehension reset.
An uncertain future, dark prophet promised.
Cold whispers of mad gods announce unchecked
their lives and green existence self-consumed;
shadow’s void kiss defining tear stained cheeks.
Red banners conflagrate both halls and hallowed ground
whilst blue retaliation points their mounting fury to the east.
No longer hero’s steadfast friend,
but one who seeks alternative rewards.
Shoulders sag, hope chooses chance to fight another day.
These pauldrons remain dropped where last I stood:
no need to arm or fight her vengeanced cause.
Close ears to cries, battle’s bitter embrace
without cold honour, bleeding greed and gold.
Not me, who once was proud to wear your brand,
that faith yourself did crush, pummelled to dust.
Expansion now contracts, rejecting pointless quest
a better story to be written with huge sacrifice.
Not me who stands once serving tyrant’s cry:
This day is not the one I choose to die.