Misfortune of the Black Dragonflight

If you are expecting this to be a comprehensive history on the Black Dragonflight, then you may leave this page. This is nothing but another one of my Hearthstone rants, though related to Deathwing specifically.

Deathwing has got your back! Yes, Deathwing has got my back! Of all the games I've played with you in my hand, I've only ever put you out twice, and twice, you perished just as quickly that I never had the chance to breathe my reliefs at your glorious exclamation of being POWER INCARNATE. Dear Lord, why must you meet such unfortunate fates every damn time!?

I remember the first time I put you out on the field. I had won for sure, I thought, but of course... Of course he also had a Deathwing in his hand that he could slam down the next turn. We have been bested, my Lord.

That was months ago after I first unpacked you one dull afternoon, screeching in joy.

Then the desperate moment of life and death came again this evening, where only you could have saved me from shame. I would have ended the mage's petty life if it wasn't for Ice Block. So, my last hope, I slammed you down and let my cards be burnt by your rage. The mage had already Polymorphed my Ragnaros, so what could be done to you now, just what?

Ah, I loathe the Mean Streets of Gadgetzan expansion.

Of course the mage would be able to create the perfect custom spell from Kazakus that turns all minions into 1/1 sheep and gives your hero 8 armor.

And just like that, my Dragonlord was reduced to a bleeping sheep. It would have been more bearable if you had just turned to ashes and returned to dwell in the depths of the volcano.

Such misfortunes this Black Dragon is met with when dealt by this hand. Maybe, we were never meant to be? For our ambitions are too great that even the Gods forbid our bond to form, in fear that we will succeed in claiming all creation for ourselves. Might I come to show true affection for you, your magma will be the last that I feel before my cries harden onto the surface of this rock you will forsake. I can only live to use you, as you manipulate me. We shall see whose heart is more corrupt, and whose soul still remain.

Descended with your traits of darkness that luster in waves of my hair and the oblivion behind my eyes, the longing for the kin of those you slaughtered is the pain I will endure. May the cold reflection of the moon glow in the eyes of the flaxen wolf that stalks the borders of such longing.