Mage is in a dark room with the door open, watching everyone else play in the light. Heck, paladin can’t shut up about it. She’ll go out of her blackness for a minute or two to check how things are, but ultimately comes back into her dark room….to wait…to watch. If you were not astute in your observation of the room, you would say she was alone in that dark dismal place, waiting and plotting the downfall of the meta. You would say, look how she waited and plotted by herself, and look at the meta she has wrought. If you did not see it up close, you may even have believed the sudden shimmers in the corner of that dark sullen lair were merely your eyes adjusting or a figment of your imagination. Walk closer, and you can smell his dispair. Inch further, and you can hear his breathing. Wander as far into the dark recesses of that room in which Jaina waits and you can see, sitting, Rexxar. Hunter is waiting, alone, just as he always wanted. Waiting for the moment the dark days of the mage meta approaches, flair in hand and huffed in his heart (of cards?).

Is he a hero? No. He knows the meta he caused years ago brought pain and death to many. His good friend, Mr. Buzzard, starved to death for his sins and the gods of the frozen storms have dogged him, and his dogs, ever since. He lives for 2 reasons. First, to reveal any and all secrets and to stop them from making the same mistakes he did so long ago. The second? TO…GO…FACE.

WELL MET!