After a year of deliberation, spiraling myself into near madness, I came to the conclusion that yes, I did indeed deserve this form of damnation, but that meant nothing compared to the stark fact that I had every intention to fight it. Much like the orcs who inhabited the interment camps at the time, the spirits of the nether were lost in their own melancholy, devoid of any meaningful existence, rendered void, numb, and docile.
I would have none of it because my soul raged on forward, forever remembering many things that I had left undone in my lifetime. What I viewed as trivial in nature now became my spiritual guide through this forsaken hell, now breeding the only form of life I could cling to in this time of great peril: my own will and pride. I am by no measure a strong or courageous elf, mind you, but a stubborn one I am.
Although at times I had great bouts, nearly losing myself inside of the Nether's unpredictable spasms of fury and regret, I sought out not a way to enter the mortal world, but a reason too. There was still much to learn, and I was far too weakened to continue on any kind of journey, especially one as perilous as this.
The nether drained you of all emotion once they flared up inside of you. It fed on it as its only form of sustenance, your pain. So I dredged on with a patience that often teetered under the threat of immediate collapse, the patience to move on to find a weakness that would allow me to enter the mortal plane once again to finish my lone task.
I fixed the field of vision on a lone human child born near the mountainous region of Northrend. A very perilous place to be born, the human slowly made his way down the mountain throughout the course of his teenage years, eventually reaching a small port city named Depsul. He spent the majority of his days throughout his remaining teenage years studying the various religions that ran rampant throughout this globe of war and chaos, eventually finding his calling in life. He would be a paladin for the Knights of the Silver Hand.
I knew not why his gaze held me so. He was a strong looking lad, very well defined in musculature for a human. His black hair gleamed in sunlight and moonlight, his eyes the same. In no sense did he give off negativity, or a sense that he would fail in anything he would ever do. A very accomplished boy, for a human. Yet, he was nothing outstanding. A simple knight named Donovan.
While the mighty screams of Ner'zhul echoed throughout the chorus of the Nether, weaving a fine threnody, I watched on. I watched him take on a wife, bearing a son who adopted the name Ellis.
The field of vision left me for a number of years, as the Nether faded in its grasp over the populace. It was weakening by the moment, from great strain. I had no clue as to the goings on until my field of vision flickered one day for a few minutes. It showed comet-like flames engulfing the night skies, landing with great impact. As soon as the Nether fattened, it retorted by sending out more destitute soldiers. I realized what had happened.

The coming of the Burning Legion was now at hand.