Also love reminding Horde fans that the high elves were apperently abused by the blood elves and treated like dirt, that their hatred of the blood elves is deeper then that:
Baenan spat on the floor near the elf’s feet. "Ye blood elves wouldn’t know nobility if ye had th’ definition tattooed on yer foreheads. Pathetic, slavering magic addicts, ye even sold out yer own people!"
Talithar’s face whitened, giving Baenan the satisfaction of having hit a nerve. He realized it was unwise to bait his jailor, but he was too angry to care.
“Aye,” he pressed, “I’ve met high elves in me life. I know what ye did tae them. I come from Loch Modan; I’ve heard th’ stories from th’ Farstrider lass there—”
In a surprising display of raw physical strength, Talithar crossed the room in a single stride and lifted Baenan clean off his feet, slamming him into the wall. He held Baenan there at the blood elf’s own height, almost twice that of the dwarf’s, and stared him dead in the eye.
“Do not ever—ever—mention her in my presence.” Talithar’s voice was calm, but had a menacing undercurrent that made Baenan’s hair stand on end. He’d intended to upset the elf, but the depth of Talithar’s reaction was shocking. Still, the Horde had taken Baenan captive and denied him the chance to fight with weapons, so he battled with words. And this mage was a symbol of everything he despised.
“I see ye know Vyrin Swiftwind,” Baenan said, purely out of spite. “Someone special tae ye? Well, she hates yer kind now, an’ everything ye stand fer!”
Talithar threw Baenan to the floor. The dwarf landed painfully on his shoulder, bracing himself for the mage’s wrath, but Talithar possessed a surprising amount of restraint and took no further action.
Baenan managed to push himself into a sitting position. His shoulder throbbed, but it was worth it to have provoked the blood elf. Talithar’s head was bowed, and his fists were clenched and white at the knuckles. He looked up, and Baenan’s mouth fell open.
Talithar’s face was streaked with tears.
“A wife does tend to be someone special to her husband.” His voice was thick with rage, humiliation, and despair. He reached into the front of his robe and wrenched a thin gold chain from around his neck, hurling it at Baenan’s feet. The necklace boasted no beads or pendant, just two exquisitely crafted rings, a man’s and a woman’s, high elven in design.
"You think I do not know what I am? We sin’dorei were given a choice: our integrity or our well-being. As if that were any kind of choice at all. I chose my well-being. My wife chose her integrity."
