I hated fighting against warriors. More than warlocks with their infernal Fear spell and life-leeching abilities, and vastly more than mages, with their devious blinking and Flame-Blasting ways. Even more than coming up against the hunter, whom was arguably designed to be a direct counter to beloved Seris – my rogue in World of Warcraft. The hunter was able to launch a flare into the air, which could pull Seris out of stealth and more than likely lead to her death. The hunter could place a mark on Seris when he saw her, preventing her from slinking back into the shadows she called comfortable, allowing him to see her no matter where she went or how craftily she hid. The hunter even could even train and command an animal pet, beasts pulled from the foulest corners of Azeroth, and then send them to slay me while he disabled the abilities I relied on.

But none of them – whether it be another rogue, an implacable paladin, or even the dreaded hunter – could instill in me the raw, unrelenting hatred that seeing a warrior could.
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