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Once I rode over these fields as lord and master to my people. The land was ours as far as the swiftest horse could ride in a three day run all around. When the fierce ones came from the north, I was ready for their savagery and beat them soundly. When the Greenskins sought to despoil our lands, I drove them back. There was no tree I didn't know, no rock I hadn't trod over. My people prospered and so did I. All things wax and wane in time, my beard grew long and grey and I lay to rest, content that my people would be well without me. And yet, I told them with my dying word that if they or the land have need of me, I would return.
My people are gone now. The land has changed beyond my recognition. I do not know these fields, these trees, only the rocks of my tomb remain as they were. But the fierce ones still come from the north and there are still Greenskins to be driven forth and I find that I have no mercy left in me for those that have disturbed my rest.
—Sharu, Barrow King, Warhammer