The Chill of Death

It's so cold, now. The Plague of Undeath crawls through my veins like an icy serpent. The Mindless State will be upon me soon. But no doomed destiny will prevent me from serving our Dark Lady. When the call arose I sewed body bags for the fallen soldiers of Sylvanas's mighty army.

Now my hands shake from the chill. If you would bring me five Duskbat Pelts and some Coarse Thread I could sew myself a blanket. Help me, <name>, so that I can continue to serve the cause.

Do you have five Duskbat Pelts and some Coarse Thread yet, <name>?

I appreciate your efforts, <name>. May Slyvanas recognize your bravery one day. . . .