I searched for the Lordaeronian King, however, and I took pride in that badge of office. After many years of insults and threats from the King I eventually found it in some highland glen. It was tucked under nettles and shrouded by thorns that grew to prick, and pricked I was as I reached in to claim the grail from the shaggy entanglement that had ensnared the cup. My hand bled from the deep scratch that the vengeful thorn had prized, but, as I ran my fingers over the sea-deep sapphires and evergreen emeralds and rage-filled rubies, the crimson tears of my flesh were soaked into the cup. That same chalice had drunk from me as the King had done from it. My blood vanished and the opening in my flesh was sown as if by invisible threads. The magic of the cup worked itself upon me.