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Bolvar 03-10-2009 04:10 PM

All I Ever Wanted To Do Was Study
 
I don't remember much of my childhood. In fact, I can't remember any of it at all. I have no idea who my parents are. Or if I even have parents. For all I can tell, I just "spawned" at some point. I like to read. I like to fish. I like to collect stamps. But it seems like I never have time for any of that. It's always one more quest. One more boss to kill. And there's never enough money.

The first thing I remember is standing in a forest, outside a church. There's a guy wearing a suit of armor in front of me. I was confused. I was disoriented. I was in an ugly blue dress.

I asked the armored man for help. Who am I? How did I get here? He doesn't seem to hear me - he just mentions something about how he needs my help, and sends me in to the church to talk to another man in armor.

I don't remember much about this man. But he was the first of many of his kind - people who were in authority who would pay me in coin and goods to go out and kill things. At first, I had a real problem with this. It took me days to set aside my moral reservations over slaughtering a bunch of Kobolds who didn't appear to be bothering anyone. I can still hear their cries of pain as I magically set them on fire while they sat unsuspectingly in their primitive lean-to's.

After a while, you block it out. You don't hear the screaming. Or worse, you start to enjoy it. And, at times, you realize the killing is necessary. When I wandered across that bridge and was suddenly attacked by a woman with a knife without any provocation, I realized the dude in the armor was probably right about those guys.

Although I could have done without having to bring him the head of Garrick Padfoot. I was a level 4 mage. All I had was a staff and my bare hands. Have you ever tried to decapitate a man with a stick? It's not pretty.

I like being a mage. It's intellectually stimulating, and more physically demanding than you'd expect of a class that wears frilly robes all the time. If I could, I'd retire to the tower in Stormwind (hell, I'd even settle for Azora), and not do all this running around. But it seems like all the reading I do never gets me anywhere. The only time I learn anything new or become a better spellcaster is after I've killed a whole lot of people. It helps when I can steal a nice weapon or article of clothing off their corpse.

These are my stories.

Timolas 03-10-2009 04:35 PM

Well, that was an awesomely amusing read. You have wit.

Bolvar 03-10-2009 08:02 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Timolas (Post 106635)
Well, that was an awesomely amusing read. You have wit.

Thanks. I feel like I should post a quick disclaimer or two:

I don't play clothies. In fact, I simply can't stand them. I have a level 65 priest that only got that far with a LOT of help, and I was going to make him an emergency backup healer for my guild. Otherwise, I never use him.

I have a level 15 mage alt. I have no warlocks.

I can tolerate Druids. Rogues are alright. Hunters are overpowered and not much fun for me to play. Shamans are cool because of the shields and chainmail; but, God, so many totems to manage.

My true love is plate. I have a level 80 Warrior, a level 73 Paladin, and a level 70 Death Knight. They all tank. They're all fun for me to play.

So, I'm writing this story from the perspective of a character I actually hate. I figure it will be funnier that way. But if I come across as a person that doesn't know the first thing about mages, well, that's exactly right.

Thanks for reading. :D

Bolvar 03-17-2009 01:41 PM

The worst part is the lack of armor. I'm not sure what causes it, but I seem to have some sort of mental handicap when I try to put on anything that has leather or metal on it. I start twitching like the Rain Man and mumbling to myself "I can't equip that." Maybe it's some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder. Maybe all this fiddling about with arcane energy has given me a mild case of autism. I don't know.

Let's face it, if I toss a few enormous fireballs at an angry gnoll, I've got to hope I don't miss; because if I don't incinerate him quickly, he's coming after me with a vengeance, and he's probably packing a large, sharp object. Me? All I've got is a bloody stick. And I'm not even that good at fighting with it.

My encounter with a particularly nasty gnoll they call 'Hogger' illustrated my limitations all too clearly. My first attempt to collect the bounty on his paw (thank God it wasn't his head this time - severing a hand is a lot less gruesome) introduced me to two things: Death, and resurrection.

The dying was a little scary the first time. Actually, it was REALLY scary. I opened up on Hogger with a frost bolt to slow him down a bit, but it missed. Before I even finished the lengthy spell recital for my first fireball, he was on top of me. I'll admit - I pissed myself. But before I had time to feel any embarrassment over it, he planted his axe in my skull. Everything went black.

Then, suddenly, I'm standing in the graveyard at Goldshire, a mile away. Everything is grey. There's an angelic figure before me. I ask her "Is this the end? Where do I go now?"

All she tells me is some crap about how it's not my time yet. I can have her restore me to life on the spot, but it will leave me weakened for a time, and probably damage my gear a bit, or I can "run" back to my corpse and claim my physical form on the spot where I died.

(If I may digress a bit - this has since happened to me more times than I can count. I don't know if I'm immortal or what, but it seems like any time I die, it's not "my time." Death doesn't scare me now; all that bothers me is the excruciating pain of actually getting killed.)

Needless to say, I didn't feel like going back to where that pissed off gnoll was hanging about. So, I asked her to resurrect me on the spot. Then I went to the inn and got a new pair of pants.

Bolvar 03-18-2009 05:51 PM

Hogger eventually met his end, thanks to my mighty arcane missile, and a bored Draenei Death Knight practicing his mining skill nearby.

It was at this point that the local constabulary in Goldshire decided that a hero of my caliber could be useful outside the tranquil confines of Elwynn Forest. I was sent to Westfall.

I was supposed to talk to a Captain Gryan Stoutmantle, but along the way, it seemed like every farmer in the county had some problem or other that he needed help with. One gal wanted groceries for some nasty stew. Another wanted me to steal a bunch of grain for her horse. And so on. None of these farmers actually grew anything that I could see, most likely because they'd decided to buy a bunch of mechanical harvesters to do all their manual labor, but now were stuck with no crop when the things went haywire.

Stoutmantle had his own problems. The Defias Brotherhood had taken over the town of Moonbrook and Stormwind wasn't sending enough troops to clean the place out. Not that it would have taken many - I would imagine one veteran city guard could have cleared the whole place out in about 5 minutes. Heck, Gryan himself could have walked over there and knocked them out. But I guess that's not how he rolls.

I had to solve his Defias problem. What I discovered was that most of the time, being a "Hero of Stormwind" usually means you're just doing someone's dirty work.

Timolas 03-18-2009 11:50 PM

Sad but true. I love having a narrative from an actual character's point of view, because it adds a hilarious dimension to everything we've played through.

Ashenmoon 03-19-2009 02:05 AM

Hah, yes. Twitchin' at the corners of me mouth. Could be fun to read something like this, on a more... oh... expanded scope, so to speak. Nudge, nudge, eh? Well, just saying.

Bolvar 03-19-2009 04:57 PM

From what I learned about Edwin VanCleef, I don't think he was really such a bad guy. I'm not saying I'm an expert on the subject, but after all the running around that Stoutmantle had me do investigating the Defias Brotherhood, I think I understand him better than most, and I'm pretty sure he had a good reason to be ticked off at the monarchy in Stormwind.

VanCleef and his crew re-built the city of Stormwind after the Orcs burned it to the ground. They also did some work on Nethergard Keep just outside the Dark Portal. And, while I can't find any documentation to back this up, I'm pretty sure he had the contract to finish up the Thandol Span.

So, after all this, the royalty in Stormwind stiffs him on the bill. VanCleef is ruined by it. His company has to file Chapter 11, and ends up getting liquidated in Federal court, with his rivals in the Venture Company buying up his assets for pennies on the dollar.

With nothing left, he takes over the abandoned mine outside Moonbrook, and gets it working again. As it turns out, there are an awful lot of artisans and laborers who can't find work (well, paying work) in Stormwind. Many of them were conscripted for the war and then had no homes or jobs to go back to when it was over. It's no wonder they joined up with the Brotherhood. VanCleef gave them work, respectable pay, and food and lodging.

The state propoganda tells us that the Defias were planning an open revolt - that VanCleef was gathering arms and building a fleet of warships to assault Stormwind Harbor. But from what I can tell, all he was trying to do was re-build his company and trade with the Steamwheedle Cartel.

I think Stormwind might have let him be, but his operation had gotten a little too successful, and they wanted their cut. When VanCleef laughed at their demand for taxes, they decided to rub him out.

Bolvar 03-19-2009 05:16 PM

So, I assaulted the Deadmines. For King. For Country. But mostly for my own personal gain. I didn't feel good about going after VanCleef, but if it wasn't me, it was going to be somebody else.

Actually, it pretty much WAS somebody else. I came across a Paladin in Moonbrook who said he was looking for copper and tin in the mine, as he'd given up his trade in engineering and was learning to be a jewelcrafter. I told him I didn't need any ore - I just needed the head of VanCleef. He let me tag along.

In short, it was a massacre. It's no wonder Arthas went mad with power and became the lord of the undead. I had never seen anything like it. He ran through the whole place, challenging dozens upon dozens of VanCleef's men to take him down, and then in just seconds he would consecrate the very ground they stood upon, and they would melt like moths upon a flame.

Personally, I question the "holiness" of "the Light" after seeing what a skilled Paladin can do with it. But that's another story.

In no time at all, my purse was fat with coins and my bags were bulging with loot, including the head of Edwin VanCleef (as a side note - I've learned to simply burn off the head at the neck when I'm asked to do this now; cauterizing the wound keeps it from bleeding all over your stuff).

Exxile87 03-22-2009 09:09 PM

This is win. If anyone ever wondered what exactly "win" was when reduced to it's base form, all they need to do is read your little fanfic, Bolvar. Great job, keep it up.

Bolvar 03-23-2009 05:08 PM

I'd done all I could for Westfall, short of putting on a pair of overalls and helping the inept farmers get their crops planted. I had a small hope that whatever my next mission was, it'd be a little more meaningful, and a little less politically dodgy.

In some respects, I got what I wanted. The people in the Redridge Mountains had real problems. Gnolls were breeding like rabbits in their backyards, and Orcs were migrating down from the Burning Steppes.

I've come to realize one thing - there's no negotiating with a Gnoll. I'm not a racist, and what I'm about to say doesn't come from any prejudicial tendency I might have; but a Gnoll is what it is: A rabid dog that just needs to be put down. Literally. If I had a copper for ever time a Gnoll gave me rabies while I was in Redridge, I'd be rich enough to buy a kingdom.

So, I had no problem helping the citizens of Lakeshire with their Gnoll problem. Well, no problem except the fact that I needed a good healer to purge the rabies, and a nice, strong flea bath at the end of the day.

The orcs were another story.

I have mixed feelings when it comes to orcs. On the one hand, you could argue that the whole lot of them should pack their stuff and march right back through the portal and just leave Azeroth alone. I mean, it's not our problem that they screwed up their homeworld so bad. On the other hand, it's also not their fault that a few of their screwed up leaders suckered them into serving the legion in the first place.

I know our leaders ain't exactly perfect. The whole reason why I keep getting paid to help out in places like Lakeshire is because Stormwind can't be bothered to send a few troops out to keep the peace. It made sense at least while Onyxia was calling the shots and trying to screw humanity, but Varian's back in charge now. He needs to get things in order closer to home.

But I digress. I had a little sympathy for the Blackrock Orcs that had made their way south. Mostly because I couldn't blame them for wanting to get the hell out of the Burning Steppes. That place is miserable.

My sympathy for them ended as I was walking north from Lakeshire on my way to a known Gnoll encampment. Three orcs jumped me from behind a large boulder and beat me to a bloody pulp. No provocation, no warning, just *BAM!*, dead mage.

I realize some of them have good reason to be predisposed to hatred towards humans. After all, I hear the internment camps were the most miserable, filth-ridden sewers this side of Gnomeregan, but the fact is, this is sort of the Orc way of things. The exceptional ones will negotiate and resolve conflicts in a diplomatic fashion; but your average orc solves problems with his fists and a large sharp object.

It's not just humans they treat this way - I once saw a young orc child chew the leg off a poor troll kid over a paper zepplin toy. This was while I was passing through Ratchet one day. The poor troll child squealed like a pig while the orc ran along with the zepplin in one hand and his little troll drumstick in the other. The goblin bruisers just laughed at the whole scene. I tied a tourniquet on the victim and dropped him off with a tauren druid I had met on the way from the Crossroads. She assured me that losing limbs was quite common for trolls, and that the child would be fine. I had my doubts.

So, I helped the citizenry of Lakeshire with their orc problem. After I'd delivered the heads of a few of them to the town hall, I headed south again, this time to a cozy little town called Darkshire.

Bolvar 03-25-2009 12:16 PM

They say Duskwood used to be a nice place. Apparently, long ago, it was just as lush as the Elwynn Forest to the north. Now, it's just a dark, ugly, eyesore, and if the people there were smart, they'd burn the whole forest to the ground and move out.

But, they're not smart.

The whole region is infested with undead and worgen, with the exception of a large crater in the middle, which just happens to be home to a particularly unfriendly dragon. I spent days fighting skeletons and canines, but the true source of the corruption in Duskwood remains a mystery, and what progress I made only provided some temporary relief.

I did learn an important lesson during my time in Duskwood: It's not always a good idea to accept every quest you're offered. Especially if they're given to you by crazy old men who live alone in the middle of a creepy graveyard and they involve gathering bits and pieces of undead creatures.

In hindsight, I should have figured that old bastard Abercrombie was up to no good. I should have realized he wasn't gathering all that zombie juice and ghoul bones for any charitable reason. But I didn't. I just did the quests, and helped a madman unleash a terrible abomination upon the unsuspecting citizens of Darkshire.

In my defense, you should know something about the life of a hero of Stormwind. I've stated before that a lot of what I'm asked to do is pretty unsavory, and sometimes downright dirty. There's really no way around this - you do what you're asked to do, and you get rewarded for it. If you decide to grow a conscience over these things, you'll end up nowhere but spending all day dueling morons in Goldshire or day-trading in the Ironforge Auction House.

So, completing quests is almost an involuntary response for me at this point. It's easier to sleep at night if I don't think about it. Go to point "A". Kill "X" number of this creature. Gather "Y" number of this object. Come back and gather your reward. Rinse and repeat.

I didn't give any thought to all the dangerous crap I was bringing to that old man or why he wanted it until the rampaging undead monster was ripping the Night Watch limb-from-limb in the town square. After it was finally dead, I could only pray that nobody ever figured out I had anything to do with it.

Bolvar 03-25-2009 02:11 PM

The good news was all the other things I'd done for the people of Darkshire had earned enough of their trust so that they never thought to suspect I'd had anything to do with the creature called Stitches. I just kept my mouth shut, helped them dig a few graves for their fallen comrades, and went about my business.

Still, I decided it was probably best to put some distance between myself and that place for a while, so I headed north to a little town called Southshore.

The Hillsbrad Foothills are about all that remains of the old kingdom of Lordaeron. The rest of it has been overrun with the plague, and is controlled by either the Scourge or the Forsaken. It's a tragic story. There's so much of Hillsbrad that seems familiar to me, that I almost think I might originally be from around there; but I'll never know for sure. I have no memory prior to my time at Northshire.

I don't know if it was the overall familiarity or the fact that most of my quests seemed pretty straightforward and just, but I enjoyed my time in Southshore. After wiping out a few pesky tribes of murlocs and naga, I investigated and uncovered a plot by the Syndicate to assassinate the the local Magistrate.

Killing off members of the Syndicate was the most satisfying thing I'd done to date. In addition to being a pack of no-good thieving rogues (and, really, find a mage that DOESN'T hate rogues...), they're also traitorous scum that should have been executed after the second war. See, the Syndicate are basically what's left of the Perenolde clan and their cronies who sold out the Alliance in the war with the Horde. Why they weren't all strung up is anyone's guess, but I was plenty happy to deliver some long-overdue justice.

***

Back in the day, another thing that made Southshore so interesting was all the skirmishes that would break out with the Horde in Tarren Mill. I'll save my lecture regarding my opinion on the Forsaken for another day, but let me just say I've probably spent as much time "interacting" with the people in Tarren Mill as I have with the folks in Southshore. Nowadays, it's pretty quiet in Hillsbrad, and I like it that way.

In fact, to this day, I have a room at the inn that I return to when I need a break from the grind. Chef Jessen makes a turtle bisque that is still the best thing I've ever eaten, and there's nothing more relaxing than spending the day fishing off the dock. I call it home, because I don't care for the bustle of the cities, and I can teleport to them whenever I want to anyway.

And, I suppose it's because, every now and then, the night life is really interesting.

Bolvar 03-25-2009 05:35 PM

Southshore gets a lot of traffic. Since it's the northernmost Alliance port town, pretty much any trade that goes to or from old Lordaeron or Quel'thalas comes through here.

It's also the closest civilized place to get a drink and a decent meal if you're one of the soldiers with the Argent Dawn or Scarlet Crusade. The bar fights that break out at the inn are legendary.

On any given night, there's a crowd that can include anyone from any race or faction. Blood Elves come through all the time, passing themselves off as High Elves. Nobody really minds; they pay their bills, tip well, and generally don't cause much trouble.

I'll never forget the time Sally Whitemane came in for a drink during Hallow's End. She's from Southshore orginally, and most everyone thought she was just wearing a festive costume. Turns out she actually *is* a Scarlet Crusade nutjob, not to mention a lousy drunk. I only say this because she actually tried picking me up (she'd have to be drunk to consider that).

She went on and on about how she just wanted a man who wasn't a paladin for a change, how a girl's got a right to chase around bad boys once in a while. I assured her I was most certainly not a bad boy, and offered to buy her a cup of coffee.

It was at this point that Renault Mograine walked in.

"Oh, look... my champion," slurred Whitemane.

Mograine looked angry... at me. "Infidel! Get your hands off her!"

I held my hands up. "Umm... my hand's aren't on her."

Whitemane just started giggling uncontrollably. "Sho sorry... he's prolly gonna kill you now."

Mograine growled, and started charging across the inn towards me. I did what any good mage would do.

I turned him into a sheep.

At first, Whitemane laughed even louder. Then, suddenly, she got a very serious look on her face, stood up, and slapped me. "You shall pay for this treachery!"

With that, she walked over, picked up the sheep, and staggered out of the inn.

A balding man sitting next to me just shook his head and muttered, "And they wonder why I left that crackpot outfit."

His name was Raleigh. He had a mission for me.

Xarthat 03-25-2009 06:14 PM

Renault Mograine the Sheep. :D
This is hilarious.

Exxile87 03-26-2009 05:06 AM

Excellent piece you have here, Bolvar. I'm really enjoying it.

Timolas 03-26-2009 08:39 AM

Heh keep it up. So easy to read and yet so entertaining.

Bolvar 03-26-2009 10:41 AM

Thank you all for the positive feedback. It's very encouraging. :)

Bolvar 03-27-2009 04:27 PM

Alas, poor Lordaeron. Never was there a more idyllic kingdom; peaceful, prosperous, and ruled by a fair and decent monarch. Spared the destruction that Stormwind suffered at the hands of the Horde, good King Terenas forged an alliance that defeated the orcs and saved humanity.

Lordaeron represented the best of humanity. It was the birthplace of the Order of the Silver Hand and the home of the Kirin Tor. Maybe this is why it was the primary target of the Scourge. The Alliance has never recovered from its loss.

Now most of this vast nation is blighted and plagued. Its great population has been scattered, slaughtered, or worse. And the royal line has been lost (well, maybe not completely... )

Aside from a few small regions that are being held on to by the natives, most of Lordaeron is inhabited by the Scourge and the Forsaken.

And then there's the Scarlet Crusade.

At first, everyone thought the Crusade was a good thing. Basically, natives of Lordaeron banded together, determined to eradicate the Scourge and re-claim the homeland. They were motivated. They were well-equipped. They were strong. They were fanatical.

Then they became downright extreme. Now, I can't blame the whole lot of them - most of them are men and women that saw their homes overrun and their friends and family slaughtered. You can't go through what they went through and not lose a piece of yourself in the process. I often wonder if this is why I have no memory of my life before the Abbey.

But like any extremist organization, they were subject to exploitation. Fanatics will rally behind anyone who tells them what they want to hear, and appears to have the means to deliver on it. That's the problem with the Crusade. Their leadership is more interested in pursuing their own agenda than really following their mission of reclaiming Lordaeron from the Scourge. In fact, some of their leadership may actually be acting completely contrary to the goals of the Crusade. I have heard some disturbing rumors.

My new friend Raleigh knew all this. He used to be one of them, but he recognized the insanity that had invaded the Scarlet Crusade. Innocent men, women, and children were being tortured and slaughtered simply on the suspicion of being affiliated with the Scourge - and usually all this meant was they weren't affiliated with the Crusade.

Raleigh had identified a few of the worst of them; officers of the Crusade that were clearly corrupt, and needed to be removed. It was his hope that cutting out the cancerous leadership might help the Scarlet Crusade find its way again.

I had my doubts. But I had no trouble gunning for the likes of Mograine and Whitemane, and Raleigh was paying well.

It didn't take me long to figure out why he hadn't found anyone else to take his offer. The mission was insane. He wanted me to take out four officers that were holed up in the Scarlet Monastery all they way up in the northern region of Tirisfal Glades. I'd have to run right through the Forsaken's backyard just to reach the place, and by all accounts, it was a veritable fortress.

I was going to need some help.

Exxile87 03-30-2009 06:53 AM

I love this. Have I said that yet?

Bolvar 03-31-2009 10:26 AM

Unfortunately, the peaceful confines of Southshore are no place to find a group of heroes crazy enough to invade a place like the Scarlet Monastery.

While I'm more than capable of melting the face off a lone adversary, taking on a well-equipped army would require actual muscle. Grizzled, veteran soldiers that would work for glory, honor, and righteousness.

Or, barring that, for a few rounds of Thunderbrew Ale. I needed to go to Ironforge.

Of all the races in the Alliance, the Dwarves, in my opinion, are the most formidable. They're tough, stoic, fiercely loyal, and downright lethal in a fight. They're also pretty darned smart. A lot of folks dismiss their intelligence because of their jovial manner and their propensity to consume large amounts of alcohol, but the Dwarves make their home in one of the most impregnable fortress cities ever built, and when they go into battle, they usually bring enough firepower to take down an enemy three times the size of their expected target. In short (no pun intended), they know how to win.

They're also usually up for a good brawl, as long as there's a good reason for it.

Within the mountain city of Ironforge, there's about, I dunno, 72 different pubs, bars, breweries, inns, and other assorted establishments for thirsty dwarves to gather, imbibe, and share fantastic tales of adventure. It didn't take me long to find a cozy place with a handful of platemail-clad fellows who didn't mind having a humble mage buy them a few rounds and share a proposition.

Their "leader" (I don't know if he was really in charge, but he did most of the talking) was a paladin named Lagerblock. He was more than happy to tackle the Crusade, and his two friends didn't seem to object.

"Now, we've enough firepower for yer little adventure, and I can keep you all alive, but we're gonna need us a point man... someone to keep the heat off the rest of us... a tank." Lagerblock took a draw of his pipe as he stated this, and the other two dwarves nodded, as if they knew where he was going with this.

I ordered another round. "Sounds sensible. I assume you gentlemen have someone in mind?"

The hunter, a red-bearded fellow called Flintknuckle, chuckled at that. "Aye, we do. The lads just aren't too keen to admit it."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "I don't quite follow you."

The gray-haired warrior, Grimblade, chugged the last half of his mug and scoffed, "Because he's a bloody gnome, that's why. But the lil' bugger's meaner than a goretusk with a hemorrhoid, and he can take a punch like you wouldn't believe."

I tried to picture what he described, then decided against it as I figured the image would be too funny not to laugh at, and that would have been impolite. "Ah. Well. Sounds like just the man for the job. Shall we ask him?"

Lagerblock nodded. "Aye. But I'm gonna need another drink first."

Bolvar 03-31-2009 12:34 PM

Every gnome I've ever met has been friendly, affable, and good-humored.

Except for Sparky Boxwrench.

While most of the Gnomes seemed to take the loss of Gnomeregan in stride, Sparky never got over it. He refuses to live in Ironforge with the rest of his people, preferring a modest home in Dun Morogh where he spends his spare time crafting weapons and armor and raiding the old Gnomish capitol city, killing as many troggs as he can.

He's not very tall, even for a Gnome. And he's the only one I've seen with black hair (I suspect he dyes it, but I'd never say as much to him). Clad in black armor with silver highlights and spikes about everywhere, and preferring to carry a large matching shield and a vicious axe, he gives one the impression of a very pissed-off porcupine. I was glad to have him on our side. And I started to feel a little sorry for the Scarlet Crusade.

Between Sparky and Grimblade, the Crusade couldn't see anything but a flurry of steel in front of them. Well, that, and Flintknuckle's pet boar, "Baconbits." I had no idea a pig could be so brutal, but after seeing him chew the loins off a Scarlet mage, I will never, ever, look at a ham sandwich the same way again.

Needless to say, Lagerblock had no trouble healing the rest of us, and Flintknuckle and I stayed a comfortable distance from the fray and mowed them all down.

Until we got to the Cathedral, that is.

Mograine hadn't forgotten me. As soon as we approached the altar where he stood, he stunned Sparky and came right for me.

And the sheep spell didn't work this time. In fact, nothing did. I didn't notice until it was too late that Whitemane was standing behind him, with an evil grin on her face.

Somehow, she'd silenced me. I couldn't cast a single spell. And Mograine was coming right for me, swinging that big damned mace of his. I flinched as it approached my skull.

And bounced off.

Lagerblock had cast some sort of shield over me. I knew I only had a few seconds, and that nothing would stop Mograine.

It was then that I noticed Whitemane had the point of one of Grimblade's swords sticking out of her stomach. He'd moved around behind her while she was busy silencing me and casting a mind control spell at Flintknuckle (which was tragic, as he'd been forced to shoot Baconbits).

The trauma was more than enough to break both spells. Flintknuckle let her have it with both barrels, disintegrating her head in the process. Mograine paused to consider this, and that was all the time I needed to wind up the mother of all fireballs.

I wish I could say there was something satisfying about burning off a man's face, but in truth, it's just disgusting. I can't stand the sight of it, the smell is unbearable, and the gurgling screaming sound one makes when one can't quite speak through a charred voicebox is quite possibly the most disturbing thing you'll ever hear.

Sparky didn't seem to care for it either, and swiftly cut Mograine off at the knees, then severed his head to put him out of his misery.

We returned to Southshore to collect our bounty from Raleigh. I bought a round of drinks for my new friends and offered to teleport them back to Ironforge. They declined, opting instead to get good and drunk before raiding the Orc encampment at Alterac Valley, since they were already in the neighborhood.

I'd seen enough bloodshed for one day. I had a bowl of soup and went to bed. I had to get up early the next day to catch my boat to Teldrassil.

Xarthat 03-31-2009 01:07 PM

Beginning - hilarious.
Ending - disgusting.

Perfect mix.

Bolvar 03-31-2009 03:43 PM

I always thought of Kalimdor as sort of a "dark" continent - savage, foreign, and primitive. I know that's probably not a "fair" assessment of the entire landmass or its occupants; it's just a sense I get of the place. The Night Elves and Tauren that live there shun the arcane entirely, and don't seem to care much for mages. The Orcs are, well, Orcs, and the Trolls are, well, Trolls.

Aside from the occasional trip to Theramore, I try to avoid the whole place. But I had business in Darnassus. I owed someone a favor.

I couldn't just teleport over - I hadn't studied on how to do that (it was on my to-do list). I've heard some mages are talented enough to divine where they need to go, and teleport without actually visiting the location first. I've also heard of mages that ended up with their legs stuck in the floor. I'm not that talented. Or that stupid.

But I digress. There's a reason why I had to visit the Night Elf capital. It all started about a month or so ago.

I was in Menethil Harbor, passing through on my way home from a trip to Stormwind. I always try to stop over for a few days, because the fishing is fantastic; not just in the bay, but also in the marshy rivers of the Wetlands. Most folks don't bother, because of all the crocolisks and raptors. Personally, I don't mind having an excuse to grill up a good raptor steak.

So, I'm fishing off the bridge that leads from the marsh into the keep, and I see this Night Elf woman being attacked by a blue raptor. She appears to be trying to cast some spell against the beast, but it doesn't seem to have any effect, and the creature is tearing her up.

Naturally, I run to her rescue, sending a flurry of frostbolts at the raptor, stunning it, then killing it.

"Are you alright?" I asked the woman.

She responds by punching me in the jaw. "You MORON! That was a rare Cerulean Marsh Raptor! I was TRYING to TAME it!"

Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the keep, and I sat in the mud rubbing my chin and wondering how I went from "knight in shining armor" to "moron" in such a short period of time.

Bolvar 03-31-2009 04:04 PM

Later that evening, I sat in front of the fireplace at the inn at Menethil Harbor, reading a book on fly-fishing and trying to figure out an excuse to visit Stranglethorn Vale and attempt this new style in the tropical rivers there that are so full of exotic fish.

It was very late in the evening, and the place was nearly empty when she walked in. From the fresh cuts on her arms and legs, I could tell she'd been attempting to tame another raptor. I debated whether or not it was worth risking another punch in the face to approach her and offer an apology, and decided that a creature with such nice, long, purple hair was worth taking the chance on.

"Hey, umm, so, I'm really sorry about the raptor earlier. I really had no idea." Yeah... smooth.

She glared at me, but didn't show any sign of physical retaliation this time. "Hmm. Well, you're fortunate that I found its mate."

"I see. That is fortunate. I'd rather not lose any more teeth." I laughed nervously at my own weak humor.

She rolled her eyes and asked the innkeeper. "I need meat for my pet. What do you have?"

Before the innkeeper could respond, I offered, "You know, I've caught quite a few fish today. Could I offer you some? You know, to make up for earlier?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Let me explain something, since you seem completely ignorant with regards to wildlife. The raptor you killed was one of the last of its kind. They breed for life, and consume their mate should one die before the other, thus the female I have tamed will never bear children, making it more likely that there will be no others like it. I hardly think a few fish will 'make up for earlier'"

At this point, I restrained myself from commenting on the fact that if the female had indeed eaten its mate, it was probably not at all hungry at the moment, and might also have a bad case of brain freeze from all the frostbolts I'd cast at the poor bastard.

Instead, I meekly offered, "Milady, I am in your debt. Please accept this as a token of my sincerity, and should you ever require the services of a capable mage, I get my mail at the inn at Southshore in the Hillsbrad Foothills."

With that, I handed her the basket of fish I'd caught earlier, and went back to my book. She took the basket to the stables, and I didn't see her again.


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