Friday, January 30, 2015

For Me Eyes Only?

So, if is fer me eyes only, ya think maybe ya shouldn't've posted it on the fluggernubbin' bulletin board in the middle of the blupperdubbin' garrison?

I's thinkin' what me an' Shadow Hunter Rokhan is gonna have ta have a lil' chat about mission security....

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Is Where Beetle Has A Dubious

Young Beetle, pink ponytailed tough-as-nails bundle of rage, was talkin' with Beatface the Gladiator. She done believed him when he said they was gonna kill Slavemaster Ok'mok. She done believed him when he said he knew cruelty. She even done believed him when he said Slavemaster Ok'mok was cruelty.

But when he said he was once her size?

Yeah, that one she had a little trouble swallowifyin'.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Me An' Soulbinder Tuulani? Kindred Spirits?

Nice kid an' all, but we's kindred spirits? Us? I mean, yeah, we's good at slaughterin' demons an' cultists tagethers, but I ain't exactlies no church-goin' holy roller.

On the other hand, mebbe I's wrong about the kid. Mebbe she likes kickin' back with a cold bottle of Uncle Bonechomper's Day Old Piss, playin' a few rounds of Throw the Peon's Head Through the Hoop, bathin' once a week (whether ya needs it or not), an' doin' all the Naughty Touchin'. Guess we's gonna find out - it'll be great!

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

He'll Be In His Bunk

Is just as well what he didn't asks me fer ta be his sidekick on this next .... mission.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Bad News, Pokhar

When Ol' Ratters is comin' fer ya, ain't enough axes in the world fer ta save yer country bumpkin' arse. Not eight, not thirteen, not a million.

Monday, January 19, 2015

A Reading From The Classics

"When he opened his eyes, the was something in the bed of dead flowers. He blinked. It seemed to be a cross of white-painted wood; some had fitted the sleeves of an ancient naval tunic over the arms, a kind of mold-spotted tailcoat with heavy fringed epaulets of tarnished gold braid, rusting buttons, more fringe at the cuffs ... A rusted cutlass was propped, hilt up, against the white upright, and beside it was a bottle half filled with clear liquid.

"'My name,' said a voice, and Bobby wanted to scream when he realized it was coming from his own mouth, 'is Samedi, and you have slain my cousin's horse...'

"And Virek was running, the big coat flapping out behind him, down the curving path with its serpentine benches, and Bobby saw that another of the white crosses waited there, just where the path curved to vanish. Then Virek must have seen it too; he screamed, and Baron Samedi, Lord of Graveyards, the loa whose kingdom was death, leaned in across Barcelona like a cold dark rain."

My name is Ratshag, and today I will introduce the Warsong Clan of Draenor to Baron Fluggernuggin' Samedi.