Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Diary of an Upwardly Mobile Orc

Lazy post full of recycled material. 'Cause I's busy, dang it!

Way back last January, I started keepin' a journal of me adventures. Called Diary of an Upwardly Mobile Orc back then, after something Guild Leader Tarsius had said. I was working in the Barrens back then, sometimes crossing into Ashenvale or the Stonetalon Mountains. Wearing pretty basic chainmail armor, no helmet or pauldrons. Hadn't ever ridden a Zeppelin or seen Undercity or nuthin'. Didn't even know Outland or the Dark Portal existed.

What a simple little chuggerwhupper I was.

Well, I been feeling a little nostagilacious, and I's gonna drag you kickin' and screamin' down me personal memory lane. Enjoy these tasty snippets, you buggers.


So there I am, running down the Gold Road in the Barrens, minding me own business. When suddenly there's 3 Alliance outriders, all Level 25 Elites on mounts. Bang, I'm dead. I hate being dead.

Went back to the Grimtotem camp and sure enough, there was Flathoof's daughter again. Got her back to daddy. She was so glad to be rescued that she gave me a little extra XP on the side.

A bunch of Blood Elves joined our guild recently, and as the seniormost of the junior guild members I was dispatched over to Silvermoon City to help give them some backup while they gained experience. Turns out most of these Elves are chicks and they are damn hot!

By this point the BEs are all full of piss and vinegar and were like, "Let's go kick their asses!" So off we go.


Apparently you can skin a Yeti. Huh.

Our eyes met only for a second, but I could tell. She wanted me. She wanted me real bad. And then the zeppelin arrived and the moment was gone forever.

So we hit the place and Torella methodically goes from hall to hall, slaughtering everything. My job is primarily to stay out of her way and scoop all the loot into a wheelbarrow. Not very heroic.

Desolace. What a bunghole.

and then I finally got the axe. Man, is it righteous. I ran all the way back to Hillsbrad Fields to show it to the farmers there. They were all real impressed. They didn't actually say so, 'cause they were busy screaming and running, but I could tell they all thought it was pretty wicked.

So now there's some talk of the guild making a raid on some place called Blackfathom Deeps. Man, I swear, this keeps up I'm gonna have algae growin' in me beard.


"Teach me how to cook this!", I says.
"'Scuse me dere, Mister Orc?" she replies.
"Teach me how to cook this, please!", I says.

Tantria gave me a hug and called me a "goo", which I'm assuming is a Blood Elf term of affection, and not a reference to what's on the bottom of of your boot after you step on a bug.

"You're gonna need to get yerself a stack and a half of mithril bars, a stack of truesilver bars, some thick leather, and four breaths of wind."
"The hell is a breath of wind?"
"It's a sort of a fart that leaks out when you kill a wind elemental. Best ones for it are the Gusting Vortices down in Tanaris."

How she managed to carry that stuff in her skimpy, skin-tight armored spandex I figured I'd better not ask.

I've got a lot of miles under my Ornate Mithril Boots at this point, but when I go the Dark Portal to check out Outland, the sentries there say "Sorry, kid, you ain't ready. Come back when you've got a bigger pair." Wankers.


The Blasted Lands. Where the locals do their darndest to make newcomers feel real fuhggin welcome.

I picked it up and it started talking. "Help! I'm a sorry-arsed bugger who's lost his homing robot. Please find it and get it back to me and I'll give you a reward that's not really enough to justify your troubles" or something like that.

"Well, then you come to the right place. I can bang out a troll-sized set of imperial plate first thing tomorrow."
"That be righteous, mon, but one thing. He ain't a troll. Wrewdie be a gnome."
"Thought you said he was your cousin."
"He is."
"Okay, I'm confused..."
"Relax, mon. Don' tink too hard - you kill da buzz."

"Thank the unholies you're here, Ratshag! Those buggers out on the Hellfire Peninsula have gone and got themselves seriously screwed."

Fuhggin Fel Reavers. That's all I have to say on the subject.

She still wanted me. She still wanted me bad.


Do you like me new hat? It's got a built-in candle, so I ain't gotta be afeared of the dark no more.

This soggy bugger is Temm. He used to be Throttle's uncle, or nephew, or something, back when Throttle had a pulse.

"Zinz, woman, you been ripped off. Some fool with a yellow question mark on his blame head put radium in a bustier and said it was a quest reward and got you to wear it."

Scrybabies. These are the good Blood Elfs. You can tell them apart from the bad Blood Elfs, who they want you to kill, 'cause they pay you.


Apparently there was some dastardly scheme to change time and mess with Thrall's life - keep him from escaping from Durnholde Keep and losing his cherry to some human chick in Tarren Mill.

Taught the kid a few things, like how to smelt thorium, how to cook ravager dogs over a campfire, how to run like a fuggerwhumper with his ass on fire when a Fel Reaver spots you.


Shadow Hunter Vosh'gajin. She felt safe with her shadow priests and axethrowers. She felt safe behind the Orcs of the Scarshield Legion. She felt safe deep under Blackrock Spire. She felt there was no way an orcish blacksmith, operating alone and without backup, could reach her.
She was wrong.

"Hey, Throttle, man, you sure this is a good idea? You sure we're not gonna destroy the world or somethin'?"
"Nah. If this was gonna destroy the world that crazy old hermit would be paying us a lot more," says Throttle.

But in that instant our souls touched, and I knew -
She still wanted me. She wanted me bad.


Sonvar said...

I've been left confused, perplexed, and stupified.

Gauntlet said...

I've been left confused, amused, and entertained.

Suptail said...

Who the heck is she?