Being dead is not a pleasant experience. Being enslaved, having your mind warped, and killing your friends is uncomfortable. Before I was slain, had my soul ripped out of me and was enslaved by the Lich King, I researched war. I wasn't a warrior or a hunter. I wasn't a shaman or a druid. I was a tactician. I read what few scrolls the Tauren have, I read whatever I could get my hands on. I was advising some orc in the Eastern Kingdoms when the Scourge tore through Lordaeron.
The Lich King empowered me. Forced me to fight.
Now I find I enjoy it. Not the senseless slaughter of innocents, but the planned, practical extermination of an enemy. I go out into fields of enemies and slay them, for no purpose other than to remove them from existence.
Unlike Raegann, I don't hate Outland. There are plenty of demons for me to kill. I feel most Tauren would shy away from my methods. Using plague and disease, crippling my enemy before I slay them isn't something that is wholly approved upon by my people.
But balanced must be maintained. There must be a darkness to counter the light. Without disease, there would be no healing. Without death, there would be no birth. Balance will be preserved. At all costs.
I like Outland. There are demons to kill.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
10/28 A Change of Scenery
The dust was too much. I couldn't stand it any more and neither could the deathcharger. Both of us were coughing endlessly.
I hate outlands.
In a fit of rage I rode west, unsure of what was at the end of the road but if it wasn't red I was prepared to get off my charger and kiss it.
As it turns out, the end of the road was a small village of Night elves and Tauren who followed the druidic teachings. It was in a swamp. A swamp which appeared to stretch for hundreds of miles. Mushrooms! Taller than trees! I hate mushrooms!
A very muddy two hours later I find myself in a troll village which is as mud spattered as this entire part of outlands seems to be. I had hoped to find someplace dry to stable the charger, but to these trolls "dry" means "only a foot deep".
I hate swamp-outlands.
The blood sucking insects common to Durotar during the rainy season are the size of large wolves here, and about as mean, and probably smarter. There are hydras, and Naga (always with the naga! How did they GET here?!) And horrible pumping machines that seem so dastardly a goblin would blush if he saw one.
I'm counting the days until the Cenarion Expedition (as the druids call themselves) tell me I can leave.
I hate outlands.
In a fit of rage I rode west, unsure of what was at the end of the road but if it wasn't red I was prepared to get off my charger and kiss it.
As it turns out, the end of the road was a small village of Night elves and Tauren who followed the druidic teachings. It was in a swamp. A swamp which appeared to stretch for hundreds of miles. Mushrooms! Taller than trees! I hate mushrooms!
A very muddy two hours later I find myself in a troll village which is as mud spattered as this entire part of outlands seems to be. I had hoped to find someplace dry to stable the charger, but to these trolls "dry" means "only a foot deep".
I hate swamp-outlands.
The blood sucking insects common to Durotar during the rainy season are the size of large wolves here, and about as mean, and probably smarter. There are hydras, and Naga (always with the naga! How did they GET here?!) And horrible pumping machines that seem so dastardly a goblin would blush if he saw one.
I'm counting the days until the Cenarion Expedition (as the druids call themselves) tell me I can leave.
10/28: Rough Grinding Stone
I got an old Orc in Thrallmar to instruct me in the ways of the smith, and I do declare I have never looked clumsier since the first time I tried to ride a battle Worg. All of my early metal plates are horribly dented and scarred and most look like something a Fel Orc would build his house out of. That is to say, they look like dung, if metal was excrement.
I hate outlands.
The red dust gets everywhere, and if you ever try to get something out of your eye (chances are it's red dust to begin with) soon you end up frantically looking for clean water (HAH!) to get the dust out as well as the original irritant.
I hate irritants.
The blood elves spend enormous amounts of time preening themselves. We're under siege elf! Do you even know what siege means?! It means the Burning Legion, the legion of *Endless Demonic Hordes*, is coming to tear down our world one rock at a time! Brush your hair after we win!
I hate outlands.
The red dust gets everywhere, and if you ever try to get something out of your eye (chances are it's red dust to begin with) soon you end up frantically looking for clean water (HAH!) to get the dust out as well as the original irritant.
I hate irritants.
The blood elves spend enormous amounts of time preening themselves. We're under siege elf! Do you even know what siege means?! It means the Burning Legion, the legion of *Endless Demonic Hordes*, is coming to tear down our world one rock at a time! Brush your hair after we win!
10/28: Weakening the Ramparts
Today Nazgrel's adviser instructed me to charge into Hellfire Citadel and cut down 3 important Fel Orcs (or so I thought). As it turns out, one of the Orcs was a demon, not an Orc, and he had a massive stomach in his chest. Great. Parrying a blade? I can do that. Dodging massive needle-sharp claws? Got it down. Dealing with the above AND a giant mouth in something's stomach cavity? Never really trained for that, honestly.
I hate outlands.
I also hate what passes for First Aid out here in this hellhole.
After cutting down the three targets and getting some really beautiful boots and a breastplate out of a moldy chest they had stuffed behind a catapult, I was accosted on the way to Thrallmar by a fel Orc who called himself Mekthork the Wild. I know this because he shouted "I AM MEKTHORK THE WILD! THIS IS THE LAND OF THE BLADEMASTER, GREENSKIN" at me, and then charged.
The way he fought filled me with the kind of fury you can only get from good fighting. The kind where he could eviscerate you and you'd still feel great. The outcome didn't matter. I half suspect we both tried not to end the fight and instead just focused on keeping it intense and never ending. By the end we were both cackling and covered in blood and red dust from the road.
What got him in the end was again my ability to use his life force to close wounds he'd inflicted on me, while he couldn't do anything but slowly lose strength as I chopped him up.
But what an Orc! It was a shame we met as enemies, and that he was a horribly mutated demon-spawn mockery of our race.
If I found ANY Orgrimmar native who had half the thirst for battle and sheer enjoyment of fighting this "Mekthork" had, I'd marry him. Of course, then I'd kill him to get the thrill of fighting him, but I suspect that's what he would want anyway.
I hate outlands.
I also hate what passes for First Aid out here in this hellhole.
After cutting down the three targets and getting some really beautiful boots and a breastplate out of a moldy chest they had stuffed behind a catapult, I was accosted on the way to Thrallmar by a fel Orc who called himself Mekthork the Wild. I know this because he shouted "I AM MEKTHORK THE WILD! THIS IS THE LAND OF THE BLADEMASTER, GREENSKIN" at me, and then charged.
The way he fought filled me with the kind of fury you can only get from good fighting. The kind where he could eviscerate you and you'd still feel great. The outcome didn't matter. I half suspect we both tried not to end the fight and instead just focused on keeping it intense and never ending. By the end we were both cackling and covered in blood and red dust from the road.
What got him in the end was again my ability to use his life force to close wounds he'd inflicted on me, while he couldn't do anything but slowly lose strength as I chopped him up.
But what an Orc! It was a shame we met as enemies, and that he was a horribly mutated demon-spawn mockery of our race.
If I found ANY Orgrimmar native who had half the thirst for battle and sheer enjoyment of fighting this "Mekthork" had, I'd marry him. Of course, then I'd kill him to get the thrill of fighting him, but I suspect that's what he would want anyway.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
10/27: Hellfire Edition
I've ridden on boats before, and they roll and buck and toss, but that's nothing compared to Hellfire peninsula.
Quakes, breaking rocks and small eruptions are everywhere. It's a constant reminder that this world is for all purposes dead, and standing on its twitching corpse isn't any more of a good idea than standing on any other twitching corpse.
All the men in Thrallmar give me the hungry eye. All the women give me a "look out" glare. I guess if I was stuck for however many years on a dry, crumbling husk of a world without my mate I might grow...impatient. But the first grunt who lays a hand ANYWHERE on my armor or on me is going to have a special meal. His own hand.
Found the infamous Tagar Spinebreaker, who kept trying to knock the air out of me with the flat of his axe. Fortunately knocking the air out of a Death Knight is about as useful as trying to knock the lazy out of a peon. By the end of the encounter I had several deep cuts, but here as always the ability to use my enemy's life force to close my own wounds prove invaluable.
The deathcharger hates this place as much as I do.
Why are we here? Do we really think we can topple Illidan and whatever else is running around? We can barely keep our courtyard clear of demons, and the "war room" looks like it's being held up with the remains of Alliance ballista bolts.
Found a stupid caravan of stupid Goblins. Again. Again with the Goblins. And of course, they had crashed their zeppelin, and wanted me to help them put it together again. It turns out one of them knew a fantastic recipe for the Hell-pigs that cover the entire peninsula, so the effort wasn't wasted. Finding anything to eat out here that isn't glowing green or attached to a demon is a serious business. Thank the light eating is an afterthought.
What a day.
From the stupidity of zeppelin-criers and Thunderbluff to being chased by demons made of pure Voidstuff. I always regret saying this; but it really can't get worse.
Quakes, breaking rocks and small eruptions are everywhere. It's a constant reminder that this world is for all purposes dead, and standing on its twitching corpse isn't any more of a good idea than standing on any other twitching corpse.
All the men in Thrallmar give me the hungry eye. All the women give me a "look out" glare. I guess if I was stuck for however many years on a dry, crumbling husk of a world without my mate I might grow...impatient. But the first grunt who lays a hand ANYWHERE on my armor or on me is going to have a special meal. His own hand.
Found the infamous Tagar Spinebreaker, who kept trying to knock the air out of me with the flat of his axe. Fortunately knocking the air out of a Death Knight is about as useful as trying to knock the lazy out of a peon. By the end of the encounter I had several deep cuts, but here as always the ability to use my enemy's life force to close my own wounds prove invaluable.
The deathcharger hates this place as much as I do.
Why are we here? Do we really think we can topple Illidan and whatever else is running around? We can barely keep our courtyard clear of demons, and the "war room" looks like it's being held up with the remains of Alliance ballista bolts.
Found a stupid caravan of stupid Goblins. Again. Again with the Goblins. And of course, they had crashed their zeppelin, and wanted me to help them put it together again. It turns out one of them knew a fantastic recipe for the Hell-pigs that cover the entire peninsula, so the effort wasn't wasted. Finding anything to eat out here that isn't glowing green or attached to a demon is a serious business. Thank the light eating is an afterthought.
What a day.
From the stupidity of zeppelin-criers and Thunderbluff to being chased by demons made of pure Voidstuff. I always regret saying this; but it really can't get worse.
10/27 (Much Later)
A note on Innkeepers.
If I hear the question.
One.
More.
Time.
If I need.
Special.
Pillows.
I will drown them all in their own blood and play castanets with their femurs.
And I can't carry a tune.
If I hear the question.
One.
More.
Time.
If I need.
Special.
Pillows.
I will drown them all in their own blood and play castanets with their femurs.
And I can't carry a tune.
10/27: Zeppelin Tango
It's very nice of the goblins to run a charity zeppelin line all the way out to Thunderbluff. It's even nicer, (And somewhat suspect) that they don't charge for it. But would it kill them to strap 6 or 7 of those stupid rockets to the blasted thing? If you, oh say, miss the first one because 3 blood elf males asked if they could fix your hair and blocked your path, and murder is actually a crime in Orgrimmar...
Well, I stood at the top of that stupid tower for about three hours while the "very nice young lady" Goblin in charge of docking the zeppelin asked me the usual questions. You know the type. "Do Death Knights eat?" "What do Death Knights eat?" "Do you ever get cold?" "Why don't you see a priest about all of that unholiness?"
After the first hour it was all I could do to not pick her up and strangulate her then dump her off the tower. Hellscream may be brash, but treating Goblins like 2nd class citizens is spot on if they
're all as "delightful" as that specimen.
Once I arrived in beautiful Thunderbluff at least five Taurens wearing Night-Elf masks made of bark and light knows what else accosted me and insisted on "serenading me" with a ballad from some creep in the Undercity who I am beginning to suspect is stalking me. He may be a rogue.
I can't wait to go to Outlands and leave all these spineless morons behind.
Well, I stood at the top of that stupid tower for about three hours while the "very nice young lady" Goblin in charge of docking the zeppelin asked me the usual questions. You know the type. "Do Death Knights eat?" "What do Death Knights eat?" "Do you ever get cold?" "Why don't you see a priest about all of that unholiness?"
After the first hour it was all I could do to not pick her up and strangulate her then dump her off the tower. Hellscream may be brash, but treating Goblins like 2nd class citizens is spot on if they
're all as "delightful" as that specimen.
Once I arrived in beautiful Thunderbluff at least five Taurens wearing Night-Elf masks made of bark and light knows what else accosted me and insisted on "serenading me" with a ballad from some creep in the Undercity who I am beginning to suspect is stalking me. He may be a rogue.
I can't wait to go to Outlands and leave all these spineless morons behind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)