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.
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