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.
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