The truculent ten formed up in front of the gates of Orgrimmar.
There was a bit of a struggle, and in the end we agreed we’d compromise. We wouldn’t throw Mibs out front to check for land mines; we’d throw his imps instead.
Summibs was fine with this. Thanks to some trinket he had called the Unerring Vision of Lei Shen, Mibs claimed he now possessed the power of, what the heck was it… oh, right. “Many imps, handle it!”
So we did. Go ahead, toss an imp. He’ll proc more.
We rolled on into Orgrimmar. What the heck, the place must be deserted, right? Maybe they were all at home, watching Breaking Bad. Let’s face it, if an entire army were camped inside of Orgrimmar, they’d send more than ten of us to deal with it.
At first, we met only token resistance. A couple of blind swordmasters. Well shoot, that just drives home the point, all the ones that could see were watching the TV. How bad could these guys be, anyway?
We all stopped at that, and almost as one, let loose our battle cry and charged. We blew cooldowns, summoned army, unleashed hell and if possible would have had Galactus in reserve ready to eat the planet if we failed.
Hey, turns out, they really were wimps. Who would have seen THAT coming? I still remember the snails. In my dreams, I mean. I still see those slime trails, the never-ending slime trails. The endless, ravaging hunger of the snails. I wake up screaming, soaked in sweat, night after night.
Those damn snails.
Wait, sorry, what? Oh, right. Orgrimmar.
We entered the city proper, and to our shock the place was fully populated. Orcs everywhere! And they had some of OUR people in cages, strung up on poles, spiked and tortured and wailing.
But still alive, damn them, they had some of our people in there still alive, kept in cages like animals.
We leapt into action, charging into the Orcs, tearing them apart in search of the keys to free some of our fellows.
Then someone noticed that the store clerks were still in the shops, the auction house was open, everything was open for business. Well, shit, time to go stock up, me hearties! Yo dudes, chill, we be right back.
“Holy cow!” claimed one Misfit, “there are boxes and crates filled with loot and flasks in these stores! Sack the city!”
“SACK THE CITY!” we roared, and we tore through those shopkeepers like it was the last day of the White Sale at Macy’s.
As we charged into the Auction House, one of the auctioneers yelled “Screw this!” and tried to run for it, moments before he went down under the scrum.
Eventually, we ran out of easy meat in the shops and went back to killing the Orc warriors until the streets of Orgrimmar ran wet with the blood of the Kor’kron.
As I smeared a spray of blood across the front of my robes, I glanced around the carnage. “A damn good thing none of these Orcs noticed us killing their friends ten feet away, one group at a time. If all those Orcs within view of us noticed the screams, splatters, rains of frogs or explosions, they coulda swarmed us.”
Chron was bent over looting a body, and when he straightened up, he announced “I found the reason. Look! They’re wearing iScreams!” It was true, in their drive to be what Garrosh called “truly metal”, they hadn’t just stuck steel plates and spikes all over Orgrimmar, he made his soldiers listen to heavy metal music all the time, too. Even on patrol!
“What the heck could they be listening to that would keep them from hearing all this racket?”
Chron glanced at the iScream display. “Looks like Danzig. Something called Mother.”
“Ahhh. I thought Garrosh only had daddy issues, go figure.”
Once we had killed all the Orcs and looted the buildings, we used the keys to free as many prisoners as we could find that were still alive. To show their thanks, they dropped mystic totems that would, so they said, protect as a bit from poisons or the elements. Then they legged it on out of there.
As the freed prisoners fled, I called out after them, “Hey! What do you know that you ain’t tellin’ us?”
“Enough!” announced Katlyn. “Let’s go inside Hellscream’s little fun hut and drag his ass on out of there.”
As we boldly creeped our way around the blockage to peer timidly inside, I noticed a foul smell, like a Worgen on bath day.
Inside, we saw not Garrosh waiting for his comeuppance but two Dark Shaman mounted on Wolves!
How’d ya git them wolves up ON the high throne, boy? And why ya’ll wearin’ them little shriners hats?
We went tearin’ on outta there, with them wolves hot on our heels.
As we spread out, ready to fight, one of them Shaman yelled out they don’t ask the elements for help, they take what they want.
Well, sure, that might work in the short term, but you know what you get for that, right? You can look forward to having every company picnic rained out for the next seven years. That’ll teach ‘em it ain’t right to mess with mother nature!
Now, two Shaman, two wolves, ten of us. A whole city of space to fight in. You’d think this would be a straight up fight, right?
First, there are these big fat purple tornadoes. Yes, damnit, I know, more purple poo. Then there are small purple tornadoes comin’ out of them big ones. And the big ones slowly move like they’re chasing ya!
Well, okay, so we start over in one corner, wait for some tornadoes to form over there, then run away to t’other side. Fair enough.
And of course we kill the wolves first. Nothing ‘gainst wolves, you understand, but my poor brain can only handle so many things chomping on me at one time. Two targets just seem so much simpler than four.
Okay, so run away from purple, check. Kill wolves, check. What next?
Rivers of green slime, and a shitload of sprayed puddles of green poo that start chasing us. Well, of course they do. Because when I think of things that commonly occur in nature, purple tornadoes and green poo puddles just spring trippingly to my tongue.
I discovered a fascinating fact. Those green poo puddles? They can be stunned! And guess which Warlocks knew Shadowfury? Us guys!
Down come the puddles of poo, and wham! bam! stunned by big ol’ circles of Shadowfury so they kept nice, tight AOEable groups. Yummy!
And then the Ashes fell from the skies and the dying started.
These ashes fall down in a line, and from the ashes rise these flame things that, well, if I’m on this side, and you’re on the other side of the line of fire, and you need help?
Sucks to be you, man. Sucks to be you. ‘Cause I ain’t running through that shit. No how, no sir.
We’d be going good, and then there would be purple to the left of us, green rivers to the right, green puddles chasing Pumpken and then two lines of ashes running cross the middle of Orgrimmar.
Then the plaintive calls would go forth from Katlyn and Pumpken and Callaghan, our poor healers.
“I don’t have range on Monstre!”
“Well I don’t have range on Plankton!”
“Buttflame, you’re out of range!”
“Somebody scrape Mibs up again!”
“That’s it, daggertime! Stab ‘em if you got ‘em!”
We tried. Then we came back with a plan and tried again.
The Dark Shaman were patient. They sat there before the entrance to Hellscream’s quarters, watching us as we huddled up and planned anew.
“So, what if we start on the left, let the tornadoes stack there, then shift left.”
Tried that. Dead on the floor.
“Okay, what if we start there, but have two teams, so a healer sticks to a tank and we don’t get split up by ashes.”
Tried that. Nope.
“Okay, let’s try this. We’ll start over there by the bank, walk them across to the auction house, drag them along to the front gates and then back and around, keep ‘em moving.”
Dead as disco, baby.
“Okay, screw it. You know what? Screw a bunch of plans. Pull ‘em and rack ‘em, watch your feet and stay the hell out of bad shit; you’re on your own.”
BOOM! And the Dark Shaman go down.
Well, kiss my ass.
Fine. That’s gonna be how it is, is it? The harder we work at a plan the worse it goes?
Well, clearly Hellscream ain’t here, so let’s run on through the streets until we get to Ragefire Chasm, he’s probably hiding down HOLY SHIT RAIN OF FIRE RUN RUN RUN!”
As we reunited at the Troll camp for snacks and free healing, we discussed this alarming turn of events.
“Does it seem to anyone else like the bosses ain’t all that, but the trash in here hurts like a sonnuvabitch?”
“Brush it off, wimp.”
Monstre once more posed, hands on hips.
“I have a plan.”
“We’ll run through the streets, dodging the rain of fire from those Devastators, and at the end we’ll run into a shop and hide, kill the dark priests inside, safe from the fire overhead.”
Sounds like a plan.
So we gathered our things, ran like hell, dodging fire through the narrow valley, until we got to the aforementioned shop, whereupon we learned two things.
Thing the first. Mind Spikes HURT SON OF A HOLY CRAP DEAD see ya’ll at the campfire.
Thing the second, to quote Monstre, “OMG the fire comes through the roof, you can’t run, you can’t hide, the fire just keeps coming arrggghhh.”
The third time down the valley, we were a grim lot. This time, we were going for broke.
We ran down the length of the valley, and charged full bore into the Devastators, only to have someone call out, “Hey they stop shooting once you get in melee range of ‘em.”
Good to know.
Good to know.
That there, that’s a protip right there.
I stopped, pulled out my charred and blackened notebook, and wrote down, “giant engines of death and destruction stop shooting when tagged you’re it.”
We rested for a moment. I started munching on a nice leg of lamb when I heard someone say, and I shit you not, “Hey, that guy we saved is standing here. I wonder what happens if we talk to him.”
Next thing *I* know, that idiot starts running on his own into the tunnel to Ragefire, and half the raid takes off after him, and someone says “I bet there’s an achievement if we can keep him alive.”
Yeah, mission failed. I never did get close enough to see his ass because he just ran past all the mobs crowding that tunnel as if he smelled bacon at the other end.
Whatever he thought he was gonna get, what he ended up with was a chalk outline and a glowing green smear on the floor.
Now, I have my sympathies for those other Warlocks down there. But let’s face it. Whatever it is we are about to face in Ragefire Chasm, it can’t possibly be as bad as having to wade through rivers and lakes of glowing purple poo.
Entering the Chasm, it seemed I was right. Mages, Assassins, Warriors. Finally, a straight up, honorable fight!
It’s like a breath of fresh air. No more wacky sudden-death attacks, no more crazy purple poo… just a straight up smackdown, ten of us locked in mortal combat with General Nazgrim.
I never thought I’d say this, but why does this seem like it might be too easy? My right eye is still twitching at the ashes flashbacks, and I’m thinking this is going to be easy?
Then someone calls out, “Assassins! Don’t let them get behind you, or…”
Yeah. I’ll see y’all back at the campfire with trolls, mmkay?