Archive for the “Recap” Category
We few, we flamed, we band of misfits stood at the entrance to Ragefire Chasm.
Our clothes still smoking, the sweet smell of cooked meat surrounding us like pork purfume, we stared into the entrance to the open pit barbeque from hell.
The gaping maw of the tunnel shone red in the light of the lava pools to either side, like the cherry glow of charcoal when it’s just right for the first steak. Smoke drifted across the path we would take, obscuring our vision. It was hard to see any details, as if we were trying to check how done the jerky was in a nice, big smoker.
I looked around at the others. “Anyone else hungry?”
The rest of the group gave assorted shrugs and variations of the theme “No.”
“Really, ’cause I’m starvin’ over here. How’s about some good bear jerky?”
“NO! Well, okay, maybe a little. Now shut up.”
“Hey, how do you make a bear jerky, anyway?”
“Well, first you find a bear, and then you get a cattle prod…”
“Hey, wouldn’t that make it a bear prod then?”
“You shut up too.”
“No wait, if it’s called a cattle prod because you use it to prod cattle, would a stick you use to move geese be a goose gooser?”
“I’m saying shut up. I know I’m saying it because I can hear the words coming out of my mouth. But somehow, you’re not doing it. We have extra imps, you don’t start with the shutting, I’m gonna start with the corking. I’ll shove an imp where the sun don’t shine.”
“Isn’t that the little valley in Slice, over near Lancre?”
“What? Oh, nevermind. Let’s do this.”
The ten of us did not rapidly proceed down the tunnel.
The seconds stretched out in silence.
Finally, I turned to Tom and said, “I don’t wanna go. My robe’s burned and stained, I still have a flaming arrow in my butt, the hair has been charred off my nuts and I smell like a mongolian barbeque. I need a bath. It ain’t right to be getting hungry when I smell that the ‘Locks been cooking.”
Tom turned to me and said, “I don’t care. Until we find someone to fill your spot, you’re going. And since we still haven’t had anything better than a rabid goat with diarrhea show up to apply for your spot, you’re it. Now grab your nutsack, charred though it may be and get your butt down that tunnel.”
Boldly we strode into Ragefire Chasm, determined to avenge the Vale, prevent whatever terrible fate would befall us all from Garrosh having the power of an elder god in his hands, and avenge the death of Taran Zhu. Although the Warlock may have been fidgeting with the front of his robe, and wishing he had a nice moisturizing cream.
We descended deeper into the caverns, fighting our way past more warriors, mages and assassins until finally we reached a chamber where General Nazgrim stood before ranked formations of orcs, each of them eager to fight the invaders of Orgrimmar. General Nazgrim looked less than thrilled. He seemed determined and as fierce as ever, but he didn’t look all that happy.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Wait, we’re going to fight General Nazgrim?”
“But I like him. Why are we fighting him? I ain’t got nothing against him, he’s a righteous Orc.”
“He’s standing between us and Garrosh.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because in this vast city there is only one way we can travel that isn’t blocked off, barricaded or broken. We can’t fly over and around anything because I don’t know why, and also the map we got from Wowhead that we’re following says we have to fight this dude here to go any further.”
“Wait, what? If Wowhead already sent scouts down here to map the place, why didn’t THEY kill Garrosh?”
“Because Garrosh paid Perculia off in socks. Lots and lots of socks. Nice, soft purple old god socks. With little tentacle things on top. Now shut up and soldier, soldier.”
“I ain’t a soldier, I’m a Warlock. That means I’m petulant and summon minions to do shit for me because I’d rather sell my soul to hell than have to do my own laundry.”
“And seriously, I like General Nazgrim. Can’t we go around?”
“No. Look, he’s right there watching us. He’s an honorable old Orc, and he’s sworn to serve the Warchief. If we’re gonna take down Garrosh, we gotta go through him to do it.”
“What if we tried talking to him? I mean, he can’t be happy about this. Maybe he’d, I dunno, go defend somewhere else?”
“He’d never retreat from a threat.”
“Can we at least ask? I’m not saying he’d have to retreat exactly, just, like, fall back and regroup in a different strategic location. Like that donut shop over on the west side.”
“We burned and looted it already. You drank two gallons of the Pumpkin Spice blend, and called the urn your own personal ‘Mana Tide’. Also, they wouldn’t let him in. Something about having too large of a personal weapon of destruction.”
“But we burned and looted it already. What could they possibly do to stop him?”
“They put up signs saying it’s not allowed.”
“No, that’s it.”
“Look, all he’s doing is pacing back and forth. We could stop, go get a bite to eat.”
“Pulling in 3… 2… 1…”
“Fine. Whatever. Don’t go crying to ME when your ‘Lock cookies taste like burnt nut hair is all I’M saying…”
Monstre and Crankpanktankration charged at General Nazgrim, knocking orcs higgledy piggledy in their rush to tackle the big bad boss.
General Nazgrim roared as he saw the young orcs die. The canny warrior shifted into battle stance and began to lay waste to the tanks.
As we spread out to focus on taking him down, a tear came to my eye.
Here was a fine champion, an honorable warrior and a brilliant tactician. To have to kill such as him to get to a piece of shit like Garrosh turned my stomach.
Hey, wait a minute.
“Hey guys, just a thought, but if General Nazgrim is such a brilliant strategist and tactician, why is he all alone in a small chamber just the right size for us to spread out and face him?”
“Shockwave, spread out before you get blown up!”
“Oh shit, look out behind you, Assassin!” “ARGH!!!” /deathrattle
“Too late. Sorry.”
“Banner! BANNER! Get it down!”
“Where did the Ravager come from, and why is it eating my face, kthxbai.”
“So. Much. Fail. ADDS UP! Seriously dude, backs + assassins = U DEAD BRO?”
“C’mere you little blinking motherfucker, I’m the dentist and this is your oral exam. Open wide and say ah.”
“WHY ARE YOU ALL DYING SO MUCH?”
“Because he’s like, General Nazgrim, and he’s in Defensive Stance, and to touch him is to die a horrible, agonizing death?”
“Defensive Stance! Shit, he’s a tank. EVERYONE STOP ATTACKING THE GENERAL!”
“But Tom, if we’re not attacking the General, what are we supposed to do? Twiddle our thumbs?”
Tom tossed me a bottle. “Here’s some cream, go polish your nuts. You can keep the bottle, I don’t want it back. No, really. Keep it.”
“What the heck did you use this for before you gave it to me, and why do you carry it around with you? Just ew, man.”
“ASSASSIN UP! Drop your lotion and get in motion, we got adds to burn down!”
Ravager chewed our faces, Mages and Warriors made for the scurrying and Assassins were a pain in the back, but we could tell the General’s heart just wasn’t in it.
As he fell, he said to us, “I stood by my warchief because it was my duty. I’m glad it was you who took me down.”
As we stood over the fallen figure of one of the finest warriors Azeroth would ever know, our hearts were heavy and our faces bleak. This was no victory, this was a tragedy.
I looked over at Tom and asked, “Is the rest of this mess going to feel this bad?”
He said, “According to the map, our next stop is to go find Malkorok and shove a big spear up his ass.”
As one, we all let loose with a delighted, and very enthusiastic, “WAHOOOO!!!!!!”
Hallelujah, we had the bitter course of the meal done, but there’s definitely room for dessert!
Let’s go git some!
“Hey, guys? This elevator over here? This goes pretty far down, right?”
“Wasn’t the Ragefire Chasm up there all filled with lava and shit?”
“That Chasm, like, right overhead?”
“Why didn’t we just, like, let that all flood this area down here?”
“I think Taran Zhu is still up ahead some where, and still alive.”
“Oh, okay. So we’re a carebear rescue party now, too. Good to know. Good to know.”
“No, you can’t bring the lava down anyway. If you did, we can’t get loot.”
“Damn. All right then.”
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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?
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I looked around for Varian, to get him to beat some sense into the Trolls. We had to fight our way through the beach just to find the Trolls holding the rear area and they didn’t offer any help, and now they expect us to take down the Iron Juggernaut for ‘em? WTF Varian, I thought the idea was we let the TROLLS eat the losses so we can clean up what’s left over?
Varian, shocker of the day, was nowhere to be found. Fine. If we’re going to have to do this thing, then we might as well do ‘er up right.
The Misfits huddled together, looking over the fence at the Iron Juggernaut, working up a gameplan.
“Right. Let’s take a look at what we’re dealing with here. It’s big, so that must mean it’s slow. We’ve got it beat in mobility. What else?”
“Well, you see those vents? Those are for spraying hot oil everywhere. And you see that gleam on the tail?”
“WTF are lasers?”
“Don’t worry about it, the audience knows what they are.”
“So lasers that chase you around and hot oil, okay. That’s not so bad.”
“And then there is the bomb dispenser.”
“Yeah, see there on the sides. Bombs will drop out and after a bit will blow up everything and everyone. Game over, the end.”
“So, what do we do about it?”
“Fuck you, Varian.”
“And then there are the big chainsaw blades on the arms on the front, and this massive sonic explosion that will knock everyone back the length of a boomball field unless they have their back to a wall, and the mortar shells that will blow our asses to Elunes Pretty Pretty Palace, and…”
“You shut up too.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Run in, spread out, stand with your back to a fence and don’t die.”
“Lols, good one. Okay, but what’s the plan?”
“Pulling in 5… 4… 3… ”
“OH SHIT, HE’S SERIOUS!”
And so began our epic battle against the Iron Juggernaut, or as I like to refer to it, “flamie boom time.”
We rushed the Iron Juggernaut, and we spread out, and put our backs to things, and got down with the beat down, and there was wailing, and running from lasers, and more wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and lots and lots o’ explosions.
Then we died.
The Trolls apparently drug our burnt, wracked and oil-splattered bodies out of the wreckage, because the next thing I knew we were all sitting around a campfire, feeling kind of mellow.
“Dude, the trolls are healing us as we hang out here. Pretty cool of them, man.”
“Put that shit down, it’s not helping you to focus. Plus, they better fucking heal us back up, we’re the ones doing the dying while they beat on the fucking drum. Fine That was a warmup. Let’s do this thing!”
Many explosions and screams later….
“Okay, pass that shit over here. Who needs focus, my spleen hurts.”
“I didn’t know you could feel your spleen.”
“Neither did I. Ouchie.”
“Okay, so what went wrong that time?”
“You know those helpful bombs with the red countdown timer thingies over their heads?”
“Those fracking hurt, man.”
“Thanks for the tip. So whatta we gonna do about ‘em?”
Monstre stood up, planted his hands in a powerful pose on his hips, and announced, “I know what we have to do. Follow me!”
Or maybe it was Plankton. I mean Pankration. Yeah, that’s who I mean.
We charged in and got down to business. We got the oil, yeah whatever, and the lasers, run away NO NOT THROUGH THE OIL DUMBASS and we got the mortars and we got the chainsaws and the explosive knockbacks, okay, now there are the bombs.
HEY MONSTRE, WHAT WAS YOUR BIG PLAN?
So there he goes, and he runs at a bomb, and he jumps on it, burying it in the sand.
“Are you out of your ever-rotten mind?”
The bomb goes off, and instead of shattering the team, it just smacks Monstre around hard.
Wait, so this is a case of ‘bouncing betty blows his balls off’, so we bury it in the sand and only one person gets blowed up?
“Hey Mibs, go jump on bombs…. stop whimpering, you’re a Demonology Warlock, that’s like being a lawyer, you can cry all you want when the hurting begins, half the people listening don’t care and the other half think it’s a good start, man.”
Jump, jump you little imp flogger! Jump as though your life depended on it!
So the secret is to jump on the bombs with cooldowns up and just let those best suited to dealing with physical damage eat the big badabooms, huh?
Good to know.
To be on the safe side, though, I think we need to throw Mibs out in front of the raid as we advance. There could be land mines.
Finally, there before us is the wide-open gates of Orgrimmar!
This should be easy, right? I mean, sure it’s a city filled with militant Orc extremists, but it’s not like the ten of us have to kill everyone all by ourselves. We got that big Alliance army, we got a Horde a Trolls, this should be fun. We’ll just swarm in there and make this change happen.
Why is everyone looking at me again?
Is it my breath? I know, but mixing habanero jack cheese, bacon and fried spam sounded like a good idea at the time.
Oh, come on.
Why the hell did we BRING an army if we’re not going to USE the fucking army? What, are we short on peeled potatoes?
Fine, into the dreaded gates of Orgrimmar the ten stalwart heroes go, blah blah blah.
Yeah, fuck you Varian.
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We stood upon the boat. Ship, boat, whatever. It was too big to bass fish and too slow to waterski from, so who gives a damn what it’s called.
I used to think of them as royalty, but lately I’m thinking we’re on a first name basis. I reached that point right around the time I was cleaning purple puffer poo out of my mouth in the pipes under the Vale. They don’t like it, what are they gonna do… send me off to assault the beaches of Durotar all by myself?
So yeah, Varian and Jaina are hanging out on this boat, right? And there is this huge Alliance fleet all around us, just a shitload of boats.
Now THIS is what I was talking about! Here we are, a whole bunch of badasses abustle on boats about to begin a barrage on the bad guys! Boats with big ass guns. Flotilla? Fleetzilla!
So… let’s start with the guns, amiright? Bang bang? Load ‘em up, blow ‘em out, rawhide!
So yeah. Varian, he apparently doesn’t like that plan. I guess the boats, they all have these short range popguns, and the Orcs, they have these shore batteries big enough to blow a boat to the deep blue in one go.
Great planning, Varian. You figure this out AFTER you cross the ocean with these things?
Okay, we have an army here. let’s go land ‘em a bit further down south, work our way up around Durotar through the North Barrens. We’ve been killing Kor’kron out that way for a month now, I’ve personally flown by a hundred times. No, really, I got mounts that’ll fly right over there, no problem. We’ll just land down there, mount up and join with the Trolls we’ve been fighting with, hit the main gate. Whattaya say?
Okay, how about an aerial assault from the backs of dragons? I’ve got a dragon, you’ve got a dragon, shit Jaina over there is banging the leader of a mess o’ dragons, if she wants this Garrosh guy to go down so bad hows about we all hop on some dragons and light their asses up?
No. No, of course not. They’re the only ones allowed to have dragons. I’m starting to see a trend.
Okay, kingie, just what the hell is this big fancy plan you’ve got for us to hit Orgrimmar?
Oh sure. I shoulda known.
So, looks like our Band of Misfits is supposed to storm the beach, take down the army waiting for us, destroy the shore batteries, take down the towers providing aerial support, and kill a dragon and it’s rider. And lots of other dragons too, but hell, why bitch about it?
THEN Varian will call in the fleet.
Yeah, fuck you Varian.
Shit, I’m starting to talk like Garrosh.
Okay, so let’s do this thing.
So that’s just what we did. We stormed the beach, killed a bunch of gunners, turned that cannon on their own people, then blew it up and went for the next. Once we took out all the cannon on shore, we looked wistfully at that nice, big fleet hanging out there off all safe and sound.
You know, they had hammocks on those things? And drinks with fruit and little umbrellas in ‘em. I seen em.
You boys want to come in here or what? Maybe get close, provide some fire support? These jackasses on the tower are shooting flaming arrows, it’s kind of a pain in the ass, a bit of help? No?
Up the tower, down the tower, up the other tower, then take control of both tower cannon and blow the shit out of the dragonriders of pain-in-my-ass.
Note to self. When I decide to become an evil overlord and have my own fortress with towers and shit, putting guys on the tops of towers that will KNOCK THE ENEMY OFF THE TOP is a good idea. Make sure to put in TV cameras too, because that shit is hilarious to watch.
Second note to self. Engineering Goblin Gliders FTW.
Okay, so that was a bit of a slog, amiright? Our small force of ten idiots storming a beach, destroying all the cannons and patrols of an Orc army, then facing off against two towers with mounted cannon, waves of Orcs streaming down the road at us, and a sky full of dragons raining fire on our heads.
I think I finally understand Varian’s war strategy. Take ten people, send them ahead to kill everything, and then take credit. Oh wait, but no, he didn’t send us on ahead all by ourselves. He came with us, him and Jaina, to ‘help’ us in our fight.
Too bad Varian can’t take a punch. One measly little Skullbreaker and he folds like a cheap pair of pants. God forbid we should let him take on a mob all by himself for more than a few seconds, or the Alliance will be looking for a new warleader.
At least Jaina knows how to kick some ass, raining down that Blizzard right where it would do us some good. Varian, take note. Punk.
Well, we’re here. Soon we shall stand before the gates of Orgrimmar, ready to unleash a big ol’ can of whoopass.
Nothing can stop us now!
Wait a minute, what the fuck? What the hell are all these trolls doing here, partying down and dancing and having a good old time?
Wait, is that some kind of massive Iron Juggernaut prancing around on the sand in front of the gates?
What kind of dumbass sends their warmachines outside the walls, without long range artillery or air support?
Oh yeah, we kinda just blew their air support to shit, didn’t we.
Okay, granted, but wtf is with a big metal cockroach outside the gates instead of big honking guns ON TOP OF the gates? Plus, why are the gates OPEN?!?!
Well, no need to worry about that now. We’ll just let this nice sassy troll army roll on up there and clear the way, taking down the Iron Juggernaut.
Guys? Right? The trolls are gonna destroy the Iron Juggernaut, right?
Why are you all looking at me?
I still have claw marks on my ass and a flaming arrow in my shoulder from the beach landing. What, are we going to have to do EVERYTHING around here?
Haven’t these people ever heard of cannon fodder before? Why don’t they just send some no-account scrubs in there to take down these defenses, why the hell do WE keep having to do it?
Oh wait just one Mylune-be-damned minute here.
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Now you know I’m not a racist. Why, some of my best friends are Tauren. But when I saw what Garrosh and his boys did to the Vale, well, that there Orc just had to go.
When I heard that ol’ King Wrynn was throwing together an army to pry horny out of his tin can, I was quick to sign right up.
When my son asks me where I was when Garrosh was brung low, you won’t find me spinning lies. I’m gonna be able to say, “Boy, I was the one that ripped those horns off’n his shoulders and shoved them straight up his ass.”
Yeah. That’s right. Me! King Wrynn recognised me right off when I signed up to go, too. He said to me, “I remember you. You’re the one that brought that nine bean casserole to Anduin’s confirmation, gave me gas so bad I was on the wrong throne for three days, aren’t you?”
I just puffed up with pride like I was fix’n to burst. “That’s me, your highness. Buttflame!”
King Wrynn was damn glad to see me. In fact, he told me he had a special mission for me, one that I was supremely suited for.
He said that. He said “Supremely”. Me, Buttflame! After I looked that up, I tell you I was mighty proud.
King Wrynn told me he was putting together a special team, and he was sure they’d need my expertise. He said that after Garrosh threw that purple pumping dingus into the well and blew up the Vale and all, it exposed an entrance leading underneath the well. He needed some folks to head on in there, under the cracked and broken well, and find out what happened to stop up the pipes making all that there magical water.
I’ll admit, I protested a bit at first. I mean, I’m Buttflame, right? My presence is feared in battle and in taverns that sell pickled eggs all over Azeroth. It seemed to me being some glorified plumber was a bit, well, beneath my dignity. He insisted I was perfect for the job, so I guess when there is a truly legendary clog in the pipes, I’m your man.
It was the very next day after Garrosh dumped his trash down the pipe and backed up his shit all over the Vale. I joined that psychotic Band of Misfits that Wrynn threw together, and down the pipe we went.
Stepping inside, we found we had to watch where we walked. I’ve seen crap in all different sorts of colors, especially when it’s all you can eat curry night at Smiling Jack’s Murloc Shack, but this was a new one on me. Purple? And it wasn’t just floating and bobbing in the water either, it was aggressive shit, man!
We pushed our way, looking for whatever was clogging up the drain, and I felt pretty useless so far. That wasn’t any place to light a match, let alone bring down a rain of fire. What was Varian thinking?
We had barely gotten down the pipe and we found the clog. It was this massive water spirit named Immerseus, and it was pissed, man. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for it, though. I mean, you take one look at it, you could see it’s whole head and face was covered with this clinging purple and black sha crap, and you know that stuff is persistant and clingy. You can try all you like, that shit won’t flush the first time.
We got ourselves all set to break up that clog. We’d have the water running again in no time, clean the Vale right up.
The guys in charge told us to stay away from his front end, he’d be spraying some stuff that would take us down in no time. So the rest of us spread out around his backside, and it occured to me that might be a bad idea just a little too late. The leaders went in the front, and he started spraying puddles of the foulest purple crap right out the back.
It seemed everywhere you stood, a purple puddle formed under mah feet, purple gas floated around, little purple tornados sprung up, and the smell! Blessed Elune, bringer of light, don’t start a fire in here or we’re done for!
We’d barely gotten started and hadn’t even had time to break out the Holy Plunger of Antioch when the whole crud-infested thing submerged under the surface. Were we done?
Not hardly! All them purple puddles on the floor got sucked right down the drain with it, and would you believe he flung all that poo back out at us, smacking it all against the back walls!
So there we are, having to turn around and deal with a flood of aggressive piles of crap, all flowing back downhill to Immerseus and the drain.
Some of those puddles we could kill, but others were some kind of horrible toxin that could only be healed. I’ve had days like that, especially after some really good chili, but it sure kept the healers occupied trying to pump green into them.
It kept on like that for what felt like forever. We’d barely get started pounding on Immerseus, and the next thing I knew we were fighting a rain of crap. The longer we went, the fewer crap piles there were we could pulverize, the more the healers had to take care of. And if even one of those made it to the drain, we all got hit with a short, sharp shower of shit. Not fun, man. Not fun.
Finally, the last puddle was burst, the clog was gone and we had somehow survived to report the all clear. We crawled back up out of the drain, only to find the former protectors of the Vale, standing there covered in crap and looking a bit green around the gills, if you catch my meaning.
Now, we tried to explain that we didn’t mean to send all that sewage back up the pipe, right? Things just kind of got out of hand with Immerseus. But they weren’t having any of it. They were gonna teach us a lesson for the crap covering them and all the rest of the Vale.
At least, I think that was what was going on. All I know is, the three of them got a touch cranky when we came crawling out of the pipe.
The fight seems like a blur to me now. There were three of them, and ten of us. They had friends, flames, more friends and a fearsome amount of area-wide damage.
We had a plan. Smack one down a bit, deal with their trash, then move on to the next. We whittled ‘em all down bit by bit, something like a third at a time, until all three of them were pretty evenly beat up, and then we unloaded on them all, keeping it spread out so that when the first one finally went down, the last one was dead only a few seconds later.
One good thing to say about that fight was, it was over.
With the clog cleared out of the well’s pipes, and the former protectors down for the count, we all figured it was about time someone went to investigate where the hell that purple heart thingie came from in the first place. What if something else were down in there? Maybe, just maybe if the ancients kept their most disgusting purple crap in there, they also stored some industrial strength ammonia or bathroom cleanser.
Or maybe that was just me wishing. Those robes were almost new when I went in there, and do you have any idea what the dry cleaning bill looks like on robes of unholy demonic summoning? Blood stains? Don’t tell me about how hard it is to get out blood stains!
We fought our way through piles of trash, some of it with weird names we avoided. We debated whether or not we had to kill it all before heading down into that mine, but in the end we argued that someone else could worry about it, all we had to do was push through to the mine by the quickest means possible.
We got down in there, and found the chamber where that purple crap was originally stored. You know, before Garrosh dumped it in the well, creating the worst toxic release since that twerking terror unloaded her last album.
Inside the chamber, we found this ancient Titan construct dude named Norushen. He said something about how we all had to be purged of some crap or something like that, but man, I’ll be honest. I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, who was I to argue? If he thought we all stunk up the place and needed some serious steam cleaning before moving on, hell, I’m right there withya, boyo!
So we all lined up to get good and clean, and that’s when things kinda went pear shaped.
See, as soon as we gave the go ahead, this big purple nasty thing formed in the middle of the room. It started spewing out a beam of nastiness, and I’ve seen something like before from this eyeball dude named Durumu. So we had to run to not be hit by the beam as it slowly swept around the room. And we all had a ton of this corruption crap all over us, like we were almot three quarters covered in crap. So how do we get this off of us? It was clogging everything we did up, healing done, damage done, everything was reduced cause of how gooped up we were.
Well, turns out that two golden orbs would show up, and if one of us touched them, away that person would go down a pipe, to fight or heal some living corruption, and if we got it all purged we’d be cleansed and could go back up!
Of course, there had to be a catch. Every time the person going down the golden orbhole was a damage dealer, when he came back he brought a big honking mass of nasty with ‘em that had to be brought low quick and left a puddle of ick behind that we had to mop up somehow.
Seriously. Dude, next time you want a plumber, call Roto Rooter, I mean wtf. I don’t care if you’ve got a crown on your noggin or not, I didn’t sign on to wipe your royal behind for you.
Before too long, we had all cycled through the gold orb-o-matic, and with the corruption purged off of us we were able to get some serious hurting in on the big nasty in the middle. A final, frantic heroic surge and we had it beat!
Norushen was proud of us. Or something like that. Maybe he was just glad we didn’t smell like burnt chicken feathers anymore. And it was only the one chicken, it’s not like I make a habit of it or anything.
Norushen said we were ready, and opened the door to the next chamber. This was it, the big one, the reason we came down in here! This was what we needed to do to be able to destroy Garrosh and avenge all that had happened to the Vale.
Except… um, what the hell dude? It was another of them Sha things! The Sha of Pride?
Look, I don’t like Sha any more than the next guy, but how many of these things are there, anyway? And pride. Where’ the harm in that? When I let a good one rip, after everybody is done waving their hands through the fog I get nothing but compliments. Of course I’m proud of it, wouldn’t you be?
It’s not like massive clouds of funk could actually HURT anyone, right? Or come alive, or clog up drains, or poison wells…
Oh. Okay, I get it now.
This was it. I was promised, this one more thing in the Vale, doing our part to cleanse the pipes, blow through the clogs and free up the corruption so it could all be washed away in a Tide of ammonia and good feelings. The Sha of Pride must fall so we could take ship and lay Siege to the stronghold of Garrosh Hellscream, mean guy and fashion disaster.
No, really. Have you seen that place he calls a home? Steel plates, rivets, spikes and walls? Honey, that is so Wrath of the Lich King. Be original. No Fung Shooey to it at all.
We took on the Sha of Pride, and again with the puddles of purple crap under the feet? Really?
I ain’t no Spenser for Hire, but I’m detecting a theme here.
So, puddles under our feet, time to back away and burn it down, close back up and keep going. People get locked up for our pride, well, there’s always a helping hand or two tog et us back out. Big extra meanness to take us from behind, yeah we’ve been there, done that.
A straight up slog, and as long as we kept close together for a little helping glowy hand from Norushen, moved our butts to break our buddies free from the locks and burned down the add each time, it was a piece of cake.
Nasty purple gooey cake. Nice going, Sha.
That was it. The Sha of Pride was down, and we all stood around, taking pleasure in having won. we were very pr… um happy to have won. Yes, that’s it. we weren’t proud, we were happy in a peaceful, contemplative way as we regarded with total seriousness and no preening whatever that we had overcome four obstacles on our way to facing down Garrosh.
We reported our progress to King Wrynn and were told that we were now ready to join him and the rest of the Alliance army on their flagship, as they were about to make landfall on the docks to the East of Orgrimmar. It was time for the Siege to finally begin!
Oh yeah… and since we did such a great job cleaning up the crap in the Vale, he had just the mission for us!
Something about hammocks. Or was it cannons? I couldn’t tell for sure, it was hard to hear what he was saying over the sound of the explosions from balls hitting the water all around us.
I’m sure it was hammocks, though. He thinks we deserve a nice rest for all we’ve done so far!
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