Archive for the “Recap” Category

We stood, holding our weapons in eager anticipation of the battle to come.

The platform we were on descended further into the depths of the Warchief’s underground stronghold. Seriously, when the hell did he have time to build all this? And how did he keep the lava from flooding it all?

No matter. Speaking of lava…

“Hey Tom, about that lava.”

“I told you, if we flood the evil lair with lava, we don’t get any loot.”

“That’s the thing, man. What loot? All we’re doing is killing our way through soldiers and their siege engines to get to Garrosh. What are we gonna get, a scrap of armor or a sword that didn’t get broken along the way? And if the stuff is all that great we wouldn’t be able to pry it off their smoking dead bodies, now would we? Just saying. Lava, dude. Lava. Why not smoke ‘em since we’ve got ‘em?”

Everybody groaned.

Chrondeath said, “Garrosh has been scouring Pandaria for magic crap, treasure, anything he could get his hands on. And it’s all got to be stashed somewhere. Now, it wasn’t up there, so where do you think it is genius? Somewhere down there are all the treasures of a plundered continent. An entire plundered continent. That’s bigger than a breadbox or a baby’s arm, by the by. And we’re gonna get to it first. Do you finally get it?”

Ooooohhhhh. Oh, all right. Got it.

“So you’re saying it’s gonna be a lot of loot?”

“Sigh. Yes, you idiot, all lying there for the taking. It’ll be easy as cake.”

“I tried baking a cake, but it didn’t turn out right, the bacon was soggy.”

“Shut up.”

The platform finally arrived at the bottom of the shaft. As we stepped off, I took one last glance upwards to the level far, far overhead. How the hell did he build this so fast? And if he could do this, why not lava traps, spikes, snakes, boiling oil, something.

I mean, a big underground sprawling dungeon and not one single mechanical trap or poisoned chest? No green slime? You’ve got to have green slime! Or purple, whatever. Also, how did all this crap get down here? Through that one elevator shaft?

“Hey guys, do you think they’ve got a freight elevator somewhere that they use for the food deliveries, weapons, city-sized siege engines and stuff? This is kind of a long way to go every time you need to restock on toilet paper.”

“Shush, there are more troops ahead.”

Sure enough, the short tunnel opened up into a vast chamber, filled with patrols of orcs. Some were just standing around and others riding wolves back and forth. In the center of the chamber sat a big Hellscream Annihilator.

Chrondeath whispered to us, “Here’s the plan. We kill all of these orcs, I’ll take over the Annihilator, and we’ll use it to blow up the orcs in the next room.”

“How will we do that? They’re in the next room. It’s a small door. No trajectory.”

“Monstre and Pankration will lure them out, and we’ll lob shells on them at the doorway.”

“… Why would they come out if you’re sitting in an Annihilator waiting to drop explosives on them? And wouldn’t that kill Monstre and Pankration too?”

“It’s okay, you can’t kill your own people. Even with captured enemy siege equipment. We’ve tried. Oh Elune, how we’ve tried, ever since you joined us. But it doesn’t work.”

“Oh, okay. Wierd, how would the Hellscream Annihilator know not to hurt our side when we took it over? That doesn’t make sense. Wait, what do you mean since I’ve joined you?”

“Nothing. Let’s pull.”

We attacked the nearest group, and again we reaped the benefits of the iScream players the orcs were listening to. Despite killing orcs in the same room, nobody else paid us any attention.

In fact, the only other person that noticed us was the current operator of the Annihilator, who opened up on us, forcing us to stay mobile, ducking behind roof supports and watching our feet. Even with the constant rain of explosives, the screams of dying orcs and wolves and the fur flying, we were able to catch each group by surprise.

Annihilator

Before long, we had fought our way into the next chamber, some kind of half-assed training room, with Chron sadly leaving the smoking shell of the destroyed Annihilator behind him.

As we headed for the stairs, we saw a group of orcs trying to control one large mother of a beast, an enlarged orc glowing with purple ooze. Uh oh, purple! Must mean it’s bad! Everyone knows purple is the color of Y’shaarj and also the very coolest jedi.

Which begs the question, will that make Garrosh an orc jedi?

Old god or not, purple or not, the corrupted orc died like all the rest, and we pushed on up through the soldiers until we finally reached Malkorok, standing and waiting for us on a platform.

All alone.

On a high platform.

And he was glowing with purple ooze.

Uh-huh. *I* see where this is going.

“I got five bucks says someone is getting blown off the platform.”

“I’ll take a piece of that.”

We arrayed ourselves around Malkorok, and I noticed that his right hand and forearm were gone, replaced by a huge honking blade. When the hell did that happen? Did I miss a memo? No matter, if it was important we’d find out about it soon enough.

I looked around at the rest of the group, and while their attention was fixed on Malkorok figuring out where to stand so we were all nicely spread out, I quickly pulled out my engineering tools.

I had a Goblin Glider built into my cloak, but it was so complex it took a long time to reset. I figured, if I got blown up, it might be nice to have a simple easy to reset parachute instead. Something that, oh, I could use every thirty seconds, just in case.

Wow, can you imagine? Get blown up into the sky, only to pop a parachute and float back down safe and sound, shooting all the way! Like a commando or something.

Team Wanda and the Whining Commandos. Hell yes!

Malkorok was saying something to us, and of course the rest of the team were issuing clear instruction on how we were going to take him down, but I was kinda preoccupied tinkering with my cloak, so I didn’t pay too much attention. How hard could it be, anyway?

I mean, let’s face it. Whatever was about to happen would boil down to shooting Malkorok in the face with demon flame while moving my ass out of bad stuff. Right?

So that was when Monstre and Pankration moved in, and things got weird.

Well, weirder than usual.

First thing I noticed was, that purple ooze seemed to be coating everything on the platform, including us. Okay, no worries. I don’t feel any different.

Then I got flung up in the air by some unseen explosion. HAH!

Eat slowly falling comfy parachute, asswipe!

I landed gently to the ground right where I had been standing, continuing to send my flames to burn his butt, as it turned out, because his great horny back was to me.

Then big purple swirlies formed on the floor in a few places. One was very near to me, so I ran away, only to have the entire team start yelling and waving at me, screaming, “Go back! Go back! Stand in the bad, dumbass!”

Wait, what? I don’t stand in the bad, I get out of the bad. I know I ain’t the brightest torch in the sconce but I know enough to get out of the bad.

Then the purple swirlie blew up.

As we ate our meals around the campfire, it was patiently explained to me that if someone did not stand in the purple swirly and eat the explosion, then it would go off in a nice, fat area-wide blast that would hurt everyone. So please, pretty please would I stay in my zone and run to stand in the swirlies nearest me? Please?

Well okay, but you don’t have to be sarcastic about it. Geez.

So we attacked Malkorok again, and this time the purple swirly formed on the ground and I ran into it, and the explosion went off, and my health dropped.

I quickly popped my cookie in my mouth, spitting out the burnt hairs, and watched as my health bar did not fill.

“Umm… Pumpkin….. my health isn’t going up!”

“It won’t, you’re coated in purple slime. You can’t get healed until later. All our healing is doing is giving you an absorption bubble.”

“How does that work?”

“I dunno.”

“Oh. Okay!”

So we kept on. Very soon, Malkorok caused the ground to erupt in a cone to one side, and then again in two more areas. I started to run to get into one, but was told no, those are bad to stand in.

Tricksy!

Once the floor had blown up in three different areas, Kissinger called out, “Okay, now everyone remember where those three explosions were, he’s about to make all three explode at once with no visual cue, so don’t be standing where they were.”

Um, wut?

Wait, what did he say? I was supposed to pay attention and remember where purple dude had blowed up the floor?

Oh crap.

So, as we ate our noodles around the campfire, I was informed that, yes, in fact I was supposed to remember where Malkorok was blowing things up so I’d know where not to stand for laters, but just for me, since I was so special, Kissinger would try to take the time out of what he was doing to place a target mark on the floor each time the explosion went off so we could see it easily.

Now I think we had a handle on it. Right? Stand in the small purple stuff, get out of the big purple explosion zones, remember where they were for later when he makes all three go off at once, occasional parachute, and we don’t heal, we bubble.

Then I saw it. Malkorok weakened!

Immediately, Tom called out, “Everyone in, stack. NO NOT YOU BUTT, YOU’RE FILLED WITH DISPLACED ENERGY!”

Funny, I don’t feel sparkly.

I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t sensing a lot of hate in the group for Malkorok, just a desire to get his death over with so we could move on to important things.

But, this is Malkorok! This is the dude that’s been a little weasel from day one, and he was such a weasel we couldn’t tell if Garrosh were really behind things, or if Malkorok was the true evil, and Garrosh merely his dupe.

There it was, though. I think it was because he wasn’t a normal orc anymore. Whatever he may have plotted, he let himself be all pumped full of purple muck, armed with a, well, with an arm, and sent to block a door.

It didn’t scream “number one guy” to any of us. More like, “here, stand here and if anyone comes, whack ‘em.”

Not exactly evil overlord material. Cannon fodder, nothing more. Kinda disappointing.

As Arrakeen sent her axe spinning into Malkorok’s skull, it felt more like pushing an obstacle out of the way than taking out a big fearsome baddie.

Oh, who am I kidding. Watching that scum-sucking purple puddle popper die felt great! I guess I’m just immature enough to enjoy seeing that piece a crap go down for his part in Theramore Island.

Filled with determination, we strode to the door he guarded, determined to push on, us, alone against the might of Orgrimmar!

Plus, you know. Loot.

We pushed through the door and looked upon the hell of war.

A massive chamber was revealed just beyond that door, halls stretching into the distance, ringing to the sounds of cannon and explosions, shouts and screams.

To either side of us, the forces of High-Tinker Mekkatorque streamed in through wide-open gates, raining death and destruction upon the Goblin war machines and shrieking orcs.

As the planes, tanks and gnome engineers streamed past us, freezing, blowing up or turning to squirrels all who stood before them, they were led by the High-Tinker himself, shouting order and smashing orcs as they came.

As we gazed upon the devastation, I said the only thing I could think of to sum up the situation.

“Guess they found the freight elevators.”

“Shut up.”

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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…”

“Shut up.”

“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?”

“Yeah, so?”

“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.”

“… and?”

“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…”

“WHAT?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

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?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t the Ragefire Chasm up there all filled with lava and shit?”

“Yeah.”

“That Chasm, like, right overhead?”

“Yeah.”

“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.”

“Hey, Tom?”

“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?

Like hell.

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?

Fine.

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?”

“Yep.”

“Uh huh.”

“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.”

So noted.

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?”

“Yeah?”

“Tracking lasers.”

“WTF are lasers?”

“Don’t worry about it, the audience knows what they are.”

“Who?”

“Shaddup.”

“So lasers that chase you around and hot oil, okay. That’s not so bad.”

“And then there is the bomb dispenser.”

“The what?”

“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?”

“Not die?”

“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?”

“Yeah?”

“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.

What?

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.

Hey Varian?

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?

No, huh.

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?

Fine. Whatever.

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.

Right?

Guys? Right? The trolls are gonna destroy the Iron Juggernaut, right?

Why are you all looking at me?

Damnit.

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.

Oh wait just one Mylune-be-damned minute here.

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