World of Warcraft → [ Lore] You Awaken In Razor Hill

You are an Orc Hunter and your name is Tednugent. You feel this is an exceptionally clever name, but nobody ever seems to get the joke. You have a Cat for a pet, his name is Scratchfever. You feel this is also an exceptionally clever name. Nobody ever gets this joke, either.

You are level 80. Scratchfever is also level 80.

You do not remember how you came to be logged out in Razor Hill, but the place looks deserted. There are no NPCs in sight and your Track Humanoids, which is currently active, is turning up completely blank.

Scratchfever seems agitated. His Happiness is getting low and you don't have any Meat or Fish to feed him.

You have only 500 bullets left for your gun.

To the north is the road to Orgrimmar, it travels along the base of a short, narrow, red stone canyon.

To the south is that little Troll village you never remember the name of.

To the east is Razor Hill's large central building.

To the west is a primitive stamped-earth path leading out into the red rock desert of Durotar.

I'm sorry, I don't know how to Alt-F4.

Scratchfever is getting antsy. He paws plaintively at your leg, clearly getting very hungry.

It will be dark soon.

But if you feed Scratchfever your leg, how will you walk?

You are wasting time and Scratchfever isn't getting any less hungry, nor any less agitated. He keeps looking around with sudden, jerking motions, like he is trying to keep everything in sight at once. You had assumed this to be part of his normal idle animations, but he's doing it a lot more frequently than usual.

You had expected that by now the NPCs would have respawned, had they all been wiped out in an Alliance raid, but this doesn't seem to be the case. Razor Hill remains completely empty save for yourself and Scratchfever.

You sit down and make a concerted, meaningful attempt to teach Scratchfever how to speak in American Sign Language, but his lack of thumbs frustrates the two of you so thoroughly you give up and he goes back to whimpering quietly and pawing at your leg.

It is of course well known that careless talk costs lives, but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated. For instance, at the exact moment you said "Alt-F4" a freak wormhole opened in the fabric of the space-time continuum and carried your words far, far back in time across almost infinite reaches of space to a distant galaxy where strange and warlike beings were poised on the brink of frightful interstellar battle.

The two opposing leaders were meeting for the last time. A dreadful silence fell across the conference table as the commander of the Vl'Hurgs, resplendent in his black jeweled battle shorts, gazed levelly at the G'Gugvunt leader squatting opposite him in a cloud of green, sweet-smelling steam. As a million sleek and horribly beweaponed star cruisers poised to unleash electric death at his single word of command, the Vl'Hurg challenged his vile enemy to take back what it had said about his mother.

The creature stirred in its sickly broiling vapor and at that very moment the words "Alt-F4" drifted across the conference table. Unfortunately, in the Vl'hurg tongue this was the most dreadful insult imaginable, and there was nothing for it but to wage terrible war for centuries. Eventually the error was detected, but over two hundred and fifty thousand worlds, their peoples and cultures perished in the holocaust.

You have destroyed most of a small galaxy. Please pick your words with greater care.

You use the very last of your Water to wash the Shoveltusk Musk off your leg.

There, that is much better! Now you no longer smell like the aftermath of a moose orgy.

Scratchfever stops clawing at your leg, which was becoming extremely painful.

You ask Scratchfever what the problem is, but his skill in American Sign Language is extremely low. It appeared he signed "Thermal... donkey... operator" but you're not sure.

(Scratchfever gained 1 skill in American Sign Language! His skill is now 3/450)

He could simply be saying that he is extremely hungry, which is very likely, as his Happiness is well below 50%.

You begin to search for clues as to the odd disappearance of the total NPC population of Razor Hill.

Utilizing your Keen Eyes and Heightened Senses, you are able to track much faster and more efficiently than the finest Blue-Tick Georgia Bloodhound.

Unfortunately, this doesn't help you much at all, as there are no clues here whatsoever.

Razor Hill is a ghost town. All the shops and homes are vacant, meals left resting on tables with steam still rising from them. You find evidence of jobs and activities in mid-completion, as though the NPCs hard at work simply despawned all at once.

The sun is beginning to set.

It will be dark soon.

Scratchfever is reluctant to eat the Abandoned Meal, but you stuff it down his throat until he stops complaining.

His Happiness increases, but as Scratchfever was thoroughly creeped out by the whole 'somebody was eating this right before the world swallowed them up' thing, it does not increase by much.

You cast glyphed Mend Pet on Scratchfever to supplement this and it seems to do the job.

Scratchfever's Happiness is now at 75%, and he is no longer giving you the Sad Kitty Hungry Now Face.

The Warchief must be informed of this at once!

You whistle for Beauregard, your trusted Worg steed, but he doesn't seem to be anywhere nearby.

Neither is Shamus, your Black War Kodo, or Mister Puffins, your Ravasaur. All of your mounts are gone.

Looks like you're on foot.

You head out along the North path towards Orgrimmar.

..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... .....

You are on the first leg of the journey through a long, red rock canyon towards the great Horde capitol city of Orgrimmar.

To either side of you, unscalable red rock cliff faces box you in, keeping you firmly on the winding path.

Track Humanoids, which is still active, is blank.

Sweet, sweet privacy. Oh, yes.

You can't imagine what you'd do with a boat, as you are in the desert, but you resolve to keep this firmly in mind - when you next encounter a boat, you will attempt to get it.

Now that's interesting.

Durotar may be a sandy bowl of monotony and scorpions and all the women may be too stuck up to go with any guy with less than four pieces of Relentless, but the words 'desolate wasteland' had never, in its entire history, ever been applied until the moment you swapped Tracking.

Right now, you should be tracking no less than thirty assorted pigs, dinosaurs and scorpions; you can't even find a single critter.

Scratchfever, who is privy to your Tracking, is thoroughly creeped the fuck out.

You toss a pebble to distract Scratchfever's attention and then hurl yourself bodily onto his back with a lusty roar.

Luckily, you've had some experience wrestling with wildcats (wink wink), so you quickly rise to the occasion (nudge nudge) and successfully mount Scratchfever. (You don't actually have sex with him, though.)

(Scratchfever gained skill: Novice Mount!
Tednugent gained 1 skill in Animal Husbandry!)

You continue Northward, searching less "with an eye out" and more "wtf where is everything" for even one Beast anywhere within the umbrage of your Keen Eye and Heightened Senses.

You thought you saw something for a moment, but it turned out to be a Small Rock.

You are approaching the junction in the canyon.

Straight ahead lays Orgrimmar and the Warchief, who must be informed of this at once!
To the East lies another pathway that cuts through what you know to be a Harpy roost, and will eventually take you to the sea, or to the Zeppelin Stand leading to the Undercity and Grom'Gol.

This is no time to dally about with lustful, bare-breasted Harpies and their soft, feathery legs, the Warchief must be informed of this at once!

You spur Scratchfever onwards, past the junction and northward, emerging from the canyon walls and oh Jesus fuck the world's gone.

Scratchfever screeches to a halt at the edge of a sudden and extraordinarily steep cliff that you are absolutely positive was never there before, ever, you would have remembered something like this.

Where there once was a great, red rock courtyard and the looming, spined towers of Orgrimmar, your beloved home, is now a gaping suckhole of undulating space.

You gaze deeply into the abyss and remember something about how it's supposed to gaze back into you, but you are not seeing any fucking eyes down there, man, it's just nothing, nothing and something worse than nothing.

It is as though the world beyond this point has just been severed, cut completely away with a very sharp knife and left to fall into nothingness.

You have no idea how you are going to inform the Warchief of this.

This world is just too fucked up for you to go on, it's nothing but grind grind, grind, shoot, shoot, shoot, and then at the end of the day, what do you have? A repair bill, an empty ammo pouch and a cat who won't stop nagging you to stuff more goddamned meat down his throat.

You're getting off this merry-go-round!

You get a good running start and hurl yourself with your eyes tightly closed into the abyss.

You sail through space and smack face first into the ground.

You open your eyes and look around. You don't appear to have gone anywhere.

Scratchfever is staring at you with some measure of awe. He did not know you had the ability to throw yourself off of cliffs and then land exactly where you leaped from.

Scratchfever is dutifully impressed, as that is a far more useful talent than merely Landing On Your Feet.

(Scratchfever has gained 1 level of loyalty! Scratchfever is now your: Bosom Companion)

You waste some time talking to yourself, because nobody else is around to listen to you.

Scratchfever gazes adoringly at you, pleased that you recently allowed him to un-learn Cower (rank 4) and finally got around to upgrading his Bite, which had been (rank 3) for far too long.

I don't know how to congratulate the narrator on ironic humor using clearly-recognizable out-of-date hunter pet mechanics.

Sadly, Scratchfever's new-found adoration for you does not override his competitive, feline instincts and he crushes you swiftly in each match.

The score stands at 23-2 in his favor. He let you win once because he felt bad for you, your other win you blatantly cheated to get but he was too polite to call you on it.

You have successfully wasted enough time for darkness to fall.

The sun sets over Durotar, or at least the part of Durotar that still actually exists. Shadows lengthen in the canyon behind you, painting stark, unsettling images all along the walls.

You are so ready to flop like a champion flopper whose sole purpose in this or any life is to flop like he means it, hard and fast, all day and all night.

You will even void your bowels if necessary. You are so ready to void your bowels.

The menacing shadows, however, remain securely on the canyon walls precisely where they are cast, and do not attempt to molest your person.

Scratchfever is eying you with no small measure of disgust. Afraid of the dark? Oh come on now.

(Scratchfever has lost 1 level of loyalty! Scratchfever is now your: Steadfast Chum)

It's just shadows. Shadows. That's all they are. You're looking at the rocks casting them, they're just shadows.

There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of here, it's just Illidan screwing around again, or it's those Dalaran maniacs playing merry hell with the laws of time and space yet again, or else it's something, anything, any number of things that could possibly happen in this ridiculous world you live in.

Thrall will make a speech and Garrosh will act like a surly little child and Jaina will say something vaguely naive and then poof, everything will be just like how it was.

It's just shadows. There's nothing to be afraid of here.

Your hands tremble only slightly as you unhook your rifle from its sheath on your back. The sound of the bullet ratcheting into its chamber gives you some measure of comfort.

HELP FILE - Warning! File corrupted! Errors found!

Thank you for playing 'You awaken in Razor Hill', an exciting new adventure from the makers of 'You read a book in the Silvermoon City public library' and the bestselling 'You had way too much to drink last night in Ironforge.'

1) SO YOU'VE JUST WOKEN UP

You've likely discovered that you're low on ammo, you have no food and only enough water to wash the Shoveltusk Musk off your leg, and there's nothing and no-one either in sight or on your Tracking.

DON'T PANIC! First and foremost, before you do anything else, it is enormously important that you (@#^SASD!@??]}!@#]KDSK871 atchfever may protest, but it is imperative that you cont *$@#7&&#$@KM000000044Epl/?#@?kk a#$ n though you may not have one on you, you should do your best to fi (*@$IJJ$@!N_)KD.............. .............. .............. .............. .............. ..............

Gamon! That backstabbing son of a Furbolg, he's got to be behind this, somehow!

You resolve to shoot him several times more than is absolutely necessary the next time you murder him for no reason whatsoever.

QUEST LOG (2/25)

*The Warchief must be informed of this at once!

Razor Hill is a ghost town and Durotar appears to be devoid of all life. You need to get to Orgrimmar and inform the Warchief. At once.

The only problem is that Orgrimmar doesn't appear to currently exist.

You're not sure what reward this quest will net you, but it is sure to be a doozy.

*Mister Monster Likes to Dance

This is an old quest you've had sitting in your logs since at least the last expansion and probably longer. You're not sure why you've never abandoned it.

It appears to be the midway point of a very long chain. You can't precisely recall where it began and have never really been sure how to proceed. The Quest Text is a bizarre jumble of Role-Played flavor text that doesn't seem to make much sense at all.

It probably made sense in the context of the quest chain, but you can't actually remember doing any part of it.

Yes sir, when the world goes crazy on you, the best thing to do is just sit there, out in the open, until there is just absolutely no light anywhere.

No, seriously, finding shelter in a suddenly alien landscape is for little girls. Real men sit with their backs to bottomless cliffs and wait until it is so pitch black, they cannot see more than a few feet in front of their face.

It is dark out.

The canyon before you yawns open, filled with abyssal darkness, the kind that shifts around deep in caves and at the bottom of the ocean, where light has never touched. Thick, inky darkness that will swallow up a torch like a little kid faced with a bucket of candy.

Scratchfever looks upon you with joy in his heart. Like a true cat, you have waited for the oily blackness to shroud your every movement. You two together shall be like wrathful ghosts stalking the shadows. He is proud to have your name next to his in his nameplate.

(Scratchfever has gained 2 levels of loyalty! Scratchfever is now your: Best Friend Forever!)

You are positive you are hearing noises. There are noises coming from that canyon right in front of you. The one that is full of nothing but darkness, that one. Noises are coming from it. You are sure of it.

You strain to hear, but you can't really make it out, it is just beyond or just beneath your Keen Eyes and Heightened Senses.

Track Beasts is still coming up blank.

You swap to Track Humanoids, which is still empty.

You hesitate for a good long time before you swap to Track Hidden, but it is thankfully completely empty.

So is Demons, which was also a source of great consternation.

You swap to Track Giants and Elementals, because why not, and Dragonkin because you're pretty sure this is exactly what Malygos was trying to do. Still nothing.

Then you swap to Track Undead and your senses light up like a Christmas tree. If your minimap was a physical object and not just a gaming abstraction, you could use the light of all those blips like a flashlight. You do not have an accurate number for the amount of undead you are apparently standing in, right now, but there are easily hundreds in your immediate vicinity.

It sure is a good thing you sat out here until it got so dark.

THE TIME HAS COME.

Your gargle on your own larynx, clutch your throat like your entire esophagus has spontaneously transmuted into cyanide and pitch yourself face-first into the dirt.

There is silence for a very long time, following which nothing happens.

The six minutes Feign Death allots you begin to pass swiftly and uneventfully.

You're absolutely positive you are hearing some kind of noise, but it's impossible to make out. It could very likely just be the wind roaring peacefully through the canyon trail to Razor Hill.

Not entirely sure if anything was especially convinced of your masterful Feigning of Death, you elect to ruin the illusion by sitting up, staring at Scratchfever and concentrating hard.

Scratchfever whimpers. He hates this part.

You force your consciousness into his mind, sending his own into some kind of limbo, rendering him fully conscious but powerless to act. You flex out his claws. Alright then, time to see in some abyssal darkness.

You turn Scratchfever's head towards the canyon leading back towards Razor Hill and are immediately dismayed to learn that cats can't actually see in the dark, their eyes can simply pick up much fainter light than a human's. There is absolutely no light, faint or otherwise, in the canyon beyond.

You pilot your cat like an old pro, keeping him low to the ground and pressed against the canyon wall and send him to investigate noises you are absolutely positive you are hearing right now.

Shuffling. Like cloth brushing against stone. You are definitely hearing cloth on stone, you are not imagining it, of this, you are absolutely positive.

Leaving your comatose body behind, you pilot Scratchfever into the canyon.

You get about three feet down the path before you find yourself wholly engulfed in the sort of ink-black darkness that only exists in comic books. Looking up, you cannot even see the stars in the sky.

That shuffling noise is coming from all directions now, literally everywhere at once. You turn your cat wildly in all directions.

Echoes. That's what's happening. You're in a narrow stone canyon and the sounds are echoing. That's why you can't get a good bead on where it's coming from. That's why it feels like it is coming from all around you at once. That has to be it.

You try to press on, but in turning about you are no longer certain which direction onward is.

You, piggybacking in Scratchfever's mind, are hopelessly lost in the darkness.

You cancel the channel, abandoning your Best Friend Forever in the Abyssal Darkness.

As Scratchfever is an indeterminate distance from you and doesn't actually know which direction leads back towards you, he quietly despawns, engulfed in the shadows.

(Scratchfever has lost 25% Happiness!
Scratchfever's Happiness is now 50%.
Scratchfever is Definitely Hungry.
Scratchfever has despawned.)

Now that the nagging cat is out of the way, you are free to gorge yourself on this fine brick of Stormwind Brie.

You sit yourself down, put on your Eating Bib (you've always been a messy eater), produce a fork and knife from your bags and...

You have no cheese. You have no cheese? You have no cheese!

You rummage furiously through your bags and find them almost empty.

Inventory

Four (4) Vials Troll Sweat
Three (3) Oshu'Gun Crystal Powder
Two (2) Heavy Frostweave Bandage
One (1) Arcanite Ripper
One (1) Folded-Up Note
Five Hundred (500) Saronite Bullets

THE POWER OF ROCK COMPELS YOU.

With a grand flourish, you sweep the Ripper into your hands, lift up your head, close your eyes, strike a pose gifted to you by the Metaltron, the Lord of the Chord, and unleash a riotous wall of sound the likes of which this insane world has never before experienced.

You are Yngwie Malmsteen. You are Dimebag Darrell. Randy Rhoads has nothing on you. Kirk Hammett is right now crying in his sleep that he will never in his life ever reach the heights of Rock you traipse effortlessly. Lemmy from Motorhead is calling; he wants to go on tour with you.

You hurl yourself into the roar of the Chord and shift gears, wrenching from a thrilling, fiery tribute to Iron Maiden directly into a heartfelt, personalized rendition of the Flight of the Bumblebee and then down into the depths of a little something you like to call "I Wanna Rock Your Body, Baby (Until the Break of Dawn)".

The Spirit of Jimi Hendrix looks upon your devotion and sees that it is good.

He grants you his Boon.

The Abyssal Darkness before you seems to open up. There is a visible pathway through the canyon now, leading back towards Razor Hill.

This is more disgusting than you ever dreamed.

(You now have Three (3) Vials of Troll Sweat.)

You dig through your bag until you find that little folded-up scrap of paper. It was stuck to the underside of a vial of Troll Sweat through means you do not like to think about.

(It tasted exactly like an overused jock strap that had been moldering in a compost heap for several years. Don't ask how you know what that tastes like. It's an extremely unpleasant memory.)

You carefully unfold the unfortunately sticky note.

It reads as follows:

"In my restless dreams, I see that town.

Razor Hill.

You promised you'd take me there again some day.

But you never did.

Well, I'm alone there now...

In our "special place"...

Waiting for you..."

The note is signed "Mary." You have no idea who this person is, as you are quite sure you have never met anyone named "Mary".

You know eight people named variations of "Boneslayer", but not one "Mary."

This troubles you deeply. You wonder where the note came from.

It must be for someone else.

Scratchfever cannot stand guard, he has despawned!

He's also pretty Unhappy about being abandoned in the Abyssal Darkness. If you Call him right now, he'll probably be pretty hungry and you have no food to give him.

You elect not to Call him until you are absolutely sure you want to deal with Sad Kitty Hungry Now Face.

You slip the Arcanite Ripper back into your bag, gather up your rifle and your courage and set off down the suddenly-visible trail leading back down South.

Towards Razor Hill.

............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. .............

You are on the first leg of the long journey back through the red rock canyon trail towards Razor Hill.

The impassable walls that box you in are not currently visible, nor is the sky or really anything around you.

All you can see is the trail, a narrow tunnel seemingly burrowed right through the Abyssal Darkness itself. You can see the path and pretty much nothing else.

Those shuffling sounds are very clear now. You are definitely hearing cloth against stone and now something else, something that sounds like metal scraping against something hard and unyielding.

The unseen canyon walls buffer these sounds and mottle them together until they ring like some kind of vicious symphony through your ears. You cannot tell which direction they are coming from, and your Track Undead, which is still active, has not stopped being completely filled with blips.

And that's one of the worst parts right there, they're just blips.

Normally, for example, when you Detect a wild boar with your Track Beasts, you can pinpoint its exact species almost immediately.

This, though. It's like they're not even there. Attempting to focus on individual blips nets you absolutely nothing, no additional information. They're just blips.

And they are everywhere.

You're not sure how long you've traveled and you're not sure how much longer you have to go.

You eye the Oshu'gun Crystal Powder uneasily.

After that debacle with the Troll Sweat, you're not so sure you want to do this.

You are pretty sure you've reached the junction in the road which will take you through that Harpy roost. Firm, feathery rumps flit through your mind, but only for a moment, as this is no time to indulge your perverse fantasy life.

There, you were correct; the trail through the Abyssal Darkness branches off to the East from here.

From here you can go East through the Harpy Roost and eventually to where the Zep Stand and the Sea may or may not still exist, or you can continue South, towards Razor Hill.

You can feel the beat, you cannot escape the beat, the beat is within you, the beat is a part of you, you are the beat.

Your clothes go flying, your hips go swaying and you hurl yourself into the rhythm, aiming extremely lewd pelvic thrusts at the Abyssal Darkness, shaking it like you just don't care.

This is an excellent idea.

Oh yes. Oh yes. You stick all your armor back in your bags, slick back your hair, polish up your teeth and get to strutting down the Eastward path leading towards those soft, sleek, feathered forms.

Oh, how you've longed for a moment like, this, completely alone with nobody to chastise you for 'soloing' a couple of Storm Witches, if you know what I mean.

You puff out your chest and slip on your rings to give yourself that extra Stamina boost and strut on down the trail through the Abyssal Darkness towards the Harpy Roost.

This is also an excellent idea.

............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. .............

You are on the trail towards the Harpy Roost. You are almost naked, you are Armed with your Rifle and all your armor is in your pack. Your Pet is currently Despawned.

You strut down the trail, making sure to give your pelvis a little extra thrust with every step, just in case the girls are watching.

You are quite sure you have reached the Harpy Roost. This is an area you remember to be a small labyrinth of tunnels cut by time and wind erosion through the canyon. You are quite certain there is a cave leading to the Harpy's Nesting Grounds somewhere nearby, but you are unable to see it.

The trail through the Abyssal Darkness does not open up at all when you enter this area; it merely cuts a path straight through it. You can still see nothing but the trail and the darkness.

Something is moving on your Track Undead, to the South of you, where you're pretty sure that cave structure begins.

With no time to waste, you line up the Vials of Troll Sweat, place the Oshu'gun Crystal Powder at either end, and lay your Ripper across the lot. Then you arrange your Frostweave Bandages to somewhat resemble tires.

You sit on this, make "BRRRMM BRRRMM" noises and accomplish nothing else.

You don't like to "encounter" Harpies without a little "protection", if you know what I mean and by "encounter" I mean "have sex with" and by "protection" I mean "you like it when your cat watches."

You concentrate deeply, press your fingers to your lips and whistle.

Scratchfever emerges from the Abyssal Darkness as though he were there all along.

Before he can begin with the whining, pawing and complaining about how Goddamned hungry he is, you cast your Glyphed Mend Pet on him, slightly increasing his Happiness and shutting him up before he even has a chance to be all pitiful and hungry at you.

(Scratchfever has spawned!
Scratchfever's Happiness is now at 65%.
Scratchfever is A Bit Peckish)

You cup your hands to your lips and scream "HAY BABY WANNA PARTY" into the Abyssal Darkness.

All around you, those sounds of shuffling cloth and metal scraping stone kick up all at once, as if merely waiting for an excuse to start shifting around again.

Seven blips on your Track Undead are moving in a vaguely spiral shape now, not directly at you, no, around you.

Surrounding you.

"LOK'TAR OGAR, MOTHERFUCKERS" you roar, activating Rapid Shot, Blood Fury, The Beast Within, everything you've got, every single cooldown at your disposal, all at once.

Screaming death and hell, you strafe the darkness, laying down a withering wall of Saronite that Arthas himself would quail from. You carpet bomb the whole valley with Volley, scream something about freedom and throw Aimed Shot after Steady Shot after Multishot after Arcane shot after every single kind of Sting you can think of directly into the Abyssal Darkness.

Scratchfever lets out a roar worthy of the MGM Lion. He's not attacking anything, but he's real excited about all the shooting and doesn't want to be left out.

The blips on the radar have formed a sort of ring around you. They don't appear to be moving at the moment, but it doesn't seem like you hit anything.

(You now have Two Hundred and Twenty-Five (225) Saronite Bullets.
Your Mana Pool is now at 15%.)

Seeing as how 'Plan A: Fire Wildly At Nothing' appears to have failed miserably, you swiftly concoct 'Plan B: Oh Jesus Oh Jesus Oh Jesus Run Run Run'.

Aspect of the Pack UP Deflection RUNNING Disengage and Feign Death READY RUN RUN RUN OH GOD RUN.

You hurl yourself back towards the Junction, Scratchfever in hot pursuit, and leave skid marks in your wake that may or may not be the result of terror-loosened bowels.

You reach the Junction quickly and dash Southwards, towards Razor Hill.

That metal-scraping sound is very loud now and appears to be coming from behind you, up Northwards on the trail leading to the Abyss.

Those blips are still moving. They appear to be drifting in your direction.

Scratchfever is very excited at all this running!

He does so love to stretch his legs every so often, getting Despawned whenever you Mount has been robbing him of a lot of much-needed exercise.

(Scratchfever has gained some Happiness!
Scratchfever's Happiness is now 75%)

You screech to a halt, about halfway between the Junction and Razor Hill, spin and drop a Frost Trap about twenty yards back up the trail.

You tell Scratchfever that you're only casting MD on him "for his own protection" and that there is "absolutely nothing to worry about." Luckily, Scratchfever isn't especially bright and buys this story wholesale, sitting proudly next to you with his chest puffed out, pleased that he is finally being useful to you without serving as your Mount.

(Scratchfever has gained 1 level of Loyalty! Scratchfever is now your: Unwitting Patsy.)

You prepare yourself to fire completely wildly into the darkness, but...

it...

There's something behind you. You can see it almost clearly, about a hundred yards up the winding trail, moving slowly across the desert hardtack. It's shuffling, moving laboriously as though crushed under some impossibly heavy weight, a hunched over form, shifting in and out of the Abyssal Darkness.

You squint your Keen Eyes to get a better look.

It's... it's some kind of Gnoll, some kind of , of enormous, hunchbacked Gnoll wearing some sort of metal, triangular, sharply-angled helmet that is very clearly bearing down on it, bogging every movement into a slow, painful crawl as it drags its own enormous weight along.

it is also dragging what appears to be a gigantic butcher knife behind it, the weapon at least two or three times' the creature's size. This knife appears to be unbelievably heavy, the monstrous Gnoll pausing every few weary steps to pull the weapon along, causing a harsh, metallic scrape that cuts through your ears like iron nails on the chalkboard of your soul.

You check your Track Undead.

This blip has a name.

It appears to be called 'Pyramid Hogger.'

You can't run back to save the Harpy babes shooting at everything you think might be moving right now, there is a Pyramid Hogger blocking your path.

Feeling extremely brave, you throw your big red arrow onto the monster's head and try to pop some of your cooldowns.

Unfortunately, you already popped all of your Cooldowns and blew most of your mana back at the Harpy's Roost. All you really have left is Feign Death and Auto Shot.

This does not stop you from sending Scratchfever in, as such things have never stopped you from sending Scratchfever in. You count yourself extremely lucky to have found such a steadfastly loyal and endlessly stupid Unwitting Patsy.

Scratchfever closes the gap between himself and the great beast in seconds, arriving only shortly after the first of your devastating Steady Shots which don't appear to be especially devastating when you're almost completely naked save your rings, loincloth and rifle.

Your shots do not appear to affect the monstrous Gnoll, pinging harmlessly off that great, red helmet.

This does not stop Scratchfever from giving it his all, as it has never stopped Scratchfever from giving it his all.

He gets in two Claws and a Bite before the creature lifts its gigantic weapon up into the air and brings it down like a guillotine.

You don't care to watch what happens next.

(Scratchfever has died!
Scratchfever's Happiness is now 25%.
Scratchfever is now Dangerously Ravenous.)

You don't appear to have done any real damage to Pyramid Hogger.

He continues scraping his way towards you, a wall of doom slowly but inexorably closing in on you.

This shouldn't be too much of a problem, and you will get around to it as soon as you decide which half of your cat you'd like to bandage.

Even if Scratchfever were alive, you do not think he would be capable of Intimidating Pyramid Hogger.

At all, really.

Your mana reserves are getting dangerously low. It's time to recharge.

HOLOGRAPHIC COBRA IS GO.

You give Pyramid Hogger the eye.

He doesn't seem especially moved.

Apart from his slow but steady forward movement towards you.

Freezing Arrow failed: target is immune!

There is a time for bravery, a time for heroes, a time to make your mother finally proud.

Now is not that time.

You revert back to 'Plan B', which really had been going awfully well, and run, crying and flailing and screaming "OH GOD NOT THE FACE NOT THE FACE" as you churn hardtack back towards Razor Hill.

Panting for breath, your heart beating a ragged tempo in your ears, you arrive within the possibly imaginary safety of Razor Hill.

As soon as you enter the town, two very interesting things happen.

Firstly, the Abyssal Darkness opens up, permitting you to see everything within the town of Razor Hill clearly, but not much beyond, like a dome of impenetrable shadows covering the town.

You can see the trails South towards that little Troll village (what's it called? Semaphone? Snejbjerg?) and West into the red rock desert of Durotar are both open, tunnels cut through the shroud.

Secondly, that scraping noise ceases.

You peer back up the trail Northward, but can see nothing, nothing at all, no blip, no motion, no noise, as though the monster was never real at all.

It is completely silent in Razor Hill.

Catching your breath, you duck inside Razor Hill's inn, the familiar cozy warmth and welcoming innkeeper both vacant. There is still no movement on your Track Undead, although your Track Undead is, if anything, even more stuffed full of nameless blips.

Cast: Revive Pet failed: Insufficient Mana!
Cast: Glyphed Mend Pet failed: your pet is dead!

This is a large, normally friendly and inviting building, a vaguely cylindrical room lined with hammocks and adorned with the sort of decorations you've come to expect - a few skins on the floor, a few skulls on the walls. Nicked-up old Axes in the corner. Standard Orc issue, nothing fancy or out of the ordinary.

There is a Ledger here.
There is a Mailbox here.
There is an Abandoned Meal here.
There is a Staircase leasing Upwards here.

Quite the epic adventurer, aren't we?

The women must flock to you.

Yes, sir.

You snatch the still-steaming Raptor Stew off the Innkeeper’s Desk, grab the steadily-cooling mug of Hot Joe, and down them both like the greedy little piggy you are.

You grab the Ledger while you're here gorging yourself on other people's meals, set it in your lap and give it a quick once-over.

This is gibberish. There are about three or four hundred filled pages and all of them are absolutely stuffed full of bizarre and completely chaotic scribbles. You can't make heads or tails of this.

You leave the Ledger on the Desk where you found it.

Looks like you've got a letter in here waiting for you from the Horde Auction House.

You recover your package and open it to discover Two (2) Mana Potions that you apparently got totally ripped off on. According to this you spent almost 25g on these two potions.

You really wish you'd stop trolling the AH while drunk off your rear on leftover Brewfest Brew.

(Tednugent has received item: Mana Potion (2)!)

You creep upstairs, into the Innkeeper's Room.

This is a fair-sized room, outfitted with all the standard accouterments of small town life, a bed, a cabinet, some chests of drawers, a few old rifles slung up on the walls to add a bit of ambiance.

There is a Stairwell Down here.
There are some Chests of Drawers here.
There is a Cabinet here.

Your Mana Pool is now at 75%.
Most of your Cooldowns have come back up.

You gather up all your strength for another lusty war cry, but think better of it. You're down to 200 rounds and you've only just now got most of your Mana and Cooldowns back.

Besides, there's really nothing to shoot in here.

You cannot get ye flask, as there is no flask to be got in this area.

Concentrating all your arcane energies, you expend most of your newly-regained mana to restore life to Scratchfever and then quickly cast Glyphed Mend Pet on him to try to assuage some of his stark and apparent Unhappiness.

Unfortunately, Glyphed Mend Pet doesn't restore enough of Scratchfever's Happiness by itself, and you are now, right now, eyeball-deep in Sad Kitty Hungry Now Face.

Great.

(Scratchfever has spawned!
Scratchfever's Happiness is at 40%.
Scratchfever is Extremely Hungry.
Your Mana Pool is now at 25%.)

You rummage around through the Innkeeper's personal stuff with wild abandon, learning many interesting things about this NPC you once saw everyday but apparently never really knew.

She was apparently an alcoholic, if all these empty bottles of Old Warchief Single-Malt Scotch are any measure of evidence, and either had a wild social life or an especially vivid fantasy life, if this pile of Exciting Undergarments are any judge.

Apart from these secrets, you have learned nothing and found nothing.

You open up the Tall Cabinet and a wave of stench beyond any measure of foul you have ever encountered hits you like a Kodo stampede and you fall backwards.

Welp. Found the Innkeeper.

The Innkeeper, who's name you never got, is strung up in the Tall Cabinet like a broken marionette on tangled wires, suspended in a truly horrible pose, bent nearly in half backwards, all trussed up with some kind of Thorny Vines that appear to be growing directly out of the Tall Cabinet's walls.

Her face, what is visible of it through all those Thorny Vines, is frozen in a contorted scream of terror and agony. She is quite dead and has apparently been decomposing for some time now.

The Innkeeper's mouth is wide open.

You think you can see something inside.

Scratchfever, who has assuredly never in his entire life been anywhere nearly as hungry as he is right now, paws at your bare leg and whimpers dejectedly.

You are an endless font of excellent ideas, and this latest one can only be your finest.

You are now wearing Exciting Undergarments on your head.

GOD, STUPID CAT, SHUT UP ALREADY

(Scratchfever's Happiness is now at 55%!
Scratchfever is now-)

No. Eff that. You cast Glyphed Mend Pet over and over and freaking over again until

(Scratchfever's Happiness is now at 100%!
Scratchfever is now Quite Sated.
Your Mana Pool is now at 5%.)

Screw it. It's worth it. You cannot stand another moment, not one more moment of Sad Kitty Hungry Now Face.

Not for the first time, you wish you'd gotten a Ravager like all your friends told you.

You hear those freaks will eat wet dirt and be Happy about it.

There is absolutely something in there, but you can't quite make out what it is.

Scratchfever is Quite Sated and not at all hungry right now, which is good, because you're pretty sure he won't be especially hot on the idea of consuming Decomposing, Tortured Flesh.

Nor do you especially want to touch the Innkeeper's corpse.

You reach out a finger, poke the Corpse and fall back with a girlish yelp.

This is as close as you get to searching the Innkeeper.

Now there's an idea, you can Queue yourself into a Battleground and be swept away from this terrible place! Praying to whatever Gods still believe in you, you open up your PVP panel and...

Nothing. Nothing but broken text and buttons that don't work. You don't seem to be able to Queue to a Battleground.

You dump two (2) Vials of Troll Sweat over your head and quickly pepper yourself with Two (2) Oshu'Gun Crystal Powder.

You now smell absolutely horrible, unbelievably foul, like an ancient locker room used only by really sweaty guys that has been doubling as a latrine for the last six years.

But at least you're very sparkly.

(One (1) Vial Troll Sweat remaining
One (1) Oshu'gun Crystal Powder remaining.)

You only have One (1) Vial of Troll Sweat remaining and you will French-kiss the Innkeeper's corpse before you will drink it.

What a preposterous notion, you are quite certain that you have never been married (and at this rate will never be married - horrible nightmarish hell town aside, you really 'just haven't found the right girl' because you're 'not especially attractive' and you are often 'plagued with terrible smells').

You refuse to even consider such an action and are alarmed with yourself for even suggesting it.

The very idea!

Ohhhh, you know I love you baby, awwwww who's my good kitty? Who's my good kitty?

Yes you are!

Oh yes you are!

WHO WANTS TUMMYRUBS

(Scratchfever has gained 4 levels of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now your: Blood Brother)

You put on nearly every piece of armor, leaving your Helmet off. It's really uncomfortable, and you're really starting to like the cool, smooth feeling of silk wrapped around your head.

You break a wooden leg off of the Desk. It topples over with a loud WHUMP. There is a jingling of metal.

You wind a few unequipped Exciting Undergarments about the end of the leg.

There we go. That looks flammable.

You gingerly tap the Innkeeper with the Arcanite Ripper and fall back with a girlish yelp.

This is as close as you get to attacking the Innkeeper's Corpse.

You don't actually want to summon the undead.

Actually really exactly the opposite.

Really the opposite.

Entirely.

Scratchfever is overjoyed that you have given him such an important task, and hurries out to get to work immediately. He chooses a path that takes him all the way around the small town and fairly marches, face stony, haunches tensed, ready to make you proud of your new Blood Brother.

You unleash a stream of foulness and profanity so dire, you are positive you just saw the Innkeeper's Corpse blush.

You leave it all to your little brother Hordrouge, a Rogue who only recently hit level 12.

How it pains you to think you may never see his innocent, smiling face again.

You walk downstairs and exit the Inn.

Razor Hill looks exactly the same as it did the last time you saw it, with the sole addition of your Pet, Scratchfever, dutifully patrolling the edges of the Abyssal Darkness.

You enter into the Large Central Building with your rifle ready and oh my fucking god what the hell happened in here.

The Large Central Building, which is composed entirely of a single room with an extremely high ceiling, appears to have been painted in just bits of people. Bits. All over the place.

This room is an abattoir. The floor is totally obscured by mangled, shredded, severed limbs, torsos, hands, faces, bones, meat all piled up several feet deep. It's just piles of gore in here, like several hundred people spontaneously exploded all at once for no good reason.

And then, very suddenly, it isn't.

You are standing in the Large Central Building. This is a clean and orderly Meeting Hall of the Horde, the kind you grew up in. Normally, several Quest Givers and several Class Trainers stand in this room, waiting patiently to dole out knowledge or important contracts to burgeoning Adventurers of the Horde.

It is completely empty at the moment, with nothing so much as a single scrap of cloth to adorn the walls, or a single bit of furniture to rest on the floor.

It's just a big, empty room.

You thrust one hand down the front of your pants and the other down the back.

You are One Classy Guy.

You grab your convenient... what?... and call... who?

You run this over and over in your mind a few times, trying to wrap your brain around it.

Grab your convenient... fone? And call... who? Cho-ee? You want to call Cho-ee?

What the hell is a fone?

And why would you want to drag the Ogres into this, Jesus, aren't there enough terrible smells going around?

It's amazing how easy this comes to you. You were, in fact, just about to wonder that all on your own, without any outside help.

You'd strike a heroic pose, but at this point not even you'd be fooled by it.

Girl.

You let out a sharp whistle for Scratchfever, who bounds dutifully to your side.

Scratchfever will remember his Patrol Route and will return to Patrolling Razor Hill's Perimeter on command.

You do not, however, have anywhere near the amount of Kibbler's Bits necessary to convince Scratchfever to so much as touch that corpse.

You return to the Inn, climb the stairs, recoil in horror (again) at the Innkeeper's Corpse, and carefully Search that Drawer you toppled in your torch-making rampage.

There is a very small key on the floor here, it fell off when the Drawer fell over.

And I do mean small by the way, and flimsy too, one of those cheap little aluminum-alloy affairs that probably fits some old unused Lockbox intended for Rogues to practice their Lockpicking on.

You put it in your Inventory nonetheless.

(Tednugent receives item: One (1) Small, Cheap Key)

Sen'jin, that's what it was called, Sen'jin, right, right.

You sling your rifle over your shoulder and prepare yourself to head down the South trail, leading to Sen'jin village.

Lord, that place always smells like fish.

Video Setup

[0] 800x600
[0] 960x600
[X] 1024X768

Graphics Quality
========[]==
Lighting/Gamma
==========[]
Texture Detail
======[]====
[X] Blood/Gore
[X] Idle Animations
[X] A Billion Restless Eyes Ceaselessly Watching You

You turn the Gamma/Lighting slider all the way up.

This doesn't appear to have any affect on anything, really.

While you're here, you try to shut off "Blood/Gore" in hopes that maybe this game might become a little less incredibly dangerous, but the option appears to be broken, it won't shut off.

Neither will that last one.

Options Setup

Difficulty
=[]========
Monstrous
==[]=======
Pyramid Hogger
==========

These are the only options in the Options Setup. This game really doesn't give you a whole lot to choose from.

"Monstrous"? You don't even know what this is supposed to mean.

Interestingly, it looks like the game is already set to being Pretty Easy.

You attempt to slide the bar all the way down to the easiest setting....

Difficulty
==========[]
Monstrous
==========[]
Pyramid Hogger
===========

Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus, that's not what you meant to do.

You furiously attempt to get the Difficulty and Monstrous settings back to where they were, but it appears to be too late, the game is no longer Paused.

You're already wearing Almost All of your Mail Armor!
Well, except for your Mail Helmet, but really, it's ugly. And I mean ugly, ugly like cruelty to babies, ugly like a festering scar. It makes you look like a demented rhino. You hate this helmet.

You'd throw it away if you weren't sure you might probably need it again at some point.

For now, you elect to keep the Exciting Undergarments equipped on your head.

There's no ocean nearby to be jumped in!

There isn't even any water in the horse troughs for you to jump into and splash around pretending you're in the ocean!

You crouch by your Blood Brother's side, place a hand on his head and tell him you've always loved him. You tell him you remember the first time the two of you met, that fateful day in the Eastern Barrens, how you knew he would always been your faithful friend, how you've appreciated him every moment of every day you've been together.

He is your Blood Brother and you are proud to be his Master.

(Scratchfever has gained 2 levels of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now your Worthy Squire)

You don't tell him you were actually looking for Echeyakee that day, nor that you completely settled for Scratchfever after getting fed up with your piss-poor luck finding that damn lion.

This may actually be the very first time this Aspect has ever come in useful to you. As a matter of fact, you're dead positive this is the first time you have ever actually cast this Aspect.

There's dust on the spell.

You didn't think that would be possible.

(Aspect of the Beast is now active, Tednugent is untrackable)

Scratchfever flat-out refuses to actually leave Razor Hill without you to scout, Worthy Squire or not.

He does, however, eagerly snap back to his Patrol Route Around the Perimeter of Razor Hill.

You poke your head into the Razor Hill Bunker.

This is a squat, circular, two-story bunker wreathed with spikes and adorned with trophies of battle.

Yet another building specifically intended to Quest Givers, like the rest of this town it is currently devoid of life.

The Quest-Giver, you never caught his name, is busily being a desiccated corpse. Desiccated. The body looks like it's made of papier-mâché. Like he'll crumble into dust if you touch him.

There is an Old Crate here.
There is a Quest-Giver's Corpse here.
There is a Curious Tome here.

You leave the Bunker, assured that you'll be back in there momentarily to more closely Inspect the place, and hurry to the little 'bazaar' at the edge of the town.

Furiously, you scour through empty boxes and abandoned stands. You find a few items of interest and add them to your Inventory.

(Tednugent receives item: One Hundred (100) Saronite Shells
Tednugent receives item: One (1) Skinning Knife
Tednugent receives item: One (1) Mystic Wand.)

You look at the Mystic Wand with disgust. Look at that. It's got a higher DPS than your goddamned rifle, how the hell is that fair?

You can't even equip this stupid thing, all you can do is just stare at it and wish you were a Mage or something, God, look at that top end! Stupid casters. Stupid wands.

You whistle for Scratchfever, who bounds dutifully to your side.

You check your gear - 300 bullets isn't terrible, 100% mana and health, Scratchfever's in great shape. Okay then.

You dally at the edge of town in case you get the urge to check the Bunker more carefully as you dare yourself to step out of the so far fairly safe town of Razor Hill and off, into the unknown.

OH JESUS WHAT HAVE I DONE AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD
WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO
EVERYBODY PANIC AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Scratchfever runs around you in circles, excitedly nipping at your legs. He has no idea what's going on but man is this fun.

You stick yourself between a box and a wall and get yourself wedged in real good and just sit there, waiting for something to happen.

After several minutes, you begin to feel very very silly and dejectedly pry yourself free.

Not really excited about your trek through the alien landscape towards that tiny little nothing of a village that always smells like fish, you elect to spend just a little bit more time in Razor Hill for the moment.

You enter the Bunker again and Examine the Old Crate.

This is an Old Crate, it is composed of Rotting Wood and is in a terrible state of disrepair. It appears to be filled with something.

You pry off the lid and look inside.

Its notes. Thousands upon thousands of notes. Memos. Little scrolls. Messages. Thousands of them in varying states of age. You dump out the Pile of Messages onto the floor and give them a cursory once-over. You lift one at random and give it a read-though.

It's Quest Text.

You can't quite make heads or tails of it, as most of the text is broken and a lot of it is really poorly spelled, but you've very sure this is Quest Text.

All of these notes, it's like they're rejected or unused Quest Texts.

You can even see rewards listed at the bottom.

This is extremely strange.

As you dumped out the pile, you were fairly certain you saw a glimpse of gold, but you can't be sure of anything in this insane place.

This is a large, musty old leather-bound tome.

You open it up and it's... full of names.

You recognize some of these. These are all quest givers. There, you know that name, that's that Naaru in Shattrah, his name is right there. You keep flipping. Thrall's name is in here, so are all the rest of the Faction Bosses.

This appears to be a list of all the Quest Givers in the game.

There are markings after each listing, but you can't make heads or tails of it, there's no key, no guide. Just the name and a bunch of seemingly random markings.

The Quest Giver in this Bunker was, you are pretty sure, a big, strong male Orc, the kind of guy with great big biceps and rippling pecks that all the girls go crazy for.

You are very tempted to kick the corpse, but manage to show a little restraint for a change.

There's no way to Search the corpse without touching it, and you are very certain that if you touch this corpse, it will crumble to dust.

0 players found.

"That armor looks good on you. It would look even better on my floor."

"This is true love. Do you think this happens every day?"

"You have six different smiles. One for when you're angry. One for when you tear flesh. One for when you chew flesh. One for when you loot bodies. One for when you skin game. And one for when you want to kill something."

"I love you like a fat kid loves cake."

"Lady, from the moment I see you I... I did not expect to get this far."

"Um... You look like a lady."

You have no idea why you're currently single. You are a smooth operator.

Ew. Yes. Orc dust. Ew.

It's still dark. That Abyssal Darkness canopy overhead has shown absolutely no signs of budging. You can't see the moon or the stars and your Server Time Sense is essentially blinking "12:00" over and over and over.

You slink back into the Inn, press yourself flat against the wall, curl up into a ball next to your Worthy Squire and regale him of your glories in Warsong Gulch, how you single-handedly wiped out a 10-man Full Relentless Preset Entirely Composed Of Disc Priests and Retadins, and you did it without even realizing that you were Res Sick at the time.

Scratchfever is in awe of your majesty, grace and skill. You must be the finest Hunter to have ever lived. How lucky he is to have you as his Master!

(Scratchfever has gained 1 level of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now your Devoted Slave)

Yes. Okay. Fine. Sure. Let's just get this over with. (God. The stench of fish.)

You stand at the entrance to the trail leading South. You know that this is a particularly long trail, especially on foot, it travels through a red rock valley and passes by a Non-Alliance Human Keep, which is to the East of the trail.

You lick your lips and really, really wish you had some Brewfest Brew right now.

You could seriously use some liquid courage.

No. Jesus no. God. No. Ew. You push the Troll Sweat even deeper in your bags. No force on earth could possibly make you put this in your mouth again.

Besides, you only have one left and you might need it for something.

Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba (Here comes a lion, Father)
Sithi uhm ingonyama (Oh yes, it's a lion)

Nants ingonyama bagithi baba
Sithi uhm ingonyama
Ingonyama

Siyo Nqoba (We're going to conquer)
Ingonyama
Ingonyama nengw' enamabala ( lion and a leopard come to this open place)

From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life

Scratchfever is deeply, deeply moved.

He doesn't even try to hide the large tears of joy rolling down his face.

He throws his forelimbs around you and hugs you close, bawling openly on your shoulder.

(Scratchfever has gained 8 levels of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now the Son You Never Had)

You rummage through the Abandoned Quests and find a little scrap of musty flaxcloth. It has Occult Symbols stitched onto it in blue thread.

There is a golden exclamation point hovering over this flaxcloth.

It's... it appears to be a Potential Quest, but you don't know how to read it... or accept it for that matter.

You add this to your inventory

(Tednugent has received item: Musty Flaxpaper With Potential Quest.)

You take a deep breath, stifle a girlish yelp, and step out of Razor Hill, onto the Southern path, and into the alien landscape.

You didn't actually need to be urged to be Extremely Alert, nor to prepare yourself to run the hell away. These things came naturally to you, because you are Not Retarded.

You adjust the Exciting Undergarments on your head, make sure your hands and face are still coated with the Foul-Smelling, Sparkly Substance, check your rifle and your gear and take a deep breath.

Alright then.

Fish.

.......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... ..........

You are on the first leg of a long journey down the Southern Trail through the Abyssal Darkness, towards Sen'Jin village. You know this area to be a broad, red rock valley with the coast to the East and a short mountain range to your West.

You also know that somewhere out here, there is a Human Keep that the Warchief has never quite seen fit to completely stamp out. But then, sometimes you wonder about that guy.

I mean, seriously, the Demonic Cultist Uprising has been going on in Orgrimmar's basement for how many years now? Sometimes, when nobody else is around, you think Thrall should really get his act together. No wonder Garrosh has been elbowing in.

Anyway.

The hare is small but swift.
The hare is fragile but skillful.
The hare escapes the coyote with his skill.
The hare escapes the kite with his speed.
I must be the hare.

I am the hare.

"I'm not really a hare," you assure Scratchfever. He gives you a Look.

You dart, zigzag, down the trail Southward. Those noises rise up again, cloth on stone, metal scraping, but without impassable canyon walls to buffer the sounds, they seem far more distant, at the edges of your Heightened Senses.

There is no movement on your Track Undead, but your Track Undead is still completely filled with blips.

He licks it politely, not wanting to make a scene.

You stamp your foot on the ground, crouch, screw up your face like you are giving birth to a camel through your rectum, and roar

hhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

There, you think one of your hairs turned blonde. At least one. Maybe its grey. Oh, it's just some dirt. Nevermind.

You slump you head, dejected. You'll never get to be a blonde.

stupid humans
stupid blondes

Scratchfever tilts his head. Not a great roar, but you can work on it.

You soon reach a Junction in the trail that indeed leads off to the East, to where you remember the Human Keep to be.

You lick your lips as you stare down that trail. You weren't precisely 'exalted' with that place in the best of times and this is not precisely the best of times.

You remember hearing something once in your youth, something about 'never trusting the narrator' because 'those sons of worgs will get you killed every time' and how they 'think your suffering is hilarious'.

It was probably just part of a joke you can't remember.

To the East is the Human Keep
To the South is the Trail to Sen'Jin

Bah. If you were a Human, none of this would ever have happened. The Blizzard loves the Alliance. Have you seen how close their Spawn Point is to the Stables in Arathi Basin? Oh come on!

And don't even get started on Alterac Valley! They should have just called it "Endless Font Of Free Honor For The Alliance Valley", but you guess that would take too long to say.

If you were a Human Female, you'd be exalted with everybody, you'd have a million friends and a hundred boyfriends and free gear and honor and everybody would love you and just be completely entranced by your gorgeous, flowing, golden locks.

Damn it, you promised yourself you wouldn't cry.

You elect to be sure to check out the shore if you make it past the Human Keep.

There may be ways out of here.

Besides which, there might be a Boat you must attempt to Get.

Using your Arcanite Ripper, you hack down a Large, Stately Old Cactus whose only sin was being too close to the path. You chop off its once proud limbs and mangle its glorious, flowered top, where once birds nested and field-mice played.

You tear its body apart and craft yourself a twisted abomination of a costume, a mockery of his once majestic form, slipping your arms into his hollowed-out limbs, affixing portions of his very body to yours and setting its top, its glorious top, still flowering, still bearing the a vacant nest of a rare Desert Thrush, onto your head, fitting it securely over your Exciting Undergarments.

Rest in piece, old cactus soul. You were with us for nearly a hundred years, and yet we never truly knew ye.

You affix the last of the Cactus Parts to your Mail Armor.

There. This will fool everybody.

dum da dum da dum da dum DUM DUM DUM da dum da dum DUM DUM DUM
DUHNANAAAAAA
DUHNANAAAAAA

It's not actually all that easy to move while wearing this Cactus Disguise. Your legs are held together down to the knees and your arms are frozen out and up at your sides.

You sort of wobble, teetering, down the Eastern Path, towards the Human Keep.

Scratchfever takes point, partially because he is The Son You Never Had and partially because he's afraid if he's next to you, you'll fall over on him.

........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........ ........

You are at the Outskirts of Tiragarde Keep. The Abyssal Darkness opens up in this area, much like it did for Razor Hill, permitting you to see this area clearly, but nothing much more.

This is a semi-ruined Human Keep with several buildings that have been burnt-out for as long as you can remember. Normally, this area is swarming with hostile Humans, but you can't see anything moving.

Those Burnt-Out Buildings form a sort of semicircle around a broad courtyard, the central point of which is the entrance to the Main Keep. The Keep is a massive, foreboding stone structure that looms over this area, dominating it with its sheer presence.

You creep to what you consider to be a safe distance, a few yards away from one of the Burnt-Out Buildings, hunker down so as to more resemble the Cactus you savagely murdered, and work your Keen Eyes for all they are worth.

This place is studded with what look to be straw dummies.

Every single spot where a Human Soldier would normally be standing around, waiting for an Orc or a Troll to shoot at, there is a Straw Man wearing old, banged-up armor, rusted weapons affixed to their 'hands' through means you can't quite make out.

There are at least two dozen of them, leaning against walls, clustered up in familiar groups of three, standing still and silent and strangely dejected, staked to the earth and motionless.

Beyond the Keep is a short ridge and the sea. You can see part of the shore through the Abyssal Darkness. You can hear the soft roar of the waves now, but it sounds distant, muffled, like you're just listening to wind moving through a shell.

There seems to be a path that leads North towards what you know to be the Scuttle Coast.

You pick a Cactus Pear off of your elbow and hurl it, stiff-armed, at the closest Straw Man, who is about 30 yards away.

The Cactus Pear bounces off the Straw Man's rusted old helmet and hits the ground with a small thump.

The Straw Man teeters a bit from the force of the blow, but nothing else happens.

You're not entirely sure whether or not to attack, as at this point you have no idea what is within the ordinary.

For some reason, you can't access the Help File right now. It might be because the game isn't paused, but you're not sure.

You screw up your face and concentrate hard, but all you manage to do is get a little lightheaded.

You can't go North to the scuttle shore to find that damn boat, there is a Straw Man blocking your path.

Wait. What?

That's weird.

There's one Straw Man standing somewhat in front of that trail. He's not even like, blocking it or anything, he's just barely in front of it. You can just walk right around him. You could ride a goddamned Kodo around him and still have room.

You try again.

You can't go North to the scuttle shore to find that damn boat, there is a Straw Man blocking your path.

Oh God damn it.

After all this time, almost 70 levels and two expansions together, it occurs to you that you've always just assumed Scratchfever was a guy and you don't actually have any idea what sex he... it... is.

You attempt to surreptitiously peek under his... her... tail, but she... it... is busily being all hunkered down in Prowl.

You can't see from where you are and you're far too embarrassed to ask now.

You creep closer to the nearest Straw Man and plant your Ice Trap on his "feet", which are really just stakes hammered into the earth. You break off the "ice" part, rendering the trap itself useless, but successfully use an Immolation Trap to melt this into your Mail Helmet.

(Tednugent receives item: Mail Helmet Filled With Water
Your Mana Pool is 80%)

Shuffling closer and feeling mighty brave, since it didn't try to kill you for beaning it with the Cactus Pear, you eventually creep close enough to rifle through its Straw.

There's really nothing in here. The weapon in his "hand" (which appears to have been tied securely in place with some kind of thin, Thorny Vines) isn't even Grey quality, and even if you could wear this breastplate, it's so rusted, there are holes in it big enough to smuggle kittens in.

Then you rummage up in its head region and oh hey look, there's a skull under the straw here, like in parting straw you parted flesh and hey look it's a skull, right where it would be.
You'd pretend you weren't expecting that and give out a girlish yelp, but you just don't have the heart.

You can't go North to the scuttle shore to find that damn boat, there is a Straw Man blocking your path.

You can't go North to the scuttle shore to find that damn boat, there is a Straw Man blocking your path.

G effing G.

You are about to use another Immolation Trap to ignite your torch when something about the way Scratchfever dives for cover away from you gives you pause.

You eye the torch carefully.

This looks... maybe... too flammable.

You're not really certain you want to do this yet.

This actually creeps you out far more than the thought of a hundred million ghosts all around you. Your feet suddenly feel all weird, like you're walking on thousands of corpses.

Under you.

This is an interesting concept. You only know of two large-ish cave structures in this area, one makes up part of the Harpy Roost and the other is all the way down in the Valley of Trial, in the Burning Blade Coven...

Oh. Oh God. Oh. No. You blank your mind as quickly as possible, petrified that you might suddenly get the idea of going over to check out a goddamned cave full of demons and cultists. No.

The last time you remembered anything about the landscape, you ended up wearing a damn cactus and skulking around a goddamned Human Keep.

OH WAIT THAT WAS JUST NOW.

Sometimes you think you're just not especially interested in staying alive.

Speaking of which, it's high time you entered that massive, foreboding stone Keep over there, the one that looks like the summer home for a vacationing Scandinavian Death God.

Creeping stealthily and not entirely Cactus-like, you sneak past the immobile Straw Men and into Tiragarde Keep.

.......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... .......... ..........

You are standing in the Alcove of Tiragarde Keep. To either side of you are extremely familiar corridors that lead to extremely familiar rooms. There will be a second floor, a third floor office and a basement, a room at each corner of the ground floor and a broad open space around the stairwell.

Lord.

The Humans had like one architect in the entire world and they worked that poor bastard to death.

From where you are, to either sides of you are Straw Men, 'standing guard' over the entrance, with two more directly inside standing side-by-side, and another two at the bends in to corridors to either side of you.

Scratchfever is still in Prowl and you are still Desperately Emulating a Cactus.

Your Dwarven Dice are back at your bank!

Realizing this, you suddenly remember why they're back in the bank.

Your dice suck.

You lost the Betrayer of Humanity no less than four times - once to an effing Healadin, no less - and every single time you either lost by ONE or you ROLLED a one.

You're pretty sure a critical failure on a dice roll right now might have some serious consequences, so you elect never to so much as touch anything remotely dice-like for as long as you can manage it.

Now that you're inside the Keep and seeing as how Cacti don't generally perambulate around in Keeps, you wisely shed your Cactus Costume, but you stow it in your bags, in case you might need it again, and so that that Proud Old Cactus need not have died in vain.

You eye Scratchfever carefully. Echolocation would come in way more handy than, to be honest, Scratchfever has been at all since you woke up.

You finger your chin, carefully considering where you could possibly find a bat. This is problematic, as you can't think of any nearby, and besides which, Scratchfever is still the only Beast you've seen out here.

Scratchfever watches you with total devotion, just loving all over you, blissfully ignorant.

Don't even get started on Death Knights.

If you were a Death Knight, you're certain you'd wouldn't even have had to run from Pyramid Hogger.

You'd have been all DEATH GRIP ICY TOUCH PLAGUE STRIKE OBLITERATE and he'd have been all OHHH NO DON'T HURT ME SCARY DEATH KNIGHT and you've have been all TOO BAD, SON, ARMY OF THE DEAD and he'd go PLEASE I DIDN'T MEAN IT and you'd be all like ENJOY SOME ANGERED GARGOYLE AS WELL AND ALSO ALL MY HEALTH IS BACK HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, fuck
yeah

that'd be sweet

You push over the nearest Straw Man. He topples with a satisfying whump.

You push over the other one. He topples over, too.

You are extremely brave when nothing is actively threatening you.

Having tired of pushing over defenseless Straw Men, you creep into the Keep, keeping your head down and your eyes wide open.

This place is a mess.

It looks like there was some kind of action here and not recently. You're creeping over the remnants of a battle that took place you have no idea how long ago - long enough that the corpses littering the corridors here are almost completely skeletal, with only scraps of mummified flesh clinging to their bones, wisps of wiry hair poking out from under ancient helmets.

Two sides were at war here, you note as you pick your way through the corpses - two kinds of tabards on the men, but the patterns are so worn and faded, all you can tell of them is that there are two separate designs - and the fighting was feverish.

There are broken weapons and arrows stuck in walls, some of them pinning corpses to the walls themselves, suspended forever as a particularly macabre wall hanging. These men died in the throes of excessively savage violence, you can see bodies still locked in combat, hands clasped around throats, teeth latched into faces and arms, daisy chains of men stabbing men stabbing men.

They tore each other apart, literally just ripped each other limb from limb until there was nobody left, leaving dozens, maybe hundreds of mangled, skeletal corpses in heaps, killing each other as they died.

You wonder if anyone survived this as you head towards the Basement.

Help File – Warning! File Corrupted! Errors Found!

Thank you for playing You Awaken in\\#@!94 and You wish you had not dr +-$#`298~~)#$%&^@9((@#(*@#&^MKSAD(*!@#?2)“What Am I Doing in Tiragarde Keep?”

So you've found yourself in the blistered, ancient warzone of Tiragarde Keep. This could become very problematic for you if you've come here before first visiting Sen'Jin Village, but it's hardly likely that you'd have been foolish enough to come to such a terribly dangerous place like this without first +-$#`298~~)#$%&^@9 Sen'j ((@#(*@#&^(*!@#?….... ….... ….... ….... ….... ….... ….... ….... ….... …....

Tiragarde Keep Central Alcove

Well, you do recall the Holy Blue stating something about how The Blizzard was going to “make Deathwing wake up” and “do something pretty much like this, only to the entire world.”

You rub your chin, wondering if you've somehow been chosen for a Beta test for the new Expansion and just totally forgot.

If so, you will cancel your account as soon as you possibly can because man does it suck out here.

Oh. Hah. 'Guild'. Right. You'd blush and shuffle your feet if you weren't surrounded by piles of ancient corpses.

You weren't actually in a Guild even before you woke up in Razor Hill. It was all just a huge misunderstanding, really, and you were obviously kidding when you told your former GM to go have sexual relations with himself, his family and his dog all at once.

You scratch Scratchfever behind the ears to show him how much you aren't looking forward to replacing him with a Bat the first chance you get. He purrs a bit, but doesn't seem to gain any more Loyalty, and his Happiness is already Maxed at 100%.

You peer at Scratchfever carefully, wondering where all these new levels of Loyalty came from, anyway. They don't seem to actually do anything, and you wonder if there actually is a 'Max Rank.'

If there is, it probably can't be easily reached. You'll probably have to do something pretty special to get Scratchfever there, but man, if you do, something powerful badass is just destined to happen.

That is, unless the Narrator is blatantly fucking with you again and that attempting such a thing will either waste your time or get you killed, or both.

That is also a possibility.

You look up. Well.. there are corpses on the ceiling, as it turns out. They appear to have been nailed spread-eagled directly into the ceiling above you, like they were in the act of making snow angels up there before most of their flesh fell off.

You stare at the Ceiling Corpses. There is absolutely no reason for them to actually be up there like that. There doesn't even seem to be any place they could have been nailed up there from.

It's like this place is going out of its way to mess with your head.

You are really beginning to hate it here.

You peek at your Professions and your jaw drops, you choke on your own tongue and then slap your hands over it to make sure nobody can see.

“I am now and have always been a 450 engineer,” you say in a loud, clear voice. You take your actual Professions Book and stuff it under a few Ravaged Corpses.

Alright then, time to make something awesome.

With the abundant materials in the room, you spend a little time, effort and elbow grease to Create two Magnificent Contraptions.

Firstly, an Assuredly More Stable Torch, composed of the Mystic Wand with an Ancient, Moldy Tabard wrapped around one end. (you couldn't manage to yank an arm off of a Straw Man)

Secondly, something you like to call 'This Thing', which is a bunch of bones wrapped up into a bundle with a broken sword sticking out of one end and some string hanging out of the back.

You're not sure what it's for, but it looks pretty cool.

(Tednugent receives item: Highly Explosive Torch
Tednugent receives item: This Thing)

You Use Musty Flaxpaper With Potential Quest on absolutely everything in sight.

The room looks a little cleaner and the Flaxpaper is now absolutely filthy.

This is all you accomplish.

You hunker down and set your Heightened Senses and Keen Eyes a-cracking.

Two tabards, one was... looks bluish, pattern here but it's far too faded, rounded shapes, you can make out a lot of curves on the design, very flowing, looks like. The other is... either red or brown, it's impossible to tell. Pattern is far more jagged, all straight lines and sharp angles.

Apart from that is obvious, there was a brutal fight and they all shredded each other.

You creep through the piled up corpses on the First Floor and find absolutely nothing that looks remotely like booze. You find a few Dripping Fluids, but you're not nearly desperate enough to assume it's any form of Liquid Courage.

You also find no bullets at all. All the projectiles in this room are Bolts and Arrows and none of them are really useable anyway, the wood is all rotten and the heads are all rusted.

You don't like being this low on ammo.

And you hate being this sober.

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.
And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit!
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...

This would cheer you up immeasurably if you hadn't just now noticed that the song is completely accurate and your life has really always been a pretty sallow, miserable affair – the good times were mostly bad times and the bad times were mostly shitty times. You had few friends, no loves and terrible luck.

You can't even remember if your parents ever actually came out and told you they love you.

You are now Extremely Depressed.

You pour just a little precious Water from your Mail Helmet onto your hands and attempt to scrub some of the Foul-Smelling Sparkly Substance off your hands. You add a little more water and scrub harder.

You put the Mail Helmet Filled With Water on the floor between your knees, jam both hands into it and scrub furiously.

After utterly failing to even smear the now-Encrusted Foul-Smelling Sparkly Substance, you rethink this current course of action.

It's probably a good thing you can't so much as budge this crap.

Track Undead is as it has been since you showed up. Elementals, Demons, Humanoids, Dragons and Giants are all blank.

There are over a dozen Hidden blips on your Tracking, darting very quickly all around you, like hummingbirds. They are moving far too fast to get a bead on, flitting apparently aimlessly, which is a blessing – they don't appear to have noticed you.

You toss your Flare up, its Penetrating Light dispelling the shadows and revealing oh Jesus this was a terrible idea oh Jesus oh god

Worms. They look like worms. Like big, long, black worms bristling with quills, swimming through the corpses like ancient bone and metal was nothing but water, rolling and darting through desiccation and decay, gnawing on bones with circular, serrated jaws that appear to oscillate like saws.

They don't appear to be tied down by gravity, flicking themselves through the air and down into more of the corpses.

With a panicked yelp, you fill the Central Alcove with a rain of Saronite, smashing corpses and sending ruined weapons skittering in pieces. The room fills with the roar of the gun and you scream into it, pulling down more and more and more death and hell and rage and vengeance all over these twisted little

oh god they all just aggroed

Oh, there are a lot more than three of them.

You elect to carefully observe the worms as they silently roar through the aether directly towards you and actually manage to learn a bit about them.

Their momentum appears to originate from both the extremely fluid undulations of their body, as well as the paddle-like motions of those quills, like they are both winding and pulling their way through the effluvium.

They also have remained on Track Hidden, despite being visible - their Creature Type, apparently, is 'Hidden' - and appear to be called "Lesser Ravening Worms."

Their skin is translucent, showing dark, alien organs working feverishly within their bodies, and their jaws hold several concentric rings of teeth that appear to rotate in opposite directions. Numerous fleshy tendrils sprout from around their mouths.

All of this is enormously fascinating and you are getting a very good look at those fleshy tendrils right this very moment, in fact, they appear to extend into what look to be cilia built to snare and lacerate when they attack, which they accomplish by lashing their entire bodies into a blisteringly fast ram, teeth first, right into your stomach.

You are folded nearly in half by the force of the blow and are hurled backwards through space to slam hard into a wall. Your Mail Armor soaked the brunt of the assault but not without cost, it's been ripped open at the stomach, steel rings and unnecessary spike decorations pattering over the ground as you scramble to your feet.

(Your health is now 85%)

Something snaps in Scractchfever's mind as you strike the wall, partially because he is the Son You Never Had and partially because he's set on Defensive.

He lets out a roar that shakes the foundations of the room itself as he launches himself out of Prowl and latches his claws and he teeth into the Lesser Ravening Worm's side, wrenching it away from you and slamming it down into the ground, Claws it upside its throat and gives it a Bite worthy of Christopher Lee in his prime.

The Lesser Ravening Worm lets out a shrill cry that sounds really horribly like an anguished Human baby as Scratchfever gets his teeth through its carapace, stomps his paw down on its neck, and wrenches, pulling those jaws clean off its body with a glut of dark, foul organs that just spew out like they were under some extreme pressure in there.

Your Pet, your glorious Pet, his fur slicked black with alien ichors roars triumphantly and then the other eleven Lesser Ravening Worms come down on him like a ton of bricks with oscillating rotary saws attached to them.

Oh god you can't look.

(Scratchfever has died!
Scratchfever has lost 25% Happiness!
Scratchfever Could Go For A Bite.)

You cannot put on your Cactus Disguise right now, you are in Combat!

Your hands shaking, you quickly rummage around in the pile of corpses you just landed in, grab some cloth, wrap it around This Thing and whip up an immolation tra-

OH GOD NOW YOU'RE ON FIRE AAAAHHHH JESUS JESUS JESUS WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS?!

Pet dead, armor damaged, whole worlds against you, currently immolating, time for Plan 'B'.

You hurl yourself to your feet, Disengage the hell away from a five-Worm battering ram that punches a hole through a wall and brings part of the stairs down in a clattering heap, and make tracks for the entrance.

You clumsily brush past a Straw Man on your feverish way towards The Hell Out Of Here, and your flame crosses to him.

The Straw Man fairly erupts into flames and almost immediately begins moving, shaking back and forth, trying to free itself from its mooring and screaming, yes, screaming, like a man burning to death, and those screams seem to ignite all the rest of them.

By the time you throw yourself out the front door, all of the Straw Men out in the Courtyard are all burning, all of them, jerking more and more violently back and forth, tearing themselves up out of the ground and screaming in agony as they burn.

Rusted helmets turn in your direction.

Oh, good.

Your fingers are far too jittery to Unleash the Chord right now!

You'll need some Liquid Courage to steady your nerves, or else your Devotion will be Lame and a Lame Devotion will piss off the Lord of the Chord.

If you do that, something terrible could happen.

LET'S GIVE IT A SHOT

You hurl yourself face-first into the dirt.

You have no idea if any of this horrible insanity actually thinks you really dropped dead or not, but one thing you do know is that Fire is apparently immune to Feign Death.

(Your Health is now 65%.
You are Burning.)

I'M FINE MOM JESUS GET OFF MY BACK I'M NOT A KID ANYMORE

You can't Hearthstone right now, you don't know where it is!

Okay so the Immolating Straw Men were absolutely not fooled by FD, if the sudden sharp pain in your back is any evidence.

You roll forward out of the way of several rusting weapons and at least one set of oscillating jaws that shred the stone you were just resting on, slap a Frost Trap on the ground and slam your fist into the center of it.

Magic spurts out from under your fst, freezing on contact with the air and smoothly transmuting into ice as it spreads over the earth, sending the Immolating Straw Men Reeling back, shrieking in agony.

You kick off one foot and spin like Poe's corpse confronted with Barrens Chat, rolling hard across the ice, snuffling out the flames and gaining some serious distance from the Keep. No longer burning, you skid across the ice and hurl yourself up to your feet, fleeing with everything you have towards that Junction.

(Your Health is now at 60%
You are no longer Burning.)

You cannot haul ass to Sen'Jin, there is a Pyramid Hogger blocking your path.

Gasping for breath, you arrive at the Southern Junction. You place your hands on your knees and wheeze, trying very hard to ignore the sudden and suddenly painful stitch in your side.

The trail to the South, leading towards Sen'Jin opens peacefully before you, completely unobstructed.

You can even see the outline of one of Sen'jins Numerous Fish-Drying Racks down there, even through the Abyssal Darkness.

The Immolating Straw Men and Lesser Ravening Worms don't appear to have followed you and apart from the now-familiar sounds of cloth on stone off in the distance, it's fairly quiet.

Looks like you're safe, for the moment.

To the North is the trail towards Razor Hill.
To the East is the trail towards Tiragarde Keep.
To the South is the trail towards Sen'jin Village.

You close your eyes and concentrate your Arcane Energies, restoring life and substance to your Pet.

You don't need to cast your Glyphed Mend Pet on him, however, because he is ecstatic.

Did you see him in there? Scratchfever excitedly re-enacts his moment of triumph for you, complete with awkward, kung-fu poses, dreadful roars and warbling attempts to emulate the sound it made when he ripped its fucking face off.

He goes up for a high five and you do not leave him hanging.

(Scratchfever's Happiness is 100%)

You assure Scratchfever that your multiple burns and open wounds were achieved avenging his noble death, that you struck down four of them in your mournful rage and made them regret their sins, which he buys completely.

(Scratchfever has gained one level of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now your Loyal Henchman)

You do the best you can but honestly, what's one more terrible smell?

You give your Mail Armor a once-over.

It looks like you've got Tuskarr's Vitality on your boots and your feet, thus far, have not failed you.

Your Gloves, however, have an Herbalism enchant on them.

You hurl your Keen Eyes and Heightened Perception into the distance and end up staring pretty much squarely at your own ass.

Something about the Abyssal Darkness is playing merry hell with your camera. I mean your perceptions, it's playing merry hell with your perceptions.

You close your eyes, grit your teeth and give this one more shot, placing one foot in front of the other and nervously attempt to Go South to Sen'Jin oh please oh please oh please oh

........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ...........

You are now in Sen'Jin Village. The Abyssal Darkness opens up in this area far wider than any area you have encountered thus far, doming the Village and a portion of the Ocean beyond.

This is an unassuming little Troll village composed of a semicircle of Huts around a large Communal Fire, which is currently snuffed out.

A Large Pot hangs over this firepots, suspended by a large wooden frame.

The Huts are ramshackle and seemingly crude, spars of Kodo and Clefthoof bone with skins stretched out to form incomplete walls, the huts themselves open-faced, accepting and deflecting the elements rather than simply closing them away.

There are dozens of Fish-Drying Racks, hung with literally hundreds of fish that have been dead since Molten Core was The Next Big Thing. The stench is oppressive, a wall of odor that would send you puking if there was anything substantial in your belly.

Scratchfever loves it here.

Past the village, you can see the Ocean, which is unsettlingly quiet at the moment, the sound distant and muffled even though you can see the waves. Dark forms drift slowly in the water, aimlessly shifting and settling and sliding against each other.

Beyond this, shrouded in some sort of fog, are the Echo Isles.

There is a Skinner's Hut here
There is a Fisherman's Hut here
There is a Large Central Inn here
There is a Blacksmithy here
There is a Voodoo Trinkets Stand here
There is a Large Pot here

East leads to the Echo Isles.
West leads to the Valley of Trials.
North leads to the Southern Junction.

At this point, you're fairly positive it's Blood Elves.

Again.

You just did one back at Tiragarde Keep.

Did you see you? Because that was pretty damn awesome.

Nothing, no force on this or any earth, no power under heaven or above hell could ever make you lift your head right now. None.

You are resolute: you will not look up.

The dome of Abyssal Darkness reaches a height of perhaps a hundred and fifty feet at its highest point in this area, which appears to be somewhere between the Echo Isles and Sen'Jin proper.

This Abyssal Darkness stuff is bizarre. It holds in place like it has a physical presence, but all it is, is excessively dark shadow.

Apart from the Abyssal Darkness, there doesn't appear to be anything directly over your head.

You close your Keen Eyes and concentrate hard with your Heightened Senses even before you enter into the town itself, swapping through all your Trackings to give yourself a better idea of what you're about to blunder into, before you blunder into it.

Undead is as stuffed as it ever has been, and the Nameless Blips here are thankfully still Nameless and still more or less Immobile.

Giants, Elementals, Demons and Dragonkin are all still blank.

Hidden is blank, too. Thank God for that.

A line of blips shows up under Beasts, however, apparently there's some life in the Ocean. You observe more carefully. Apparently, the water is absolutely infested with Starving Amphibious Sharks.

Wait. What?

The nearest mountains are outside of Sen'Jin, but you find a Large Boulder, clamber up on top of it, puff out your chest and release a hearty:

High on a hill was a lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Folks in a town that was quite remote heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Lusty and clear from the goatherd's throat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

O ho lay dee odl lee o, o ho lay dee odl ay
O ho lay dee odl lee o, lay dee odl lee o lay

A prince on the bridge of a castle moat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Men on a road with a load to tote heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Men in the midst of a table d'hote heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
Men drinking beer with the foam afloat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

One little girl in a pale pink coat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
She yodeled back to the lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Soon her Mama with a gleaming gloat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo
What a duet for a girl and goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Ummm (ummm) . . .
Odl lay ee (odl lay ee)
Odl lay hee hee (odl lay hee hee)
Odl lay ee . . .
. . . yodeling . . .

One little girl in a pale pink coat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hoo hoo
She yodeled back to the lonely goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Soon her Mama with a gleaming gloat heard
Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hmm hmm
What a duet for a girl and goatherd
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Happy are they lay dee olay dee lee o . . .
. . . yodeling . . .
Soon the duet will become a trio
Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo

Odl lay ee, old lay ee
Odl lay hee hee, odl lay ee
Odl lay odl lay, odl lay odl
lee, odl lay odl lee
Odl lay odl lay odl lay

HOO!

Scratchfever has never been this embarrassed in his entire life.
He attempts to whistle nonchalantly and picks through rancid fish, pretending he has no idea who you are.

(Scratchfever has lost 2 levels of loyalty!
Scratchfever is now your Undaunted Swain)

With your Ripper in one hand and your Rifle over your shoulder, you suddenly drop and spin and flex into the single most awesome pose that has ever been.

It is too damn bad you can't see this because my god, man, there aren't even enough descriptors in the universe to describe how amazingly badass you look right now.

Scratchfever, caught in the blast wave of your sudden Supernova of Awesome, can only stare on in dumbstruck awe.

He forgives you for the yodeling on the spot.

(Scratchfever has gained 4 levels of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is now the Chico to your Groucho!)

You lick your cat.

You're not entirely sure why you've done this, but you grab him by the haunches, lift up his back end and give him a good old lick across the spine.

You then spend several moments retching hair, dirt, blood, bits of rancid fish, Dark Alien Ichors and everything else your cat's been rolling around in since you got here.

Scratchfever stares at you.

He didn't know you rolled that way.

It's been an awfully long time since you've had anything to drink, and most of the waste – solid and liquid – has already been voided from your body out of sheer terror.

You manage to get your initials out, TN.

Scratchfever, on the other hand, spells out his full name in elaborate cursive and smiles expectantly at you.

fucking cat.

A little annoyed at being shown up, you send Scratchfever off to pick a Patrol Route around the Perimeter of Sen'Jin Village. He picks a route that will take him around the entire village and relatively close to the water, but not close enough to be dangerous.

At least, he hopes.

The Forsaken. Hell of a race. They throw some... interesting parties, but you're not entirely sure you'd ever want to be one, really.

They're about the only race on Azeroth more plagued with terrible smells than you are (except maybe Tauren. And Trolls. God, why does the Horde have to smell so bad?), but to your understanding almost none of them still have a sense of smell at all, so it might not be all that bad.

Then again, their women kind of creep you out. One of them once told you she “Couldn't wait to suck the juice out of your eyeballs.”

There were worms in her left nostril.

You shudder at the memory.

Now that Scratchfever is someplace else, you are free to make a total ass of yourself without worrying about embarrassing yourself in front of your cat.

You've seen this done a million times. You stand on a straw mat, flex out your legs a little to get them all limber, shuffle back and forth to get yourself into the rhythm, spin, lift, swing and kick yourself right in the face.

You spend a few long moments flat on your back, your fingers pressed over your bleeding nose.

You know, after all this time, you're not sure how to log off. It just... it just sort of happens.

You try to walk yourself through it.

You sit down carefully, close your eyes, and count to 20.

You keep your eyes closed. Yes. Yes! It's working! You can feel it! Soon you'll be at your Character Selection screen and freedom, sweet blissful freedom!

You try as hard as you can not to cry.

Oh, there's fish out there. Well, not fish, fish have bones, Sharks are cartilaginous, vertebrates with no actual bone to them. But jeez, everybody knows that.

You creep to the edge of the ocean and peer at the waves.

Okay, this is as close as you're getting. You can't make anything out about them apart from that each appears to be somewhere in the neighborhood of about fifteen feet long and there are several dozen of them down there.

They drift slowly, seemingly aimlessly, barely moving at all.

They don't appear to have noticed you, as they make no threatening motions whatsoever.

It might be Aspect of the Beast at work, making you hopefully invisible to them, but it also may simply be that they're not attacking because they're not supposed to attack yet.
This game seems to have had a lot of scripted events so far.
It makes you a bit nervous. You'd really like to avoid having to deal with several dozen Starving Amphibious Sharks, but there's really no telling what could set them off.

You put down the Small Rock you were about to skip, as it suddenly doesn't seem like such a great idea anymore.

Again, nothing but your own ass. This Abyssal Darkness does not play well with Eagle Eye.

You place a Snake Trap on the ground and stomp your heel into the center to make it go.

Magic squirts out from under your boot, twisting and congealing into dozens of long, writhing shapes that quickly solidify into snakes.

The Snakes slither around for a moment, looking for something to attack, get bored and begin to despawn with alarming speed.

You manage to snatch three up and smack them against a rock. One of them despawns in your hand, but you manage to harvest some Snake Trap Venom from the other two before they vanish.

(Tednugent has received item: One (1) Dose Crippling Poison
Tednugent has received item: One (1) Dose Deadly Poison)

You approach the Large Pot and peek inside.

There is a Cardboard Box in here that reads My First Voodoo Kit. You retrieve this quickly.

(Tednugent has received item: My First Voodoo Kit!)

There are Strange Stains inside the Pot, some kind of dark matter congealed into a chunky crust that you can't chip off to get a better look at. There's nothing else inside here.

You hurl your Flare at the logs from a good, safe distance. Your health is a bit low and you don't particularly care for the Narrator's sense of humor when it comes to pyrotechnics and your personal safety.

Shrieking “I'VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU” and “MY YOU'RE A TALL ONE”, you hurl yourself through the town, waving your Filthy Flaxpaper with Potential Quest over your head like a flag. “YOUR GOLD IS WELCOME HERE,” your roar at a stack of dead fish, shake the Filthy Flaxpaper at it and hurl yourself at the Large Pot. You grasp it with both hands and scream “I'VE GOT WHAT YOUUUU NEEEEEEEEED” until there's nothing left in you.

You sink down to your knees, exhausted, gasping for breath, leaning hard against the Large Pot to at least keep you vaguely upright.

You look at the Filthy Flaxpaper.

That flickering golden exclamation point still hovers over it, same as ever, the Occult Needlepoint completely unchanged.

If only you'd found something, anything, perhaps near where you found this Flaxpaper, perhaps right there in the same room, perhaps in fact found sitting right next to the Old Crate you got the Flaxpaper out of, that could possibly help you figure out what you're supposed to do with it.

Well alright then. Time to check out the town.

You tug your Exciting Undergarments down from the top of your head until they're resting snugly around your nose to cut out at least a little of the stench and open up your bags in preparation for some Fill Tilt Pillage.

Well, you sure can't wait for another opportunity to soil yourself, because man, that sudden feeling of soft warmth down your thighs just never gets old.

The Skinner's Hut is closest, you decide on that one first.

This is a small, ramshackle hut with only three walls. The Skinner is nowhere to be found, but he left behind numerous chemicals used in tanning hides, a workbench, and most of a Skinned Boar.

You bite your lip and crouch next to the Skinned Boar, sniffing carefully. It hasn't been dead too long, this meat isn't rank, and it looks like it was shot in the neck with an arrow or a crossbow, so there's very little chance this flesh is Tormented. You inspect it carefully for maggots, poisons, traps, monsters, Lesser Ravening Worms and are finally assured the Skinned Boar is safe to steal the shit out of.

You haul it out of the Skinner's Hut, pull the Large Pot off of the Communal Fire, lash the Skinned Pig to the Wooden Frame and sit back for a second as the welcoming smell of Roasting Pork cuts away a bit of the Omnipresent Stench of Fish.

It'll be a little bit before its done, but man, it is starting to smell good.

You give the rest of the Skinner's Hut a once-over, to see if there's anything else of note.

There are Tanning Chemicals here
There is a Skinner's Workbench here
There is a Skinning Knife here
There are some Fur Scraps here
There are some Animal Parts here

Right away, you find some Salted Fish.

You cannot stand the taste of this crap, but it is like heroin to Scratchfever.

He completely loses his shit over it, he will do whatever it takes to get his teeth into it.

You wrap the Salted Fish up in This (badly burned) Thing, to keep Scratchfever from smelling you've found some. He needs to be patrolling right now, not getting all weird over dehydrated seafood.

(Tednugent has received item: Two (2) Salted Fish)

While you're here, you use your magnificent Engineering skill to make a Jaunty Cat Toy for Scratchfever out of three Fishing Poles, several balls of tackle and as many Fishhooks as you can fit.

He is going to love this.

(Tednugent receives item: Deadly Fishhook Flail!)

That's about all that's in here. It's the exact same architecture as the Skinner's Hut, right down to the Workbench in the exact same place. The hut's walls are lined with Fishing Poles in various sizes, and there are Fishhooks just absolutely everywhere. Everywhere. Every single surface is covered in loose Fishhooks.

It's a little weird.

There is a Fisherman's Workbench here.
There is a Wall of Fishing Poles here.
There is a Ton of Fishhooks here.
There is some Fishing Line here.
There is a Lot of Dead Fish here.
There is a Rotting Old Fishing Boat here.

oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god

you run around in circles with the Rotting Old Fishing Boat hoisted up over your head, you are so excited.

WHATEVER WILL YOU DO WITH THIS BOAT

While you wait to figure out what you'll do with the Rotting Old Boat, which is filled with massive holes and is about as seaworthy as a bucket filled with chum, you decide it's time to check out that Inn.

This is a two-story Troll Inn, the architecture is similar to the huts, but this Inn is much more elaborate. The Central Area is broad and split into several small alcoves, once home to yet more Quest Givers and Vendors, now familiarly vacant. There is a Crude Stairwell at the back of the Inn that leads up to what was once the Office of the Town Head.

You toss this place like you are the Thought Police and someone in here once dared to love. You hurl mats aside, topple bookshelves, rip decorations off the walls and just make a total mess of the entire place in your search for some sweet, sweet Liquid Courage.

You don't find any. Any. Not even a drop. This is ridiculous. You've partied with Trolls before, those guys are never sober. Where the hell is all their Liquid Courage?

In your zeal, you have uncovered a few things:

There is a Ledger here.
There is a Pile of Books here.
There is an Innkeepers Desk here.
There is a Small, Cheap Metal Key here.
There is a Pile of Decorative Voodoo Masks here.
There is a Stairwell Up here.

Blacksmithy's is next. Best for last. Look at all that iron. Look at all those anvils. This is the perfect place for a Legendary Engineer.

You give it a cursory once-over and find oh thank god ammo oh oh oh thank god thank god

(Tednugent receives item: Five Hundred (500) Saronite Shells
Tednugent now has 750 Saronite Shells
Tednugent receives item: Blacksmith's Hammer)

Alright. Time to give that Engineer in you a solid workout. Let's repair us some gear!

You remove your Badly Damaged Mail Chest, lay it on an anvil, and hit it with the hammer a few times.

This... this doesn't seem to be working.

You rub your chin for a few moments deep in thought. With your tongue stuck firmly in your cheek, you lay a Gold Coin on the Badly Damaged Chest, and hit that.

(Your Mail Chest is now Damaged
You now have 55g.)

You're kidding.

You put a few more coins on the Damaged Chest and smack them with the hammer.

(Your Mail Chest is Fully Repaired.
You now have 50g)

Huh.

This is a small, wooden stand a few yards behind the Large Communal Fire. It appears to be a Vendor's Stand, but you don't precisely recall anything like this.

A large, wooden sign hangs over the stand, reading “DA VOODOO” in friendly red letters, outlined in several neon colors.
There are two bottles on the stand bearing labels that also bear this name.

(Tednugent receives item: Two (2) Da Voodoo)

All else here is just a horrendous mishmash of stereotypical Voodoo accouterments, shrunken heads, bizarre fetishes, and a short, cheap, revolving display that holds a number of Bizarre Curios:

There is a Tikbalang Ward here.
There is a Soap on a Rope here.
There is a Hula Doll here.
There is a Magic Crystal Talisman Guaranteed To Save Your Life Or Double Your Money Back which appears to be made out of Quartz and Pewter, with a Dyed Chicken Feather dangling from it here.

You take a Hula Doll, carve the Soap on a Rope into a Pyramid and cut out room for the Hula Doll's head. You dip the Dyed Chicken Feather in your Mail Hat Full of Water, which makes all the dye almost immediately run off. You use your Mail Helmet full of Red Dye to carefully paint this soap Pyramid red.

After you fit this on her head, you run to the Skinner's Hut, grab the Skinning Knife, and run back to affix this into her hand with a Fishhook and some Fishing Line.

Then you run back to the Skinner's Hut, grab the Animal Parts and Fur Scraps and affix these all over the Hula Doll, until it looks more or less like that horrible monstrosity.

It looks about finished.

It might need something else.

By now, you know this won't work. You still have no idea what time it is and that Abyssal Darkness has made no signs of so much as wavering.

You're a few frayed edges away from the Naked Freakout, too, to be honest.

There's a lot of options open from here.

You carefully consider what to do next.

THE VALLEY OF TRIALS IT IS.

You steel yourself, make sure you're all healed up and ready to go and...

THE ISLANDS IT IS.

You steel yourself, make sure your Rifle's safety is Off and...

Frustrated with your indecisiveness, you sit down by the Communal Fire and eat some of this here Roast Boar, drinking Red-Dyed Water from your Mail Helmet.

(Your Health is now 100%
Your Mana Pool is now 100%.)

Lord, sometimes it feels like you've just got absolutely no power over your own destiny at all.

You wonder if anyone else ever feels like that.

You can't get these, as they are being used in your Unfinished Pyramid Hogger Voodoo Doll.

The wood is all rotten. If you pick these up, they'll fall apart.

It's exactly the same as the one you picked up in the Razor Hill Inn. Like, exactly the same, down to the markings in the teeth.

(Tednugent receives item: Cheap Metal Key
You now have Two (2) Cheap Metal Key)

You don't even begin to know what you would do with these. All the books are the same exact ones you find pretty much everywhere in Azeroth - two-pound, 500-page leather-bound tomes that tell one story within four pages each, leaving the remaining 496 pages blank.

The Azerothian Publishing Industry is nothing if not excessively wasteful.

Also the same as the one in Razor Hill and equally stuffed with gibberish.

You leave this where it is.

A lot of the Line you used to make your Unfinished Pyramid Hogger Voodoo Doll, which is still sitting back at the Voodoo Trinkets Stand, but there's enough here to at least outfit one Pole.

As for hooks, take your pick.

(Tednugent receives item: Fishing Rod)

These smell foul and the fumes coming off of them have stained the rawhide wall.

This is far too dangerous to carry around, especially in a place like this.

You leave them where they are.

You toss the whole damn town again and come up with nothing.

What the hell is this? It's like Vol'Jin isn't even from here all of a sudden.

If there are Tikbalangs anywhere in this world, you are positive they will be here.

You quickly snatch the Tikbaland Ward, kiss it and affix it around your neck.

(You are now equipped with Tikbalang Ward in your Neck slot.)

Or it would be, if the game just let you take everything instead of telling you why you don't want to.

You re-equip your Mail Chest and prepare yourself for the long walk back to Razor Hill.

"Hey Scratchfever," you call, "Come back TO ME, come back TO ME right now, we are returning to Razor Hill."

Scratchfever, CURIOUS as to why you want to go all the way back there when you've really just only got here, makes a plaintive sound.

"Scratchfever, come TO ME. Quickly now. This is no time to be CURIOUS. TO ME."

You sit down, pull the Curious Tome out of your pack and set it down in your lap.

What was this thing again? It was all so many minutes ago.

You lift up the Flaxpaper and eye its Occult Needlepoint carefully.

You close your eyes tight, turn your head away and slam the Flaxpaper down on the Tome's cover. When nothing explodes or sets you on fire or anything, you carefully peek down at the Tome.

Using the Flaxpaper didn't seem to do anything, so you elect to simply Open it.

Oh right, this is the book that seemed like it was a list of every quest giver in the game!

Gosh, you wish you'd remembered that sooner.

You place the Flaxpaper on the ground next to you and begin to flip through pages, skimming over thousands upon thousands of names until you're not even seeing names anymore, just meaningless jumbles of letters flung together.

This is pointless. Why the hell was the Narrator so hot on this? You could sit here flipping through this book for weeks and not find anything useful, why did you even think - wait Mary? Did you just see-

Your eyes snap back into Keen Focus and you hunker down further, feverishly flipping pages back and forth until you find -

"Mary." You stare at that name and quickly look at your Flaxpaper. You scour around at the top of it, until the Occult Needlepoint starts making a little more sense. There. M. A. R. Y.

You fumble around in your bags until you come up with the Folded-Up Note.

Signed 'Mary.'

This is Mary's Quest.

Now, you just have to find her.

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3) MARY

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For one thing, the ability to make you shit your heart clean out of your body.

It's just sort of sitting there, inert. It's a fairly decent facsimile, but there's no.... spark, no mojo, there's just nothing to it.

Right now all it essentially is, is a Pyramid Hogger Action Figure.

yes sir right away sir

yes sir way ahead of you sir

and the horses they rode in on, sir

Some. Not nearly as many, but more than enough to be extremely dangerous.

Oof. Their Beast Lore screen is a mangle of broken text. You don't think these mobs are supposed to exist, the game seems to be trying to reject them.

Luckily, you've been a Hunter long enough to pick up a few notable things:

They clearly move in swarms, but they're not sociable creatures. You're watching as they occasionally lash out at each other for no apparent reason. Usually, this seems to lead to nothing, but if one of them manages to draw blood on another, all hell breaks loose. Every Shark nearby latches onto anything wounded, anything bleeding, and just rips it apart.

Two of them have died this way so far, their bodies obliterated and consumed in seconds.

It appears their eyes are nearly useless, they often bump into things, but you can tell Acute Olfactory Organs when you see them. While on Land, they appear to hunt almost entirely by smell.

They're low to the ground, too, bodies squat. You bet they can Keenly Detect Vibrations, as well.

You test this out.

Interesting.

You hurled one rock at a cluster of Sharks far away from you. The Sharks almost immediately next to where your rock pattered down began lashing around, looking for something to destroy, but all the rest are only being attracted by the noise of those exact Sharks, not the rock itself.

Looks like they can't Detect Vibrations so well on land.

You pop a rock in the water and oh holy fuck look at that

The water roars and lashes as several Starving Amphibious Sharks erupt from the ocean, ripping and snapping at thin air, each other, anything nearby, before slowly settling down.

Yeah. Wow. 'Kay. They can detect the shit out of vibrations while underwater. Good to know.

You shuffle on your knees, trying to keep as much distance between yourself and the Sharks as you can, but there doesn't seem to be any real way you can get all the way to the shore without shuffling past at least a few of them.

You've made it as far as the Wrecked Voodoo Stand. There are about a hundred yards and thirty Starving Amphibious Sharks between you and the Ocean.

Well, it'd be pretty hard to make your Flail of Certain and Indiscriminate Doom any more explosive without first dousing it in Wrathful Juju and you're pretty sure if you do that, the world will just end.

After seeing how fast those things ravaged your Small Rock, though, you're not sure just swimming across will be enough.

Here's an idea. One of these guys on your side might be pretty cool.

Now, you just have to figure out how you'd possibly survive the Taming process, and you're set.

You're already sparkly! To become any more Sparkly, you'd need some kind of Light Source!

Speaking of which, you're actually really glad you've got this Encrusted Sparkly Foul-Smelling Substance all over you, as you smell pretty much indistinguishable from any given decades-old rotting corpse.

You're pretty sure this is why the Starving Amphibious Sharks haven't noticed you at all.

Jesus. You actually did something right?

If you ever get out of here, you swear to send a letter to Ripley's, because you just don't fucking believe it.

You close your eyes and focus your Arcane Energies, peering through the aether into your Stables.

There's your Cobra, Stranglehold. You don't really like using him, as he got serious Attitude Issues and often "forgets" the difference between your leg and your target's leg.

Yup, there's an empty space here. It used to be filled by your Un'goro Thunderer, Weekendwarrior, but the two of you had a 'parting of ways' due to 'differing directions' and 'creative differences', plus you got sick of him winging feces at the back of your head every single time you looked the other way.

You give Scratchfever a loving pat on the head and whisper to him how very much you envy him right now as you stow him securely away in the safety that is the limbo of your Stable.

Rest well, noble cat.

Right then. Let's get us a Shark with some fucking legs.

Now that Scratchfever is tucked away, you draw the final Salted Fish from This (badly burned) Thing and plant a Frost Trap on the ground.

heeeere shark shark shark shark shark

got a fishiiieeeeeee

niiiiiice salty salty fishiiiiieee

One of them, relatively nearby, grunts, shifting thick, powerful legs as it awkwardly wheels about in your direction. Tiny black eyes stare blindly at you as it begins to drag its way towards you.

You shuffle backwards and away, drawing it farther and farther towards the outskirts of the town.

liiiittle closer... liiiiiiittle closer...

It steps square on the Frost Trap and recoils as the ice sweeps its feet out from underneath it, planting it squarely on the ground in a splattering heap. You fire a Freezing Arrow right between its eyes and lunge in as it is swiftly encased in a block of solid ice.

You plant both your hands against the ice and begin the tame.

Hearts start flying up out of his head.

You've never really been sure why this happens.

(Tednugent has Tamed a New Pet!
Tednugent has Tamed a Starving Amphibious Shark!
Starving Amphibious Shark temporarily renamed "Your Shark".
What would you like to name your Starving Amphibious Shark?
Your Shark's Happiness is at 0%!
Your Shark is A Pit Of Endless Ravening.
Your Shark has gained Skill: Claw
Your Shark has gained Skill: Bite
Your Shark has gained Skill: Lurk
Your Shark has gained Skill: Devour
Your Shark has gained Skill: Surf
Your Shark has gained One level of Loyalty!
Your Shark is now the Starscream to your Megatron.)

At 0% Happiness, the very first thing Your Shark tries to do is rip your leg clean off and eat it.

As fast as you possibly can, you stuff all four Chunks Roast Pork down Your Shark's throat, while doing your absolute damndest to keep your hands as far from those teeth as you can.

(Your Shark's Happiness is now 55%!
Your Shark is A Pit of Endless Ravening.)

Oh, wow, that was all your food and it didn't do much.

You supplement this with a volley of Glyphed Mend Pets.

(Your Shark's Happiness is now at 45%!
Your Shark is a Pit of Endless Ravening.)

Um.

It's not that the Glyphed mend Pet failed, or that it's giving any less Happiness than it gave to Scratchfever, what's happening here is Your Shark's Happiness appears to constantly drop at an alarming rate, signifying that it is always always hungry.

It snuffles around your legs, grunting and bumping against you in a manner you can't tell is indicative of a devoted bond, or just him trying to figure out if you're edible.

Oh, this will end well.

You stand up, shedding the Cactus Disguise and stowing it quickly as you pull your Flail of Certain and Indiscriminate Doom out of your pack.

Enough of this. Enough running. Enough hiding. Enough comedic incompetence. Enough sneaking around like you're some piddling fucking Rogue too scared to come out and fight like a man.

It is time these primitive motherfuckers learned why Hunter is the OG OP.

You swing the Flail over your head and set Your Shark on Aggressive.

"STRENGTH AND HONOR YOU IMPOSSIBLE SONS OF BITCHES," you roar as you let the Flail sail from your hand, "LOK'TAR OGAR"

The Flail hits the sand near the Ocean's edge and immediately bursts into a brilliant ball of vibrant green flames with a roar like the deathknell of a God.

The shockwave flattens the entire village of Sen'Jin, just pushes it down flat, nearly blasts you clean off your feet, and sends Starving Amphibious Sharks and their component parts hurtling in all directions.

You brace yourself against the storm of Shark Parts that comes raining down on you and Your Shark just completely loses its shit, launches itself forward and devours as many chunks as he can, instinctively lunging at anything that so much as comes close to him. Your Shark battles mightily against three Wounded Sharks at once, forcing them back away from his Meat-Filled Crater or pulling them apart and adding them to it.

(Your Shark's Happiness is now 75%!
Your Shark is an Endless Pit of Ravening)

The blast from your Flail seems to have seriously injured most of the Sharks on the beach, nearly all of them not currently desperately defending themselves against Your Shark are in the process of tearing each other to ribbons, devouring each other whole.

Coolly, you shoulder your rifle, take careful aim, and fire exactly five rounds.

"Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you and Fuck you" you grunt as each bullet smacks between the eyes of a Wounded Shark, punching their heads open and cleanly dropping them flat for Your Shark to tenderly savage.

Your Path to the Ocean's Edge is now clear.

Damn right.

(You now have Seven Hundred and Forty-Five (745) Saronite Shells)

What am i see over dere
What my eye see o-ver dere
My eye see bone that need be crush
My eye see skull that need be mush
Dis am what be o-ver dere

What am i see over dere
What my eye see o-ver dere
My eye see Human got-ta stomp
My eye see Dorf I got-ta romp
Dis am what be o-ver dere

What am I see over dere
What my eye see o-ver dere
My eye see fires raging hot
My eye see vanquished, sorry lot
Dis am what be o-ver dere

It loses a little in the translation. In the original Orcish, it's quite beautiful.

Paralyzed with indesicion yet again, you take matters into your own hands and name Your Shark "Larry."

(Your Shark has been named Larry!
Larry's Happiness is now at 75%!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening.)

No use. The ones made of metal have all melted and the ones made of bone have pretty much vaporized.

You still have the one Fishing Hook on your Fishing Rod at least, should you find any Fish that require Hooking.

You get some distance from Larry, grab two handfuls of Shark Giblets and just go ahead and rub your fucking face in it, hissing "om nom fucking nom you shark motherfucker, in Sen'Jin Village, Hunter eats you."

Larry makes a grunting noise somewhere nearby and you quickly wash the gunk off your face with seawater before he notices.

You send Larry to sweep the beach for anything remotely edible (no, seriously, you wanted him to do that, it's not that he's totally ignoring you or anything) and gather up as many Inedible Shark Parts as you possibly can, coming up with a small pile of mangled heads and half-chewed tailfins.

When you're positive nobody's looking, you produce your Needle and Thread again from some secret panel sewn into your Cloak.

Your fingers blazing, you swiftly Stitch the Inedible Shark Parts into Sort Of A Raft, Kinda, If You Squint Your Eyes And Don't Focus On It.

About the time you begin fashioning a Sail for it out of Ragged Shark Skin, Larry notices what you're doing, waddles over and eats it.

(Larry's Happiness is at 95%!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening)

It's a bit of a kick in the balls at this point, but even flush with this much adrenaline you still fear you may give a Lame Devotion to the Lord of the Chord, which would put a serious dampener on this fine mood you've got going.

You elect to do the next best thing.

Your face stony, your hands clasped behind your back, shoulders squared, chest out, you step through the wreckage like a visiting lord, striding over still-quivering bodies, stepping around Burnt-Out Remains of buildings and walk, cool as can be, to the sea.

You snap your fingers.

Larry, who's Happiness is pretty damn close to as high as it seems to get after all that gorging, waddles into the ocean and waits patiently, floating there before you.

You step regally onto its back and stand like you have all the time in the world and then some as it drifts like deadwood across the water, ferrying you away from the absolutely Ruined Beach coming to a gentle halt at the coast of the first of the Echo isles.

Calmly, casually, you step off Larry's back and onto the Echo Isles. Larry lets out a dreadful, warbling grunt as he pulls himself out of the ocean, to your side.

Fuck yeah indeed.

Great. Now you're heaving and retching all over the beach again. Way to ruin the moment.

(Larry's Happiness is now 75%!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening)

............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. .............

You are standing on one of the Boundary Isles, one of five small islands surrounding the considerably larger Main Isle.

This entire area is draped in cotton-thick fog, a veil of grey that shrouds almost everything. You know that the Main Isle is to the East of you, and squinting your eyes you can just barely make out its shores.

This island appears pretty much empty, there are a few Bedraggled Palm Trees but nothing that appears to be moving. You can't even see the Abyssal Darkness through this fog.

There. Found him. Right where he always is. In the dead-center of the Main Isle.

He's the only Humanoid on your Tracking, but he is definitely there.

You haven't found any Mojo yet - assuming Mojo isn't just another word for 'Troll Sweat' - but you're pretty sure you meant your Juju.

You take a very deep breath, close your eyes and select a single Saronite Shell from your ammo bag. You hold it up to your eyes, inspecting it carefully.

Seems as good as any.

Carefully, ever so very, very carefully, you produce your Bag of Wrathful Juju and tug the strings open.

There is a soft roar all around you as that bag begins to open, like voices, thousands of voices, screaming, crying, moaning, laughing all at once, a storm of thoughts and emotions and memories you never had raging and enveloping you.

The Bag of Wrathful Juju is rumbling and quaking visibly in your hand, sending painful shockwaves up your arm. It's extremely difficult to hold on to it.

Steeling yourself for the worst, you plunge the Saronite Shell into the bag.

There is a very bright light.

There is a very loud noise.

You are blasted clean off your feet, your back hits the ground so hard your legs come up and over you and your tumble ignominiously into one of the Bedraggled Palm Trees.

Larry has been knocked over onto his back by the force of the Juju Eruption. He flails wildly, wailing pitifully, apparently unable to right himself.

(Larry is now at 55% Happiness!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening)

You look around and check yourself quickly. Both hands, arms, legs, feet intact. No blood. Health maxed. You're okay.

Red light sheds down on you. You look up.

Words are forming over the very air itself, large, friendly letters in bright red:

Thank you for choosing Da Voodoo for all your deus ex machina needs!

The words slowly fade away.

You look down into your hand.

(Tednugent has received item: Saronite Godstorm Shell)

You slap down a Freezing Trap and stomp the activation core, locking yourself into a block of ice.

The ice quietly despawns twelve seconds IN THE FUTURE. You look around.

Not, not exactly 'all okay'.

But things seem to be looking up.

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Checksum error 2310

Are you certain you want to Unleash Pyramid Hoggercaust?

[Accept] [Decline]

DECLINE DECLINE DECLINE DECLINE DECLINE

You Equip your Arcanite Ripper in your Main Hand. This automatically forces your Offhand, the Pyramid Hogger Action Figure, into your bags.

Who needs Keen Eyes when you have Heightened Senses like these?

You crouch, concentrate, and work your Gaming Abstraction for all it is worth.

There are two Giants on the Island, called Hulking Zalazane Zombies.

There are close to thirty or forty Named, Mobile Undead on the island, each named variations on 'Zalazane Zombie', you can't get accurate numbers, but you can Track Skulking, Burning, Mournful and Soulless Zalazane Zombies on the island.

No Elementals, Demons or Dragons.

Hidden Tracks a Middling Ravening Worm more-or-less patrolling in a slow ring around the Main Isle.

There's no way you can get near enough to Larry to help him to his feet the way he is, if you get too close he'll probably end up ripping your legs off.

You close your eyes and Concentrate on him, sending your consciousness into his and locking his mind away.

You cannot see a fucking thing in here. This is just like when you were in Scratchfever, in the Abyssal Darkness, his eyes are completely useless, barely able to detect even the barest hints of light.

Your sense of Smell, however, is insane. There are a hundred million distinct scents raging through your broad olfactory canals right now, each one bearing a separate and unique flavor.

This Encrusted Sparkly Foul-Smelling Substance is absolutely what saved you, by the way, you smell about as appetizing as a fresh, steaming turd.

What concerns you is that that scent isn't all that unappetizing to your Shark-Smell. Your stomach is constantly raging at you, clawing you away from the insides, demanding more, more, more, more hungry now, hungry now, hungry now now now now now.

You carefully pilot Larry's body, rolling it over in the surf until you can stand, and then drag your mind out of his.

Larry is extremely moved.

His life has been a savage thing, a long stretch of hunger punctuated with moments of monstrous violence.

This kindness you've showed him is the very first he has ever known.

(Larry has gained 3 levels of Loyalty!
Larry is the Viper in your Bosom.
Larry's Happiness is at 55%!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening.)

Oh, look at him! he's being all cozy and affectionate now! Aww, see? All he needed was a little - okay now he's just trying to eat your arm.

You cast Glyphed Mend Pet on him until he lets go.

(Larry's Happiness is at 95%!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening)

You elect to go in alphabetical order and you do so twice.

This thing leaves a weird sort of wake as you (carefully) wave it around in the air, actually seeming to depress the fabric of time and space, so that all in its wake ripples like water.

Including your hand. It feels really weird, too, like something's tugging at the center of your marrows, trying to pull your hand inside out. It's not painful or even especially uncomfortable, it's just really weird.

You give the bullet a quick shake in the air. Your fingers wobble like reflections in a pool of rainwater.

Holy fuck this thing is so damn cool.

You carefully stow this away in your gear.

You crouch by the edge of the Isle, staring across the dreary water towards the fog-shrouded Echo Isle.

Zalazane is in there. You can feel him.

All you have to do, now, is get to him.

As much as you are really beginning to regret Taming this horrible thing, he does have one thing Scratchfever, who's memory is looking better and better, does not: the ability to safely ferry you over this water.

You hate to admit it, but for the moment you're stuck with him.

(Larry is now at 85% Happiness!
Larry is an Endless Pit of Ravening)

He's not in Lick Range just yet, but your tongue is so ready.

You grasp your tongue firmly between your thumb and forefinger, brandish your Skinning Knife, and -

Something about the way Larry is staring expectantly at you gives you pause.

You very slowly lower the knife.

You know that he will. You know this, I know this, everybody knows this. You feel very uneasy as you pull down your Mail Pants and you really don't like the way he's looking at you right now as you-

No. You're not looking. That's not happening. It's not. It's just not.

(Larry is now a 95% Happiness!
Larry is an Endless Pit of Ravening)

Everything, just, just everything about that shark is fucking wrong. Just everything.

FEIGN DEATH AFK GO GO GO

A magazine, you say? Child's play.

You take your Skinning Knife and Mail Helmet Nearly Out of Red-Dyed Water, quickly dismantle and re-create them anew, into a sleek, crescent-shaped box that will assuredly permit Automatic Fire, when attached to your Rifle.

(Tednugent has received item: Unstable Automatic Jamming Machine)

Uh.

Maybe... maybe you'll attach it... later.

You nervously slide your Ripper into your hands, producing a pick from a Hidden Pouch you sewed into your bracer. You can't bring yourself to use the Saronite Godstorm Shell for this. You hands are shaking. Badly shaking. The Ripper judders in your hand as you carefully, tentatively, press your pick to the-

Larry places a large, webbed, paw on your arm. Slowly and with great strength, he forces your hand down, away from the String. Larry stares coldly, blindly, accusingly at you as he does this, his huge, gaping maw heaving slightly, eyes tiny and blank and dumb and he's right. He's right. You should know better. You do know better.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you return your Ripper to its Axe position.

Whew.

That was close

dum da dum da dum da dum DUM DUM DUM da dum da dum DUM DUM DUM

There, there, go, go, go.

Larry slides off of the shore as you kneel on his long, broad back and very swiftly emulates deadwood, drifting lazily along.

Uh. This was cool and all when you were being dramatic, but there's something of a time limit going on here. You try to urge him to go faster without actually putting your hands near where he can do anything terrible to them.

(Larry's Happiness is now 45%!
Larry is an Endless Pit of Ravening.)

Oh good, he's losing Happiness much faster than usual while ferrying you.

You pour Glyphed Mend Pets right into the top of his head but it's just keeping you almost even with his sudden Happiness drain and your mana pool is -

(Your Mana Pool is now 25%!)

Fantastic.

You've only got enough juice for about another thirty seconds of Happiness for this fucking shark and that Middling Ravening Worm has nearly completed its cycle.

The speed Larry's going, it will be pretty much right on top of you in moments.

You do this exact thing in your mind, and in your mind it is the most awesome thing that has ever been. Your Automatic Shark Launcher would make you the Toast of Azeroth, the Scourge of the Alliance and Hero of the whole damn world.

Deathwing would rise up from his slumber, try to be all oohhh no, look out for me, imma break the world and then you'd shoot him in the face with a fucking shark.

There is no problem in this world that cannot be solved by launching sharks at it.

In reality, you know you'd only end up with a Self-Destructing Entropy Machine that would swallow up you and half of Azeroth if you ever tried to build an Automatic Shark Launcher, but hey, a kid can dream, can't he?

It does, however, give you a very good idea, but all those Glyphed Mend Pets have left you almost dry.

There's no time to wait around until you Decide to drink your last Mana Potion, so you take matters into your own hands and pop it on your own.

(Your Mana Pool is now at 100%)

Here it comes.

You toss your Mark on the Middling Ravening Worm as it enters into range and it immediately becomes visible, undulating its way through the Fog. It's gigantic, better than twenty feet long. Its jaws are larger than your chest.

You're very very close to what you estimate to be its Aggro Range.

(Larry is at 5% Happiness!
Larry is a Pit of Endless Ravening.)

That's it, you creepy bastard, you just get nice and hungry.

You swap Aspect to Dragonhawk and the Middling Ravening Worm immediately aggros onto you, whipping through the air and spiralling down towards you, a force of nature with gigantic, saw-like teeth.

Almost there.

Larry burbles and shifts under your feet, beginning to forget why he's letting you ride on his back in the first place, when he clearly should be chewing on you right now.

He bucks underneath you and you hang on to his dorsal fin.

Almost.

You run your palm over your Ripper's edge, cutting it open. Larry jerks in the water, suddenly, violently, nearly hurling you off his back.

The worm's teeth are close enough that you can see individual blood stains on them as it roars, shrieking, right at you-

Now

You wave your bloodied hand over Larry's nose and lift it straight up and he lunges up out of the water, directly into the path of the Middling Ravening Worm. You kick off Larry's head at the very moment he collides with it, full force, both beasts nearly crumpling into each other midair.

Your foot comes down hard on the Middling Ravening Worm's head and you lurch forward, run down the length of its whipping, undulating tail, turn hard on your heel and Disengage.

You sail backwards through the air, wind roaring past your ears, watching as Larry and the Middling Ravening Worm writhe and thrash against each other, crashing down into the surf.

And then everything goes black.

............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. ............. .............

I know why ya here, mon. Ya here 'cause she sent ya. For justice. For revenge. Ta punish me for all me sins. The spirits, they blame me. They point to me and say "Zalazane, Zalazane look what ya done. Zalazane look what ya done. Help me, mon. I can't take this guilt no more.

You awaken with a start and sit up. You made it to Shore, safe on the sand.

Larry appears to have despawned. You don't know when, how or where and you don't really care just now. You'd half-expected to to find him chewing on your torso when you woke up.

Ah well. If he's alive, you're pretty sure you can Call him back. And if he's dead, well. Revive hasn't failed yet. Meanwhile, you just... you just want a moment of quiet, right now, your head really hurts.

You slowly pull yourself up to your feet. The Ocean is calm again, large, dark shapes floating through it like driftwood. There is no sign of the struggle that just occurred, so you really have no way of knowing how much time has gone by.

You shoulder your rifle and slide a bit behind a Vine-Hung Tree.

You are on the Main Echo Isle. The Fog Shroud is incredibly thick here - you can barely see more than a dozen yards in front of your face. You know this Isle to be large, mostly flat and covered with a Small Primordial Jungle.

At the center of it should be Zalazane, at his altar.

Dark shapes lurch through the Small Primordial Jungle around you, making soft, shuffling sounds of cloth against sand, the noises echoing and difficult to track in the soupiness of this Fog.

You have Track Undead currently running. There are really just zombies everywhere around you.

There doesn't seem to be much of a Path in this Small Primordial Jungle, but you're certain that as small as this Isle is, it'd be impossible to get Hopelessly Lost in there.

You check your rifle.

Right then.

Zalazane.

First damn thing you do.

That Worm just went right for you the second Aspect of the Beast came off.

(Aspect of the Beast is Active!
Tednugent is Untrackable)

Sometimes, you pull the trigger and it takes four seconds, four seconds for the bullet to clear the barrel.

And you just have to fucking stand there, holding your Rifle like a goddamned idiot, waiting for the bullet to come out.

Fucking unreal.

The Starving Amphibious Sharks remain underwater, carefully emulating deadwood. They just drift around out there. So long as you don't put a foot in the water, you should be okay.

Apart from that, there are no Beasts on the Isle, just Zombies. And the Zombies don't even appear to be especially threatening. You have no idea how long you've been unconscious, but your Health has stayed where it was. Some of these blips are definitely within aggro range, but nothings attacked you.

It could be the Encrusted Sparkly Foul-Smelling Substance, but it seems like it'd be pushing it to expect this gunk to protect you against everything.

Somethings going on here.

You listen carefully over the General channel.

1] [General – B#!*^@s] [H&!@re]: H $& MA 9an 0*_! RYA &6761 ind Ma (*)_)};” !@*#(%*)_ fe *&* if))!$& ????? ($*!98^&

1] [General – ^*@*re*s] [{]!@#ay]: I' (*&$!( fo7*)(&$^R%K'S W@!#_%!%$}{, nk {/#$ IFE I CA 9-%$!)(!& ol @%^#

It's the same kind of broken text you've been finding in the Help Files.

You quickly leave the channel, it is beginning to hurt your ears.

A mental block. You shake your head in disbelief. It's like you've suddenly forgotten you're a Hunter.

This Mana Bar is pretty much just for show, you know. You don't exactly stack INT.

A mental block. Okay then.

You fill your mind with the most vile, repulsive images you can muster, to dissuade Zalazane from poking around in there anymore, swiftly envisioning naked octogenarian Tauren coprophiliacs with a fetish for Forsaken boy-love.

You spend the next fifteen minutes vomiting.

From now on, you will Periodically Check Track Hidden without being Commanded to do so.

The only thing worse than a flying monster deathworm is an invisible flying monster deathworm.

(Nothing on Hidden within Tracking Range.)

Big.

Lessers were about six or seven feet long. You'd initially assumed a Greater would be in the twenty, twenty-five foot range, but that's how big the Middling was.

You rub your chin, carefully considering.

Over a hundred feet long, you estimate, with teeth about as big as Larry.

It suddenly strikes you that out here, you are very, very low on the food chain.

You sink down to the ground, winding your arms around your legs, staring out into the Shrouding Fog.

You are very glad you already emptied your bowels.

You notice that you don't have a pet. You are all alone. You decide to rectify this immediately.

Yeah, well. Stranglehold thinks he's great at parties.

The truth is he's terrible, an obnoxious embarrassment. He drinks way too much, makes godawful passes at all the women, picks fights with everybody who so much as looks at him and always ends up coiled in the punchbowl, spitting Corrosive Poison at anyone who comes close.

And you cannot stand the way he wears his hood all popped-up like that.

It makes him looks like such a douche.

Eyes closed, arcane energies concentrated, yadda yadda yadda.

You open up your Gaming Abstraction and swap Larry the Starving Amphibious Shark for Scratchfever.

Larry populates the vacant Stable slot just like he was a normal pet. He wasn't killed. It doesn't even look like he was hurt that badly, either, his Health is at 65%.

Now that he's stabled, you have a chance to actually get a look at his stats and holy shit, his STR and STA are nuts.player. You've never seen numbers this high on any pet. On any

Another thing you carefully note:

(Larry's Happiness is 100%!
Larry Slumbers Peacefully)

It appears that while he's in the limbo of your Stable, his hunger subsides.

Guh. Both.

You don't think Scratchfever will go for this, as Scratchfever is rather choosy about his mates and Larry is a hideous monster.

Hmm. Maybe with some judicious use of a Tranq Shot and Misdirect, you could...

No. No. You thrust this from your mind.

You scratch your chin, considering this. Larry's got about four times as much Health as you, and enough STR to Bite clean through half a foot of tempered Saronite.

You should probably make a few “cat toys” for him. Just in case.

He's got the INT of a bag of wet fur, but you'll give it a shot the next time you Call him.

You press your fingers to your lips, let out a soft whistle and a dark shape erupts from the shadows and slams into your midsection, folding you neatly in half and depositing you flat on the ground.

Scratchfever hunkers down on your on your chest, nuzzling the holy hell out of you, purring like a Chopper and forcing his head under your hands so you'll pet him more, just so damn happy to see you again.

He was so worried about you. He missed you THIS MUCH. Are you okay? Did he miss anything cool? You smell like fish! Is there any fish? He'd like a fish. Hi!

You put your arms around him and give him a hug until he calms down and gets off you.

He's totally ready to go.

He doesn't even begin to care what's going on here and he's already prepared to take the first hit for you.

God, you missed this cat.

(Scratchfever has Spawned!
Scratchfever's Happiness is 100%
Scratchfever is the Chico to your Groucho)

((This is revenge for the Innkeeper's Tongue, isn't it.))

You don't even wait for Zalazane.

You throw together a song on the spot, co-opting the tune of an old Orcish War Chant.

Dis my kitty, he so fuzzy
Dis my kitty, he my friend
Hello kitty, you want meat?
Come on kitty, let's go eat

My kit-ty, my kit-ty, he is not a bat
That okay, I don't mind, he is very good cat

Dis my kitty, he kill worms
Dat am what him do
Dis my kitty, he got germs
I not good at rhyme

OH

Dis my kitty, he so fuzzy
Dis my kitty, he my friend
Hello kitty, you want meat?
Come on kitty, let's go eat

(The Narrator's skill in Crafting Clever Tunes is now 3/450)

Scratchfever knew you weren't really going to replace him with any stupid old Shark.

He wasn't really jealous, either. Not even a little.

All is forgiven.

(Scratchfever has gained 3 levels of Loyalty!
Scratchfever is your Right Hand Man)

Your rifle at the ready, your Cat Prowling right next to you, you creep blindly through the Fog Shroud.

The deeper you get into this stuff, the thicker it gets. There are shapes moving all around you but they make absolutely no movements towards you. These blips are everywhere, too, there's never less than a dozen within twenty yards of you, you must be in someone's aggro range.

You want a better look at one of these Zombies.

You pick one, listed as a Mournful Zalazane Zombie, and creep up on it, keeping low, ready to either Feign Death or unload every bullet you have.

It's a Troll, or it used to be. And it appears to have had some kind of horrific accident with a sewing machine, its hands and lips are sewn shut. It moves jerkily, very much like a marionette, but all its doing is just sort of pacing around aimlessly.

Its eyes, or rather, the gaping holes where its eyes were, are huge, far larger than a normal Troll's eyes, and appear to be filled with... with Abyssal Darkness? You get a little bit closer.

Yes. Abyssal Darkness. Light just stops at those huge pits.

You find more Zombies to carefully, carefully observe. No matter their names, Mournful, Skulking, Burning, whatever, they all look pretty much the same, Trolls with gigantic eyepits with their mouths and hands all sewn up, all just sort, sort of shuffling around.

You poke one in the forehead. It falls over.

Okay no. No, fuck this. You're not falling for this. Any second now, they're all going to sprout rusting metal wings and their mouths will rip open and they'll start spitting bears with machineguns at you.

You keep your Rifle carefully trained on any Zombie remotely near you, making your way towards the center of the Isle.

The fog is just getting thicker and thicker and thicker. You're almost to where Zalazane's altar should be and you can only barely make out Scratchfever Prowling along beside you.

And then leaves suddenly smack into your face and you stumble, nearly trip over Scratchfever and suddenly you're not sure which direction you're facing. You put a hand out in front of you and fumble around, blindly -

........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ...........

wait go back why did that happen, you didn't cross into a new area, did you? You're still on the-

And then suddenly, you're falling.

........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ........... ...........

I never wan'ed this. I jus', I jus' wan'ed ta see her smile again. Jus' for me. All I wan'ed was dat smile, dat smile she keep for him. I made a mistake, I made such a terrible mistake.

Your eyes open and you gasp. It's pitch-dark and you're flat on your back. There's something heavy on your chest. You reach down carefully and touch familiar fur. Scratchfever. You push him off. You're in a small, claustrophobic space. You can feel wet soil all around you, something extremely uncomfortable under you.

You spark up a Flare.

You are in a Trollish Burial Pit, a six-by-four hole dug about nine feet into the earth. Underneath you is the Mummified Remains of a Troll wrapped up in decaying linen. You can see a Cavern Ceiling overhead.

Wait. Wet soil in a cave?

You get to your feet. Looks like you still have all your gear, which is a blessing and a half.

You stroke the butt of your Rifle, thankful that the Narrator isn't that much of a dick.

You motion to Scratchfever, who gets up on his hind legs and anchors his claws into the Earthen Wall. You use him as a stepladder, climbing up onto his shoulders and pulling yourself out of the Burial Pit. Scratchfever claws his way up behind you.

You begin to give a cursory glance around and your jaw drops and your eyes go wide. You duck back against a Cave Wall, Scratchfever right behind you.

You're standing in a natural pocket-cavern overlooking a gigantic main chamber that appears to contain a Primordial Subterranean Forest the size of a small zone, a rumpled carpet of green cut through with broad, raging rivers. It's like someone scooped up part of Stranglethorn Vale and just dumped it down here. You can hear things down there in that rainforest, moving around swiftly, shaking leaves and letting out high-pitched shrieks that echo infinitely.

At the center of this place, boxed in by a convergence of rivers, rising up through the green, is a massive stone Troll Temple. It's in a horrible state of disrepair, crumbling walls and broken supports resting peacefully over each other, shrouded in opportunistic vines. You can make out statues to ancient, long-dead Gods on its great, terraced walls, mouldering away, gently falling apart.

At the very top of the Temple, something is glowing fiercely enough that the whole cavern is lit up bright as day.

There's a large Troll Village at the base of the Temple. You can clearly see familiar Trollish Architecture, but you can't actually see down into it.

You look around the Pocket Cavern you've found yourself in. You can't see where you fell from. The Cavern goes about twelve feet into the wall and then just stops. The ceiling overhead is completely solid. You can't see where you fell from.

You creep to the edge of the Pocket Cavern and look down.

About twenty feet below is a Gravedigger's Shack surrounded by a High Wooden Fence. A rope ladder leads down from the ledge you're on right down to it - a tiny little ramshackle hut surrounded by piles of linen-wrapped Mummified Trolls and digging implements.

(Nothing on Hidden within Tracking range)

There is a Trollish Burial Pit Here.

There is a Rope Ladder Leading Down here.

There is a My Second Voodoo Kit here.

Wait.

What?

It's right by your foot. How did you not see this?

Quest Log - 3/25

*1) The Warchief must be informed of this at once!

*2) Mister Monster Likes to Dance

*3) (NEW) Mary's Quest – Step One

Hoo, boy! Looks like the world got yanked out from under your feet, didn't it?

Welcome to the Jungle!

Wherever could you be?

Wherever could Zalazane be?

How the hell are you going to get out of here?

And what's he doing, poking around in your head?

Chin up, sport, he's not in your head!

You're in his.

I'd be careful if I was you, that guy had some Strange Thoughts!

Good luck, killer!

Don't let her down!

--Objective--

Locate Zalazane.

Mary's Heart 0/1

…........... …........... …........... …........... …........... …........... …...........

FEIGN DEATH CLUB SAMMICH GO GO GO

You're really not sure why they haven't been accepted into the Horde with open arms yet.

They meet all the criteria: they're basically monsters, they've got godawful posture and they smell terrible.

It must be because of the Blood Elves.

Horde got themselves some Pretty and now all of a sudden they all think they're too good for Murlocs or something.

You give Scratchfever a quick once-over. Looks like he's pretty much completely unhurt and just thrilled as all-git-out to be back in the action again.

You give him a big hug and tell him you will never complain about Sad Kitty Hungry Now Face, ever again. He nuzzles you. Awwwwwww!

You start to tell him how much better he is than Stranglehold and he gives you a Look.

Of course he's better than any douchebag Snake.

For one thing, he's far more attractive and actually is a big hit at parties. His sleek, impeccably-groomed pelt and quick, self-deprecating sense of humor always go over like gangbusters.

For another, he can Score without dosing his date's drink with Tranq Shot.

This is bizarre.

Track Beasts is showing Starving Amphibious Sharks floating around like deadwood, exactly where they were around the Main Echo Isle. These blips are not corresponding to the water you can see.

Track Giants shows two Hulking Zalazane Zombies, close enough that one of them should be within arm's reach.

You swap Tracking to Undead and stare at your Gaming Abstraction. Zalazane Zombies. The exact same Zalazane Zombies, in pretty much exactly the same place they were the last time you Tracked them.

You pace around in the Pocket Cavern. Your position does not change relative to the blips. Your Tracking appears to have been.... frozen? No. Your dot might not be moving, but their blips are, shuffling around as normal.

You touch a Cave Wall. Rock-solid. Cold. Seems real.

You throw an Eagle Eyes and your vision immediately fills with Fog Shroud. You cancel the channel, rubbing your chin.

It's like you're still standing in the middle of the Main Isle. Like you haven't gone anywhere.

Like this entire Zone-sized cavern is nothing but a Figment of your Imagination.

No.

No, you have it wrong.

Zalazane's imagination.

That's what Mary's Quest said. You're in his head. This is Zalazane's Dream.

Best be careful, then. Tracking seems to be useless in here and if the environment isn't actually real, there's no telling what could possibly happen on a moment-by-moment basis.

So... basically, status quo maintained, then...

Not even a scratch.

You take it out and wave it around to make your hand go all wobbly again.

You wish you knew how to duplicate that Wrathful Juju stuff on your own, you could make millions if you marketed the Saronite Godstorm Shell as an Executive Desk Toy.

Well shit, son, no need to ponder, let's open it up and see!

You peer around before sitting back against the Pocket Cavern Wall, setting the My Second Voodoo Kit on your lap.

'Be careful with this shit, the label cheerfully reminds you. 'This shit will kill you.''

You carefully open the box, gently removing another pamphlet and a small, black bottle. It rumbles in your hand as you move it.

You open the pamphlet.

'It's not Troll Sweat!

We're sorry for skipping the usual 'hello', but we figured we should probably start with that, before you do something stupid, like uncork it before you need it!

'Sup, Ace!

How's life been?

That was some smooth work back there on the beach! We were pretty sure you were basically fucked, but you pulled through like the champ you are!

Way to go!

Don't pat yourself too hard on the back though, you've got a ways to go and Guess Who's been sniffing around your trail!

Scrape, scrape, scrape baby, you know what that sound means!

But relax! We have full confidence you'll come through smelling like a rose.

Well, a rose that's spent some time in a compost heap, but still!

Enclosed is a complementary Bottle of Dire Mojo.

Be especially careful with it and be especially choosy with what you do with it, it'll only work once!

We've got money riding on you, sport!

Excelsior!

You stare at the dark bottle in your hand. Well okay, then.

(Tednugent has received item: Bottle of Dire Mojo!)

CLANK CLANK CLANK woooooo Lookit YOU with your big fancy Plate armor and your unmitigatable Holy Burst damage! Ain't you just the Belle of the Ball!

Blades of light! Brains of sand! You flex and flex and flex with your Arcanite Ripper – you like that, don't you?

Oh yeah you do. How 'bout some of this? Want some more? Here's a free sample, baby.

Paladin, looking for Arena Team! Anybody want a Paladin?

Oh you all want a Paladin, don't you. Oh yes. Every single one of you would just fucking kill your own mothers to get one of those shiny bastards on your team, you'll thrash yourselves into a fucking feeding frenzy over a Paladin, won't you.

Fifty veteran Hunters standing over in the corner with High Warlord and Conqueror and Of the Horde to their names, guys who've been through thirty levels of Hell and came back with all their limbs attached, oh no, fuck them, they can look, they can't touch, you're too busy courting some fucking Blood Elf schmuck in solid-gold Plate who got his first killing blow a week and a half ago, at your Arena Team but...

You sit down, fuming.

Justice. What the fuck is Justice?

There's no such thing. There's no such fucking thing.

Oh shit, your hands are transparent. You're fading away!

Scratchfever is very concerned.

(Your Self Esteem is now 45%!)

Your what? Oh hell, you need to do something fast -

You only wish there was anyone around to see you run down the Middling Worm's Tail. Nothing and no-one in this world has ever been so enormously ballsy and so unbelievably cool.

You might have something of a weak bladder, but you regularly pull off breathtaking shit so fine, you'd be covered in Exciting Undergarments hurled by screaming, worshipping Groupies right now, if only you were really on Azeroth.

They have money on you. The Da Voodoo people. You can't imagine guys – or whatever – like that putting down a bet if they weren't assured of the results.

You are too fucking badass for your own good. Nothing reaches you and nothing touches you. You're going to get out of this mess, go back to Orgrimmar, walk up to that pretty Bowyer in the Valley of Honor and kiss her, once and for all. You won't even say anything. You'll just walk up to her, sweep her into your arms and kiss her.

And she'll love it, too, because she's been waiting for you to stop stammering and shuffling and acting like a total retard whenever you're around her and just stuff your tongue in her mouth.

And then she will voluntarily join your gigantic Harem of Harpies and they'll all spend the rest of their days happily wrestling naked in a big pit of honeywine for the honor of rubbing your feet.

(Your Self-Esteem is now 85%!)

Your hands regain substance. You feel solid again.

Looks like you'll need to keep your spirits constantly high, or you run the risk of being subsumed into Zalazane's Dream.

You rub your nose, stretch out your arms and legs, give Scratchfever a loving pat, and get to work.

You climb down the Rope Ladder – this is weird, you're positive that ledge was a lot higher up than this. You reach the ground swiftly and Scratchfever hops down the ledge, utilizing his high skill in Landing on his Feet to fwump down into a mound of soft soil next to you.

You are standing next to the Gravedigger's Shack. This is a small, wooden hut that appears to have been put together late at night while completely drunk. There's almost no planning involved here, it's just a bunch of wooden planks nailed together until it was vaguely Shack-like in shape and then haphazardly decorated with random bones and digging implements.

You peer closely at it. Enough planks were used that you can't see inside from out here. The Front Door appears to have been accidentally nailed shut, but all this wood is of fairly bad quality.

If you wanted to get in, you probably could pry the door open – or any of the walls for that matter – but there doesn't seem to be any way to get in until you do, there's nothing so much as a window here.

The Gravedigger's Yard is about the size of the first Isle you stopped on before moving in towards the Main and completely surrounded with a Wooden Fence that follows the same design as the Shack – it's just a bunch of planks thrown together.

To one side of the Shack is a huge pile of Mummified Trolls. They're stiff as boards and stacked up like timber, all wrapped up in Moldering Linen. Large heaps of soft, wet soil are mounded up to either side of the pile.

To the other side of the Shack are three Wheelbarrows, each one filled with an alarming variety of Digging Implements. There are shovels, spades, trench knives, pickaxes, mattocks, just piles and piles of them, no two exactly alike. Most of these Digging Implements aren't in very good shape, though, a lot of this wood is rotting and a lot of the metal is rusted.

The Wheelbarrows themselves are useless as Wheelbarrows - the wheels have basically rusted into solid masses of orange, thoroughly oxidized iron.

It doesn't seem like anyone's been anywhere near here in you don't even know how long.

You move to the edge of the fence and this place just does not stop being all fucked up.

Scale and Perspective appear to function oddly in Zalazane's Dream.

What initially appeared to be a vast, rolling Subterranean Primodrial Jungle now appears to be a Miniature Subterranean Primordial Jungle.

The trees are only a few inches tall each. The looming stone Troll Temple is only as tall as you are and apparently only actually about twenty yards away. You can reach up your hand to touch the Cavern Ceiling.

You can't find any way to open the fence for Scratchfever to get out to scout for you. You may need to pry it apart.

Well, you could traverse most of these trees by stepping over them honestly, but you do need some more Potassium in your diet.

Potassium ion is necessary for the function of all living cells, after all and Bananas are an excellent source of Potassium.

You reach over the fence and all the way down into the Miniature Subterranean Primordial Jungle – you need to pretty much hang over the fence, but Scratchfever holds on to your legs so you don't topple over – and harvest some Very Very Small Bananas.

You stare at the tiny spec of yellow in your palm. You're not sure how you managed to pick this without squashing it.

(Tednugent has received item: One (1) Bunch Microscopic Bananas)

You crack your knuckles and go into a Materials-Gathering-Frenzy, seizing Digging Implements and jamming them into your Unstable Automatic Jamming Machine with the exact same care and attention to detail as went into the Gravedigger's Shack.

(Tednugent has received item: Hazardous Shovel Array)

I love little girls they make me feel so good
I love little girls they make me feel so bad
When they're around they make me feel
Like I'm the only guy in town

I love little girls they make me feel so good
They don't care if I'm a one way mirror
They're not frightened by my cold exterior
They don't ask me questions
They don't want to scold me
They don't look for answers
They just want to hold me

Isn't this fun
Isn't this what life's all about
Isn't this a dream come true
Isn't this a nightmare too

They don't care about my inclinations
They're not frightened by my revelations

Uh oh take a second take
Uh oh it's a mistake
Uh oh I'm in trouble
Uh oh the little girl was just to little
Too little, too little, too little

Isn't this what life's all about
Isn't this a dream come true
Isn't this a nightmare too . . .

And I don't care what people say
And I don't care what people think
And I don't care how we look walking down the street

Scratchfever loves this song. He warbles along with you, breathtakingly off-key.

Doesn't seem like you've drawn out Zalazane, but the song's kept your spirits up.

What? They're cute.
(Your Self-Esteem is now 95%)