Deadly Pork

Dear Book:

Went inta Gruul’s Lair — he’s not much of a decorator — this weekend. He keeps a group of royalty in tha sitting room and we killed them all before moving down the hallway to Gruul’s room.

Now here is a fella, goes by tha nickname Dragonkiller, and yet his room is empty. Seriously, not even a throne, a bed or a window.

He just stands there in tha center of tha room, diggin in his ear occasionally and waitin fer people ta come in there and try and kill him so he can yell, “Dieeeeeeee.”

We obliged and when he fell down he happened ta drop a token that let me get some new pants. They are nice pants — although you would figure if he had the token he would go to Shatt and get him some pants. I mean, bad enough you don’t have furniture, but kinda embarrassing ta be standing around in a cave, starkers, waitin ta be killed.

Not much of a life fer a Dragonkiller.

THIS THIS This This this this

POST POST Post Post post post

NEVER NEVER Never Never never never 

HAPPENED HAPPENED Happened Happened happened happened

Signed, the Infinite Dragonflight

Dear Book:

I came up tha hill and there it stood like a half-remembered nightmare. Bits of it slidin in and outta tha fog, and tha stained glass flickering with tha lights of tha torches that provided tha meager lighting in that dark chapel.

I patted Frostbite on tha back — Clank and his buddy Gulamir were out runnin around Hellfire Peninsula goring orcs. A pig’s gotta have a hobby I guess.

I looked down at that druid in kitty form, reloaded the rifle and nodded. 

“Ok, we move quick. If yer mowling because ya ran inta mess of Scarlet Crusade who want ta turn ya into a rug that’s yer fault. Stay behind me and that won’t happen.”

We blew through tha library in about five minutes, reloading as I walked and tha cat streaking ahead to instill terror before my bearded visage of death even game inta view.

Arcanist Doan went down in a heap within a few shots — turned the druid inta a sheep. 

We moved over ta tha armory, and within 10 minutes everything was dead. Old Herod could only get so far as Blades of before he was gurgling on tha floor. His little buddies ran headlong into a snake trap. I stepped over the bodies and made my way to the cathedral.

Within 15 minutes I was payin respects over tha corpses of Migraine and his priestess friend with tha nice hat. 

“Ya get what ya need?” I asked tha druid kitty.

She just purred and hearthed out of there.

I took a minute ta look around. Dead bodies everywhere. And it didn’t matter.

I could already hear their wings. Within a few minutes everything would be reset to where it was before I walked in tha door. 

Frackin Infinite Dragonflight…

I need Infinite Bullets.

Filed From: Darkshire

Target: Mor’Ladim

Disposition: Eliminated

Agent: 1337

I infiltrated much of Darkshire, taking on their menial tasks to better position myself for my work. After mistakenly helping a crazy necromancer raise his deceased wife from the grave and unleashing an abomination on the tiny hamlet I called in the expertise of the special attache from the Shadow Hall.

Silfer met me on the road to Raven Hill cemetery and dispatched of the one they call “Stitches” and assisted me in cleaning up the mess by sending the re-animated wife back to her grave. Strangely, I was unable to dispose of the old man who had caused the trouble. I can only assume it’s a powerful type of magic. More research may be required. Nevertheless, the area was returned just as I found it, with no sign that I was there.

Silfer, who doesn’t talk much, and I made our way to the peak of the cemetery and the mark was spotted. We eliminated the target and I proceeded to evac the area and called for pickup via our extraction units at Sentinel Hill in Westfall.

I await my next mission.

T

Why would someone jump off a perfectly suitable Netherdrake soaring high over Halaa?

Have ya ever heard a Blood Elf male paladin shriek like a woman?

That’s a perfectly good reason. It sounds like music to my ears.

Pop tha parachute cloak mere feet from tha ground and unleash 500 pounds of pork, metal and bad attitude.

Poor fella barely had time ta raise his shield much less that damnable bubble of his.

Dear Book:

I saw her sittin there — her tiny hands wrapped around a mug of ale as big as her head — two big pink puffballs sprouting off her head like poofy Night Elf ears.

She drank quietly alone — puttin out a vibe that was crystal clear. It said, “Stay tha hell away from me.”

Clank and I moved quietly ta tha other side of tha room — eyein her without tryin ta make it obvious that’s what I was doin.

I settled down at tha table, signaled tha barmaiden and gave her a playful pinch as she set my drink down. I eyed tha little gnome over the glass as I inhaled tha sweet smell of Barleybrew’s Blue Ribbon.

A paladin — known more fer his mouth than his skill with a blade was making snide remarks about gnomes, clearly tryin ta rile tha wee one. His name was Avdicate, but when he wasn’t around people just called him Bubblehearth. Had a habit of vacatin’ tha premises of a battle tha minute things got a little hot.

Tha little gnome sat, drinking quietly, her face not showin a single emotion.

“Do you hear me you little pipsqueak!” Avdicate bellowed. “I said get over here and climb under this table. The leg is wobbly!”

He and his group guffawed loudly and clinked their glasses when the blade came whistlin through the air. I didn’t even see her move. She had the ale back in both hands by the time the steel made the thunking noise into the wood beside the paladin’s head.

The room got quiet — tha kind of quiet ya hear before someone gets a chair broken over their head or a beer bottle smashes inta a billion pieces. This was a bar fight waitin ta happen.

Breakin tha tension, tha stupid paladin laughed out loud and said, “You missed! Better go back to training!”

She put the glass down, walked toward the paladin who’s hand inched toward his blade. She leaped up, pulled tha blade from tha wood, spun the dagger back into her boot and walked out — without sayin a word.

As tha door swung shut the body of the undead slid to the ground with a thump as tha stealth it was using wore off — a dagger puncture in the center of his skull.

I think I might be in love…

Dear Book:

There we were all snuggled by tha warm fireplace — me and tha pally lass that I met the night before at tha party in Everlook. Lemme tell ya, tha goblins, them boys know how ta throw a party.

Then all tha sudden tha little contraption I made so Ura could keep in touch with me starts makin a clatter. I look down and tha little words come across, “GET TO THE HELL … HALE … YOU KNOW WHUT I MEANE!”

A hunter’s work is never done. I slipped on my boots — tha ugliest piece of clothing I own, but I can’t find any better. I pat Clank on the side and slung my rifle over my shoulder.

“Duuun,” the pally lass says, “Come back ta bed.”

“No can do lass,” I says. “Duty calls.”

Tha pig and I step out inta tha cold snowy air of Winterspring and I climb aboard the bucket of bolts that is my Mechanostrider. I had made some unauthorized modifications to it — replacin it’s feet with skis fer tha snowy terrain. Tha gnome said it would void my warranty, but I get tha feeling none of those little guys have ever paid off on a warranty — what with half your inventions having a mortality rate of better than 75 percent.

I go gliding down tha hill, when I notice movement in the tree lines around me. Suddenly, there are half a dozen Tauren on skis all around me. I whistle ta Clank and he heads off ta meet me at tha rendezvous point. Tha pally had obviously been a plant.

I wheel the strider around, slinging my rifle at tha same time and knock two of them off before pivoting back around to watch where I’m going. Lookin in the side-view mirror I can see that they are gainin on me. I wrench tha strider down a perilous slope and one of them loses his balance, overcorrects and plows inta one of his mates.

I hear a pinging noise and look back over my shoulder and tha damn Tauren is shootin at me! With a khorium balanced rifle. Now, those things are tough as nails but they can’t shoot fer beans, but he was gettin a little too close fer comfort.

Another turn and we were plummeting so fast that my eyeballs were sucked back inta my skul. A gnome we passed on the trail screamed, “OMFG! HAX!” but then he was so far back I couldn’t hear anything else. No idea what that was about.

And then there was air. I looked back and the Tauren had slid to a stop at the cliff’s edge. Down below, thousands and thousands of feet lay my death — or so he thought. I kicked away from the strider which ejected a pair of glider wings — another unauthorized modification — and slid off to the valley.

I turned, shot tha Tauren tha finger and popped my parachute cloak. He got ta see a picture of a dwarf butt billowing in the breeze as I floated down ta safety.

And Zylia wondered why I wanted that sewn on there..

Dear Book:

If a warlock hands you something green and says, “Drink this. It’s a new beer,” don’t do it.

Particularly if it’s bubbling and smoke is coming out of it.

Also, the fact that he has to hand the metal container to you with tongs — yeah, that’s what we call a bad sign.

I’m on top of that big white rock thingie in Nagrand without any pants or mount.

If you find this, please send help.

Preferably beer.

Preferably not green and bubbling.

But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Dear Book:

There I was, jus restin, doin a little fishin on tha Tanaris coast — takin the occasional potshot at the giant turtles when they got tangled up in my line.

I started ta doze off, my ale snuggled in tha sand beside me, when this guy comes streakin down tha shoreline bellowing at tha top of his lung.

“COME ON ZF! ZF! COME ON! COME ON ZF!”

He stopped, starin at me, his eyes all wild and crazy.

“ZF!” he screamed, spittle all splashin over me and Clank.

“What?” I asked, just wishin tha guy would go away — or one of tha giant turtles would eat him.

“COME ON!”

“Come on, where?” I ask, wonderin if I had already had too much ta drink.

“ZF! COME ON ZF! COME OOOOON!” he says, almost howlin.

I shot him. Shoved his body back inta tha current and went back ta fishin.

Nobody needs that hassle.