Taking wing

Taking wing

Three years later.

“Thank you, Marisi. Could you take the letter to your father? And don’t forget his reading glasses.”

“He says he doesn’t need them.”

“You and I both know he’s wrong. Thank you!”

Marisi, a teenaged Dark Iron dwarf, carries a letter as she exits Flinthammer Hall.

Marisi Blackfire-Flinthammer grabbed the half-moon spectacles from the stone shelf where her adoptive father had been steadfastly ignoring them, folded the letter back up, and climbed up out of Flinthammer Hall.

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You are now leaving Shadowlands

You are now leaving Shadowlands

Farewell to the necrolords of Maldraxxus, the military arm of the Shadowlands. This was, by far, my favorite expansion to date. I truly loved the player agency in the choice of covenant, completely bypassing the traditional path generally expected of priests and paladins. No more tiresome speeches about duty and devotion, no weird temples in outer space, and absolutely no angel wings foisted as acceptable rewards. I thrived as a butcher and a plague doctor, traversing the realms with delightful abominations and a jelly cat in tow.

Guillotine, Sabrina, and Naxx, you’ll be missed.

Baroness Draka, it was an absolute honor.

See you in the next adventure.

My PVP gear that I affectionally nicknamed “Thunderdome” and the Meat Wagon mount.

These were my primary transmogs for the Shadowland expansion:

“The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.”
“Two men enter. One man leaves.”

Credit: Transmog images created with the Narcissus addon. (Even better, see more examples of the addon at Reddit’s transmogrification subreddit!)

An end and a beginning

An end and a beginning

“Look, you weirdo, just tell us where our friend is.”

“FOOLISH MORTAL! YOU ARE NOW TRAPPED WITHIN TORGHAST, TOWER OF THE DAMNED! YOUR SUFFERING WILL LAST MILLIONS OF YEARS!”

“Aye, that’s very impressive. Do ye have an index of where ye keep each individual sufferer?”

“WE ASK THE QUESTIONS IN TORGHAST, AS WE TORTURE YOU ENDLESSLY! YOU WILL BEG FOR THE FINAL DEATH, WHICH YOU WILL NEVER BE GRANTED!”

“Her name is Kildris Blackfire. She died on Azeroth, after the end of the Fourth War, and your boss stuck her soul in here. We just want to get a sense of how many floors we have to …”

“YOU CANNOT GET ME TO TELL YOU ANYTHING, MORTALS! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF THE HORRORS THAT …”

“OK, fine. He’s all yours.”

“… WHAT?”

“Hey, chuckles. Do ye know what sound a psychopomp makes?”

KA-BOOM

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Bear in mind

Bear in mind

Frostmaw dozes on the shore.

The only bear in the world was asleep, sprawled out on the bluish-purple grass, leaking out gas that smelled like fish from either end.

The shimmering blue creature in the stream nearby looked like a bear, but wasn’t. Not really.

Still, he was enjoying getting into the mindset of the bear. Standing still in the stream, waiting for the fish to forget that the four limbs in the water were a living being, he listened to the sounds, breathed in its scents, and was at peace.

The Drust were gone, for now, at least, and bird song was returning to areas of the forest where it had vanished. The smell of scorched plants had abated. Things were quiet once more.

“Khaz’goroth on a cracker! Back off, ye bloody stupid birds, or I’ll … ow! What is wrong with ye?”

The dwarf woman came crashing along through the stream, accompanied by the outraged squawks of a heron, sending the fish scurrying for cover.

She stood up, dripping, trying to recover some sense of dignity. Her face broke into a delighted grin when she saw the bear.

“Frostmaw! Ah’ve been looking all over for ye!”

The bear opened one eye, farted again, and sat up, making a delighted noise, nosing the woman.

“Would ye keep it down? Ye’re scaring the fishes.”

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We don’t need no library card

We don’t need no library card

Runespeaker Jorg and Runespeaker Malcorn in the House of the Chosen's library.

“Jorg! Jorg! We have to get out of here!”

“What are you talking about?” drawled Jorg. “Your conduct is unbecoming of a runespeaker, Malcorn.”

“Our heads are about to becoming off our heads!”

“Really?” Jorg now closed the tome he had been considering. “Wordplay? Come now.”

“We need to grab our books and run!” Malcorn said, panting in the pestilent air. “She’s coming!”

“Who? We are ensconced within the House of the Chosen. No one would be foolish enough to attack our library.”

“A Mall Walker would! One’s coming right now — it’s the Butcher!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“A Mall Walker! She can come and go from the Mall at will!”

“The what?”

“The Mall! With the Jailer!”

“Oh, you mean the Maw. Why can no one pronounce that –“

And then Beli Flinthammer’s mace separated Runespeaker Jorg‘s head from his shoulders. Runespeaker Malcorn was dispatched a few moments later.

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