It wasn’t that Widge Gearloose minded the daily missions on behalf of the Kirin Tor Offensive on the Isle of Thunder: He was a loyal — more than loyal, really — member of the Kirin Tor.

Some complained about the repetitive nature of the daily grind. Not Widge: The repetitious was soothing, in a way; a constant reminder that the Kirin Tor, and its leader, Lady Jaina Proudmoore, needed him.

The mogu, saurok and Zandalari were horrible, of course, but so had been the Forsaken and Malygos’ forces and the Scourge, all of which Widge had aided the Kirin Tor against in the past.

No, it was the others helping the Kirin Tor Offensive at Violet Rise that were the most exasperating to him.

“Cor!” a Gilnean behind Widge hissed under his breath, elbowing the Kaldorei beside him. “Get a load of Jaina there. That’s one bird I’d like to sink my teeth into, if you know what I mean.”

Widge seethed quietly and strained to listen to Captain Elleane Wavecrest, who was giving the day’s briefing to the assembled members of the Offensive and their Alliance allies.

“The Shan’ze are animating an army from the statues in the center of the isle, an army that batters our defenses day and night,” Wavecrest was saying.

“I’m not sure how I feel about her silvery mane,” the night elf murmured, too quiet for Wavecrest, or Proudmoore beyond her, to hear, but loud enough to make it difficult for Widge to hear Wavecrest. “It makes her look older.”

The Gilean snorted.

“I wouldn’t mind bunking up with that skirt,” he drawled. “She’s a right MILF.”

“A what?”

“A ‘skirt?’ ‘s like a girl, you know.”

“No, the other one.”

“A ‘MILF?’ It means a ‘Mage I’d Like Ta …'”

“WOULD YOU TWO IDIOTS SHUT UP?” Widge erupted, panting with rage, sparks of arcane power arcing off his hair and whiskers.

“All right, all right,” the Gilean said soothingly, “keep yer wig on, propeller head.”

“Hmph.”

Widge turned back toward Wavecrest, shrugging sheepishly.

“Destroy any of the walking statues you see,” she said. “Our defenders will greatly appreciate it.”