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Number of posts : 761
Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: Violation   Mon 6 Aug - 17:18:46


Off to Theramoore then aboard Horde Force One, and in some style. The Thrall’s personal zeppelin is an enormous vehicle with all mod cons including an on board tavern and in flight entertainment in the shape of an arena where gladiatorial style contests can be fought.

Our party’s brutal thugs, sorry, highly trained athletes were naturally interested in the prospect of making some prize money through trouncing a few puny local pugilists* and the rest of us would have the opportunity to place a few wagers.

*Almost as interested as they were in the bar.

The journey would take some hours and I spent some time with Kasbar examining my trusty weapon which he insisted needed oiling and regular attention avoid accidents: Apparently it’s capable of premature ejection or emission if handled carelessly, I’m unsure of the technical difference at this point but I’m confident that I’ll get the hang of it with time. I had also cast arcane marks on my most prized possessions including the wand and ring of fire.*

*The command word for which included absolutely no connection to Johnny or cash.

We then got involved with some betting action with initial setbacks as a local orc favourite was trounced by a Tauren. Lutzbar decided to try her luck in the ring, possibly at the urging of her loyal triad of orc henchmen, Kur, Zog and Dag. She was duly knocked out as the Tauren demonstrated some quality moves.

Undeterred by our comrade’s pounding, Plainsweaver decided to try his luck and had more success defeating the reigning champion and making good money in the process. I must admit I made some 20 crowns myself, but my winnings were modest after what happened next.

For reasons that continue to elude me, Kasbar disguised himself as a goblin in order to participate in a goblin battle royale,* presumably his motives involved pecuniary gain and the opportunity to inflict violence on goblin kind but I’m not good at mind reading where the little people are concerned.

*Samuel J Jackson and John Travolta declined to comment when asked if cheese would be involved.

The goblin fracas was comprehensive and often fatal, but our gnome emerged amongst the victors and Plainsweaver’s winnings could not easily be counted. The result was a little unfortunate for the goblin bookie involved too, who not only lost his two combat robots to Kasbar’s mechanical sabotage, but very nearly everything else when he tried to welch on paying out to a large number of heavily armed orc winners.

We adjourned to the onboard hostelry to enjoy some of our winnings and a little light refreshment. There, a rather racist little goblin challenged me and Kasbar to a drinking competition and, well I don’t remember much for a bit after that…*

* A Theme to which, regrettably, we will return

By the time Kasbar and I had recovered, the captain had illuminated the ‘No Smoking’ signs and the huge phallic flying machine thrust deep and decisively into the sensitive wide open receptors of the docking station at our destination in a deeply touching moment available on a number of shady street corners.

We were greeted by Jania Proudmoore herself who, clearly identifying my status at once, insisted that I accompany her to the wizards’ tower, leaving my comrades to more mundane pursuits. We visited an arcane shooting gallery for some target practise and was narrowly outclassed by her marginally more proficient magical skills.

In order to polish my already evident talents the formidable mage insisted that I imbibe some special liquid, but what am I thinking? I have forgotten two important details from my narrative that are critical to the tale. My apologies: The first is that Tallia, our forsaken friend had been assigned detached duties by Thrall Doomhammer, in fact we weren’t even sure if she had travelled with us though we assumed that she was with Doomhammer.

The second is that I had acquired a familiar: Puderillo, a crow, which now meant that I had at least one companion capable of using words of three or more syllables. Anyway, I digress. Following a brutal drugged ordeal of unspeakable unnatural acts I awoke somewhat later with a number of reset life priorities:

1. To find some warm, or indeed any clothes
2. To locate my missing possessions.
3. To have a serious discussion with Ms Proudmoore, probably with the aid of a red hot poker or similar.
4. To acquire a really comfortable cushion
5. To find my companions
6. To always remember that nothing is as it seems on the surface and everyone is out to get you
7. To cancel that colonic irrigation appointment.
8. To always carry a bottle of baby oil about my person at all times
9. Never to attend any musicals
10. Not to sit down for the next few days or so.

Meanwhile my more fortunate associates had gone into town and heard from inventors Alset and Orib a proposal for possible employment: These two worked for brothers Nosyde and Noside, apparently as virtual slaves. They required us to recover certain items that would be components in a number of fascinating inventions ranging from a gnomish army knife to goblin life savers; Tauren battle harnesses to …well, you get the idea.

Personally these sound about as useful to me a buying a loaf of bread that has been pre sliced, but what do I know? Apparently the material required was taken by deserters into nearby marshes.

I had managed to recover my possessions including an additional spellbook that looked like a cross between Fifty Shades of Grey the Joy of Sex and Old Moore’s Almanac of Kick Ass Spellcasting. Escaping from my ordeal and avoiding a startled Daedelus I stopped off at an outfitters for a much needed new wardrobe before being zeroed in on the others by Puderillo from the air.

I supported the principle of helping out the inventors, purely on the grounds that it would be one in the eye for the Nosides, allies of Proudmoore. My comrades were curious about my ordeal and I found myself only capable of giving them the barest details. I was at once engulfed in wholly supportive and understanding laughter. For the remainder of my life.

We left town and guided by my faithful crow were able to enter the marshes following the last known trail of the missing cart. We located and avoided a number of basilisks and then in a clearing discovered a cart. Also present about eight humans and an elf, led by a two headed ogre.

We ventured forward to investigate and parley. The ogre claimed to have discovered the cart abandoned and claimed it as salvage accordingly. We started negotiations to acquire it and learned that it may be that we could supply our services for them against a foe called the brood of Inixia which was giving their tribe, the Rockheads, a few problems.

Before we could reach any accord, the ogre managed to get into an argument with himself. Now, these two headed ogres are well known for their random magic generation, and as the argument with itself progressed and became more heated, random fireballs began flying and shortly there was a veritable maelstrom of magical side effects crackling randomly about the place, enabling us to slip away with the cart.

Returning to inventor central we handed over the various items that we had found. They claimed they would be able to utilise the items in minutes if we’d like to take a seat, and then we could benefit from the fruits of their genius. I elected to remain standing. They locked themselves away and sure enough in less than half an hour, there was a development.

The wall to the workshop was demolished revealing: A dragon no less, our two inventor friends perched atop it. We only got a glimpse because of the rapidly expanding cloud of exploding smoke and flame directed at us as the beast lifted off. We picked ourselves up, somewhat blackened and eyebrowless, Fuq’Wit at least getting an arrow shot away but with no effect.

The dragon meanwhile was having a great time demolishing historic local landmarks including Nosides HQ. Doomhammer emerged to do battle with the beast outside the city walls out of our view and we quietly mingled with onlookers and panicked crowds. Not entirely the outcome we had been looking for.

A little bit of research later indicated that Doomhammer had dealt with the beast, a representative of the Brood of Inixia, who it turns out is the well known raconteur and black dragon that had been giving the local Rockhead clan (whom we had already met and probably pissed off of course) a lot of grief lately…meanwhile the city was locked down. I think I’m going to need some ointment. Whose side are we on any way?


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