Let's Play World Of Warcraft Chapter 6: Shitness Protection Program

Assuming that the pills haven't kicked in yet, you'll recall that our last instalment found my embroiled in the madcap shenanigans of a fish obsessed zombie midget pedophile. Which I must confess is not quite where I saw myself ending up when all this started. Life is full of these little surprises. And, since I don't particularly feel like being on the end of any little surprises wielded by whatever passes for the Murloc special victims unit I decide it's time to get the hell out of dodge. Checking through my list of fetching and carrying tasks that are apparently so vital no one else can actually be bothered to do any of them I notice I apparently have an appointment with some of the bigwigs. Most importantly it's far away from where I am right now. So off we trot to pastures new.

Oh yes, this is VERY different. But wait, what's this?

Elves? FUCKING ELVES?!?!

Well, this explains a lot. If those pointy eared bastards are in charge it's no wonder nothing ever gets done around here. An elf couldn't even organize a punch in the face. The fact that they receive so many is simply a heart warming testament to the generosity of strangers.

Anyway, apparently I'm just in time for an important meeting. Some Orcish bigwig has popped up to witness some important demonstration. Some pointy eared slag on a horse starts mouthing off about how she's now got the dark evil power of darkness and can now animate whole legions of new zombies. This is then demonstrated on a convenient nearby mass grave. And sure enough, the dead RISE...

And then promptly all fall over again 30 seconds later. As demonstrations of ultimate power over life and death go it does lack a certain something. Like a result. Anyway, Orc boy politely makes his excuses and leaves. Honestly I think he's got the right idea. it's not like there's anything else to around here apart from argue about whether or not the sixteen bears you just killed had the right sort of entrails. So, where next?

Well, I'll still need a disguise in case the cops manage to get a description out of any of those Murloc children, so I guess it's time to go shopping. Luckily I've got a free bat ticket to the undermall. I have to confess that I find the public transport here a little.... confusing. Not so much that it's all done by riding on giant bats. Anythings better than the bus after all. No, the odd thing is that they won't take you anywhere that you haven't already been. Which, in my humble opinion, seems like an odd way to run a business. Can you imagine booking a holiday and then being told that the tour company will only pick you up on the way back?

Still, if were to seriously expect ANYTHING to make even the slightest smidgen of logical sense in this place then I wouldn't be able to take three paces without my head exploding, so whatever. let's just get on the damn bat.

And so I flown over hill and dale, down a cave, through some tunnels before finally emerging in a radioactive sewer.

Lovely.

Still, it's not all bad news. Whilst poking around the fetid malodorous alcoves I run across a "hairdresser".

Just think about that for a second. True, the hair and nails continue to grow for a time after death. But to the extent that it would make economic sense to open up a barbers shop in a land populated exclusively by the dead? The mind boggles. Anyway, I'm not going to question it too much, as a shave & a headcut is just what I need right now.

And yes. I did mean it when I said HEADCUT.

 Now all I need is a new dress and they'll never recognize me. Let's see what's on offer.

Knitted sandals? KNITTED FUCKING SANDALS? I'm a goddamn mage in an allegedly fantasy setting, not some goddamn hippy on etsy. Fuck you, fuck your children, fuck you life. Just give me the goddamn dress.

I feel so pretty. Or at least I would if could figure out how to use the black dye I got with it. Bloody child proof caps.