Apparently a gaggle of nobles spent all last night hiding festive eggs around Durotar, most of them containing candy surprises, but a few of them with more valuable items. Ysa wanted to look for a dress – I accompanied her to dispose of all the excess candy. I just hate to think of those poor sweets melting in the sun, uneaten, all that lovely chocolate running into the red dust… I couldn’t let it happen! Orcs value a noble death in battle, so I’m sure candy from Orc lands would feel the same. All told, I managed to send a phalanx of a dozen candy bars to their glorious demise – I also wiped out of a score or more of lollipops and at least a regiment of chocolate squares.
Unfortunately the blazing Durotar sun must’ve been especially strong that day, because I began to feel just a little ill. To avoid heatstroke, I was forced to beat a hasty retreat, but the chocolate of Durotar will sing of me in song and story for years to come.
Archive for Ysabelle
Ovopositing!
What you get out of it depends on what you put into it!
I ought to go into more detail about the my first trip to Orgrimmar. It’s a harsh place, all red rocks and dust and houses built into canyon walls – beautiful, but wild and inhospitable, practically daring you to attempt survival. It could’ve gotten quite uncomfortable, but fortunately I spent most of my time in the city sewer.
The others (I was with Kaste, and Ysabelle, and Zaliron, and … oh dear, I forgot her name) didn’t seem to think my assessment of the cavern was accurate. Well, certainly I’ve never seen a sewer that was quite so on fire before, and it may have had a fancy name like Ragefire Chasm, but let’s be realistic. Orgrimmar is built in a canyon, a canyon with no real drainage system leading outside. So there’s only one way to describe the lowest point in the city, and that’s SEWER. Actually, the magma was probably a good thing, as it provided a quick and merciful death for any poor creature still lingering on after a trip through the orcish digestive system.
The place was full of demon wranglers. I do rather wish that my first real opportunity to socialize with the orcs hadn’t been so attacking-me oriented, but apparently they had some kind of hideout down there, closed to the public, and that whole rigmarole.
At least the flames seem to have helped cool Zaliron’s hopeless ardor for me … even though they’re flames. I do hope he gets the message that he’s not going to be getting into my pants. I have enough problems getting into them myself.
Sadly my hearthstone malfunctioned and I found myself back in Silvermoon before we had fully explored the place or identified the strange orb we found deep within. I’ll make a return trip someday… and next time, I’ll bring waders.
My Life’s Work Commences At Last!
Finally, after some years of wheedling and prodding, I’ve been able to convince Mother that I am mature enough to leave home and begin my great project. Well, perhaps “convince” is too strong a word. Frankly I wonder if she didn’t just get to the point where she’d rather risk me being eaten by ogres than have to listen to me anymore. “Fandaleen,” she would say, “if I have to listen one more word of those meandering crackpot theories I swear I’ll throw myself from the top of the Sunspire!” Then she would tear big chunks of her hair out. Sometimes I think the only ones who appreciate my theories are the town wigmakers, who always send me a lovely card on Winter’s Veil.
Anyway, poor Mother won’t have to be driven to the brink of frothing wild-eyed insanity any longer, because now I have this journal to talk to, and a book can’t go mad. As far as I know. Oh, and I can also speak to the members of the Silverguard, the organization I joined. Mother absolutely insisted I join something so that I didn’t end up living in a crate and eating poisonous weeds to survive. Those are her words, not mine, I know how to tell which weeds are poisonous, and I wouldn’t eat them. Especially not since I’m still working through the fruit basket and all the chocolates from Mother’s therapist and masseuse.
What’s that you say, journal? It’s ambitious of me to plan a vast enclyclopedia cataloguing all the information in the universe, garnished with explanatory essays, moral lessons, cross-references and little cartoons to illustrate the finer points? Why, yes, I am aiming high, but I have experienced so many amazing things in the past week, I’m sure it won’t take all that long! I met Ysabelle, the woman whose room is next to mine, and Kaste, her troll servant, as well as a nice-seeming young man named Achates and another boy named Zaliron who appears to be in estrus all the time. I’ve seen the eastern Amani camps, the eldritch groves of the Ghostlands, and the burning tunnels of Orgrimmar’s sewage system.
About the only downside to all this adventure is that transportation has been sorely lacking. I’ve explained to the hawkstrider salesman that I’m not built for running everywhere, but apparently it’s a lot of “too inexperienced” this and “aren’t you the one that crashed that cart into the crystal vase store last year” that. At least when I get to the R’s I’ll have lots to say about red tape. Until then it looks like I’m stuck on foot. Oh well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to burn off some of the calories from the complimentary ham I received from the lady who sells Mother those little pink tranquilizer pills.
