My Final Countdown

This post might hurt.

Me more than you, I mean.  By writing this post, I am going to be putting a lot of memories, good and bad, in the past.
CancellationYes, this means I am quitting WoW.  I am putting the World of Azeroth, the lore, the game, behind me.

Apparently, this is a big deal.
Crying Peon

After I explained to the Peon why I was leaving, his situation seemed to get worse.
Weeping Peon

But it pains me to say it.  As you may or may not know, I do love this game.  Or loved.  I mean, I loved every part of it! PvP, PvE, exploring, the lore, the achievements, the look, the feel… every inch of this game was something I’ve been waiting for as a kid.  I’ve always wanted to be the hero, to defeat my enemies, and to stand proud and tall when people give me praise.

Today, I’m typing this to you with shoulders slumped and head bowed, for I have lost my feel.  The game no longer inspires the same feeling it once did.  Not from burnout, no.  I never suffer burnout; but I do feel like I’ve been playing this game for so long, and it’s been affecting me adversely.

15 secondsFor starters, my job hunt did not go well this year.  I believe that if I had spent less time working for WoW than I had, I would be happily sitting on a pile of money right now.
10 seconds
If I was sitting happily on a pile of money, then I wouldn’t have the arduous choice of picking another year of school and therefore being successful, or work for a year; my course is clear though, and I know what I’m picking because I have something else I don’t want to leave behind.  Not again, not for a long time, not ever.  Some people measure success by money, some by fame.

5 seconds
Mrs. Klin is the most precious thing to me in my life.  I had to go to school for a year, seeing her over Skype and talking to ehr every day of every week of every month.  I came home to visit once a month without fail… and yet it wasn’t enough.  It never was.  Once I got home, Mrs. Klin and I have spent so much time together that I never want to let her go again, ever.

Mrs. Klin, I love you, and I want to stay close to you forever.  To do that, I’m going to have to work hard for you, but I’m prepared to do anything it takes to stay by you for as long as I live.

Some people measure success by money, some by fame.  I want to measure my success by you.
4 seconds
It’s weird, to know that your time with something you love is limited, to wonder if you’ll ever go back and see the things you’ve accomplished.

Klinderas is my finest achievement in a game.  Smart, efficient, and able to beat the odds when it really counts.  Klinderas is likely a name I will never forget, and a character I will continue to use throughout my life as an example of a good person, even if he was a little full of himself.

When I made Klinderas, I was modeling him after me.  Tall, not too bad looking, and a little frail but good with a bow.  After I made him, I began to realize he was becoming a different character than when he started: noble, active, just.  A man who wouldn’t put up with bullshit if he saw it, who would help out those in need, who would hold the right people accountable for their actions and persecute them for what they did wrong.

I’d like to think I grew up with my character, and my avatar on the fields of Azeroth.  I’d like to think I’m a little more Klin than I used to be.
3 seconds
Before I go, there’s a few people I want to thank for my time here in Azeroth.

To Eldadres: my man, you and I have been playing together for long enough that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to play without a friend.  Where my friends were busy raiding BT or quitting, you were playing right alongside me.  We’ve earned our glory in arenas, mopped the field with our enemies in BG’s, and made the Bosses in raids and heroics piss their pants when they see us coming.  We were a %$#&ing awesome team, dude.
2 Seconds
To Dan “BRK” Howell: for inspiring me to become the hunter I became, and then reminding us what’s really important… hopefully before it’s too late.  I think I’ve managed to do that okay, for once.
To all the friends I made in game: It was a pleasure playing with all of you, raid leading you, or otherwise just dickin’ around with you.  I hope my old guild leaders have successful new guilds, that Gradii enjoys his new writing career and tanks his way to Arthas, that Hannah gets some shoulders to match her new chest piece, that Connected gets his Protodrake, and that the many, many people I’ve met lead happy lives.

Lastly, I’d like to thank the people I’ve met through this blog.  Everyone I’ve read, who’s read what I had to write, and everything else that involves this blog… none of it would have happened without you guys.

Yes Link, we're staying here boy.  We're retired, see? Means "no more quests".

Yes Link, we're staying here boy. We're retired, see? Means "no more quests".

Link and Radix together again at last.

Link and Radix together again at last.



Now Mikey, there aren't any fresh corpses where I'm going.  You sure youw ant to come?

Now Mikey, there aren't any fresh corpses where I'm going. You sure you want to come?

Mikey stays.

Mikey stays.

Now, let's see what's over that horizon.

Now, let's see what's over that horizon.

Klinderas: You know, Colemand? We had a good run.  We got pretty damn far, and did a whole damn lot here in Azeroth.
Colemand: Indeed.
Klinderas: I’m going to miss this place.
Colemand: Agreed.  So where are we going next?
Klinderas: … No idea.  I have an option though: let’s walk that way until we find someplace nice to stay.  An ocean, some sand, maybe some game for me to hunt once in awhile.
Colemand: Can there be gnomes? I’m going to miss them… they make funny popping noises when they die.
Klinderas: We’ll see, Cole.  We’ll see.
Colemand: Will we ever come back?
Klinderas: Maybe; but it’s going to be a long time from now if we do, so don’t pack lightly.  We’re going to be gone awhile.

QUICK NOTE: I’m not done blogging, just done blogging about WoW and playing WoW.  If you want to keep reading what i have to say about stuff in general, you can find me at Phil, Meet World.


I’m Expanding!

A brand new place.

This is pretty big news, but our resident death knight has decided to write!

Colemand has been graciously allowed to write for Nance, the author of Alterac Volley.  Many of you know Nance’s work on the WoW Headlines and PuG Checker sites, so it’s a huge surprise to be allowed to write on his main blogging site part time.

Colemand’s shenanigans will be kept at this site.  What Colemand will be writing about includes death knights, death knights, and more death knights.  PvP, PvE, Tips and tricks… they will be all over there.  As this continues, I’ll be writing Hunter equivalent posts here if I’m allowed.

In the mean time, congratulate our chef extraordinaire on his first bold step into informative blogging!

Ask Colemand: Twitter Edition 1

And now, your host... Colemand!

And now, your host... Colemand!


Many people have been wondering what I’ve been up too, in addition to the many questions I’ve been getting.  It seems like you all care for me in some stupid, sputtery kind of way.

Okay, I’m sorry for lying.  No one has asked how I’m doing.  Or what’s up.  No one has even asked how are the imaginary wife and kids! I’m beginning to think that no one values the opinion of a dead, old, sarcastic, snarky, annoyed, badgering, weathered, more than weathered, and did I mention annoyed? dead guy.

In other words, no one wants to ask a dead guy anything.  Well you know what? I am going to try to force all of you to do it.  See, if you don’t email me at slowwolfblog(AT)gmail(DOT)com, putting ASK COLEMAND in the subject line, then I will demand everyone who follows me on Twitter to ask me questions.

Here goes our first trial of the Ask Colemand: Twitter Edition!

Colemand, how can you tank? You’re bones! How do you manage to stay together during fights?

Ah? So you’ve heard I’m now a “tank”, which is slang for “pinata for piss heads”.

For one, my bones aren’t actually that brittle.  See, I drink milk.  Loads of it, every day.  It’s good for you, thanks to all the calcium in it! Plus, it tastes delicious, especially when cold.  Which isn’t hard to do, seeing as I have a mastery of cold.

Calcium alone doesn’t cut it though.  You need to have a great deal of armor, thick armor, armor that knows how to be beat on.  If you don’t have good armor, you’re paste.

Lastly, you could always accept the first and most respected tenet of the Pirate Code; make strategic withdrawals.

How’s Mikey, your pet cockroach? I haven’t heard about him in awhile.

Mikey’s good.  He’s a lot bigger, and I’ve taught him to sleep somewhere else other than my stomach!

He is also eating a lot more.  His diet now include: berries, plants, fruit, small woodland animals, large woodland animals, gnomes, humans, night elves, fruit trees, fruit farmers, orchards, buildings, and small cities.

With restraint, of course.  He shouldn’t eat too much, or his itty bitty stomach would start to have a tummy ache.

Isn’t that right, Mikey?


He’s adorable isn’t he?

Why do you love cooking so much?

Good thing you didn’t ask where it came from.  That’s a long bloody story.

I love cooking for two reasons: first, I have a gift.  I am undead, yet I have a perfect nose and a pristine tongue.  That can only mean that I must use these gifts, or it’s a perfectly good waste of my talents, wouldn’t you say?

Second, why wouldn’t I? You all look so delicious, I simply have to try.

Yes, even you there pink skin.  Sitting right there, staring at me.  Who do you think you are?

You’re so tasty
Looking baby
I have to simply give it a try

I look at you
thinking that you
would go well with butter and rye

Oooh, you’re a meal to me
I mean so real to me
I think that you and I should
go out and I should
Get cooking, Um, hooking up with you

You’re face, so tender,
You’re hands, so slender
You’d look really tasty stir-fried

You might as well be
A gorgeous pastry
Topped off with a bit of parsley

Oooh, you’re a meal to me
I mean so real to me
I think that you and I should
go out and I should
Get cooking, Um, hooking up with you

You better believe you're cookable, baby.

You better believe you're cookable, umm, lovable baby!

What do you think? Made that up myself.  I think I could be a star.

That concludes this edition of Ask Colemand.  If more than one person could please ask questions next time, I’d be much appreciative.

Follow The Leader

... and my name isn't Mittens dammit!

... and my name isn't Mittens dammit!

You know that stupid game where you have to do everything the one guy does/says, without ending until he/she says to stop?

You know that period of history where people were called slaves?

You know that time when someone told you to do your chores?

You know tha-


In any case, I have an announcement to make.  I have now officially led a raid, my first time ever.  I stood at the beginning of a Naxxramas run and didn’t stop ’til the server blew us up after 3 wings of victory.  I barked orders, snapped commands, cracked whips, made a sundae,  had a milkshake, and then did more ordering.

I also knit a sweater.

A week ago, I asked my raid leaders whether or not they would let me lead a raid a week later(now), and they agreed to let me give it a shot(then).  Which was surprising, seeing as I had just been promoted to class leader a week before that(way back then).  I had hardly been able to test my metal at all(now, then, and more then)!

Nevertheless, I was given the chance and I thought 1 of 2 things were going to happen: either I would succeed and go on to lead raids for a long time until I got fed up and just nuked the instances every week(with bombs), or I’d more likely be a failure and have to hide in Blackrock Mountain until the heat blew over(which, given the environment of my hermitage, it wouldn’t).

We(the guild), to my great surprise, did really well! I’m not surprised because our guild can do really well, I know it, but I’m surprised because… they let me lead them and they didn’t mind.  In fact, I think that everyone quite enjoyed that raid until Smolderthorn blew up in an explosion of lag which persists a little today.

For anyone from God is AFK who reads this blog, thanks a lot for being so nice to me my first time.  Really, I was expecting more hell and a lot less help.

Although I’ve heard rumors of bets being placed.  *cough*

After the lag, I decided to hop on over to the Alliance side of things to help deteriorate your infrastructure.

I ended up doing this instead.

Seems Eldadres can sleep on candles.  Figures.

Seems Eldadres can sleep on candles. Figures.

Help help! I'm bein' oppressed!

Help help! I'm bein' oppressed!

I'm trapped in a walnut! How'd I get in this nut?!

I'm trapped in a walnut! How'd I get in this nut?!

Jumping on the bed has never been this fun.  Except ACTUALLY jumping on it.

Jumping on the bed has never been this fun. Except ACTUALLY jumping on it.

It’s not raiding, but messing around with good friends for no reason other than to mess around is a great deal of fun.  Great stress relief too!

A Different Kind Of Secret Project

Minus 1 bear.

Minus 1 bear.

In a fit of what seems to be either stupidity, rage, boredom, insanity, madness, a period of being 3 fries short of a happy meal, or just being whacko, I have made a new hunter.

This hunter is different however; he is a dwarf.  Dwarves are typically short(I’m tall), burly(I’m delicate), hairy(which I’m not), drunk(I’m sober), belligerent(when angered), and uncouth(like an Orc).  In short(tee-hee) they are the opposite of me in every single fathomable way.

Why did I roll a new Alliance(eyaugh!) hunter? This idea was brandished before me by none other than Elnoriah/Eldadres of Plagued Candles who has, with Roz from Repgrind and Troutwort from Crits and Giggles, rerolled a new alliance character to play with people from this corner of the Blogosphere on the Winterhoof server.

Also, I’m planting the seeds of the downfall of the entire Alliance, but that’s none of your buisiness.


Everyone, meet Franko.

Yes, I am paying some homage with this character.  You don't have to like it.

Yes, I am paying some homage with this character. You don't have to like it.

Oh don’t worry.  I’m not completely out of this picture… I’ve left a little bit of myself in this picture.

Everyone… meet his pet.

Welcome to the pack... Klin, the wolf.

Welcome to the pack... Klin, the wolf.

He doesn’t have dash yet, either! So for now, he really is a Slow Wolf.

Oh, and because I didn’t take a screenshot of that King guy in Ironforge before I killed him last time…

Yes, my liege.  Invest with Enron, they know what they're doing.*snicker*

Yes, my liege. Invest with Enron, they know what they're doing.*snicker*

I might make a little note before I continue:

The dwarf area is HARD in comparisson to the Blood Elf area.  There are mobs who charge, mobs who frostshock, and mobs who seem to come at you in numbers like math problems in a calculus class.  Kiting my way to level 10 has been difficult, but not without it’s reward.  It was a lot of fun, if you ignore the hundreds of leper gnomes, boars, cats, bears, wendigos, rabbits, orchards, farmers, guards, the king, and the wolves you had to kill along the way, not to mention the massive distances and the massive distances.  Did I mention the massive distances? They really are big you know.

Like space, even.  They’re similar.

No wonder dwarves are so tough: they put up with the worst crap from day 1, starting with the fact that they’re short, hairy, noisy, smelly, potentially spacefaring midgets.

Banking Buddy

Mine is shinier.

Mine is shinier.

Like all some self-respecting WoW players, it is an ambition of mine to have gold.  It’s the lifeforce in a game where moneys can do a great deal of things.

Some people find that it’s hard to get, and scrounge with dailies all day to get it.  Others say it’s very simple… so long as you have some know-how and some gold to begin with.

Those people, the ones that say that gold is easy to make, are the same people that play the auction house.  The auction house, a market for business people and noobs alike, is a strange and confusing place for the beginner.

I have been convinced that the only way I am going to get a decent amount of gold is through the auction house, and it’s my goal to make more money than I can possibly spend if possible.  This would be hard for me though, seeing as I have Mining(good profession for money) and Engineering(terrible for making money).  So, I decided it was time to add someone to my crew.

Everyone, meet Eyolus.

He has the monocle I wish I could have.

He has the monocle I wish I could have.

All told, Eyolus is a bank alt; he carries extra stuff I can’t, and then auctions it off for money I can send to myself at will.  However, he’s an extra important bank alt; he will be the one playing the auction house.  This game within a game will see Eyolus rise as one of my most played characters, and he might as well be my money main.

So far, I’m going tailoring as a profession for sure.  His secondary profession, however, is up for grabs! Enchanting? Jewelcrafting? Inscription? Who knows! I’m leaning towards jewelcrafting so far, however.  We’ll have to see.

So here’s to Eyolus, my banker! He needs a second profession though, and I can’t decide.   So what’ll it be people?

Set Up

Klinderas had been tracking this human for weeks.  

This, scraggly, scruffy, scarred excuse for a human was a cultist, one of the Damned.  Even after the third great war the Cult of the Damned was still a threat, trying to spread corruption within human lands.

This particular cultist, named Gavren according to his “sources”, had information Klinderas needed.  For instance, who is the necromancer in charge of the western plaguelands, and where could he find him.

Klinderas had left Silvermoon that day when Eldadres spoke to him.  He left and rode south towards the Ghostlands, through to the Eastern plaguelands.  He rested at Light’s Hope chapel for a day.  A Captain spoke to him about a battle taking place to the east, where hundreds of death knights and thousands of lesser undead assault the Scarlet Crusade daily.  

Klinderas explained that he wasn’t here to bolster their forces, but to stop a rising force of a similar kind shoring up on the Western plaguelands.  The Captain explained to Klinderas where he could find members of the Cult of the Damned, for if anyone could find a necromancer, it would be another member of the cult.

  Klinderas thanked the captain, and followed the lead.

Klinderas stalked and hunted members who knew of a plot to the west.  For every cultist who gave Klinderas information, three were silent.  After 2 weeks of stalking, hunting, and killing, Klinderas finally found out who the right hand man to the Necromancer was, and where he was.  None would tell him or could tell him of the man himself, but the second-in-command surely would.

Klinderas had been tracking this human for weeks.  Through Stormwind, no less.  Klinderas masked his smell, hid his ears, and covered his eyes.  His cloak constantly obscured every identifying feature of him, and he purposefully smeared dirt on his face to seem less elvish.  So far, it worked.  Humans are stupid creatures sometimes.

Gavren had been walking through a main street close to the harbour for the better part of the day.  Klinderas had noticed he had done the same walk, every day, for the past three days.  Out of his home, to the marketplace, to the pub, then back to his home.  Every time, he sits alone, eats alone, and does everything alone.  This was, so far, turning out to be a big waste of time, and he was getting frustrated as he couldn’t do anything to the man until he did something different from this protective routine.

Suddenly, the man took a left turn down a dark alley, and Klinderas was immediately alert.  Knowing that this was probably a means of seeing is anyone was following, Klinderas looked at his companion, Radix.  Radix’s stunning red fur was sleek and fine, contrasted by the gold fur along his back and the edges of his face, which was long and feral.  Simply by looking at one another, Radix understood exactly who their prey was, and what he had to do.  Radix instantly disappeared into the crowd, and followed the man down the alley.  

Klinderas had his job to do as well.

He turned to the building to the left, ran at it, and jumped on the window sill.  The building was made of uneven stone, which allowed for a great deal of handholds and footholds.  Klinderas scaled the building with all the speed and grace of a professional acrobat, the aspect of the monkey flowing through him.  He flipped himself up onto a beam, swung to a pole and, perching on the pole like a falcon, jumped off of it like jumping off a spring board.  He did a neat front flip, and was lost behind the rooftops.

The living are so… weak.  Frail.  Pitiful.

I discarded the husk of another Scarlet civilian, his lifeless body crumpling into a bloody, gory heap next to so many others I executed.  My Saronite armor was covered in gore and soaked in blood, not mine.  I didn’t care.

Who could care about something so fragile? So pointless? My very existence is a mockery of life.

I can’t even breathe.  My blood doesn’t flow anymore.  Yet here I am, standing in my master’s service, in unlife.  Simply by existing, I shatter the beliefs of those weakling paladins and their followers.  For this, I am not only my master’s chosen weapon of death and destruction, I am a symbol of His power, his strength, and his way.

I was wounded in the last fight, having had my jaw knocked loose and my skin ripped off my bones in a number of places.  I reattached the jawbone, the thick snap it created pierced the darkness, and broke the silence heard only after a battle.

I knelt down next to the heap of corpses next to me, took my hand, and punched it through the ribcage of the nearest corpse.  There was almost no blood spray, since most of the blood had leaked out when I had gutted the man’s throat.  Even when I removed my fist full of flesh, there wasn’t more than a trickle from the man’s chest.  It was obvious his heart had stopped beating before he hit the ground.

I took the flesh, and put it in my mouth.  Every chew, every bite, regenerated more unholy flesh; this was the master’s magic at work.  I take what was once theirs, and add it to my own.

They’re not going to be using it anyway.

I had about half finished this particular wretch when a geist scampered behind me, and stopped.

“Death Knight… Cole… mand…”

Geists were irritating.  Just a little.  You’d think they could be re-animated with a voice that doesn’t start-stop constantly.

“What do you want, geist? Your presence irritates me.”

The geist didn’t care.  Much like myself, it only served the master, and feared nothing else.

“You go… Acheron… speak… Lich… King.”

At least they didn’t beat around the bush.

“Tell the Master that I live to serve.  Now screw off.”

The geist didn’t hesitate, and slid into the shadows and darkness of the night.  There was no light tonight: the smoke and dust of battle obscured the stars and extinguished the light of the moon.  Not that it mattered: when you are made of shadow and darkness, you can see as well at night as you can in the day.

When I had finished eating the cadaver, I stood up and let unholy energy flow through me.  Every fiber of my being crawled with unholy power, the energies of death and rot.  When used properly, however, one could turn death and rot into shadow and darkness.  With shadow and darkness, one could create a portal to a bastion of shadow and darkness.  A bastion like Acheron.

  Instant doorway, one way please.

When the energies reached their peak, I let them out of my body, and forced them to coalesce into a stable doorway into Acheron.  Now for the hard part: walking through.  

I never liked walking through these doorways.  They made my stomach lurch, spin, and it always caused me to be wobbly legged.  It’s like stepping on a giant wheel, then running down a hill on it, losing control, spinning a few times around the wheel, then finally landing at your destination.

When I stepped from the portal, I smashed into another death knight trainee.

“Watch where you step, Cole.  It could very well be your last.”

Now this is a person I hated more than that stupid doorway.  I knew him only as Carver, and he was a tool.

I grinned.  “Hello, Carver.  Glad to see you’re still so cheery.”

“You can go to hell, Colemand.  You’re lucky to still be existing.  I could kill you right now.  Right now.  After that mistake, I should.” he frothed.

His elven features struck me as odd, but only because I had never seen a Night Elf before I met this prick.  Carver’s purple skin was blemished in many places by misshapen tattoos and sores where his undeath had taken root.  His short, barbaric hair had been made to form a mohawk, and it must have been cut by his own blade.  It was uneven enough to make the Alterac Mountains seem plain.

“After what? I saw nothing, Carver.  You’re too tense.  You should sit back and relax, let the proper knights do their job.”

“I will kill you Colemand.  Your death will bring me glory, and He will see me as his best knight.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“I will kill you!” He was practically foaming at the mouth.

“Happy entrails, Carver.  Try not to rip out your hair again.”

I left him there, him cursing and spitting and going foamy at the mouth while I walked into the transporter.  He was always such a joy to be around.

I reached the upper level of the ziggurat, and there he was.  Arthas Menethil, ruler of the damned, traitor king of Lordaeron, warlord of the frozen wastes, and my liege.  He stood looking out over his vast legions of undead, assaulting the human town a few miles away.  The wind up here was cold and blew angrily, but his cloak moved on it’s own whim in a slow, erie fashion.  The wind carried the sounds of battle, the screams of dying humans a constant reminder of His power.

“What does my liege command?”

He turned slowly to face me.  His armor was silver, but black at the same time.  It absorbed all light around it, causing the rest of the area around him to seem darker by comparison.  His blade, Frostmourne, alos known as Muradin’s bane, glowed with a fiery blue malevolence; each sharp edge wreathed in unholy flame.  His helmet showed none of his face, save for two eternally glowing blue eyes.  His very frame was massive, and every step the King took up the same amount of space as three fully grown men.

“Colemand, your service has been noticed.  You have killed and murdered and shown these worthless humans the strength of the Scourge, and taught them fear.”

“Yes my liege.  My life is yours to spend, my liege.”  Kneeling at this point was almost involuntary.  I really hate those doorways.

“Your strengths are no longer needed here.”

I was shocked.  No longer needed? I was one of the best knights here! I could sow death, terror, and even bacon!

Don’t ask, I get bored sometimes, and there’s a lot of meat on a battlefield.

“My lord…”

“Silence.  Your life is mine to spend, not yours.  You go to the western plaguelands, and you will do this now.  You will serve one of my lieutenants, a powerful necromancer.  He will explain more.  Serve him or die.”

“Yes, my liege.  My life is yours to spend.”

I was pissed.  The eastern plaguelands? There’s nothing left there.  At least, nothing fun.

“Leave.  Your business is done here.  You ride for Andorhal immediately.”

“At once, my lord.”

Andorhal.  Why do I know that name?

I made my way to the ground, and upon getting to the border of the western plaguelands I stopped and began to focus.  Unlike doorways, summoning my steed wasn’t nausea inducing.  A snap of my fingers and there it was.

I stole, killed, and re-animated this horse myself.  I never liked it though, it was too… on fire.  Its black skin was contrasted by the blue flames on its hooves, in its eyes, and its mane.  It was as if the horse was being burned alive.  The worst part was if you forgot to saddle the beast: fire and chafing are not good things to have at once.

I saddled the beast, and mounted it.  I looked west, and thought for a minute.  Andhorhal… have I been there before? I can’t have been, but I have a feeling that I should know better.

This was no time for thoughts, however.  This was time to ride.  No need for water, food, or rest would see me there in two days.

Two days.

Two days…

Dead Man Telling Tales

And now, your host, COLEMAND!

And now, your host, COLEMAND!


I think I’m done with Nagrand.  I think it’s time I moved on to somewhere I’m more needed, because I’m just wasting my time here right now.

From cleaning up… detritus, to burning whole villages.  I also scored some swim time, and boy did I need it.

I think it is best if I try to show you what I mean.

You have got to be kidding me.

You have got to be kidding me.

First, my volunteer work.  You see this? This, friends, is called shit.  It is the biological bi-product of animals when they excrete waste.

This is the second gods be damned time I have had to root through piles upon piles of shit in order to get a measly reward.  The first time, I got a helmet which didn’t even fit my head, and I rooted through felhound feces.  This time, I rooted through talbuk tootsies and got myself some berries… that I can eat to breathe underwater.

I am already dead, I don’t need to breathe.  Why on earth are these people so stupid?  My theory is that they spend too much time up to their haunches in hoopers and go boopers from the smell.

I really, REALLY needed this.

I really, REALLY needed this.

The Mag’har forbade me from swimming in the lake nude.  Well, I hate to break it to you, but the undead need to wash every once in awhile too.

Do you see the black stuff floating around my body? That’s exactly how much I needed to bathe.  I blame the Mag’Har.

Warning: doesn't work as intended EVER.

Warning: doesn't work as intended EVER.

I met a goblin just south of the Nagrand Arena.  He wanted me to collect some Air elemental Gas, and so I did.

He then gave me a key, said to use it on the Jumpotron 4000, and get to the eggs in a nearby tree.  Well, I looked at this “jumpotron” and I have one question:

Why in the nine hells does this rag need a key to work?! It’s a very, very crappy trampoline enchanted with gas.  Heck, it wasn’t the fact that it was bouncy, but this glorified trampoline ran on gaseous excretions created by elementals in the area.

By the way, collecting farts is not something I make a habit of.  I still have a sense of smell.

So, I decided to give the ragjump a try.

After 2 hours of being Charlie Browned...

After 2 hours of being Charlie Browned...

... I told the goblin to jump off a cliff.  Or two.  Just to make sure.

... I told the goblin to jump off a cliff. Or two. Just to make sure.

I was fairly angry at this point, when I remembered that I was tasked with the destruction of a “broken” village nearby.

Oh, and destroy things I did.

They certainly flew fartehr when I smacked them.

They certainly flew farther when I smacked them.

Not pictured here: Running, fleeing, screaming villagers.

Not pictured here: Running, fleeing, screaming villagers.

See the guy in the back? He knew what was coming.

Before leaving though, I decided that cooking on my own just isn’t working.  I need a sous-chef.  So, who would possibly want to work for me?

At least he's convenient.

At least he's convenient.

Ghouls can take simple instructions, so I decided to have a more permanent resident on board.  As far as a cooking aid, they know how to chew, bite, smash, tenderize, chop, cut, squish, paste, mash, and they occasionally stir.


So yes, I’ve had it with Nagrand.  I’m now in debt from having to repay and rebuild a new village, I’m covered in fecal matter, and my bones are bent in ways which they should not be able to.

To top it all off, while I’m here swatting flies and playing “Broken Golf”, Klinderas has been saving the world.

Apparently, he didn't cry.  Don't believe it.

Apparently, he didn't cry. Don't believe it.

Most.  Confusing.  Photo.  Ever.

Klinderas gets to meet the Dragon Queen, I get to look for "berries". Fair? I think not.

When next we meet, I’ll be doing my rounds in someplace called “the Netherstorm” or something.

Either way, so long as I don’t have to touch anymore shit, I’ll be as happy as can be.


The first instinct is to breathe.

You breathe, you gasp, your chest lifts and falls as quickly as you can inhale; but no matter how hard you try, you cannot feel the air in your lungs.  You cannot feel the satisfaction of having a gulp of air in your chest, and you panic.  You are seized by a fear of being dead.  You try to wake up, to get the hell out of this hog-spit of a dream, but then the horrifying reality hits you like a rock to the face.

You are dead, and this is not a dream.

I remember the first time this happened, when I was first raised from my eternal rest.  I was out of my mind with fear to a point when the apothecaries almost discarded my crazed corpse.  I learned, like all Forsaken, how to cope with the phantom pains and the useless procedures of life.  I learned that breathing was no longer necessary, that our hearts no longer had a beat, that we had no need for food.  If our flesh was destroyed, it could regenerate quickly by cannibalizing the flesh of another.  If our limb was hacked off, we could simply reattach it.  That our bodies no longer were anything more than a vessel for our minds, for our will power, and for our resolve.  Only the resolute could stand as one of the Forsaken for long.

If you could stand as Forsaken, then you never truly die.

I remembered my past life, and I remembered why I was dead.  Who it was that killed me.  As soon as I could, I ventured out from Brill and made my way to Andorhal to exact revenge on this murderer of mine.  I was easily overpowered by the undead minions there, and I died without making much of a dent.  I never even saw my murderer’s face.

Fate, it seems, wasn’t finished with me yet though.  No, not yet.

“Ah, there you are.  You’re late, you know that?”

Klinderas sauntered into the bar, and sat himself down on a stool.  He quickly scanned the area with his green-gold eyes, examining and evaluating every patron of the Moonlight Bar. The bar itself was of elven craft, and had satin midnight blue walls framed by intricate gold designs.  The floor was a deep, blood red, hardwood floor with no flaws in the planks.  But then again, Silvermoon itself had no visible flaws to speak of, and even a bar wasn’t going to be the exception.

When he was satisfied that he was safe, his eyes finally settled on the man next to him.

“Yes, it’s me.  But I’m hardly late, you stuck-up priss.  How are you doing, Eldadres? You seem a little exhausted.”

Eldadres pulled back the hood from his face, and looked Klinderas in the eye.  His blonde hair was pulled back into a tail to keep it out his face, which was covered in grime, sweat, and blood.  His eyes, though normally a bright and vivid emerald colour, were a pale yellow-green.

“Exhausted? You’re hardly the one to be talking, Klin.  You’re the one that looks like he’s been pushed through a sewage pipe.”

“Hmmph.” Sewage pipe was more accurate than Eldadres thought.  The Dalaran sewers were messy, to say the least.  His beautiful mail armor, forged from some of the best forgers in Northrend, was covered in green slime and grime, and his face was covered in cuts and bruises as well.  Even his normally perfectly straight hair was a little unruly at the moment.  He needed to bathe.

“In any case, Klin, it’s good to see you.  It’s been way too long.”

“Yes, it has been.  I mean, no one else can do my laundry like you can Eld.”

“I’m not even going to touch your armor with a ten foot brush.  Do it yourself you slimy bastard.”  Eldadres let loose a big, warm smile, and the two extremely dirty and exhausted elves clasped arms and embraced one another.

“Eld, although I find this banter highly amusing, would there happen to be a reason why we’re here?” Klinderas asked, his head cocked to the side.

“I knew we would have to talk business,” said Eldadres, his smile fading,”but need it be so soon?”

“Yes,” replied Klinderas, his eyes glinting gold, “it needs to be now.  We do not have much time left if I was recalled from the front in Northrend to come back here.  The reallocation of forces from Northrend is a big risk, and warrants a pressing reason.”

Eldadres grinned. “Since you’re obviously such an important person to pull off of the front.”

“Damn straight I am!” Klinderas’ wolfish grin grew a mile.  “If I wasn’t so important, I would likely have been dealt with by a certain Baby Hellscream and his nanny, High Overlord Sourpuss.”

Eldadres pondered this for a moment.  “You’ve got a point.”

Klinderas’ smile faded. “Honestly though, why am I here? It must be of some importance.”

Eldadres’ grin also disappeared, his face suddenly turned stony. “Do you remember your little visit to Andorhal about 2 years back?”

Klinderas’ face instantly turned pale at the mention of that mission.  Oh yes, he remembered Andorhal.  The legions of undead, the hundreds of still rotting corpses, the stench of abominations, the screams of half living, half dead humans filled his mind.  He remembered Andorhal quite well.

“What does Andorhal have to do with anything? The undead there have long been extinguished by the Argent Dawn, and the lich stationed there was destroyed by my hand.  That charnel house of death has nothing left in it.”

“That’s… not entirely true.” Eldadres continued. “Basically, although the large insurrection of undead there has been quelled for some time, it seems there is some activity there again.  It is likely that a powerful necromancer is behind this, as there are large numbers of abominations and other constructs there.”

“Then send in a group of mercenaries.  This necromancer hardly seems more pressing than my up-and-coming bath.” Klinderas dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Unfortunately, that won’t work Klin.”  Eldadres explained further.  “You see, there is one big difference between that lich from before, and this necromancer; the lich couldn’t command Death Knights.”

Klinderas sat for a moment, taking this in: Death Knights.  Warriors of death and destruction, hellbent on serving their unholy master in the ways of Blood, Frost, and Death.  Legendary for their prowess with blades and necromancy, a Death Knight was a formidable opponent to even the most experienced heroes.  This was all Klinderas needed to make his day.

Eldadres gave Klinderas a moment to let that sink in, and then started again. “This necromancer seems to have the authority to ‘borrow’ death knights from the new ziggurat in the plaguelands, Acheron.  We think Arthas himself is present there, as the number of death knights that have been fighting over there is well above the hundreds already.  He could easily spare a few experienced knights and send them to the plaguelands, and we think that that is exactly what has happened here.  Even with a small few of those wretches, Arthas could retake the plaguelands and be in the position to attack our allies, the Forsaken.”

“So that’s why you need me here.  You want to send me to the western plaguelands to stop some two-bit necromancer from gaining an upper hand, while the rest of the Horde is in Northrend.”

“That sounds about right, Klin.  What do you say?”

“I’d rather go jump off the Aldor Rise; but if the Sourpuss commands it, then I don’t have much option, do I?”

Eldadres chuckled.  “No, not really.  Unless you think execution is a good idea, I’d hunt down that necromancer and bring his head to the good Overlord.”

Klinderas thought for a moment.  “So why ask me to do this?”

Eldadres sighed.  “You know the lay of the land, the creatures, the hiding spots, and you’re one of the best trackers in his employ.  If anyone can do this job, it would be you and your pack.”

Klinderas got up from his stool, and whistled sharply.  A large black wolf appeared from the doorway, startling several patrons, and then walked across the bar to Klinderas’ side.

“Well, I better get going, then;” Klinderas wrapped himself up in his cloak, then turned for the door.  His massive wolf, Link, followed him like a bestial shadow.

“Death waits for no man, after all.”

“Rise, my champion.”

I did as that horrible voice bade me to do.  My eyes jerked open, and I took a deep breath.  Horror.  Fear.  No air.  Wait, no air?

I remember my first time had no air, and that didn’t seem to kill me then… oh for the love of Sylvanas, again? Again!? If I find out whoever it was that raised me this time, I’m going to break his legs.

“All that I am; anger, cruelty, vengeance… these I bestow upon you, my chosen Death Knight.”

Death knight? Unpleasant attributes? Why must I inherit crap like that? More importantly, it’s time I gave this little pustule a piece of my mi-

Oh.  That explains everything.  Had to be the one jerk-spit whose legs I couldn’t break.  Arthas Menethil, traitor king of the Scourge.  Just my luck.

“Now wait here, you overgrown windsack, I’ve got someth-”


I could no longer speak.  Whatever air I had left me, and I could no longer speak.  But I wasn’t afraid: I had no need of air.  I was Forsaken.

“You still have memories, Death Knight? That can be rectified.”

He took his damned sword, Frostmourne, and thrust the blade into the pit of my stomach.  For some reason, it didn’t hurt.  There was no pain… it was simply very cold.  The blade was planted to the hilt, and it glowed a bright, icy blue.

“Sylvanas may have taught you how to live without air, water, food, or compassion.  These are admirable; however, she failed to teach you how to live without your mind.”

No.  No! NO! Not my mind.  The one thing I know was from before.  No please, please don’t take that away from me.

I don’t want to die.

Bestial Wrath

Ability_Hunter_BeastWithinKlinderas was used to it at this point.

The rage would swell within him, overpower his sense of self.  His vision would go red with blood, his teeth would hurt, his skin would turn red all over his body.  The blood pumped so fast through him that his heart made a humming noise.

His mind would stop thinking.  All he could see, smell, and taste was his prey.  His vision, though clouded with red, would be perfectly clear when looking at his target.

Though some call it “Arugal’s Rage”, it is more simply known as lycanthropy.  Or at least a minor version of it.  The act of turning into part man, part beast is only present to those in tune with nature, and only those who have it could understand the pain it could inflict.  All Druids use the same type of energy to transform into bears and lions, but hunters such as Klinderas hardly had that kind of skill.

The problem with lycanthropy in a hunter is that, without proper training, the hunter gets overtaken by the beast within and turns into a fully fledged “werewolf”.  With time, the hunter would grow fangs, fur, and lose their sense of civilization.

Klinderas was one hunter who received the training to save him before it was too late.  The hunter trainers in Silvermoon had taught him how to transfer this inner beast into his companions.  This caused the beast to grow to twice its original size, and develop a taste for blood no matter how passive the beast originally was.  Klinderas defeated many opponents with this new found power, and it seemed like all was well.

As time went on, however, Klinderas began receiving stronger bursts of lycanthropic energy.  He could only transfer so much energy to his companion, and so the lycanthropy began to affect him again.

But it was different than before.  Because both he and his companions were affected by the same lycanthropic energy, they both could sense one another’s thoughts.  Together, with his new strength, he could defeat any opponent no matter how powerful they were.

Klinderas was used to the urges, the growls and howls in his mind occupying his senses.  His vision turned red with blood, and his skin crawled with the power that literally flowed through his veins.  He looked at Link, who looked back.

It was as if he was looking into a mirror, and Link and Klinderas both turned to their prey.

The night elf rogue was, at this point, terrified.  When he had attacked, the hunter had been half the size, and pink skinned.  Ever since awaking from his icy prison, the hunter had transformed before his eyes into a large, red monster.  His eyes were red and gold with rage, and his teeth had grown noticeably longer.  Small patches of fur had grown on the elf’s hands, fingers and face, making him look more animal than man.  His beast had grown to twice its original size, his fur had gone on end, and his teeth had become as long as daggers.  The beast’s drool ran thick and fast, and it too had gone red with blood.  Both the beast and the hunter looked like they would eat him, and in sync, both man and beast let loose a blood curdling scream and howled at the sky.

Klinderas was used to it now.  He was used to the beast within.  He was used to the smell of prey, of blood, and of death.

Klinderas was used to becoming a beast.