This is a bit of a new one for me. The blogs posted under the Roleplay/Itasu tags will be the story of my once-twinked rogue and his adventures in Azeroth and beyond, as seen from his eyes. Feedback on this adventure is appreciated. I will still be doing my usual guild and raid posts.
After many years fighting on the battlefield, I returned to Orgrimmar, vowing to sheathe my swords and let the story of my past battles fade from legend to myth. Sadly I found that with no skills other than fighting I had no way to settle down. The money I had once flaunted had dwindled thanks to many enchantments, potions and the like. Much to my disappointment I also found that these enchantments I had paid so dearly for had faded. The fine leather sewing on my leggings no more than a dusty patch. The fine steel braiding on my helm had rusted, leaving my skull vulnerable to the blows of the enemy. Truth be told, it was because of this that I had decided to given up fighting for the Warsong Offensive.
So there I was, spending some of my last coins on a good flagon of mead, when a stranger approached.
“Hey, you look like one of them fighting orcs. Fancy some work?” So much for a rogue’s skills in not being seen. I sighed, nodded at him and asked what he would want of me.
“There’s some human trouble down in Tarren Mill. I hear those undeads are looking for some strong men to help fight them back.”
I thanked him for the news, gave him all my coins save for what I would need for the fare to Eastern Kingdoms. Taking a zeppelin, I made haste to Undercity, where I hired a very smelly and threadbare bat to Tarren Mill. On arrival, I asked around for work. My first assignment was for the local Apocethary, collecting animal parts for Thrall knows what. Unquestioning I agreed and started slaying these helpless beasts. After years on the battlefield, the poor bears and giant spiders posed no threat and I sliced my way through scores of them. This task done, and bored, I signed up to help in clearing some dungeons. Very soon I had a group set to rid the world of the dangers lurking in the Wailing Caverns. The party consisted of me, a priest of the shadows, a warrior, a mage and a druid. I soon came to realise that except for the priest, my ‘party’ was very much green. The warriors I knew from the battles in Warsong Gulch were huge lumbering beasts, taking massive blows to their shields and pounding the enemy to dust with their swords, maces and battleaxes. The one in my party tried in vain to keep the enemy’s attention with his bare fists. The mage was no better, unable to even conjure up a small fireball and resorting to whacking at the enemies’ kneecaps with his staff. With the priest tending my wounds I took the lead, ripping my foes to shreds. The mage and warrior then proceeded to steal all the loot while the two of us were kept busy with wave after wave of raptors, oozes and snake-druids. I finished, exhausted, but signed myself up for another, and then another such dungeon trek. On both these, this time in Blackfathom Deeps, I was forced to take the place of the cowardly warriors, showing them what the deadly blades of a rogue could do.
With the dungeons finished I finally had enough gold saved up for a steed. So I visited the pens in Orgrimmar and purchased a fine black warhound, which I named Anoushka. We rode out and once again returned to Tarren Mill, where I was assigned with the slaughter of the leaders of the farmsteads in the area. But that can wait. My work for the day has been hard, but still more satisfying than the constant waves of attack by the Alliance on the Gulch. I might even have thought of a new profession, but that can also wait for another day.