Friday, June 5, 2009

Would You Like Fires With That?

"Hail, Crusader Fulguralis!" The man with the pockmarked face calls out as I enter the tournament grounds for the last time.

Crusader Fulguralis. That does have a nice ring to it, does it not? It certainly beats that farce of a title, "Ambassador" that I was honored with the other day. I mean, c'mon. Ambassador. Warlock. They aren't exactly synonymous. I make it my personal duty to kill people of other races. Then again, I guess that could in some way be construed as an Ambassador.

Ambassador Fulguralis: Bringing death equally to all four corners of Azeroth.

Does Azeroth even have four corners?

I chuck my lance at the squire following along beside me and leap off of my horse. The young man awkwardly catches the long wooden pole and surreptitiously checks along its length for any flames that might have sprung up "accidentally". The young lad has learned his lessons when it comes to hanging around a Warlock, it seems.

"Place it over in that rack, Patsy," I order. "Then you may run along and relate our epic tales to the other squires." Surely he would be the cock of the walk when they hear of the hell he's gone through.

"It's Samwise," He grumbles as he walks away. Close enough.

I strut confidently past the wooden dummies where men of lesser stature do battle against the inanimate enemies, smiling snidely at the burn marks on one of them. The nearby instructor glares at me, having never forgiven me for my particular brand of training. I reach nonchalantly into my pocket and jingle it loudly. The gold I made clinks in a pleasing manner that only causes the instructor to narrow his eyes more. He's just jealous because they don't pay him much at all. What does he think he's going to get when he's not out there taking the risks?

I push aside the flap on the large champion's tent and enter, my eyes searching the room for the Tournament Seneschal. I find her in her usual place near the table in back, examining a map of the grounds. As she sees me approach, she smiles shyly and straightens her armor.

"Fulguralis, to what do I owe the pleasure?" She says as we clasp arms in a formal greeting, though her hand lingers for a bit in mine.

"Hmm," I respond, "How shall I answer that, Justicar?"

A deep red blush creeps down from her auburn hair to color her cheeks. "Fulgy, why do you always insist on being so formal? It's Mariel and you know it."

I cringe at the nickname, "Appearances, my dear. Appearances." I glance around conspiratorially, assuring myself that no one is within earshot. "We wouldn't want folks to think that the great Justicar Mariel Trueheart is too friendly with warlocks now would we?"

"I suppose you're right," she sighs. "What have you come for then?" She asks, a small fire lit behind her eyes.

"I'm done here," I say bluntly. "I've done all there is to do at this place and don't much care for it anymore. It's time for other adventures." She looks slightly crestfallen as a I break the news, so I add, "Not that you haven't done a wonderful job here, darling, we warlocks are just a shifty sort. We're never content in one place for too long."

"I suppose I knew this day was coming," she admits. "Thanks for all of your... help. Do take care of yourself, will you?"

"Always, my dear," I reply smoothly. Flashing her a roguish smile, I turn in a swirl of robes and leave the room. I do try to make a good exit now and then.

Outside the tent I go and retrieve my steed from where he's burned through the rope the squire used to tie him up. That boy is just not cut out to be a warlock. He forgets the simplest of things: Wood burns, rope burns, nearly everything burns. And, if it burns, you can bet a warlock is going to burn it. It's just kind of our thing. That or we'll just corrupt it and then burn it. Or maybe corrupt it and make it explode all over everyone, corrupting them as well. Yeah, love that one.

Mounting my horse I prepare to ride out of the grounds for the last time in a while. I suppose I may stop in every now and then to make sure I'm not missing anything, but, for now, I've had my fill of jousting. None of these champions can hold a candle to me anyways.

Ha. Candle. Fire.

On my way out, I pass by the instructor standing by his treasured dummy, glaring at me all the while. "Good riddance," he mumbles, believing that my sharp ears can't catch what he said. Consort with Imps enough and you get really good at picking up the insults, though. I glance over at his dummy and flick my wrist.


Cackling, I kick my heels into my steed and ride away, leaving a thin trail of smoke behind me as the instructor yells obscenities in my wake.


  1. Great now you're hitting on the instructor...

    Abi & Fuu are going to be upset when they find out mister.

  2. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

    And it's not the instructor, its the Justicar... big difference. You gotta go for the powerful women if you're a warlock, right?

  3. yes but you have a lady who wears plate that tanks Dragons for a living. What more do you want?

  4. He hardly sees her any more. She's gone into hiding.

  5. Well, I have a feeling that Fuu will come out of hiding soon enough. I thought Abi was suppose to be meeting her secret warlock in SW for a brew?

    Did you blow her off as well? Sheesh. I would be careful of her... She'll mind Control you off of Dalaran.

  6. lol, you're reaching now.

    Her lvl 61 MC would miss my lvl 80 awesomeness. Maybe in her dreams though... :-p

    Plus, um... hello... ^warlock^
    Delight in other's misfortunes much? :-D

  7. Im gunna really laugh when she shows up to DPS & smothers you with a delectible pillow of Fleeting Awesomeness. 5k whao?


    It's on!

    Tordun get that Charger! We have some work to do!

    /cracks knuckles