Flying around as a Stormcrow is great, but the lack of a saddle bags makes collect herbs at best undignified. Even more so when you are doing it in Stormpeaks in the dead of night. There is something about a crow with a 6 ft wingspan flying about picking herbs and stuffing them into a satchel being carried in both feet, all the while trying to fight off the shivers caused by the winds screaming past the craggy peaks that make up the entire region. Needless to say, this did not put me in the best of moods to begin with. And then you have the gnome.
Let me be clear, I hate the little warren rats. They are clearly a highly evolved version of the cockroach, only more annoying and far far more disgusting. But when I am trying to make the bank from herbs, I am normally inclined to leave them in peace. There are however things that require swift and sure retribution. One of them being collecting herbs in the same location as myself.
So there I was, gliding down to a particularly nice looking patch of Lichbloom doing my best to ignore the ear damaging thuds of the Goblin Chisels being used nearby. Maybe it was the noise of the explosives, maybe it was just about time for me to go find a decent bed, but I missed the gnome standing right inside it. That is, until the little runt tossed a mix of pepper and more noxious things into my eyes, gathered the choicest bit of the rare plant, and sauntered away laughing at the whole spectacle.
First, he takes my herb. Second , he laughs at me. Third he walks away, shaking the garish red cape of his all the while. Any of which would guarantee him a swift, sure death or my name is not Ray D. Buol. This was clearly a time to make an example of him, luckily I had the makings for a campsite with me.
I make no claims of being a master of the more bestial aspects of my calling, but it is NOT that hard to follow a gnomes through snow with a felines senses. Itty bitty boot prints and the smell of ink, grease and whatever they think passes for cologne combine to make a stench even a Forsaken would be hard pressed to miss. Creeping slowly along, I tail the foul little creature deep into the Titan complex.
Once I hear the sounds of the high pitched squealing that could be mistaken for whistling, if it was coming from the lips of anything OTHER then a gnome, I knew I had him. He was stretched out, peering over a console, puzzling at the strange symbols used by the Titans. Slowly as not to make the slightest sound, I crossed the patterned tiles to stand in a polished circle a short distance from the the console. So engrossed in his examination, the gnomes failed to register the slight sound as I shifted my form into that of one of the Moonkin. So his first “warning†was a bolt of pure starfire lancing down from above his head. My roar of triumph was less awe inspiring then I could have wished, hard to make someones blood run cold when you are limited to squawks. I almost pitied the little *******, even as I was sizing up his skull for a shot glass. The second blast of starfire staggered him. His little body was smashed up against the console by the brutal blast of typhoon wind I summoned. The sound of his fading, labored breathing is to this day a fond memory.
The moment was however spoiled by the sounds of the Titan created console turning on. I was puzzled for a moment, before my eyes settled on the gnome shaped impression in the front of the console. Things just were not going well for me.
In hindsight, just standing there was rather stupid. On par with failing to dodge giant waves of lava, or avoiding giant glowing circles on the ground. Before I knew it, the circle upon which I had rained down sweet sweet destruction was filled with blinding light and I found myself somewhere else.
It was warm. Balmy summer night in Mulgore warm. Any happiness associated with that memory was swept aside by the strange stars in a strange sky. And the smell of unwashed, sweaty humans. Maybe 20 of them camped within 50 yards. Normally I would say that I was as scared of them as they were of me, and I likely would have if it wasn't for the fact that all of them were wearing red dyed armor. I hate red. It makes me want to kill things. Lots of things. Red is almost as bad as gnomes.
I would never dream of sullying my mouth with uttering Common, but I can at least identify it. And what ever these humans' were speaking, it wasn't Common. I was so shocked by the comical reaction of these pale skins that I let me concentration waver, and I revered to my native form. Which if anything made them grovel even more.
It had been a long day, and I was hungry. Figuring these humans were not much of a threat, I mean their clothes were of a quality that I had long ceased to use for anything other then perhaps to wipe my ***. I walked over to the spitted animal, slicing off a piece of it's hindquarters and stuffing it into my mouth. It was juicy, a bit like kodo meat in texture but with a very different flavor. The humans were looking at me with abject shock. I looked over and noticed that the still attracted head of the creature was not so different from my own. I shrugged my shoulders, sliced off several of more pieces of the roast. I chewed and swallowed them as I moved to the center of their camp. I raised my hands, shifted my form once more into that of a moonkin. They gathered closer, in their ignorance. Maybe they thought I was about to bless them, or something of that nature.
The small blasts of starfire began just as the storm I summoned blasted apart everything around me. I let the storm run on for several seconds, turning their carcasses into seared bones. Seeing my handy work I slipped back into my native skin, knelt down by the nearest blacked skeleton and said,â€Moo.â€