I mean, Westfall is as dry as a bone. No, it’s drier than that. If I spit, it would probably dry out before it reached the ground. Even opening your eyes is unpleasant in this place. Who lead this place into this disastrous state? I heard this was once “the breadbasket of Stormwind”. Well, let me tell you, there’s no bread or baskets here now. Just dust, cold, dry air and dead grass. When you take a dictionary and check the definition of “agricultural or economic mismanagement”, there should be a picture of Westfall printed there. Even Hellfire, place in a scorching heat where ground itself is cracked and stripped to bedrock, didn’t feel as dry as this.
This is probably a good place to stop ranting about the nightmarish conditions of Westfall and explain what’s been happening to me lately. Last I wrote, I was waiting for a ship in Surwich. Well, it arrived in time. And everything appeared fine until GODDAMN PIRATES rolled out of the fog near Jaguero Isle and boarded our ship. The mostly human crew started running around like headless chickens – I still don’t know if they were trying to PvP or were just scared to death of pirates. So the two old birds had to do what these idiot mammals refused to – defended the ship.
They weren’t even that hard to fight. I quickly shifted into Astral Form and dispatched each of them with a single spell. Similarly, my brother Tarakan one-shot each of the remaining ones with one bolt from his crossbow. They were probably underleveled compared to us. But one thing they did manage to achieve: they killed two unnamed shipmates, and the… what do you call it again? The monkey at the steering wheel? Oh, yeah, helmsman. Or rather helmsmonkey in this case. The humans called him Spank. That’s funny, apparently.
So Spank the Helmsmonkey (wait, I think I get it) was dead, and the ship was cruising fast in the direction of Booty Bay rocks. Cruising, or rather being carried by the stream that monkey’s death convulsion pushed us into. Everyone who ever watched a movie or played a video game knew how this was gonna end.
So we crashed. We crawled out of the wreckage, straight into the deck of Booty Bay’s auction house. After getting rid of the goblin who immediately tried to sell us some trash, and the two thugs who tried to capture and sell us as some kind of curiosity (have they never seen an Arakkoa before?) we decided on a course towards Stormwind through Stranglethorn Vale.
Back in my day, Stranglethorn Vale used to be a special kind of hell. If you did as much as stepped a single inch into the exposed main road, you were immediately getting ganked by some random level 60 who was inevitably standing right there. These days? The two of us, and the derpy creature that follows my brother, went straight through the entire main road, all the way to Duskwood and all we’ve seen was one Tauren who waved at us and went back to mining. What happened? (Also, who thought it’s a smart idea to put a giant whirlpool in the middle of the squawking road?)
We finally reached Duskwood then. It was uneventful. Of course, Tarakan had an idea to make it more eventful – just hike straight across the country to get to Stormwind, but let me tell you, spiders and wolves and, worst of all, Murlocs, are not the kind of things I want to concern myself with. So we decided to keep following the roads, and go through Westfall.
You know my feelings about Westfall already. If Tanaan Jungle is now called Hellfire Peninsula, this place should be renamed HellDUST. Because I’m up to my nares in dust, this stupid mammal guard called me a bum, and we’re just sitting in an apparent military outpost… that has never got its walls finished. What’s up with that?
Here’s to the last leg of the journey being less irritating. Who am I kidding, everything irritates me.
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