The Warcraft Eye

Posted by Nelson Williams (Who am I?) | March 22, 2007

When it comes to pass that you’re being chased from a crumbling farmhouse by a slavering dead thing that used to be your neighbor, now animated by an unholy carnivorous lust for your brainmeats, it’s only natural to toss the pants and shirts you’re carrying over the other shoulder, peel that nasty pair of ugly pink undies from your head, and ask yourself the big question; just where did it all go wrong?

Fortunately, I know the answer to that question. I chose the exact wrong time to get drunk.

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Chapter Four: In Which Helvetica Receives a Bump on the Noggin

Posted by Helvetica (Who am I?) | March 13, 2007

On closer inspection the Burning Crystal reminded Helvetica even more of a glass of Mt. Dew that someone happened to be blowing bubbles into. All it needed was a crazy straw and it would be complete. Rough, white flagstones paved a circular area around the crystal and supported clusters of frilly benches and strange, hovering shelves filled with random books. Here and there a pot bobbed in the air, spilling over with ferns and flowers of various colors. All the while she stood and examined the area the crimson eyes of the crystal watched her with a plotting, voyeuristic glower.

Upon her arrival at the kill zone, blade in hand, Helvetica girded herself and made a few practice swings with her bastard sword. These warm-ups would have had more meaning, however, if she had anything

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Chapter Three: Helvetica Receives Her First Quest

Posted by Helvetica (Who am I?) | March 4, 2007

Helvetica was overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and throngs rushing all around her. She was surrounded by dozens of other stick thin blood elves, their glowing eyes sliding past her in luminous blurs. Once and a while a blue name floating above a pastel head caught her attention, such gems as “Bubblehearth,” “Omgelf,” “Dulcewynna,” and “Toosexyformysword.” She stared in awe at the alabaster ponderous curves and sweep of the tower she stood next to, a yellow inlay etching flitted playfully across the opalescent surface and transitioned across blood red pincushion bubbles before finally reaching the summit of the goldenrod and red roof.

The sight of the tower captured her attention so totally she didn’t look where she was going—or maybe it was the male blood elf, dancing and stripping down to his skivvies. None of this

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