Snippets (Hopefully-Daily Free-Flow RP Bits!)

(( A thread to showcase the creativity of CC/SoE Roleplayers! Post a vignette or short story, a small window into their daily life or personality! Replies needn’t rely on previous posts, just have fun!))

Minnie hugged the plush bunny. Soft-Soft. It had a pink ribbon, around its neck. Pink-Pink! So Very-Very!

Thelaera had given it to her, after she’d had a Bad Dream. She was fairly certain that the bunny-gift and the bad-bad dream were unrelated and just a matter of timing. Still, it was nice and soft and nice.

“I hope, there is a Nice Thing, whenever there is a Bad Thing, I think…If, there are bunnies every time I have a bad dream, uhm, there may be, Too Many Bunnies, though…”

She thought, then, about the upcoming Noblegarden celebrations. So Many-Many Bunnies…! Surely, this would be an amount unrelated to a Potential Plethora of Bad and Scary and Bad Things…yes?

Minnie hugged the plush bunny. Soft-Soft. It had a pink ribbon, around its neck. Pink-Pink! So Very-Very! “One plus, one is two…two plus two is four…f-four plus four is, eight…”


Fitzhugh banged the gavel on the podium to bring the gathering to attention. A diverse crowd had filled the small room. Agitated, frustrated, they turned to look.

“Friends, we are here tonight because we alone believe in freedom. For too long our lives have been playthings in the hands of uncaring monarchs. Tonight though, we bear witness to the beginning of their end.”


Stormwind Watch Animal Control Officer Tomini Brightpaw pushed a rattling crate ahead of her as she emerged headfirst from the crawlspace underneath the Old Town building. She had finally caught the last of the angry escaped eel rats. Or had she…?


Whenever he wasn’t spying on his enemies, Professor Rakeri Sputterspark was somewhere he liked to be - at work. He had taken residence in a machinist’s shop (and there were so many of them) in Mechagon City, working with the various weapons and gadgets he had discovered in this new life. Although many of the engineering concepts were familiar to him, many others showed a degree of greater sophistication, no doubt brought on by the idea of “thinking like a machine”. In coming to terms with this strange yet similar technology, he could perhaps come to terms with his own alterations. Even after all this time, his “upgraded body” still provided a learning experience.

No doubt Orwyn had sent spies - perhaps his pet dog, Hazlett - after him. Not that any spies would escape notice here in Mechagon; like him, a lot of people here had had upgrades to their eyes, allowing them to better spot lurkers. But even if they were here, Rakeri was content to allow the Watch to run in circles, dreaming up imaginary plots to accuse him of. It gave the armchair soldiers a way to try and make themselves relevant, while the real soldiers kept the world safe for them to lounge about in. Meanwhile, he had work to do.

He wondered who was leading the night elf refugee population while Tyrande attended to the cleanup back in Kalimdor; no doubt a few of them could use some new killing tools. He was not overly concerned about Stormwind’s laws regarding customs and import; they had a lot of laws to keep track of, and enough loopholes to make a Darkmoon race course. With Kul Tiras, however, it was different, as their law was simple: “Smuggle in our harbor, and we’ll hang you.” It was simple enough to respect, and Rakeri made every effort to ensure whatever sales he made in Boralus were above board. It seemed to be paying off, as he had not been harassed by the Proudmoore Guard whenever he visited Boralus. Which, these days, was rare; there was always work to be done, if not here, then in the lands of the Titans.

It was not yet time to show the cretins in the world beyond what he was capable of. But when it was, they would not be able to stop him. The world needed people like him in this day and age, as that dog Valmy had said… and he would show them why.


Commander Orwyn, Lieutenant Symmber Skyriver, and Corporal Chambliss Acton had gathered in the Watch’s training yard where Chambliss was going to present his latest invention. Chambliss stood next to a waist high stack of dull grey metallic boxes. Thick cables connected the boxes together at both ends of each box. Chambliss slapped the top box enthusiastically.

“Ok! So here’s the thing! If ya can store electricity in batteries ta make light later, why can’t ya store the Light in batteries ta make electricity later! Or, ya know, whatever thing ya want the Light ta do but need some extra POWER for!” Chambliss pumped his fist emphatically in the air.

Orwyn and Symmber looked at each other. Symmber shrugged. Orwyn turned back to Chambliss and said quietly and clearly, “Those are entirely different and unrelated processes, Corporal.”

Chambliss nodded cheerfully. “Sure! But this is magic, or whatever, so it’s fine!” He thumped the boxes again, which emitted a faint whiff of ozone.

Orwyn closed his eyes momentarily and sighed. “So…how is this supposed to work?”

“Work! Yeah, sure, that’s what’ll happen!” Chambliss nodded vigorously. “Let me tell ya ‘bout the theory though, ‘cause it’s awesome! So ya know how the Light can do basically everythin’, if ya just think about it the right way? And ya can use it to infuse stuff and make stuff better? I mean, ya could even like, infuse maple syrup and it’d… Whoa.” Chambliss put a hand to his forehead and held his other arm out dramatically. “Light-infused syrup! That’d be amazin’! Plus so sparkly on your pancakes! Wow! And it’d be healthy, ‘cause it’d be Light-syrup! Right?!” He laughed uproariously.

Orwyn and Symmber stared at him.

“Part of a Light breakfast, right?!” Chambliss laughed harder.

Orwyn said neutrally, “I can see what you’re not inventing here. New jokes.”

“Hahaha! Aw, Lighten up, Commander!” Chambliss grinned widely.

Symmber stepped in to try to salvage the presentation. “Are these batteries actually functional and charged, Corporal?”

Chambliss replied cheerfully, “oh, nah, I can’t figure out yet how ta move ‘em without them sparkin’. I got a couple chargin’ up in the workshop though, but it’s too cramped where I got ‘em for me ta do a proper show and tell!” Chambliss turned around to gesture in the direction of his workshop, when they all noticed smoke starting to billow from the building’s eaves. Chambliss smacked his forehead. “Aw man, AGAIN?”


She had not been prepared for just how “open” the bar was. The way it had been put to her, the only people from the “enemy” she should have expected to see was a crazy worgen. But she had not been prepared for what had happened. She had fled when that draenei tried to talk to her. Not because she was afraid of the draenei; no, it was because she was afraid she would kill the draenei.

“So dere ya be.” She looked up at that voice.

“You didn’t tell me we actually had to talk to them,” she snapped accusingly, without so much as a hello, and before he could get another word in. “I thought it was just some place where they sat off to one side and minded their own business. You actually mingle with those… butchers?”

He looked confused for a moment… and then nodded. “Ah. Dat ‘disagreeable-ness’ Yumao mentioned.” He knelt down to eye level with her, and removed his mask. “Ya didn’t actually…”

“No. I wanted to. But I remembered what you told me, about how they had people who dealt with that stuff. I saw that big bull-man --”

“Tauren,” he corrected.

“Tauren, yes… big spiked shoulders.”

He smiled a bit. “I asked him if he were goin’ orcish on us.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t like dealin’ with dem murderers any more than you do. Dey killed our king and burned our fleet because dey thought if dey did, we would not side with da Horde. But killin’ Rastakhan made dat decision inevitable, just like da Alliance killin’ ya people in da desert made it easy for ya ta do da same.”

“And yet you still go to this place… how do you do it, Master Zulimbasha?”

Zulimbasha shrugged. “For bettah or worse, we be at… no, peace be da wrong word. Undastandin’… nah, dat don’t be it either. Whatever - da knives stay put. For now.” He smiled grimly. “We play our parts, Vilaya. We be all smiles in places like dat - and it be hard not ta smile with people like Yumao doin’ da hostin’! But dis playactin’ all peace and love, it be expected of us for da time bein’. Dere be a time and place for da knives ta come out.”

“When?” the vulpera demanded sharply.

The death-priest’s smile simply widened. “All in good time, my friend. All in good time.”


It’d been quite a while since Renzly had crept along the outskirts of Stormwind. Naturally the patrol patterns had changed again, so it had been a very slow creep while she avoided being spotted. Fortunately, she wasn’t interested in the heart of the city. She just needed a good vantage point of the harbor. If her hunch were correct, the ship she was waiting for would arrive that evening.

On another day, all the waiting might have been irksome. However, the weather was lovely and the city was a lot cleaner than some places she’d had to stakeout in the past. It was a shame the number of hoops one had to jump through to visit openly.

She was just thinking she needed to change locations again when she spotted the familiar sail cresting around the corner of the harbor. Definitely the same ship that had made the rendezvous off of Stranglethorn. Renzly had yet to figure out who Yamivi’s contacts in the Alliance were, but it wasn’t going to stop her from disrupting the troll’s attempt to reestablish her black market trade routes. She kept watch until she could see which dock the ship would be moored at. She jotted down the ship’s berth on a prepared note, along with commentary about the possible contraband hidden aboard.

“Tarnik, time for part two.” She searched for the imp who was always lurking. He poofed into existence a foot or so away. She stuffed the note into an envelope. “Ya see one nearby?”

The imp bobbed his head and pointed to a nearby bastion. Sure enough, someone in armor was passing by. Perfect. While it wasn’t the most subtle plan… sometimes simple worked well enough. Even if all she did was cause a delay, it was still progress.

A few moments later the guard yelped as a small stone bounced off their helmet. It chatted to the cobblestone, yet didn’t roll very far due the paper wrapped around it marked “read me.” The guard turned to look for its source, but Renzly was already gone.


The smell of death surrounded him like a shroud. Inescapable and tangible. In his lab, Malcotin Baen was not concerned with the smell. He was becoming used to it. Much as he had in life, as an undertaker in Gilnaes.

Now that he had endless time to experiment, without the restrictions of life, he had many projects in mind. But he had to move cautiously. His work on the various diseases and maladies that plagued the Gilnaen people was important. There was much more than the curse. That wretched curse that made him into something not human, but still with human emotions and needs.

He strolled to the window and looked out. Here in Dalaran, he was just one of the many who flocked to the big city in search of answers. Whether they were arcane or simply political. A neutral city once again, as Jaina was occupied in Boralas.

He was an unlikely addition to the ranks of Death Knights. Fitting in was not very easy, as most of them seemed to think themselves ‘special’ from being inducted by Arthas. There were others there, most of whom stayed hidden and only used the runeforge as necessary. How many, Malcotin was not exactly sure. His own death and subsequent raising were far beyond anything the Lich King had done.

He lit the pipe and deeply inhaled the fragrant smoke. Odd now that the very thing that killed many, the inhaling of smoke no longer affected him. Neither did disease or pestilence. He was beyond that now. What he had discovered in the course of his lifetime before was now coming to fruition.

Most of the Alliance hated Sylvanas, and for good reason. But deep down, Malcotin admired her. She was privy to things none of the general populace knew. She was persistent and unyielding. Undeath protected her, as did the many Forsaken followers. How he envied her at times.

He mused that maybe the time was fast approaching when others discovered what he had. A way to control the Undead. A way to control your own life and where you went and how you reacted to the current unrest in the world.

Malcotin was doing important work, and he was not about to be stopped by moral restrictions. The end justifies the means.


((Let’s see, a couple of sillies from RP…))

The Haljeks [arcane servants] manage to produce filled glasses from nowhere for everyone, and leave before Keelath and Tyrric notice their drinks are the wrong way around.

The two brothers both drink, and Keelath still doesn’t seem to notice. Tyrric does, and with a surreptitious glance towards Keelath, goes to switch the glasses.

“What are you doing?”

“Mine’s a gin.”

“Oh.” Keelath switches the glasses.

“They were already–” Tyrric switches them back.

“What are you doing?” Keelath switches them back.

“Just stop–” Tyrric switches them a final time, then pounds his fist down on Keelath’s hand before he can reach them.

Then they stare at each other a moment, as if surprised by the perfectly normal sibling interaction they just had!

“…I really can’t tell,” Keelath finally says, to cover the awkwardness. He takes a hold of his glass–Tyrric nods that it’s the correct one–and downs it rather quickly.

The Haljeks poof back in at that point and refill the glasses–with the wrong drinks. Keelath drinks on without seeming to notice. Tyrric does notice however, jumping when he takes a sip, then switches the glasses again. Keelath just looks at him blankly.

((And…Medyfivol and Keelath. Just the dialogue!))

“Let’s play I spy!” [exclaimed Medyfivol.]

“What is–” [Keelath began, but he was cut off.]

“I give you clues to something I see, and you guess what it is!”


“So I’ll start! I spy with my little eye, something big, imposing, and–”

“It’s me.”

“Yes! …okay, that was too easy. Let’s try another one! I spy with my little eye something with a big sword–”

“It’s me.”

“How did you guess?? Okay, here’s another one. You’re definitely not going to get this one, not in a million million years! I spy with my little eye something blac–”

“It’s me.”

“Okay, that’s just scary.”

“And a guess on the next one. It’s me. And the next one? Me.”

“…are you cheating??”


Eloise walked down the hallway of the tavern’s employee quarters, dropping off some laundry. Illiidi, bless her heart, just a few towels, and washrags. The woman went scantily-clad, to put it mildly. Made for easy laundry.

A few shirts and skirts for the Pandaren lady. Haozhou. A rather neat one, her. Very simple, very easy. A few more stops at a few more rooms, hanging a jacket here, a bag of sundries there…

She dawdled, a bit. She wasn’t looking forward to what she knew was at the end of the hall. She saved it for last; procrastinated, as much as she could. She could already see it out of the corner of her eye…

Cup’s room. Cup and Thelaera’s room, now, actually. This did not improve things as much as she’d hoped. The overstuffed basket sat outside the door, bloated, and mocking. “Light, what will be in there this time…”

Nachos, probably. A shirt somehow coated with nachos-cheese, even on the back of it. She’d found a ladle in a sock once. Thelaera tried, bless her, but the gnome was just…a cloud of food particulate, it seemed. The Draenei’s clothes were never quite so badly-off, but her clothes were huge, and she was always toting Cup around. She just knew there would be cookies and a shepherd’s pie stuffed in one or both of their pockets…

Not even bothering trying to lift the thing, she levitated the basket, and started nudging it towards the stairs…she could already see some of Cup’s socks…worn into anklets. She rolled her eyes; no matter how many times Eloise reminded her, she’d wear the things until they fell apart. Running everywhere, and leaping about, and it took her at least twice as many steps to get anywhere…she should really be changing them twice a day, at least…

Ah well. They were not hurting for coin, and she could wash the anklet-bits out and sew them into sock-monkeys, to give away to the orphanage…


Thel hummed softly to herself as she arranged her things. They had to be in just the right order. The room was cleaned, though she knew when Cup got back before tavern it’d look like a tornado hit it again. Until then, though…

She smiled, moving another of the objects. Adjusting a bit here, making a slight turn there. The task was calming in it’s way. And the way things had been recently, calm was just what the doctor ordered. She nodded firmly once and stepped back, folding her arms to observe her work.

Everything was perfect. The very large draenei grinned and reached out, patting one of the many stuffed animals on the head. “Alright, you lot. Behave yourselves, I’m going to go get lunch.”


Cephron read the scripture intently, sweat breaking on his brow. This particular passage had profound meaning and should not be done such injustice as inattentiveness. Today, he will at last perform his first resurrection.

Behind the Cathedral in the lush garden, an unfortunate mouse had wondered onto the wrong end of Dalia Skyblossum’s mousetrap. After being graciously donated, the mouse lay motionless on the ground in front of Brother Cephron. Softly, Cephron began to whisper a prayer to his beloved Light, calling upon Its blessing to this stricken creature. Eyes glowing gale golden, Cephron focused all of his attention solely on this mouse. Nothing else existed. With upward inflection, Cephron cried out the last syllable of the prayer and blinding light flooded the garden. Cephron was thrown back from the release of energy and several of the surrounding bushes were set aflame. “Did I do it?”

Yammari was a gentle Druid who quite enjoyed the peace of a garden in bloom. His long, elven legs strode somberly toward a bench he had placed on the outskirts of his garden, thus giving the flora privacy during this rigorous pollination season and Yammari a comfortable place to sit. Yammari could see a large Raven approaching, clearly marked with a sash from the Azeroth Messenger Company. The raven delivered a box to Yammari. Most curious this box, as it had several holes in it as well as what sounded like a snake wiggling out of wrapping paper. It was from his friend and college in Stormwind, Cephron who is a Priest at the Cathedral. Opening the box, a mouse crawled cautiously onto his outstretched hand. With a faint smirk of understanding, Yammari placed the calm, affectionate mouse into his breast pocket. “I shall call you, Miracle.”


Junior medical officer Alastir Wardley was at his wit’s end. Even though he was very happy for the return of Miss Breyd Summerveil to the Infirmary, he could not help but feel totally unnecessary now.

He made rounds every hour and took care of the injured as he always did. Paying special care to the ones who were not able to help themselves. Inevitably, he would find they were already taken care of by Miss Summerveil and he seemed to be traveling in the same circle of useless effort all day long.

Finally, in exasperation, he decided to call on his friend the Kul Tiran known as the Judge Roy Bean. The elder gent seemed content to work in his office and keep the flow of endless petty cases down to a dull roar.

“Good afternoon, Officer Wardley. What brings you to me today?” the cheerful greeting came from the heavy set man.

“I wish I could be more useful…” Alastir sighed. He sat down in a rickety chair in the Judges office and leaned back.

The judge scratched his chin and nodded. “You are pretty green yet, son. Why not approach Commander Orwyn and offer to do some volunteer work? I hear they are organizing some sort of Guard Appreciation Day. I am sure he will put you to work!”


Spicerack, hidden prone amongst some scree on a hill, chewed on an unlit stump of a cigar, peering through a pair of binoculars.

The sethrakk she was watching, in the distance, scurried about, in and out of a small cavern. A group of Faithless she’d been tracking.

“Just whatta you mooks up to…?” she mused, to herself. Their c’thrax had been defeated, and Horde forces had moved in on most of the Azerite deposits found in the area…Could be one nobody had stumbled upon yet…or a new one welling up, from below…could just be a cache of artifacts, or loot…

Or something worse. She spat the stump out, licking a few flecks of the leaf from her teeth. Setting the binoculars down, she patted at a pocket, searching for a fresh cigar. She clenched it in her teeth, and picked the binoculars back up, resuming looking through them, out across the dunes.

“Whatevah ya doin’, I’ll figyah it out…an’ toin a profit whiles I’s at it, ya scaly bastids…”


(don’t normally use npc’s in stories, but this is the reaction he’d probably have to her. It came up in rp, so here ya go )

Acherus, present day

“Highlord, do you have a moment?”

Darion Mograine looked up from the report he was reading. The Ebon Blade, like most organizations on Azeroth were hunting the former Warchief of the Horde, with as little luck as anyone else has had up to now. From the pained expression on Duke Lankral’s face however, it was not news of the hunt that he was bringing.

“What is it?”

“I am not sure how to explain this to be honest, it concerns one of the ‘new’ knights.” the Duke said diplomatically.

If he was still alive, he’d probably be feeling a migraine right about now. His was not to question the Lich King, and his raising of new Death Knights to protect Azeroth, the Highlord agreed with. It was just that some of them…”what has she done this time?”

“You are not going to believe it.”

“Try me.”

“It would probably be easier to show you Highlord”

Putting down the report he followed the Duke to the lower level, by the Rune Forge. Some of the new ‘recruits’ made sense. Pandaren were strong willed, the Highmountain Tauren had great strength, all of the races that were raised as Death Knights brought value to the Ebon Blade.

The Vulpera on the other hand…or to be fair at least this one…”Kikodawn.”

The ragged eared vixen looked up “Higuy!”

“HighLord” Duke Lankral corrected. Mograine waved him off, not worth spending the hour it would take to get the difference in words. “What are you doing, Death Knight?”

“Oh my deathdaddy told me about these.” There was an almost suppressed snicker from some of the other Knights nearby, who quickly found somewhere else to be. The HighLord felt momentarily as sorry as he could for the Draenei Death Knight that the vulpera had run into and latched on shortly after she’d been raised. Better him than myself at least. “I see, at least you have been…is that an ale mug?”

“Well yeah” Kikodawn replied, holding the oversized tankard “I really don’t like poking people with sharp things being that’s how I died, bein poked an all, but if I put the Razorice rune on em, I can wack people with em AND it keeps my drinks cold!”

“Carry on then.” He said, turning and heading back to his reports.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe it” The Duke said as they left.

Mograine definitely would have had a migraine if he was still breathing.“I trust the Lich King had reasons for who he has chosen to raise…that one though, I just don’t know.”


“You don’t talk much, do ya?” His claws scratched at the odd shaped mark on his ivory musket. “S’all right…figure I’d take a chance, say few words to ye fer you venture off fer the night.” The worg looked over his shoulder, the figure hung still, body illuminated slightly by the beaming light of the moon. “Ya know I’m not scared a’yus…been talkin to ghost fer as long as I can remember." He turned his burly body to face her, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Ya think cuz I’m a marksman, I’m jus shots and no brains? Huh…figures.”

She didn’t talk, she just stood there somewhat still, her hollowed out eyes peering deep into the trackers soul.

Sebastian poured water on the campfire, strapping the tin cup to his leather pack. “See that gent right over dares? Me grandfather, been followin’ me since I was a babe.” Quickly he’d strap the musket to his pack, adjust his shoulder before swinging the heavy leather onto his back.

“I know ye got a lot ta say Syline, hows bout we find that daughter of yer’s eh?” Sebastian’s cocky words followed a little wink.

Though he was terrified. She wasn’t like the others…every time her presence got near. The heart beat in his ears got louder…and louder…and louder.

Until it was only sound he could hear.


Tomini offered the brown mare another apple and patted her on her side gently. “You’re such a good girl. You probably feel terrible about kicking your master in the head. I know that rat surprised you, but you really must be careful not to hurt people.”

She stroked the horse’s mane while it chewed the apple. “He won’t be able to ride you for a bit, but he’ll be here to walk you home today. Be nice and apologize, and don’t be skittish on the way home. That’s a good girl.”

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Sitting in the Stockades, Phillip Morning did not have much to say to the Warden. The man was obsessed with the leader of the gnolls, old Hogger.

But Phil had not been wasting his time here. There were others from the Defias in the jail, and he had talked to them all. A common theme kept them all close to each other, the Brotherhood. It was not too big of a stretch to imagine that those still in Westfall knew of his upcoming execution. Would they attend the event? Phil was pretty certain they would not. They stuck to Westfall and followed orders. Their leader had made sure to indoctrinate them well. If they were caught, it was on their heads. Not that you ceased to matter to them. Only that the cause was righteous on its own, and those who died only became martyrs.

Phil knew he was going to die, he accepted it. He was guilty, and the Watch had given him a fair trial. Of course the lawyer was one of theirs, so he did not give a very good defence. Muttering to himself, he hoped his death was clean and quick.

One of the jailers asked him if he wanted to talk to the chaplin, but Phil just laughed. “The Light is a joke, it holds no use to me. The faithful in Westfall were left to starve, all because a King could not be bothered to help his citizens.”

They came for him, all spiffy in their fancy uniforms. Phil sneered as the Warden had separated him from his friends only an hour before. “Yeah, I don’t have any choice now, do I?”

They took his clothing and donated it to the poor. They took his weapons and probably gave it to the smiths to melt down. But Phil was not going to cry or break down. He gritted his teeth and let them cuff him and lead him out of the jail.

On the way, he noticed a crowd had gathered. He searched faces looking for anyone from Westfall who might see him and report back to the Brotherhood. He saw no one he recognised. His head went down. Probably better that they were not seen here. He would not wish anyone else to suffer his fate.

When the time came, he was made to face the crowd. Jostling him around to make a spectacle for all to see. Phil bristled at the Commander when asked if he had any last words. “Our cause is RIGHTEOUS! My brothers will avenge me!”

He was shoved to his knees and the crowd grew still as they watched. Phil closed his eyes and sighed, steeling himself for the blow.

Commander Orwyn had a strong set of arms and a steady sword. He took a hefty swing and Phil felt only a shock and a moment of pain as his head fell from his shoulders, his body twitching a moment before it fell still. Blood covered the steps as it spurted in a wild burst.

After the blow, a figure stepped from the shadows and bowed to the Commander. “My compliments, sir. It was a clean death. I am Malcotin Baen, the last survivor of this lad’s family. With your permission, I will take him to be buried in Westfall.”


Sippycup snacked on a rhino-dog, looking over a bevy of gadgets, parts, and gewgaws on a workbench, in her workshop. She had an idea, maybe. Or a theory. Possibly. About the crab grenade…

Her friend, Ozzie, had given her a prototype he’d fashioned, and she’d finally thought to use it. It was…marginally sucessful? It may have been great, actually, in a setting other than when she remembered she had it. However, she’d lobbed it at a very large Faceless, in the Vale.

It detonated, and covered the monster in crabs, pinching away. The thing flailed about in confusion, for a moment, and she whooped in delight.
"Yeah! Take that, ya big dumb weirdo! She’d thought, as she started to reach for a celebratory corndog, but then…

All of the crabs sprouted a tentacle, on their little crab heads. In unison, they disembarked from the Faceless, and began marching towards the gnome’s vantage point. It wasn’t much of a vantage point. Really, it was just a somewhat-big chunk of rock. At least the crabs probably couldn’t jump up-

“…ohman. Ohman ohman ohman. Not good!”
They were jumping. With more little tentacles on their little crab feet. The Faceless starting to lumber towards her again in their wake. It blubbered something incomprehensible at her, as she gripped the corndog in her teeth and unslung her hammers.

“Super Puppy Washboard Nuggetcrown ta YOU, ya big…stupid!” She grit her teeth, chompswallowed the bite, and actually let the rest of the corndog fall away, lost…!

“Guess we’re doin’ things the fold mashioned way, then!! You wanna go? LET’S GO!” she bellowed, and gave a mighty battlesqueak, leaping from the rock with the hammers aloft…


So, yeah. The crab grenade still needed some work. Maybe she could use a subspace manifold to pack in more crabs. A Faceless jerk might have trouble tentacle-fying way too many crabs, right…? Maybe if they came pre-mindcontrolled…there was that pre-pre-alpha build of a Shadowpriest-simulator neural net aura projectifyer…

She munched the last bite of rhino dog, and froze, gears turning in her brain. “Wait…waitwaitwait…what if I’m ‘pproachin’ this th’ entirely wrong way…”

“Ya dun pack th’ ‘nade wif’ crabs…ya pack it full of RHINOS…!”


((Cup and Chambliss need to work on a project together. There’s probably at least one alternate Azeroth out there if they blow up this one. No problem!))