Time for Sunday frivolity, I think – I shall hereby allow Rosencrantz to relate the rip-roarin and thoroughly spiffin adventures of the Dwarven Gentlemen’s Club.
We rose with the sun but by the time we had fortified ourselves with breakfast, bruch, elevensies, tiffin, lunch, high tea, tea, dinner and supper like civilised chaps said sun was well on its way to settin again. Undeterred, we embarked upon our journey armed only with our boomsticks and our stiff upper lips.
Tally ho!
Our destination: The Barrens, upon whose vast and trackless plains mighty beasts roam free, just waitin for a jolly good shootin. We chartered passage from Stormwind to Darkshore, weighing anchor at the village of Auberdine, and from thence south through Ashenvale, a tranquil place of tall, whisperin trees and gentle pipe music driftin on the still air.
Jolly dull, what what. Nothin like the sweet sound of gunfire to wake a place up.
As well as being home to a bunch of stuffy elven types, we were fortunate enough to encounter some gorgeous wild cats, sleek and graceful, with coats of moon-streaked marble.
So we shot ‘em! Tally ho!
Spiffin Shooting, old girl!
But the riotous success of our expedition thus far was also tinged with tragedy, when, Yorrick threw himself valiantly into the rabid maw of an oncoming bear.
Damn and blast, bally thing killed m'pig!
Our next stop was the passport office between Ashenvale and The Barrens and, damn me, if the blighters wouldn’t let us through without a Horde Visa. I tried to reason with the bolshie natives manning the outpost but things rapidly turned nasty and the green-skinned fellas chased us for some distance, throwing axes at our heads. Not sportin’ at all!
Having put a sensible distance between us and the primitives, we climbed a hill in order to survey our Newfoundland and its extensive selection of eminently shootable fauna.
I claim this land for the DGC, and the Dwarven peoples, and the Alliance!
As the moon rose, we were graced with our first sight of the mighty Barrens kodo: a formidable creature, enwrapped in wooly fur and sporting a lengthy, protruding horn upon it proboscis (rather like a chap with whom I attended university). Rejoicing at our good fortune, we shot it until it died. Huzzah!
One for the trophy cabinet, eh old girl?
standing at the back in my sissy robe 