Rush grins wide, immediately appearing amused by the question. “My funniest moment? There be a lot, but I can share one with you.” He shifts in his seat and sits up a little straighter than usual.
“Right after the Horde welcomed in the Send-a-Rays, or belves as some people call them, I was at this base in Zangarmarsh that had a detachment of belf swordsmen to help us clear out the Darkcrest naga. There was this one Send-a-Ray from this town called Train-Killin back on Azeroth. He was the first person to teach me how to use two-handed swords, real gentleman of a guy. Things were always kind of weird around the base though, kind of like when the Forsaken joined. The Send-a-Rays had a different culture from most of us; most of them were like a hundred years old, so they were more conservative. Most of them wouldn’t laugh at fart jokes or use bad words, and they didn’t open up about personal topics as easily.”
Squeezing a lemon out into his cup, Rush stirs the imported Thalassian tea and then eats the remainder of the lemon, skin and all. He doesn’t even wince or react to the bitter citrus acid. “But that one guy, what’s-his-name, he was cool. When he was training me in two handers, I mentioned how much I hate the Amani tribe, and he was real chummy and less formal after that. One night, things were quite in the camp; the belves were eatin dinner in their own tent, and everybody else was in the great hall. Then this guy, he tells me he has an idea and leads me to the pig sty. We let one of the pigs out and then he gets this canister of petroleum jelly, and I was all like ‘whoa dude, I not be into that,’ but then he greases the pig and slaps it so it runs into the middle of camp. Everybody comes out of their places to see what all the noise be about, and they see me and this Send-a-Ray with this greased pig screaming bloody murder. And then, I swear if I be lyin then I be dyin, the swordsman - this bajillion year old elf who acted all stuffy and never smiled or anything - takes his boots off and starts chasin the pig through the mud.
“Every other Send-a-Ray in the place stood slack jawed. Even the orcs all gasped, watchin this dude old enough to remember Azeroth’s last ice age, this belf who drank soup with spoons and stuff, barefoot and chasin a greased pig. So I took my greaves off and started chasin the pig too cause I didn’t want him to be singled out as weird by himself. As soon as I join in, a few of the orcs start chasin the pig too, and then a few of my people. And - again, I swear - this little blood mage with a neck thinner than my ankle takes her shoes off and starts chasin the pig too. By the end of the night, everybody except the ranked officers was covered in mud tryin to catch this cryin pig. There was no yellow or blue or green - we were just Horde at that moment.
“That swordsman died when we invaded the Black Temple, by the way. We roasted the same pig in his honor. Sad to lose him, but he taught me a lot, about fightin and even havin fun.”
Question: where are your parents now? If they knew where in Azeroth you are, and what you’re doing, would they be proud?
