Heh, I ain’t into bestiality, so I’m sure as hell not gonna date a greenskin … but hey, if you wanna show me how “nimble” you can get, I’ve got an axe right here with your name on it.
“Oh, shut up! You talk all big and bad but I bet you can barely swing that damned thing!” Thuldrell laughs whilst drawing his gladius. Eagerly looking forward to a fight “Anyway, since you’re not willing to do the world a favor and kill yourself, guess I’ll do it for you! Make sure to send the other Stromgarde idiots me and this “Horde” killed my regards!”
(If it wasn’t obvious… no)
“…So, I’m not really seeing a serious romantic prospect here. It’s not you, it’s… Okay, it’s definitely you. Just don’t do something that will make me have to poison your food supply, okay?”
“I thought your kind saw devouring literal poison as commendable? I shall pass.”
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“I however will not even think of passin’ a good lookin’ gal’ like ya’. Care for some whiskey?”
“I personally wouldn’t drink anything a Rogue is giving out. I’m happy to share other things with you however…”
Yeah, I mean what kinda weirdo wants ta take a drink from a pirate? S’only usually somethin’ deadly like grog or rum. Nah, yer much better off snortin’ fel or whatever the funt it is someone the state of yerself tends ta get up ta, which gives ya the moral high ground over a swashbuckler.
What a putz. Listen lady, I ain’t interested in hangin’ with the kinda broad who thinks fel is still in fashion an’ bein’ a normal person ain’t, y’dig?
“By the nightwell! Is this a joke?” Thuldrell heartily laughs at the idea.
“I always found the goblins obnoxious little bastards. But this one? Put a muzzle on her loud mouth and I’ll think about being near her. But a date is far out of the question.”
“What did yah’ say about her?” The goblin angrily walks and stomps towards the nightborne. “That’s rich comin’ from Mistah’ I’m In Love with Mahself’. Maybe yah’ should go see if yah’ find yah’ reflection on a lake. If yah’ happen to find it, do us a favor and drown tryin’ tah’ kiss it!”
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“You Goblin creatures are very peculiar. For something so small you are able to emit such noise. How is this possible?”
“Hm… How about a chat over a glass of wine?”
“Highborne blood, a soul warped in the shadows of the night, one who is feared by the others because of the powers she embraced for her people… and a hunter, like me? Let our predator hearts run free; our date would start with a chase in the forest, and our diner would be the fresh prey we hunted down together, prepared under the star filled night sky over a little campfire in the darkness, with a stolen bottle of strong wine… I don’t know how would it end, in a kiss or in a fight, but lets find out!”
“Hold on, are you eating the prey you hunt right away? What’s with flavouring? What’s with cooking? What’s with the table to sit at and cutlery? And people say the red side are savages. Sign me out of this.”
Da mon say campfiyah an’ prepare. Probaleh be cookin’ it.
As fa o’ date… pass. ‘less ja inta poisons an’ whips. An’ salamanders.
“I am quite unsure of the logistics of this arrangement. Is the salamander’s venom applied to the whip? All the same, you must seek companionship elsewhere unless you would not be adverse to discussing your most peculiar accent for a time. I have fallen behind on my linguistics studies on account of the spellwork that lets me understand you with less… hmm… imperfections.”
"There’s a lot to study about Troll accents. They differ from region to region, and even from tribe to tribe, but the broad strokes is that they can generally be traced back to the old Troll Empires after they fractured: Gurubashi, Amani, Farraki and Drakkari.
“We could discuss the matter more, or any number of other things, if you’d like. Perhaps over dinner?”
I’m only into other humans, buuuuut if your idea of a date involved the rebuilding of the fallen human kingdoms, then I suppose I could make an exception.
"Do not look wistfully toward what was, forever striving toward recapturing it. It is an endless struggle, what little time you have being spent making something that was already made, your success measured by things that cannot change.
I see this so often with the elders of my people longing for lost Argus and elves of your world whom yet lived when their land was unsurpassed. Let it go and build anew; look to the promise of the present and what you might build toward the future so as to make it brighter than your dream of old.
Date? Oh, no, but we can speak at length of your lost human empire and kingdoms and how they may inspire something greater? Though I must advise against a new Human empire in a world that you must share with so many others."
"I was born on Draenor, you know. I grew up hearing stories of lost Argus and the glory that was. They were incredible tales of the wonders we’d accomplished, beside which even Shattrath paled. Those tales inspired me to take up the arcane craft, hoping to recreate some of the miracles we’d lost. But…
"But that’s all they were. Stories. True tales, but long since dead. I went to Argus, and the glory that was is long gone. Even Mac’Aree, mostly unspoiled by the Legion, is a broken remnant of its former self. I agree with you; we need to keep looking forward, with our new allies on our new home.
“I’d be happy to take you out on a romantic evening. I think we’d have a lot to talk about.”
“A Draenor-born… sorry hun, too young for my taste”
*Kiss him on the forehead
“No hard feelings… but no date tonight!”