Chapter 1. All of the Boring Ass Required Reading
AZEROTH-512
KALIMDOR
PLAINS OF MULGORE
ORC ENCAMPMENT
Local Time: 11:13 hours
Wade Wilson, a.k.a. Deadpool, a.k.a. the Merc with the mouth, a.k.a. the most handsome and illegible human or mutant bachelor in the Multiverse, a.k.a. the greatest person to ever exist in any point in space and time, was, at the moment, not a happy camper.
He was sent to this Universe by his boss, Alex Mercer, a.k.a. the devourer of gods, a.k.a. the guy who somehow managed to get enough power to punch out the Q entity and the Chaos Gods with one arm, a.k.a. Evolution Personified, and a.k.a. the guy that could make even HIM piss and shit his bowels out under a VERY tempting contract. The kind that would make that drunk, walking parody of himself, Tony Stark, sober up just so he could be properly jealous of Deadpool's luck. And his incomparable levels of swag. And the size of his—
*Smack*
OWWW! What in the fucking seven Corellian Hells was that for!?
Either focus and narrate the story right you amateur, or you'll continually feel the full force of my pimping hand and I'll be the one telling this tale you nit-wit.
Ok! Ok! Jesus...
Anyways, where was I? Oh!
Like I was saying...the contract Mercer gave everyone's favorite wise cracking psychotic gunslinger was juicier than a fucking Minute Maid factory. Though the reward helped a lot (and I do mean A LOT), the thing that really made the checkerboard color-schemed ninja's mouth water like Neighagra Falls (yes, that's NEIGHAGRA, not Niagra assholes! I have ponies on the brain 24/7 and I don't care who knows!) was who he was supposed to put down like Ol' Yeller and where the body would drop to after being riddled with more holes than downtown Baghdad.
Azeroth. Specifically, the continent of Kalimdor.
Now, I don't have to tell you how 'off the chain' (as the kids say these days) a fantasy world with swords, sorcery, zombies, demons, orcs, elves, midgets, aliens, and dragons like Azeroth is. I also don't have to tell you how balls-to-the-walls mind-blowingly 'in the hizzle' visiting a world like that would be. So thusly, I won't tell you how absolutely gleeful Deadpool was as he imagined gunning and cutting down the guys with swords, sorcery, zombies, demons, orcs, elves, midgets, aliens, and dragons that inhabited Azeroth with his superior technology, weapons, training, and amazing regenerative healing factor on his way to the target. Something he really wished he was doing now instead of being dragged in chains into a straw hut in the center of an Orc encampment by no less than six of the un-jolly green giants like he was a mad cow (or mad Tauren. Either one wouldn't surprise him).
Why and how did he get captured by six of these hairless and oddly colored Gorillas, you ask?
Well...let's just say that the golden orange spyglass he was using to scope out the encampment near midday was a dead give-away amongst the usual dirt brown or grass green plains of Mulgore. And his costume. And the fact that he was standing proudly on a big and noticeable hilltop not two hundred yards away. And the fact that he was playing 'Slayer' on full blast on his boom-box...
...You know...now that I think about it...Deadpool has a big tendency to be a colossal fuckwit, doesn't he!? I don't know why I was praising him like he was the second coming or—
*Smack*
OWWW!
Stick to the script you off-track venturing fool...
Fine!
Anyways, yeah. If those dudes couldn't find him out, I'd start to wonder if they could spell their fucking names correctly. Granted, considering they're Orcs who were raised since they could stand to be three hundred pounds of solid murdering beef, I doubt they could spell their fucking names correctly anyways...but that's not the point.
What is the point is that not long after he made this little display, most of the encampment stopped their serious and intense thumb twiddling session, grabbed whatever weapons were on hand (most of them already in their hands), and proceeded to try to seriously fuck up our resident home-skillet-biscuit. After a very long and exciting fight that I wouldn't dare boring you with the details about in which our Stalwart mercenary gunned and slashed down dozens of green skinned block heads like I do to my cousins' children every time I attend a family Reunion for all of the times they shot me out of an airlock and into a black-hole when I was younger—
-Errrrr...wait. Where was I going with this again?
Oh yeah!
Deadpool eventually tasted more electricity than anyone who ever got hit by a lightning charged Mjolnir (he should know considering how often Thor took out his frustrations on him by testing the limits of his immortality) by the spell slinging dudes of the Green Man Group, which distracted him long enough for the others to take turns thrusting sharp, pointy, metal objects into him (innuendo completely intended). When the Orcs eventually took notice of the fact, they opted for just subduing him and bringing him into their encampment like an aforementioned unsound bovine.
Dead-dog may be an immortal sword-swinging, gun-toting, ball-to the-walls insane ninja, but with his strength class petering out at peak human (even though he'd much rather have it 'Peter' out at Class 10) those six ugly green bricks had little trouble bringing him in.
And so, the seven of them quickly made it to the hut. Within its animal hide walls were the basic things you'd expect to find in Orc huts: various weapons and shields hanging from the walls, various heads of various animals hanging from the walls, various weapon racks holding various weapons leaning against the walls, and (my personal favorite as well as Deady's) various photos of an entrance to a bunker, built before some white-marble government building, flanked on either side by two goose-stepping, Nazi looking bastards holding guns.
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