file/d/1F3FGWjE-Qsvz56rwbIKHfN1rV7_auXC1/view

The world snapped into focus with the greatest of Ironies. I had died, surrounded on all sides by girls in the midst of wild sex. This should have been a crowning moment of awesome, the thing that dreams are made of. Instead... I am the victim of a genuine demonic sacrifice as part of a sorority orgy. Go fucking figure.

Literally.

The room where I stood, hovering over my own dead body was the epitome of plush. Deep red silks and memory foam cushions covered everything... except for the stone slab to which I had been tied with... is that budget twine from lowes? Oh god... kill me again. I'll admit, I'm not the buff chad bodybuilder type, by any stretch of the imagination, but I keep in shape, and that crap should have been easy for me to break.

Walking around my corpse I examined myself with a curious detachment and quickly found the source of my misfortune. A small portion of my skull is caved in, on the back. You couldn't easily tell, as it's mostly hidden by hair, but the blood and crater makes it stick out in odd ways.

That's not what killed me though, no, that's the rail thin African chick with a face like a pug sitting on me. Her head is thrown back with an expression I think is a snarl, maybe? At least I hope it is. Her hands, instead of bracing themselves on my pecs, are gripped around the hilt of a knife with a REALLY thick blade.

I try to punch her in the face with my ghostly fists but, as should be expected I suppose, i went straight through her. Her entire body shuddered and she almost fell off of me as one of her legs slipped, but the girl caught herself with the help of the blade sunk into my breastbone. With that done, she lifted herself a little and I closed my eyes, groaning and tried to ignore the fact that the action wasn't helping me in the slightest. With a heave of her thin arms, the girl began to saw and in short order there was a violent crack as my rib cage split open.

Tossing the bloody knife aside she plunged her hands into the incision and I got a good look at the runes on the blade as it clattered across the stone table. More cracks followed and there was a squishing sound as my murderer pulled my heart from my chest. But not quite... with a sucking sound the main arteries held it in place and she had to retrieve the blade to cut it free.

Sticking one of the veins to her mouth, the girl sucked on the ventricle and began to change. Rapidly. Her body filled out as muscles rippled under flesh where there had been nothing worth remarking on before. Her hips, already wide, flared as padding grew in and her bust expanded to match, giving her an amazon warrior level figure. The face, while spattered liberally with blood, began to change as well, though much more subtly. It remained recognizably as her, but rapidly became what one could call cute. She'd probably be a knockout now, if she traded the blood for a bit of makeup.

As she passed off my heart to another of the girls in the room who began to undergo the same transformation I stood back and wracked my brain for where I might possibly have met any of these girls before. Honestly I was drawing a blank. I forwent parties for the computer-lab and only drank occasionally with friends. I'd had a string of girlfriends, no mistake, but I'd mostly picked them up at the Gym as part of my stonewrought determination to not repeat my low status highschool experience.

She was one of the gym bunnies. a voice growled into my ear. Stiffening in shock I turned right slowly to see the red skin and beard of... a goat? No, not quite, it was anthropomorphized. She was furious that your eyes ghosted right over her as though she were a piece of weight equipment. The figure continued conversationally. Continue this for almost a year and a half and add in some spectacularly bad grades, she became resentful. And desperate.

I nodded slowly. So, ah, Baphomet, right? What happens now?

The creature snorted. I am not he, my form now is more an...expression of your expectations. An image your mind can handle. As for what happens now, I take your soul, bind the souls of each girl who perfects herself drinking Vitaeand move on to the next stinking mud-ball. You ready? Or will I have to drag you?

I nodded slowly. Do me a favor?

The devil stared at me for a split second before breaking out in to belly laughs. This went on for a few moments before it caught my eye again and stopped abruptly. Wait, you're serious? Alright, consider me amused. Ask, and I might even grant your request.

Setting my shoulders I stare into the things eyes and do my best not to let the crushing despair creep into my gaze. When you finally reel in their souls and pen them in your stable? Make it hurt. It may have just been games to everyone else, but I was going to build worlds... now?I shrugged helplessly.

The goat thing stared into me for what seemed like an eternity before looking around the room. Apparently he liked what he saw, because his face split into a wide grin and in a flash he was beside me, an arm over my shoulder. You know what? I'm feeling generous. And bored, but don't underestimate the generosity. You wanted to make worlds? I want to watch you try. And hey, you seem to be excellent harvest, he explained waving to the room full of new supermodels.

With a snap of his thickly nailed fingers a stack of papers appear in his hands. I grabbed this off the internet, look it over and make your selections. I'll be back in a second. Gotta secure my bounty before it skips out the door!

I begin reading it slowly trying not to facepalm. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure game. Handed to me by and otherworldly force. It's as though my patron is a literal manifestation of Irony. Perhaps instead of the Knights Templar's Demon I should have been imagining Loki? Coyote? Kokopelli? I glance at the girl who killed me and reconsider. Anansi. Definitely Anansi.

Combing through the selections and my memories of Warcraft I make my choices. Laughing at options like Murderhobo, Comicbook Pretty and other in jokes, I marvel at the boost selections and craft an avatar who can easily take advantage of being more or less fucked in the ass. Quickly becoming the rival, or perhaps even replacement for Cho'Gall, I throw on Harem King and Comicbook for extra measure. If these girls can kill me for it, then I can sure as hell benefit from it.

Well now... that's certainly an interesting set of selections. Don't think I'm not going to make you work for it though...

I shrug, spreading my hands wide and hand him the stack of paper with my balance zeroed out. Are you not entertained?

We'll see, boy the figure replied as he pushed me backwards into oblivion. We shall see...

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

The world blurred and swirled in a mass of colors, wrongness and pain. I've no idea how long I stayed like that, hurtling through realities as my spirit transformed and gathered flesh around it once more, but when I could next make sense of things I was falling through the air above the blazing ruins of a gigantic city.

Around me Pale Orcs swarmed like locust over the bodies of pudgy ogre twice their height and eight times their mass. Shadowy auras radiated off of them and drank in the rainbow of magics the Ogre used to try and combat them while off in the distance explosions of emerald light shore off great chunks of buildings.

I had but seconds to get a look at my new self before I too was buried under a swarm of crawling, loping bodies. A muted rage suffused me and rather than trying to throw them off or use the magic that was now oozing its way into my mind, I began grabbing the Pale's heads in my fist and crushing them. Red and grey pulp oozed out of my fingers as tattoos glowed up and down my body. Rune-script I remembered, tattooed there by my better treated slaves. I certainly wouldn't have trusted a poorly treated one near my skin with a sharp implement and potentially deadly sludge needed to lock in complicated bands of Arcane MIGHT.

For a moment, my own memories fought with the new set trying to worm their way in and overwhelm me. Memories about the life of Thurm, the remarkably ugly Ogre magi who got by by out-witting all challengers. Son of a goat, they mocked me. Him. Arg! Draenai fucker, they accused. Twin self images warred in my head as I continued to methodically crush little Orc skulls in my meaty palms. By human standards, my new form is a fucking hunk. I'm Big Man Tyrone crossed with The Rock. By Ogre standards, my face is a mess, I'm a foot and a half too short, I have far too much hair, no second head and show my low status by lacking any noticeable fat, armor or jewelry.

In fact, if it weren't for a ragged skirt and belt, I'd be naked.

Noooot that the noble or his guards in this ally were fairing much better. Togas and jewelry mostly. Shaking my head I debate whether to help them or walk off. Reviewing my memories of WoW, this is Cho'Gall's invasion of Highmaul, literally days before the opening of the Dark Portal. On one hand, having allies means surviving longer. On the other, I took the trait Traitor lvl3, which means they're going to be sending a team of Elites after me. And here I am without my promised Ship or Magic weapon.

Go to the Imperators rise...I jerk at the whisper in my ear. Hurry!No, not a whisper, it's not actually a voice, it's more of a gut feeling, or intuition. This is probably the 'guided by elements' trait I selected.

Alright then, I have a direction! Following the feeling I start off running.

"THURM! You no leave Hoshk like this! I die you no get pay!" I pause, as the words trigger a memory about how I'd agree to work upgrading the guy's wards against attacks by the Horde. It was in fact the reason why I was currently next to naked, most of my armor had been removed so that the enchanted items didn't interfere with the delicate casting, a common practice during artifice for people other than yourself, and it had all been buried under rubble alongside most of my tools when the building collapsed under a summoned infernal.

"All things die, friend. Stop fucking around with magic and crush them!" I roar over my shoulder and turn back to continue running. "The Void hungers and you're feeding it. Bite back!"

A fireball sails past my ear and I can smell the acrid sent of burning hair. Slapping the side of my head quickly, I curse at the small prickles of pain as fires go out. Damnit, I don't wanna be half bald!. I look over my shoulder again to see Hoshk crushing the skull of one Pale between two hands and glaring at me.

No time to waste, I think idly, let's go earn that trait.

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

Ogres are, by nature, cowards and bullies. Abused by their progenitors the Orgren, and used as slave labor and the occasional Gron snack. They freed themselves not by rebelling and throwing off the Yolk of their brutish masters, but rather simply by running away. Eventually these escaped slaves of the Gron and Orgren were gathered together by the Arakoa who, having failed to set up trade relations with the stupid Orgren, hoped to encourage the slaves to rebel. This too failed for quite a while, until one Arakoa, Yonzi, hit upon the idea of teaching the Ogres Magic. His first student, Gog, learned quickly and became so powerful and arrogant that instead of challenging his masters as the Arakoa had hoped, he went straight for the Gron, where he killed more than a dozen of them and took their stone hearts as trophies.

To this day, and even in WoW, taking command of Ogres is as easy as finding their leader, beating the living shit out of him and presenting proof to the rest of the community. The King is the biggest and meanest ogre on the pile, and all others cower before his wrath and follow in awe at his strength. Which doesn't necessarily have much to do with the mind behind it.

As one can imagine, this leads to something of an interesting society. Intelligence is only respected as far as it allows you to pummel your rival more efficiently, or in the case of the Highmaul Nobility, genuinely turn him to chunky salsa with the intensity of your glare.

This was precisely what Cho'Gall was engaging in right now, with his void cursed Orc clan and recently gained Fel and Void magic abilities. He would take command of the Ogre city which threw him out and march them toward the Dark Portal for Exile and experimentation by Gui'Dan. History would repeat itself once more, and once on Azeroth most of the Ogres would flee the Horde, spreading across the face of the planet and founding dozens of radically different societies who's only common feature is The Mound.

By-And-Large, I couldn't care less about this. It would allow me relatively easy access to Azeroth, plausible deniability for why I wanted to go there, fulfill the [Target of the Alliance] trait without being TOO burdensome and if the Arcane Whispers were leading me to my ship and enchanted weapon, easily take care of my other [Targeted] traits without me having to do something deliberate to blunder into them.

No. The PROBLEM, was that the [Guided by Elements] trait was leading me straight to Cho'Gall and his apocalyptic fight with the Imperator.

God, I only hope it doesn't ask me to fight him and become king of the Ogres. Son of a Bitch is no joke.

As I ascend the tiers of the city, there are progressively fewer surrendering Ogres glaring at my for passing them by at the mercy of the Pale, and more dead ones whose flesh is being eaten as greedily as their powers and enchanted armor were. Grand towers lie strewn across spacious boulevards. Plentifully stocked pantries and hidden treasure hordes litter the rubble, being picked clean by wretched orcs like flies on a carcass. Immense wards pop like soap bubbles under the pressure of Fel Fire and Hungering Void auras.

And yet still I charge on.

Pale rush at me as I move, trying to cling on and slow me down so their fellows can join, but I have little clothing to hold onto and readily snap their bones rather than flail around in panic. And through it all, the soundless voice guides me. I avoid the worst of the dark magic hotspots without slowing pace, slip through ward keys as though I lived beneath them, and smack aside Pale in flight more often than I need to peel them off my flesh. Even in the depths of madness, I Am The Method.

And then, the 'voice' is gone. Before me is a Door, behind me, a narrow stairway that any Ogre would need to squeeze through. It was completely undecorated and obviously meant to be an escape tunnel of some sort. Taking a breather to weave a spell, I cast silence on the door and invisibility on myself. Pushing the door open slowly, I peek outside the door aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnddd, shit.

There's the Ogre of the Hour himself.

Cho'Gall is standing in the center of the room ahead of me, his back to the door I'm using. In front of him, taking his attention is Imperator Mar'Gok. The pair of two headed Ogres are focused solely on each other. Mar'Gok is pleading miserably for his life, while Cho gloats in an unhinged screechy voice and Gall binds Mar'Gok to his throne with chains of Shadow and Chaos, draining his magic and tearing him apart body and soul.

Casting Illusion on the door I just snuck in through and Silence on myself, I take a look around the room and instantly see what it is I'm supposed to be here for.

The Staff of the Grand Imperator lays abandoned behind Cho'Gall. Wordless, it calls to me, begging to be retrieved. To be used.

But there is yet a greater prize.

The Runstones of Grond. Grond the Worldbreaker. Forged from Draenor's greatest mountain by the Titan Agramar himself to unite the four elements with Arcane and strike down the choking Evergrowth. Cho'Gal intends to consume one of them and give the other to Gul'Dan in order to open the Dark Portal. Without it... wrinkly old orc would probably just have to add a few more sacrifices to the alter. He already has the Ata'mal Crystals to fuel the effort. And if it depletes them? What are a few less Naru between friends? Eh? Velen still has the one he's going to use to call the Exodar and Tempest Keep.

As the Imperator's stamina runs out and the great lump begins screaming fit to break windows, I make my move. Rushing up to the first Runestone, I snatch it from atop the pillar. Mar notices, but he's in far far too much pain to communicate that. Cho and Gall are too focused on avenging their wounded pride to pay any attention to anything else in the room and barely even twitches as I choke on the power contained within just ONE of the pair. Cho'Gall defeated Mar'Gok while he was channeling both of the monstrous artifacts, so I can't depend on the [Glutinous] overflow of power to save me. Reapplying Invisibility and conjuring a shield, I pour power into the two spells just so as to keep myself from bursting at the seams. That done, I channel more of the power into a haste spell and speed around the Twilight's Hammer Chieftain, snatching up the staff and setting the handgrip in my mouth. Completing the arc, I jump, the action assisted by a flash of violet energy which finally grabs the warlock's attention, and grab the other stone.

"NO! YOU CANNOT TAKE THEM!" "THE STONES ARE OURS, THE VOICES PROMISED!" "You know nothing of the power you meddle with, Thurm! It calls to us. We know! Its power will be ours!"

"Blow me!" I scream at them, and desperately wrack my brain for a way out of there. This would have been a good time to have allies, if for no other reason than to be meat shields for me to hide behind.

As though mere thought were suitable to perform the action, I am suddenly back in the ally where I had left Hoshk, having teleported there in an explosive nova of Arcane Power.

The good news is that I've escaped. Oh, and Hoshk is dead, so he can't hold it against me, lying there half eaten in a pool of his own blood.
The BAD news is I now know the result of choosing [Target of the Horde] and [Traitor lvl3].

Yeah, an elite team of assassins coming to retrieve these is going to be the least of my worries. Because I am officially burn the fuck out. My whole body hurts. waves of purple light ripple over my skin like a pond in a rainstorm and I feel as though every nerve in my body has been pulled out with tweeters and then set on fire!

Probably lucky not to be dead.

Spitting the Great Staff of the Imperator out of my mouth, I drop the stones to the cobbles and begin stripping my erstwhile employer of his and his guards Togas. Heavily wrapping the stones and Mar'Gok's staff in the cloth, I hang the two concealed artifacts from either side of the mighty weapon and cast Invisibility once more. The pain drives me to my knees and takes my breath away, but on the upside, I don't black out and the spell doesn't drop.

The walk through the city is torture at it's finest, but the intuition is back and subtly guides me through the city and towards the Harbor. Highmaul is a city on the sea, with the Imperator's rise being on a giant cliff overlooking the bay, but the fleet hasn't seen much use since it was used to evacuate the city when the Horde last invaded, 30 years ago, and Grommash Hellscream killed the last Imperator, ending the last attempt to restore their Empire. As such, the ships sit in the Harbor, rotting away, dusty and neglected. Ghost ships. Stumbling onto one of them, I make my way down into the depths of the Hull and hide behind a large pile or heavily rotting cargo, left there and never retrieved. Setting up wards around myself and the stones, etching runes into the wood and filling them with blood from my hands, I hide both the artifacts and myself from all sight.

The pain is excruciating, and this time, I DO black out.

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

I wake up Hungry. My entire body is sore, and the hull in which I've been hiding is a lot more full of mold than I'd realized. To the point that during the night, a fair bit of it has started trying to grow on my tongue and cheeks, giving me the absolutely most rotten case of morning mouth you have ever imagined. More Zangar mold glitters and sparks from the rune circles I'd drawn last night to hide myself from Cho'Gall and up across my chest and arms where the gore of the previous day still clings to my flesh.

With a hacking growl, I clear my throat out like I'm preparing for a massive loogi and use the crud I cough up with rinse out the inside of my mouth. That done, and feeling foul, I spit a massive glob of green black sludge outside the circle of 'protection' and begin worrying about infection. New 'memories' from my 'life' as Thurm insist that Zangar mold is only very rarely poisonous, but it'll eat literally anything, living or dead that doesn't get rid of it properly. Conjuring pure water, as pure as I can get it for the acidic quality untainted water possess, I begin sucking down globes of the stuff and spitting again and again until I can no longer taste the foul fungus. That's no guarantee I've cleansed myself, but it's a start.

That bit of Hygiene done, I conjure more water and begin washing myself off, scrubbing vigorously. A wayward thought alters a symbol in my mind and the water I'm conjuring begins to steam. Waving my hand, I banish the dirty globes out a nearby sump drain. The next bitingly hot ball of water is used to rinse out my mouth again before being turned on the rotting mass before me.

That turns out to be a mistake.

While unable to simply find me, due to the power of the stones being pumped into my invisibility spell, that didn't mean Cho'Gall hadn't spent the time I've been asleep idle. As soon as the bubble of conjured water and force construct left my hiding spot the sound of skittering sounded on the deck of the ship. I only just had time to dispell it before a pale Poked it's ugly face around the sodden pile of mold in front of me. Sitting perfectly still rune-scripts begin to run through my mind for force constructs, dissolution fields and conjured weapons. Anything to smite this fool before it had the chance to scamper off and inform it's friends of my presence here.

The problem with the Pale is that they use the void. They pray to it like some insane death cult and it answers their call in as uncontrolled a manner as the whispers of a schizophrenic. The void is, pure and simple, destruction. It's the absence of everything and the inevitability that all things will be reduced to nothing. Either now, at the end of time, or somewhere between now and then. It's infinitely patient, and so it is willing to protect and shelter you, but it is also infinitely hungry, so as a defense or an attack it consumes whatever it touches.

Arcane on the other hand is Order. The laws of the universe made manifest. All physical forces from gravity, space and time to sound, radiation and literal force are yours to play with. So long as you're willing to play endless minigames of "built that Magic Circle" in your head every time you want to do anything.

This makes void, and fel(chaos) for that matter, particularly dangerous. After all, what order is there in raw destruction? Only Entropy. If you're not particularly imaginative, this fight's a match made in hell.

Or, well, it is if I want to get away unnoticed.

I chose [Ambitious], right?

Go big or go broke.

Turning one of my water globes into a cone, I freeze it solid and fire the projectile at it's head with enough force to splatter the hapless orc scout. Standing up, I grab the bundled Imperator's staff and shoulder my burden. Making my way quickly to the stairs, I rise to the deck of the ship and take a look around.

Ogre ships are massive juggernauts by necessity. As large creatures ourselves, even the cramped conditions other races are used to with their ships translate to pretty excessive sizes in all of our construction. The construction of the ship is highly reminiscent of a Greek Trireme. A single main mast just slightly aft of amidship; three decks, the middle one bristling with oars for slave rowers and the lowest for cargo; a small wheel tent at the back and a wedge and keel face for ramming at the front. My vestigial ogre personality twinged at the thought of leaving my slaves behind for the orcs, as even with as few of them as I have, they'd be useful for running this ship, but my dominant human self smiles grimly and prepares for work. Getting this thing sea ready is going to take a lot of time and effort, but escape? For what [Ambition] has planned, that bit at least should be easy.

Setting one stone at the forward quarter-line and the second at the aft, I quickly take a knee amidship and grip the Imperators Great-staff as though a Paladin praying with his sword. [Genius] pays for itself as runic circles spring up at a thought, first around me, and then in spreading lines to connect with each of the stones. Rings of symbols then form around Grond's remains and the ship begins lifting itself out of the water. The entire process start to finish takes about five minutes, but already I can sense thousands of miniature black holes rushing towards me, down the dock.

Tying off the runic symbols to the mast and ensuring that they've connected to the stones emanations properly, I move to deal with boarders.

It'll take me a minute or so more to get fully out of the water, I'm not certain enough of the ships stability to do it any faster, and that's plenty enough time for me to be swarmed. Hopefully though, it's too much time for Cho'Gall to haul his fat ass down here and stop me.

Yarr... I'm stealing the Flying Dutchman. Now I feel like a proper fucking [Pirate]. All I really need is a Hat and some proper cannon's.

The first at least is simple. The second I can jury rig now and build properly later. Rock is the easiest thing to conjure with arcane magic, and as an Ogre I've a sort of affinity with the things. Going for simple to speed up the magic and reduce the mana cost, I begin applying force constructs to the summons and let rip.

A Pale dies to a cannon-ball in the face just as it's about to reach the first of my magic stones and I sense a thrill of victory. [Murderhobo] and [Pirate] are in full swing now and I begin the defense of my ship.

Yarr..!

~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+~! #$%^&*()_+

The battle ends rather anticlimactically. With the rush of Pale to my location, the Ogres had tried to rebel. Or perhaps more accurately, break ranks, scatter and slink away whilst the twilight's hammer was occupied with chasing after me and my fantastic boat. This forced Cho'Gall to remain with the mass of prisoners and make a few examples while he paraded around in Mor'Gok's armor, said Former Ogre King's skulls affixed to the Draenai crystal shoulder spikes for special emphasis. He raged and cursed and withdrew his forces before they could either properly swarm or be slaughtered by me and fired a number of great whopping city killer beams of Fel and Void at my retreating ass, but other than a few gaping holes, he didn't cause anything more than cosmetic damage. Nothing structural at least, so long as I don't try to land in water again. Then I might sink like a stone.

For now, I only had two minor problems taking up my focus.

First... I NEED FOOD! Magic battles are a massive caloric expenditure even if our bodies don't actually power anything we do, and I've already missed breakfast.

Second, I need to repair my poor ship...

Ideally, I could spend a month sailing around what remains of Gorgrond and Frostfire to make my repairs. Truesteel is truly amazing stuff and would allow me to easily channel elemental spells through the vessel, be they for attack or defense. Unfortunately, even without the Iron Horde shenanigans sending the Horde Industrial, both dead places are infested by Orcs and more importantly, Orc Warlocks who have been busily poisoning the land. Given my luck so far, even if I didn't get attacked, I'd end up mining Fel-Iron instead and poisoning myself. Shadowmoon is a total no-go for obvious reasons and Terrokar has already been raided as part of Gul'Dan's attempt to keep the Horde together after Kil'Jaden abandoned them and it became obvious killing the Draenai hadn't appeased the elements in the slightest.

This, hilarious as it may seem, left my two options as Nagrand and the Zangar sea. Nagrand is where I am now, and has been largely left alone by the Orcs and their filthy Warlocks due to it housing the Victims of the ogres Red Pox plague.

I blink, stunned out of my contemplation's.

Garrosh Hellscream is one of those victims of the Red Pox.

This has the potential to be... funny.

Should I engage my newfound inner [Murderhobo]? Or shoot for something even greater? Taking him to Pandaria, or maybe the great turtle to train as a Monk in repentance for his Father would certainly be hilarious.

A massive shit eating grin splits my face and I turn the ship around in the air, angling inland once more.

And while I moved, I worked.

Conjuration works because when Arcane Energy decays, it becomes physical matter with the remaining spark gaining a stubborn sluggishness commonly known as Elemental Earth. The other three primal elements are also Arcane decay, but hold an important distinction that they're tainted by other powers trying to intrude into the Great Dark; the "Pocket Universe" Arcane created when it split from the Twisting Nether and in which we all live. This doesn't make it exactly easy to just poof things out of thin air like a star trek replicator however; conjuration is one of the most thaumaturgically complex workings you can do, and that includes warding and enchanting. To wit, most people don't even bother with it, rather simply summoning from places where they have them already stored, build illusions and fill them with Force Constructs or only conjure simple items such as pure metal, water or air.

My food problem is solved by the, surprising NOT so simple, act of summoning the first Clefthoof I could spot below me on the Nagrand plains and slaughtering it on deck. A personal note... if you've never slaughtered you own food, you truly have NO IDEA just how much blood comes out of a body. And it only gets worse as the animal sizes up. Further, despite the spell to create a smooth cutting edge out of magical force being almost as simple as an arcane missile, the actual act of butchering an animal into convenient portions is actually somewhat complicated. At least if you care at all about having the bones left over to work with.

Once the meat was harvested and placed under null-time spells for preservation, I set the organs to cook in a conjured iron pot covered in a heat field so that everything would cook evenly. This left me with a bloody mess of a hide, a deck covered in enough of the fluid to probably run all of the enchantments I want without even tapping into the stones, and still a big ass hole in my hull.

Having learned from my mistake with thinking I could work with unfamiliar unprepared materials as easily as I did my rune-crafting tools, I forego my initial plan to summon trees from the plains below and set about dismantling the interior deck for planks and nails via arcane force and carefully shaving the edges of the damaged sections with a mage-blade before doing the same with the salvaged materials. Measure repeatedly, cut once, and be paranoid that you overestimated a centimeter or two. It's far easier to shave wood than it is to cut a piece the wrong size and then try to use it to patch a hole it's not big enough for. Once the holes in the Hull are repaired, I fill out the missing inner spaces with conjured Carbon Fiber and set to work planning out the enchantments.

Such working are complicated things which have to be planned out beforehand, my new knowledge tells me, else the various spells will interfere with each other. At best, this will degrade the performance of any spell I use. At worst...all of the magic I put into building up my ship will catastrophically release in a split second. If that happens, hope it results in an explosion and kills you, because the weirder shit is more probable.

While I plot upgrades to the ship, my final task before landing comes into play.

Clothes.

Now, granted, I've chosen to be an Ogre, and Loincloths are all the rage, right after Toga and Mawashi. But proper armor cannot be undersold. Unfortunately I neglected to purchase the [Tailor] trait during class selection and personally don't know much more about making clothes than occasionally watching my work-at-home-mother. But, some simple stuff isn't too hard to figure out... and besides [Genius] and [Scholar], I've got a lot of Hide to work with.

The first order of business is cleaning the gristle off of the inside of the skin. It takes a bit of work to learn the precision needed to scrape away the unused meat and not cut straight through the Hide with my mage-blade, but I manage not to create too many leather strips before getting it right. Once the hide is prepared, Salt is conjured and the Hide is stretched out between Force Constructs and put under a Haste Spell to bring the curing process into almost MMO crafting spans. I leave the fur and bone plate on the outside of the hide, rather than stripping it to straight leather to maintain the brutish caveman look Draenor residents are so fond of, and begin measuring myself exhaustively for somewhere around 20 minutes before smacking myself in the forehead and conjuring a Mirror Image.

Using the substantial illusion as a modeling doll, I begin cutting pieces of the Hide into slightly oversized shapes I remembered from coats at home. Going for simplicity, I make a Trench Coat (which is basically a cloak with sleeves), a pair of pants and a belt to hold said pants up. It's no Davy Jones [Pirate] Ensemble, but we'll get there eventually. Though with significantly less squid-face.

The really important part of this though, is that the inner leather surface of the completed pieces is perfect for branding Runework into. Sure, I didn't spend the CP on buying enchanted armor for myself, but I did pick up the skills that could allow me to make some. Between [Powerful], [Mage], [Runemaster], [Crafter] and the Stones, by the time I land at Garadar, I've layered enough magic into the three items that I'm fairly sure my next upgrade will need to be an Epic Raid Item.

I park my ship in 'orbit' over the town and scribe a rune of translocation onto the ships deck with magic, before leaping over the side and falling to my 'doom'. A good 20 feet from shattering my limbs on the unforgiving ground I trigger my new threads Slow Fall enchantment and touch down with the Hero's classic 3 point landing. Rising to my full 9 1/2 feet in height, I grin broadly to the approaching Maghar and call out.

"Which one of you scrubs can bring me Geyah?"