1.

"I'm so fucking sick of this."

The speaker was Hemorrhoids, gnome mage, level 85. The splendor of his garb belied the acne, double chin, and poor personal hygiene which plagued him in real life.

"I know," replied Rim of the Light, a mournful-looking paladin wearing Lightbringer's set. "You say that every time we meet."

"Every time, Rimjob," Hemorrhoids replied. "Conclave of the Light? What kind of joke is this, you ass-bandit? King Varian Wrynn has been dead for two weeks. Two fucking weeks! They own us."

Hemorrhoids slammed his fist down on the table. The effect was somewhat muted by the limitations of the /emote function.

The two men were the leaders of Conclave of the Light, perhaps the last active Alliance guild on the Blackrock realm. Raided, griefed, and hunted for sport at every turn, they were demoralized. Behind each leader sat perhaps a dozen followers.

Rim of the Light fidgeted. "The Conclave gives hope to the people," he said.

"What hope?" Hemorrhoids shot back. "All the guilds left months ago. The only reason I'm still here is I don't have $25 for a server transfer. I barely have enough dinero to buy hand lotion anymore."

A paladin named Bobby123 began to spin around in circles. Hemorrhoids watched, annoyed.

"That's my cousin," supplied Rim of the Light. "He's mentally challenged. He likes to play, though, so I put him on auto-follow to keep him happy."

"That's fucking great," said Hemorrhoids. "Now we have another retard in the crew. That's the Conclave for you."

Meanwhile, some of the other guild members had begun to imitate Bobby123's clap dancing.

"Do I know all of these guys?" Hemorrhoids asked, puzzled.

"They're his followers," said Rim of the Light. "He seems to attract people with his simple, sunny disposition. Also, there's a rumor that he single-handedly tanked Deathwing."

Bobby ran up to a bemused Hemorrhoids and gave him a high-five.

Rim of the light stood up from the table. Nobly.

"My friends," he began. "My guildmates. I called the Conclave for a reason. I believe we must seek help in defeating the dread Father Rapeslaughter and the rapacious horde which he controls. Today I would embark on a quest, and I would ask those with courage in their heart to join me."

"What quest?" Asked Hemorrhoids.

"I would seek wisdom from the wisest being in World of Warcraft.," said Rim. "I would speak with Alexstrasza the Life Binder." Murmurs of excitement greeted his pronouncement. Rim puffed up with pride.

"Are you taking about the dragon at the top of Wyrmwrest Temple in dragonblight?" Hemorrhoids asked him.

"Yes, the great Red Dragon Aspect herself," said Rim.

"She's an NPC. She doesn't talk except for pre-scripted comments."

"Nonetheless, I feel it is our only hope. If anyone can tell us how to defeat the horde and restore balance to the server, it is her. And if there is but the merest chance we can, then make the attempt we must."

"Are you fucking serious? This is like the time you tried to recruit Jaina Proudmoore to join the guild because it would bring 'good PR.' I don't know why you're not on a role-playing server. Frankly, I don't know why you're not in a mental asylum."

Rim of the Light fidgeted at this. He appeared to blush, if that was possible.

"Well, you're right about one thing," continued Hemorrhoids. "We need help. But we need to get it from the GM's."

At this point Shlinkers, Rim of the Light's right-hand gnome, spoke up. His tone was measured and earnest.

"The GM's see the Horde on Blackrock as the first truly cohesive nation to emerge in World of Warcraft. A groundbreaking event. Never has so much power and organization been consolidated by one side. They are loathe to interfere."

Hemorrhoids stared at him. "What are you, fucking Yoda?"

Rim of the Light patted the air calmingly. "What they have done is pioneering, indeed," he said. "Although perhaps not in the spirit we would like."

"Pioneering?" Raged Hemorrhoids. "You call this pioneering? I can't even leave this basement without getting raped by five horde at once. I made a level one druid the other day, and I was dead before the introductory video was even finished."

Hemorrhoids was standing on the table now, shaking his fist in the air, and every man was listening.

"There's no difference now between the World of Warcraft and my Real Life. I live in a fucking basement and can't come out else I get my ass kicked. I came here to get away from that.

"I want to be free. Free to level, free to quest, free to play the World of Warcraft! And I can't leave Blackrock. So I'm going to stick my ground. I'm going to spend every waking moment trying to drive these fucking Horde out of here, until I die trying or run out of hand lotion!"

The assembled conclave broke into wild cheers. Bobby jumped on the table and /emote danced. Others followed. A celebration.

"Freedom!" Yelled Barechested Bartholemew, a handsome Night Elf with a penchant for taking off his clothes. True to form, his garb disappeared, and he danced naked on the table.

Suddenly voices sounded from above, cutting into their merriment like a Warglaive of Azzinoth.

"What's all that racket?" Came a harsh voice from the corridor. The Conclave of the Light instantly froze in place.

Several black armored horde emerged from the hallway. They saw the assembled Conclave and laughed evilly.

"Well, well," said a Tauren Warrior, drawing a heavy two-hander. "If it ain't the Conclave of the Light."

But Rim of the Light stood tall. "Go back from whence you came, Horde. Else face our steel."

"Fuck off," Hemorrhoids added, stepping up and readying for battle. The Conclave of the Light, emboldened, lined up behind their leaders.

The Horde warriors stepped back, uncertain at the newfound boldness of their traditional quarry. Several more reinforced them from the hallway. There were perhaps two dozen Alliance players against a dozen or so Horde. Auras and buffs began to fly on both sides as the players steeled themselves for combat.

Then, from the hallway stepped a dark-armored Orc. He wore no helm, and his face was that most evil of Orc visages available at the character selection screen. Hemorrhoids breath caught as they gazed upon the slavering face of Rage.

One of the Blackrock's most feared warriors, Rage was rumored to be a mentally handicapped, legless near-paraplegic in real life. They said ever since he had been hit by a bus several years ago, he said nothing, ate nearly nothing, and did nothing but play World of Warcraft for twenty hours a day, hooked up to his life-support facilities. His level of dedication was unmatched.

The Conclave collectively froze. In real life, Hemorrhoids shat his pants with a whispered curse.

Rage slavered, and charged.

"Oh god," muttered Barechested Bartholemew, as the Horde ran at them. The Conclave held for a moment, then broke under the furious assault, scattering to the four corners of Stormwind, to be hunted down and slaughtered like magpies.

2.

More to come...