Commander Mograine Has a Sequined Crotch

Why hello there again, everyone! It’s me, your colorful bundle of absolutely squeezeable death and joy, Rayala Alleria! I think I may just have a new entry to speak about to the lot of you.

I got in trouble today – gasp-ohnoes! - while I was in the field. You see, there was this vargul commanding a whole wave of very dangerous scourge, and only five of us Ebons. We weren’t so sure how to break his concentration to weaken the scourge under his control, so I got creative.

I flashed him.

Ten minutes later as we stood on the field of victory, I suddenly get a slap on the back of my head, and Commander Jorax just verbally tears into me! “Raya, you stupid girl! What were you thinking?! We’re warriors, respect yourself! We can overcome an obstacle without the use of such sick displays of self-demeaning!“

Sick? My boobs are sick?! So I got mad, and I said, “Hey, Commie-Jo, look. No one re-died, like they probably would have in a charge, no one was hurt on our side, and you all got to see boobs. Even if your blood doesn’t pump these days, that’s still a pretty sweet deal! And besides, what kind of respect can you possibly teach me as a forsaken death knight. You had to die and be reanimated twice to get this job, loser!”

So now I’m on suspension and have to work the armory for a week. And as I sit here now, stitching up what I believe may be Commander Mograine’s leather trousers, which are size: “Ohhh yeah!“, I can’t help but want to talk about the Knights.

A little over a year or so ago, Tirion Fordring kicked athritis in the face, and coincidentally, Arthas too, helping snap all these corrupted heroes of the Horde and Alliance out of their hypnotic, grimdark do-evil trances that had left him under his control. Huzzah,they were free!

But still dead for the most part. In the famous words of Caile T. Bluberrie; Oh snaps!

What would a bunch of dead and/or corrupted Knights, infused with the power to inflict chill and disease upon any who stood before them do, now that they were free of mental enslavement?

Well, technically, what could they not do? But for the most part, they were all good guys now, and we good guys, boy do we do silly things for people we don’t even know! Saving the world should come with at least your pick of a preferred trained brothel-guy for your entertainment, but instead, we get cookies.

Not a bad deal, but personally…

Oh right, so anyways, they all swore, under the command of mister Mograine, to fight to see Arthas put to death… Erm, redeath… Did he actually ever die? I’m thinking not, but whatever!

So a few weeks ago, we knocked down Arthas’ front door and will soon be playing Twister (Let there be nelves, please oh please!) in front of the Frozen Throne, and that begs the question; When Arthas is done, and the Knights have fulfilled their promise, what becomes of us? Do we all return to the grave? Do we get miraculously reintegrated into society and hope people don’t notice the jawless tauren with ribs showing in their restaurant booth?

Even in a world where we have gnomes as somehow being accepted into society, your average death knight is still pretty freaking weird. My death and rebirth was rather swift and not-so-gruesome, thankfully, so I’m not stuck with much more than an easily-concealed rope-burn around the neck, but some of these guys? Oh man, it’s like they were giving away body fragments for Hallows’ Eve candy!

Sorry, guys, if you’re reading. But you laughed when I fell off my gryphon last week and that was my paybacks.

Anyways, as I was saying, what’s a deader gonna do, when the wrath of the Lich King is no longer upon you?!

It’s actually kind of sad to think about. I’ve been training with these guys for over half a year now, and while it’s a real mixed bag, I can tell you that in persona, we’re not much different than you or the next guy reading. Most of the time, we have very civilized conversations. We joke and laugh, we get serious – we have emotions of a varying degree, I cry, they laugh. You know how it is, because you’re living!

Will they be accepted back? I mean, me, personally, touching up on the lack of major wounds, my stock has went through the roof! I’m no longer the baker’s daughter who hangs out at the Silver Feather. I’m now ‘that one really hot dead-ish chick!’ who all the mothers hate! So I won’t have a problem, and a few other Ebons will share the same joy. But to the ones who aren’t so lucky, what will they do?

Personally? I don’t want to reintegrate anymore. The Knights of the Ebon blade have become so much more to me than a group of risen soldiers coming to take up the good fight. These fellas are officially my family now. Even with them sneering at people calling me ‘The Ebon PR Babe‘, they’re still my brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts who share the love and pain – and the secrets about our really cute San’layn prisoner that I didn’t just mention.

There is no Horde to Alliance racism at the figurative dinner table. I have tauren and trolls as friends close to me, as well as humans and dwarves. (There are no gnome Runeknights, I promise!) But why would I ever want to disband that?

So in effect, I propose that once we send Arthas forever to the bloody Nether, the Knights of the Ebon Blade do not disband! After all, there’s still so much good we can do in the world. There’s millions of Scourge we’ll have to put back to rest. There’s criminals, and renegade bands like those nasty Blackrock fellas once were, or the Defias, who need reigning in. There’s bodyguard work, and ancient evils. Disease, famine, war, old gods, dragons, ogres, wild magic, fashion crises, and kobolds!

Think of the lives we could save by putting our unlives on the fronts to protect those in need! So hail to the Ebon Blade, and be happy in knowing that I’ll fight with all the love in my very, very, very huge heart to keep us around once our sworn oath is fulfilled. (Well, we may try to be rid of all the level fifty-five blood elf death knights, but that’s only because they’re unfunny!) And in the words of one Varenna Sungale…

Oh heck, did I just accidentally sew sequins to the crotch of commander Mograine’s battle breeches? Um, gotta go! Ta!

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