Anne Stickney as Annephora
So I been out in de Hillsbrad Foothills dis week. De Forsaken have a town dere, Tarren Mill? Dey sendin me to do all kinds o tings for dem. ... I don't tink dere very nice. Dey keep askin for ingredients for tings. Momma always said stay away from de voodoo, but I wonder if mebbe dey doin voodoo tings. Someone oughta tell Vol'jin bout dat, mebbe.
I got mail though! Very nice gettin mail, gave advice to people! One nice person sent me a ring, and another sent me a kitty! I have one kitty name Ta'zinni after family friend already, now Ta'zinni have a friend too! I name her Tai'tasi after one o' my friends in Sen'jin. ... I don't know if Tai'tasi like havin kitty named after her, but kitty like de name anyway!
Christian Belt as Selfloathius
Selfloathius wasn't used to having friends.
He wasn't much of a conversationalist; his favorite topics included how much everything sucked, poems he'd written about how much he hated his dad, and constant requests for people to kill him. His voice was a particularly grating variety of whiny, he dressed in such a manner as to make determining his gender a confusing and frustrating enterprise, and the amount of hair product on his head made being around him a constant fire hazard.
So you can understand his surprise when after spending only a few minutes in Falconwing Square, he already had several people hanging out with him. There was Feyah (not as hideous as other female orcs he'd met), Missqq (a fine name for a mage, in Selfloathius's opinion), Cainfernus (undead, which Selfloathius considered an enviable quality), Polarexpress (another mage, and worse, a frost mage), Miamore (a stinking warlock whose one redeeming quality seemed to be her steadfast refusal to wear an entire shirt), and many others whose names Selflothius was far too self-absorbed to remember.
This disparate mob accompanied him as he practiced cursing and setting fire to a few crystal robot things and some fallen blood elves. They chatted with him in a decidedly amicable manner. They even pitched in when he got overwhelmed. He responded with surly negativity at first, but gradually began to warm to these ... these ... friends? Yes, he supposed that's what they were. Like most warlocks, he still preferred the company of demons, but he guessed he could at least tolerate the presence of these people.
At level 6, Selfloathius learned his absolute favorite spell ever: Life Tap. Casting this wonderful little spell actually injured him. He was delighted, letting out a little whiny moan of joy each time he used it. Immediately, he began casting the spell over and over, draining the life from his own body with glee. As he drained his own health, he closed his mascara-lined eyes and waited for the cold embrace of death.
It never came.
Oh, this wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all.
It appeared that the spell was able to take him to brink of death and no further. He still liked it, but he found he was disappointed. Oh well, he thought. At least I now have something else to whine about. He did so with enthusiasm, to anyone who cared to listen. His new friends bore it stoically. After a moment, one of them suggested, "Why don't you use Lifetap to get close to death, then just stand in a fire to finish the job?"
Selfloathius was so struck by the simple brilliance of this idea that for a moment, he couldn't even complain. He looked around. No fires to be seen. He knew where he could find one. He'd heard of a place to the south where there were more quests for him to complete--a little town called Fairbreeze Village. Surely there would be a fire to stand in down there.
He quested his way south, murdering wildlife as he went. Each time he met a lynx or dragonhawk or whatever in combat, he hoped that this would be the beast that would deliver him a painful death. It never happened. Selfloathius's life was one unending succession of disappointments.
When he reached Fairbreeze, he noticed that again, a crowd had gathered. It warmed his black heart to see that he wasn't the only one who wanted to see the death of Selfloathius. Inside the inn, he found a brightly burning brazier. He hopped in, relishing the scent of his own burning flesh. He began to Lifetap. As he reached the end of his stupid warlock life, he thought it was pretty funny -- in a particularly dark way -- that where scores of fearsome monsters had failed, a simple cookfire was going to become the instrument his death. He cast the spell a final time, and looked down as the brazier burned the final fraction of health away from him.
Running back for his corpse, he wondered what other wonderful ideas his new friends might come up with. He couldn't wait to find out. As long as none of those ideas involved Justin Bieber ...
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