And so I wandered the streets of Orgrimmar, unloved and alone until I came to the The Broken Tusk. I sat with a depressed, and possibly paranoid schizophrenic Tauren, who was convinced everyone was out to kill him.
“Even you,” he said. “If you weren't down on your luck you'd be out there with your crossbow and your smelly flea-ridden pet with the rest.”
“I've had a tough life,” he droned. “I can't count the number of people who thought it was funny to invite me to bbqs. People moo at me in the street in crazy foreign accents. Even when I was a calf things were all wrong. It's a hard thing to be mooed at by your own mother.” On and on he droned.
“My entire guild.....” I began.
“Did I tell you that people try to kill me?”
“You may have mentioned it, anyway, when I was little....”
“They do you know. All the time.”
I was beginning to see why. “Ok outside, big boy,” I said. “Just you, me and Mr Crossbow.”
“You see,” he said, staring into his drink. “I said you'd want to kill me.”
