So there we were, half of us exhausted from battling a giant war machine deep in the heart of Kael'thas's territory. With many of our brethren returning to the confines of the inn, we turned our eye to the ruler of the ogres, the slayer of dragons.

We proceeded to accept strangers into our ragtag team, filling in the gaps as necessary. Things already looked bad on Maulgar with many deaths at the hands of Olm. Nothing prepared us for what was to come on the infamous Gruul.
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At first, I figured to make this blog a first person diary of my character because I rarely had anything to say outside of the game. But of course, things do not go as planned.

For awhile, my guild has been trekking through Karazhan, progressing at about one boss per week. While the other raiders are not the best players in the world, we manage to pull through with me tugging along as main tank. This continued until we managed our first full clear. Then all hell breaks loose.
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Shattered Halls: the training grounds of hatred, the pinnacle of fel orc power. Charging into this fortress is not heroic; it is suicide. But for the good of the guild, I pressed onward, searching for the damnable book the human requested.

The corrupted are stupid but endless. Through the halls we sliced as one, leaving a bloody swath in our wake. Axes clashing with axes, this is a familiar sight, one I will never tire of. Refusing to back down, I hold my ground, blow after blow,...