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| - Taking a break from Molten Core, the Kingergartners assembled outside of Onyxia’s lair to see if they could best the big black dragon. Ironbinky stood outside the gaping maw of the dragon’s lair and surveyed the mighty fighting force assembled. They were an impressive sight, to be sure. Mighty Tauren towered over the hunched over Forsaken. Proud Trolls, some in full pony-tailed splendor, laughed quietly with squat Orcs. A mighty assembly of the best the Grom Gol Kindergarten class had to offer. “Fine,” said Ironbinky in the way that teenagers fight. “Fine,” he shot right back. /gkick Peashooter
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| abstract
| - Taking a break from Molten Core, the Kingergartners assembled outside of Onyxia’s lair to see if they could best the big black dragon. Ironbinky stood outside the gaping maw of the dragon’s lair and surveyed the mighty fighting force assembled. They were an impressive sight, to be sure. Mighty Tauren towered over the hunched over Forsaken. Proud Trolls, some in full pony-tailed splendor, laughed quietly with squat Orcs. A mighty assembly of the best the Grom Gol Kindergarten class had to offer. Brittle broke the calm revelry with a shrill whine. “Peeshootah needs a summon… again…” he complained. “Some one hep me port da wazy piggy.” Everyone was suddenly busy fussing over the Velcro straps on their boots, adjusting various bits of gear and doing their best to avoid eye contact with Brittle. Ironbinky walked over and stuck his hand in the white opening that appeared, trying to rip the head off of Peashooter. “Summah bedder hep us!” Nerfhoof shrugged and stuck his hand into the light as well. There was much whistling and ignoring going on but now that Brittle had his two helpers it was only a matter of time before Peashooter would show up. Peashooter showed up and was about to thank Brittle for the port when he was bonked solidly on the head by Ironbinky. “How come firdy nine of us can get here on time and you need a port?!” I tiny foot stomped the stone floor of the cave opening. The Orc hunter decided right there that he had enough. “You dun gedda talk to me like dat!” His meaty hands were balls of anger on his hips. “I do awot and no one cares addal!” There was general agreement, which Peashooter took as support. Everyone else knew better. They were all agreeing with the second half of his statement. “Fine,” said Ironbinky in the way that teenagers fight. “Fine,” he shot right back. /gkick Peashooter Shock lit up the Orcs green face. Ironbinky stood toe to toe with Peashooter. Glowing yellow eyes met beady black rocks. “You, sir, are repwaceable!” To accentuate his statement, Ironbinky kicked Peashooter in the shin. “I am not rewaceable!” His anger was betrayed by a quivering lip. It wasn’t that he really believed that, but Peashooter was grasping at straws. Ironbinky just stared at him, glowing eyes steady. “Who hewah has a hunter alt?” His eyes were unwavering. Too many hands shot up to be counted. Even the hunters raised their hands. Eyes still on the now shaking Orc, Ironbinky gestured behind him. “Huntahs are like fleas,” he said low and maliciously. “Ebeybody has em!” Ironbinky tilted his head to the side as he pondered what he had just said. He shrugged it off. He was talking to an Orc, after all. Peashooter collapsed. “Forgib me, Iwonbinky,” he groveled. “I wuz wong. I’m just a peon, unworvy ob –“ he made a horrible sniffing noise – “bein in da Kinnergarners ob Doom. Hewp me not suxorz so much!” And with that, Peashooter collapsed on the ground, bawling. “Emo less,” n00bhatcher muttered. “Reawy, gawd,” replied more than a few tiny voices. “Awright! Puwl yourselb togevah man!” Ironbinky allowed Peashooter to join the guild, but did not grant him permission to speak in their secret club-only language. That would have to come in time. Turning to the assembled team, Ironbinky spoke loudly, “We weew buff inside da cave. Evewyboddy, moooove!” Eighty tiny feet ran into the cave and stepped through the big green swirly. Last in was Peashooter, feeling very unloved. But, he told himself, it was either these guys or more pick up groups. PuG’s were worse than even Brussel sprouts.
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