Murlocs

You and I both know that no one wants to face a pack of angry murlocs alone. And they’re always angry, as anyone can tell. If you’re close enough to observe a murloc, chances are it’s running toward you, getting ready to gank you, screaming angrily (“Grlrlrlrlrlrlrllrrrrr!”) or trying to fire off a spell. Hotheaded much? You know it. Which is why we love to hunt them down, slay their kith and kin and steal their body parts for assorted recipes. Now I can’t deny that murlocs make some tasty soups and stews. I confess that I’ve eaten my share of murloc menu but that was before. Before what, you want to know?
Before I met Murry.

I’m a rogue by class and assassination by spec (as well as by personality; don’t cross me) so it’s no surprise that I was asked to help rid the Elywnn Forest of murlocs. They’re slimy and gross and they were bogging up some of the prettier areas and the nobles’ daughters were getting all squeaky about it. Somebody had to go in and do the dirty work and I thought it might as well be me. I’m a girl, yes, but I never really fit in with all those nobles’ daughters and everyone thinks I’m kind of strange anyway. If I’m gonna be strange, I might as well make some cash doing it, you know? So off I go, hacking the fin folk left and right and really not doing too bad for myself all things considered. Occasionally I’d have to rest and eat something, possibly go bandage myself or drink a potion, but seriously, I didn’t find killing the fish faces to be hard work.

One night, after a long and satisfying day of frog finishing, I climbed into my bedroll only to find it occupied—and sopping wet. Holding a fiery torch aloft, I could see that my new bag mate was none other than a murloc—a very small, old and wrinkled murloc. “Aaagh!” I squawked, in a fierce rogue-like way. I dropped my torch and scrabbled backward, groping for my dagger. Someone may tell you that I failed to vanish at this point but don’t believe them. That is just an ugly rumor.

“Peace.” said the old murloc, extending a slimy paw toward me. Well actually, he said “GrlrlrlrrrrrLLLLLrrruuuurrrLLrUU!” but I found out later that he’d put some kind of elixir in my water so that we could understand each other. “I am unarmed and can do nothing to harm you, rogue. Tell me why you slay my brethren.”

I had a bit of a dilemma at this point. I had never assumed murlocs to be cognizant of anything other than eating, breathing and possibly shiny seashells. The fact that they thought of themselves as “brethren” made my answer of “for cash?” seem a little, how can I put it, unacceptable? Plus, I didn’t believe this guy when he said he was unarmed. I was willing to bet my thistle tea that he was one of those oracle spell casters. Dude was probably getting ready to blast me out of my leather boots even as we spoke. I swallowed hard and replied: “Well, you guys are kind of icking up the place and you’re pretty rude to passersby, you know with the killing of people and looting of their personal belongings, etc. I mean, that’s my job! Plus, there’s that corpse y’all have hidden over there that people keep trying to find. What’s that all about? Can you see where we might be a teense upset about that?” I made a small space between my finger and thumb.

“Hmm.” Said Murry, who still had yet to tell me his name. “I am sorry that your species alliance is unenlightened enough to include us or to at least acknowledge that others have a different but acceptable way of being. Perhaps slime, while distasteful to some (said with a purse of his mouth toward me) is eminently desirable to others.” He held up his arm to admire the silvery trail sliding down toward his torso. Grunting with satisfaction, he went on. “As for the human’s corpse, we keep it because we want something in return from you.”

“Lemme get this straight,” I said, scratching my head with my gauntlet. “You think slime is awesome and want us to accept you as you are, yes?”
“Yes.”
“AND you want something else?!”
“Yes!” said Murry, sounding offended. He sealed his lips together and crossed his arms. Mucous splattered onto my pillow.
I sighed. “And what is this mysterious thing you want.?”
“We want Ice Cold Mrlrlrlrlriiiiilk.” he said with dignity.
“Milk?!” I said incredulously. “MILK?! Ice Cold Milk?! You’re keeping a corpse because of MILK?!”
“Yes!” he replied, sounding offended. “Our people have terrible heartburn. It makes us very grumpy. Not one of us has gotten a good night’s sleep for years despite sleeping on our left sides and propping our pillows, etc. Ice Cold Milk would help us feel better and then MAYBE we wouldn’t feel so inclined to kill every passing noble’s daughter though honesty I think we’re doing you a favor there, if you ask me. “

People, I swear it is the truth. That old murloc asked me for Ice Cold Milk. I developed a lucrative business smuggling Ice Cold Milk to the murlocs in the area. Oh sure, they still killed a few nobles’ daughters every now and then. I mean, things had to stay authentic in the Forest. But it’s because of my years spent doing business with Murry that I eventually became an apothecary and invented my own elixir: Milk of Murlocnesia. Better than Pepto! If it looks a little slimy to you, just ignore that. Trick of the light.

Shaara
WoW Anthropologist
Echo Isles, US