Report #00023: Understanding Why Children’s Week Only Comes Once a Year
Now that I’m spending more time back home and less time hurrying about in the freezing cold with ghoul intestines stuck in my hair, I’ve been asked to mentor one of the “Future Engineers of Azeroth”. This is, apparently, one of the programs intended to help the wee orphans get a better start in life than they would by just chasing each other around the streets of Stormwind until somebody decides to adopt them. It was the Argent Crusade that asked me to do this, and I’m almost certain I’ve seen this kid at the Tournament Grounds before. Maybe they all look alike to me when they wear those tabards and spill things out of their bags because they’re bending over to pick up rocks and the like.
Mind you, I was excited about the idea of doing this! I haven’t worked as an engineer in some time now, but the chance to pass on what I know is something I can’t just pass up. I couldn’t be prouder of the boy a friend of mine adopted, him having taken to engineering like a dwarf takes to drinking. And I was honored that they’d ask me to do this, what with myself not being a Crusader like my brother. But they said I make a fine Champion for the Argent Crusade’s cause and they’d be pleased enough for myself to support the smaller projects, as well. The only problem is… Well, the kid’s a bloody git!
They told me his name is Darren, but the first bloody thing he told me himself was, “I don’t like to be called Darren. I want a gnome name!” Aye, I’ve got a “gnome name” for yourself. Bluddi Gitspanner.
No, I didn’t tell him that. I just wanted to.
It’s been an endless string of questions with this one, and not the smart kind of questions!
“If dwarves are always drinking, why aren’t there outhouses lined up outside of Ironforge?”
“If gnomes used to be mechagnomes, does that mean goblins used to be mechagoblins?”
“Did you really used to be a gnome?”
“Can I be a gnome when I grow up?”
“Why do we always have cheese with lunch?”
“If a draenei lost her tail would she be a night elf?”
“What’s makes a doohickey different from a whatchamacallit?”
“Can I drive one of the siege engines?”
“Why does your bear keep growling at me?”
“Wouldn’t it be great if you didn’t need ammunition to shoot things?”
“If your brother is a servant of the Holy Light, why does he kill people?”
“How does the gryphon master keep the gryphons from flying around Ironforge? Does he put them on leashes?”
“What if Dark Irons just want more hugs?”
A few hours a day of this is just too bloody much! I have surived the fall of Gnomeregan, the loss of loved ones, helped my brother get his bloody head straight when his past nearly destroyed himself, dealt with more trouble out of elves than a decent soul should have to, had a warlock tell me their demon might mistake me for a “strawberry shortcake”, thought I was bloody well dying and then woke up a dwarf, been tempted by an Old God, faced down demons and the bloody Scourge, been chased down by rabid packs of blood elves… I’ve survived a lot! But this kid… this is asking too much of myself.
I was walking past the auction house in Ironforge last night and I heard that same voice I’ve heard every day for several years now. “Don’t forget the orphans of Stormwind!”
Officially speaking, I have no bloody clue how John Turner ended up stepping on that snake trap that just found it’s way onto the floor.