They say there is no greater glory than to serve the Alliance, and entering the service is the greatest and most rewarding job any living being can have. It is honor and pride that keeps you hard at work, knowing that every day brings you closer to a free, wonderful, and peaceful world.

Well screw that.

So far, my enlistment pretty much consisted making sure the idiots in Elwynn Forest didn't get themselves meat grinded by murlocs. God, I hate those things. Whatever deity who art in The Twisting Nether thought that one up should have been the first to try and escape a group of them, underwater, with stones tied to their limbs.

But back to my "honorable services." At least twice a day, some violence freak from Northshire Abbey (guess what direction that's in) would leave a perfectly good village to go hunt for murloc fins in a dark and spooky lake. What these fins do, I have no freakin' clue-some guy outside the blacksmith's shop keeps telling all of the newcomers that it was vital to the safety of Stormwind that we kill the murlocs, all of them, and never mind that damn plague that completely wiped out our civilization to the north and turned an empire into a rotting and festering world full of zombies. One must have priorities, after all. I'm sure that any day now the fishes with legs will surge forward and, bristling with primitive spears and gleaming their large fangs, wait outside the damn gate, because anyone with half a mind would figure that a bunch of fish out of water cant chew their way through solid iron bars a Tauren warrior cant break with a sword the size of Dwarven Brewery. It still amazes me how they breathe.

So, anyway, let me introduce myself to you. I'm Lax, and the first person to say "we know" gets a friendly boot up the tush. I'm going to share my…er…experience with you over the next couple of hours. Just sit back while I tell it like it is.

I was receiving orders from Marshall Dugan in Goldshire before the incident. Rather, I should say I was trying to comprehend the orders, because I'm sure that man has spent way too much time wherever he was stationed before. Day and night, he just stands there, never changing his expression or flinching at all. I have a feeling if the Horde decided to dust off the good ol' village; he'd be standing there, outside the ruins of the blacksmith while the town burns. Maybe we can steal his supply of murloc fins to make a giant scaly wall, except it would probably smell worse than an envoy back from Booty Bay. Seriously, people, fish is not an attractive smell.

Anyway, he was ordering me to go stand guard by the lake, in case of a "murloc invasion" I think. It's been a long time since he's gotten some sleep, so the words kind of sounded like "Guh lok fu di 'locs Lax." He kept trying to nod off.

Standing on the pier leading off of the shore I remained vigilant by trying to reflect light onto the dock so it would explode in flames, ending my misery. It was a while into this, after the wood had started to get nice and hot, did a Gnome mage show up and dive, unrelenting, into the water. Springing into action, I finished the last of my Deeprun Rat Kabob, the only ration given to me in six weeks. There was no way I was diving into a freezing lake wearing full armor to chase after some fairy-power enhanced midget, sorry. Upon reflection, I should have taken the time to drown myself.

So here I was, on the pier, minding my own business, when a humongous bubbling starts about five yards off the end of the dock. Since I'm definitely not an idiot, I did what any brave soldier of the Alliance would do: I got off the friggin' pier.

After I was safely…safe, I turned around and saw the Gnome again, soaking wet, climbing onto the dock. He looked worried, to say the least, and I briefly considered a course of action. Then I considered running. I decided to go with the better idea.

The Gnome was on the dock now, sprinting as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him. Then I saw what was behind him and forgot all about Ol' Shorty.

About a hundred murlocs were chasing this guy with vigor usually associated with after-season-price-slash-sales in the Trade District of Stormwind. These things were rarin' to go. The dock was falling apart (or, hell, being eaten for all I know) as they progressed. I had enough attention to look at the little guy retreating, and saw him waving his hands around in the air. Well, he was a mage, maybe he might freeze them in place or some funky voodoo like that.

After a quick bit of consideration, I made a decision that would definitely affect the rest of my love life. But first, let me explain; these fishy things can learn magic. Let me express that at the time I did not know this, or else I wouldn't (well, maybe) have done this. As the Gnome was running towards me, chanting and waving his hands, he turned around quickly to backtrack and direct the end of the spell at the invading…invaders. I chose this moment, to, with all my strength, give the little guy a punt so powerful in the rump he almost got stuck to my boot.

And here's where things get tricky. He wasn't casting a freezing spell; the little guy was trying to freakin' sheep 'em. When I gave him the boot, let us say he was momentarily distracted, so when the spell went lose, he didn't quite get enough power into it to make it un-counterable. One of those fish magicians (I still don't believe it) apparently countered the spell, and sent it back to him.

The result being, since I was in contact with the caster, the spell had the same effect on both of us. For the layman, let me just say for one moment there was a man punting a gnome into a lake, and the next, a sheep sailing through the air over the heads of carnivorous man-fishes, with an equally confused but much less pained sheep standing at the beginning of his flight, one leg raised.

This the murlocs didn't expect. They just kind of stood there, until, thank god, the mage, being wise in the ways of magic, fixed the situation.

"Baa?" He bleated.

This turned the murloc's attention to him, and, diving back into the lake, the fishes were rewarded a taste of mutton. I thank him for his selfless act.

Now, I'm not dumb. Really. When life turns you into a sheep, you do what anyone would do.

I think my voice gave out from that much panicked bleating after the first four hours.

Heading back to Goldshire, hoping no one or nothing was hungry, I tried to assess the situation in my head. Problem with that of course, is, I'm a friggin' sheep. This ain't your everyday run-of-the-mill problem. But I did reach one rational decision, on that long walk.

I was definitely taking the rest of the damn day off.