A Change of Professions for Zaph

Zaphodicus stood in the doorway looking at his older brother’s back. Zaph sat in his wheel-chair by the window overlooking the Antonidas Memorial, watching the people running to and fro around Dalaran. He coughed slightly, to announce his presence.

“What is it now, human?”, as he whirled his chair around. “Oh, it’s you. Good! Thought you were the nurse again.”

“Hello, brother. How are they treating you?” Zaphodicus asked.

“Like a newbie in Warsong Gulch! What do you expect? They’re all humans here. Bah!”

Zaphodicus rolled his eyes, ever so slightly and said,”Don’t work yourself up into another episode …”

“Episode?!” Zaph blurted, “I’m about ready for a full-blown expansion! This place is wearing my patience thinner than that cloth you like to wear.”

“Anyway … you “summoned” me like some sort of minion, this better be good. What is it?”

“Summoned you, called for you, asked that you stop by …. whatever. I may be your brother, but I’m still Czar of this guild so watch your tongue or I’ll have Aradia teach you a thing or two. For Thrall’s sake, boy, one of her girls could have you eating dust with a sneeze. Now sit down and have a listen.”

Zaphodicus stiffened at the threat and promptly sat.

“Notice anything different about me, Z? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Besides that glowing exclamation mark over your head, you mean? What’d you do, give up engineering for quest-giving?”

“It wasn’t by choice, brother. Trust me. The danged thing keeps glowing, day and night! Can’t even sleep with it glowing all night! It’s not like I can cleanse it either! It just keeps glowing, taunting me. Taunting! ME! A tank being taunted … it’s demeaning I tell you! Anyway, you know the routine … I have a need that I can’t take care of myself so I need to send someone on a quest. That someone is you, brother. You’re the perfect elf for the job.”

“We may rarely see each other, but anything, brother. What can I do for you? Slay a mighty dragon? Deliver an insult? Kill twenty Quillboar?”

Zaph paused, then asked “Ever hear of the Forge of Souls?”

“Hear of it? I’ve been there.” Z nodded.

“Good,” Zaph said. “I need you to go there and get me something.” He motioned him to come closer so he could whisper confidentially.

Z leaned down and Zaph whispered in his ear “I need you to get me …. Pants.”

“Pants?!” Z exclaimed. “That’s it? Pants? What on Azeroth for?”

“That’s right, pants! Leggings, leggards, britches! Whatever you want to call them, I don’t care, but this “thing” they have me in …. Doggone drafty on the back-side! And plate. It’s gotta be plate. None of that Melmac garbage either. Shiny plate. Yeah, shiny ….”, and Zaph’s eyes got this dreamy, far away look.

“Okaaaay …. Pants. Plate. Got it. Anything else?”

“Yes, one other thing.” Zaph snapped out of his reverie. “When the Devourer of Souls is just about dead … drain his soul for a shard. Just for the irony of it all. I like irony. It’s almost platey, you know? Can you do this for me Little Z?”

“Yes. Just stop calling me “Little Z”. I hate that.”

Zaphodicus rose to leave and Zaph said “One last thing. Once you nab those pants, high-tail it back here, ‘cause this thing over my head is going to turn into a question mark and light up like a Winter Veil tree. And Zaphodicus … thanks.”

“No problem, brother.” And he stepped out of the room.

Van was waiting outside the door, leaning casually against the wall. “He’s losing it, isn’t he?”

“He’s sitting in a wheel-chair with his Crusader aura on. You do the math.”

And as they strode down the hallway they could here Zaph singing to himself

“I’m taking what they’re giving,
‘cause I’m tanking for a living …”

To be continued ….