Dances with Worgen: A Walk on the Wild Side
Jynnxe Jones, Staff Writer
For a girl from the sticks, Stormwind was a city full of surprises, and one of the biggest, in more ways than one, were Worgen. You just never see giant, bipedal wolves wandering around Booty Bay. Certainly not in my neighbourhood. So imagine my reaction the first time one comes up and asks if he can buy me a drink. I'll give you a hint – it involved screaming. Not my proudest moment.
But I think I can be forgiven. First off, there's the way they look. Then there's the way they look. "Menacing" springs to mind. Also, "feral." Oh, yes, and "hungry." Like they're in a doughnut shop and you're the doughnut. But once you get past the part where you're wondering if they're going to want you glazed or with sprinkles, you soon discover that Worgen are some of the most kindly, well-spoken people you're ever going to meet.
If you're going to hang out with Worgen, there are things you need to know. They get really testy when you mention what big eyes they have. Or what a big nose they have. And if you really want to piss one off, point out what big teeth he has. Also, and I don't understand why this is important but apparently it is, they do not sparkle. Ever. Both of the Worgen gentlemen I interviewed this week were very adamant on this point.
The other thing is, I'm still not clear on how it is one becomes a Worgen. It's not a "when a mommy Worgen and a daddy Worgen really love each other" kind of thing. In fact, I gather it's some sort of curse, but it can't come from simply being bitten in the traditional werewolf sense because, well, because. Let's leave it at that.
The first Worgen I spoke with was a Death Knight, a member of the notorious Knights of the Ebon Blade, an ex-slave whose courtly manner and turn of phrase would put to shame any scion of the Stormwind's nobility. Also, for being a) covered in dog hair; and b) dead, he smelled surprisingly of clover and wild honey. The other one was that rarest of birds, a non-human infected by the Worgen curse. And not just any non-human, but a High Elf, old enough to remember the First War. Worgen are big to start with. But build a Worgen out of elf stock, and you get someone whose head is going to brush the roof just about everywhere he goes. In this case, just over twelve feet tall. That's big. Very big, as I later discovered.
A little confession here – for a small girl, I tend to be on the roomy side down there. That's either a blessing or a curse, depending. But when the other party tops twelve feet, well… there are certain things that aren't going to fit into other certain things. If you know what I mean. Luckily, the gentleman in question had the convenient ability to dial it up or down at will. I need to find out if that's a racial trait or just a one-off, because, Oh. My. God. It was like magic. I could have spent an hour just sitting there playing with the settings. Of course, my eyes always were bigger than my, okay, well, not stomach in this case, but same idea. So now it's a day later and things are still kind of tender down there. But in a good way.
And that's another thing. Guys? The cervix is a door that only opens from one side, and it ain't the side you're standing at. So, knock all you want, you can't come in. But hey - if you're looking to make that touchdown pass, going deep is a sure-fire way to hit the endzone. Just don't rifle it in, okay? Because, ouch.
Mixed metaphors aside, another peculiarity of the Worgen tribe, one which they share with other species of the canine persuasion, is something called "knotting". I'd never heard of this before. We had a Border Collie when I was growing up, and while she had her share of suitors, it wasn't something we talked about much. So, colour me surprised when my new friend shouts "I'm about to knot! In or out?" And I'm cresting a wave myself and I'm thinking it's some kind of weird crochet kink, but from where I'm standing (okay, lying) it's just not that important right now. So I'm like, "Yes, yes, yes" which in those circumstances (listen up, people) isn't really consent so much as random-mouth-noises, and the next thing I know, there's this huge swelling thing going on at the base of his already huge swollen thing and in consequence we're now stuck together. For at least half an hour, and it doesn't matter how badly you have to pee or if your roommate is knocking at the door (sorry, chickadee… that's why there was a tie hanging on the doorknob. We had this conversation, remember?) you're not going anywhere.
I guess what I'm saying is, if you do decide to go Worgen, go for it. But pick a good conversationalist and be prepared for 30-60 minutes of pillow talk afterwards. Still… to be curled up warm and safe, wrapped in the arms of a gentle, fur-covered giant was an achievement worth getting. And did I mention the tongue? Oh. My. God.
Next week: Those busty, bouncing Boralus babes. See you there.
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