A plethora of penguins but a paucity of plunder. Sterkvark the Pirate was heartily sick of the frozen North. He hadn't had a decent mug of cherry grog since Booty Bay, and the flimsy material of his swashbuckler shirt did nothing to keep out the icy blasts.
The local pirates, however, seemed content to swill their tepid draughts and shake their booty instead of looting it.
Enough was enough. Sterkvark decided if you can't join 'em, beat 'em!
With a blood curdling "Arr!" he fell upon the Northrend Pirates, laying them low like a mechanical harvester on Goblin Rocket Fuel. Like a cannonball among ninepins. Like Spanish Fly in the ointment at a Club Med massage table. None could withstand his furious blows, his expert swordplay, or his vitriolic verbal abuse:
"Avast, ye flea-bitten Elwynn lambs! I've seen kobolds swing cutlasses better than you orlop slops, by thunder. Ye call that a parrot? More like a tickbird, to be sure, and you may lay to that! Stand still, damme, and let me kill ye proper, ye skulking muckbreaths! And quit bleeding on the deck, or you'll be holystoning it in Hellfire, me hearties!"
Finally he came to the Pirate Commander, who bore a startling resemblance to others Sterkvark had met before. By his count there were half a dozen look-alikes for this foppish freebooter from Booty Bay to Westfall, and not one of them ever dropped his scarlet coat or pirate hat when slain.
"Let's see if yer any different from those jaunty jellyfish!" snarled Sterkvark as the claret ran and another cutthroat captain bit the dust. Sterkvark strode triumphantly across the deck of his new ship, and advanced on the helmsman.
"Alright, you hogbacked water rat, let's see some spit and polish here. I want this ship scoured so bright I can see me handsome mug in it! You've had a soft cruise, but this ain't the Love Boat! Straighten those shoulders! Chin Up, you misbegotten murloc! Let me inspect your weapons! Present Arms!"
Which the pirate did, with unfortunate consequences...
(To be continued...)