It's been a long, long time since I played World Of Warcraft. After two brief bouts of getting a character or two to levels in the mid-thirties, I manage to break my addiction. Even membership (and friendship with some of the higher-ups) in the Penny Arcade affiliated guild Exuberance couldn't keep me around for The Burning Crusade. I escaped the Lich King's wrath, and missed out on the Cataclysm, so you can't pin that one on me. I don't even remember most of my characters, despite playing around with most of the races and classes on both sides of the coin and dumping a fair amount of hours into things.
There's one character I fondly recall, however, and while she only had a randomly generated name, never had any sweet equipment, a mount, or even a level beyond her first, she was probably the best time I ever had in the game. While I prefer to remember it as the Lolicaust, it may be just as appropriate today to call it Occupy Orgrimmar.
One day, not long after my return to Azeroth, following months of self-imposed exile, a strange request came across Alliance general chat. It was suggested players back out of the game, create new, pink-pigtailed female gnome alts, and find their way to Theramore Isle via the boat from Menethil. We had two hours to gather, according to the announcement, and curious, I figured, why the hell not.
By the time my aging computer let me get there, there were at least a hundred intrepid, fuschia-maned little girls gathering at the north end of Theramore. This was a bit of a project to deal with, given that my system wasn't a fan of even medium-business days at the auction house, but I trucked on, wondering what was to happen. At the bridge into Dustwallow Marsh, we were informed that our self-appointed keepers were of high enough level to keep us relatively safe as we sprinted across the bulk of Kalimdor, our destination the heart of Horde culture, Orgrimmar. We were told to strip down, en masse, to our skivvies, and just follow the mob as our handlers took out any threats along the way.
So we did. While I had to wait a bit for things to thin out before I could properly keep up without my PC chugging too much, I ran with the best of them. Some fell by the wayside, wandering into the aggro range of wandering beasts or the sights of opportunistic Horde soloists, but we carried on. I managed to find a fairly safe place in the mid-rear of the pack as we streamed across the Badlands, watched a few more fellows fall as we detoured around Crossroads before re-joining established paths and plunging across the bridge to Durotar. Like some unholy flamingo tide, we rushed the gates of Orgrimmar, the high-levs dealing with the guards and what few players noticed us early on, surging at last to our final destination: Orgrimmar's auction house.
And a final destination it was surely to be, for our final, inevitable destruction? All we had to do was die, taunting or dancing on the way if we could. The auction house floor rapidly became an abbatoir for little girls, a sea of pink-tufted, dead flesh that seemed like something right out of some pervert's wet nightmare. Screencaps were taken rapid-fire, judging by some of the chat noise, mine unfortunately lost to a hard-drive crash, and you could see a great deal more Horde player-characters in laugh animations looking over the aftermath than anyone who seemed to take any serious affront.
After that, WoW was never quite the same for me. I managed to eke out another quarter of a year exploring, and enjoying the thrill of finding more hidden quests or sneaking around Horde territory as Alliance, dodging NPC and player patrols alike, but nothing would ever match such a glorious passing in the Orcish capital. I'd have a hard time believing you if you said we were the first to do it, and I'm sure there were more, similar raids that followed, but that one afternoon was more than enough to dismiss any reservations I had about my Alliance leanings.
LOOK WHO CAME: