And vacation is over. It was good, it was exhausting, it was super fun. But I’m glad to be home. This is the final bit of this particular Zuckerman tale. Only 2 chunks have been left out, as they were written by others. Should I receive permission to re-post them, I will put them back in in the right spots. As you can tell, it was written AGES ago, before Burning Crusade hit! Does anyone else have fond memories of 3 hour Scholo and endless Strath runs? Ahhh the good ol’ days!
Zuckerman the Famous Pig Part 2:
Regatta had never felt such an odd combination of emotions before. She was upset that her pig had gone and hurt someone, she was embarrassed that someone was her friend. She was a little scared that he had proven to be that violent, and, for the first time since her brother Danny had held her down and spit into her hair, she felt angry. True, real anger.
“I’m awful sorry Raga. I didn’t even know he had left.”
“I have never seen a pig stalk anything before. It’s just not right.”
“No. No it’s not.”
Regatta stood up and started to walk back to The Drag.
She hoped this was a one time event.
Maybe Zuckerman was just feeling… stir crazy. Maybe he just needed to get out, and his feral piggy instincts took over and that’s why he bit Raga and stole her hat.
These, of course, were just things she told herself to keep from running in the other direction when she saw him, curled up in his pile of hay, snoring and drooling.
She’s asleep again.
That cow escaped and tipped her off.
But that’s ok.
I have bigger fish to fry.
Sometimes, Doras really loved his job. He got to sit on top of the wind rider tower and look out over a sleeping Orgrimmar. It was peaceful. So peaceful, that he had almost forgotten all about that weird pig incident last night.
Doras closed his eyes.
“There’s not a pig, there’s not a pig, there’s not a pig..”
He opened them.
“There’s a pig.”
Said pig, grunted in agreement.
“Where you off to now?”
Through a series of grunts, squeals, and nose points, the pig made his destination known.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be paying this time?”
The pig peed on him in answer.
“Right. Of course not.”
The pig hoped up onto the back of the wind rider and took up the reins in his teeth.
The wind rider took flight, with the pig holding on for dear life.
Doras took a moment to hope the pig would fall off. Preferably over a large body of water.
He’d heard pigs couldn’t swim.
Doras sighed, and reached into his pack.
He pulled out a rather large bottle of Booty Bay Rum.
“100% Debilitating!” The label screamed.
Doras liked the sound of that.
He yanked the cork out, and took a swig.
It wasn’t long before he was, indeed, 100% debilitated.
“He looks harmless to me.”
Wynne looked at the sleeping Zuckerman.
“I’m sure you look pretty harmless too. But he brought this home last night.”
Regatta opened up the piece of fabric to reveal what could only be some poor Elf’s ear.
“Good for him!”
Regatta glared at Wynne.
“Wynne, I don’t want him hurting people.”
“Well…. because… because it’s not right. And because priests shouldn’t have vicious attack animals.”
“Because they shouldn’t. Besides, are you forgetting that he attacked Raga?”
“That’s true. He does seem to attack anyone doesn’t he?”
“That’s why I need your help Wynne. He goes out while I’m sleeping. You need to help me keep watch.”
“I can do that!”
“You have to stay sober.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Wynne!!! You have to try.”
“I promise to attempt to try to stay sober.”
“Thanks Wynne. I know it’s asking a lot.”
“Yeah. It is. but I’ll help you anyway.”
Wynne broke into a big grin.
She thinks that she and her friend will be able to keep me here. But I know how she is. She could fall asleep with cannons going off. She’ll be asleep in no time.
And her friend smells like a dwarf.
No. It won’t be long before I can go about my business.
I just have to be patient and bide my time…..
It took 20 minutes for Regatta to fall asleep.
Wynne, who was very drunk when she arrived, was completely drunk about 5 minutes after Regatta started to snore.
10 minutes after that, she hiccupped, shook her finger at the pig, and fell over in a heap.
Zigtal, who was sitting on the bed reading a newspaper, glanced over at the pig, then went back to reading.
Doras was a nervous wreck. He just knew that damn pig would be back tonight.
Doras looked a wreck too. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he glanced around him nervously. His wife had remarked that he looked as though he had seen the Scourge.
“Not the Scourge. A pig. An evil, villainous pig.”
She looked back at him blankly.
She leaned in and sniffed him. She looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You should lay off that Booty Bay Rum.”
“Kartha! There really is a pig!”
She turned back to her cooking.
“Mmmm hmm. I’m sure there is Doras.”
“Yes yes. I believe you.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Kartha… I’m not imagining this. Believe me, I want to.”
“Whatever you say dear.”
He didn’t like that Kartha didn’t believe him. But he really couldn’t blame her. It’s an odd thing to be afraid of a pig. It’s odder still to be afraid of said pig because he hops up onto a wind rider and heads off to Thrall knows where on a nightly basis.
As if on cue, there was a snort at his feet.
Doras whimpered and looked down.
“Off again are you?”
“Well, what are you standing around looking at me for? You obviously don’t need my permission. Thrall knows you don’t pay for your rides.”
The pig snorted again, lifted his leg, and wiggled his privates at Doras. Then hopped up onto the wind rider.
Doras was still recovering from that strange display when the wind rider took off into the night, carrying a giggling pig on it’s back.
Doras sat down in a heap and began to rehearse his resignation speech.
“Kolck’Thar, Kartha and I are looking to start a little family away from the hustle and bustle of Orgrimmar. I’m thinking of becoming a fisherman. Grom’Gol maybe. I hear the fishing down there is pretty good. You should know this has absolutely nothing to do with pigs.”
“Yes. That sounds good.”
He took a long pull on his ever-present bottle of rum and waited for his shift to end.
The streets of Stratholme are not safe.
Unless you are an unassuming pig.
For reasons unknown to Zuckerman, he is able to walk by all the scourge unmolested.
This pleases him.
“They think I’m no threat. But they are quite mistaken.”
His hooves clatter on the cobbles, bouncing off the burning walls of the pubs, caressing the burnt corpses of townspeople, mingling with the falling embers.
Hidden under the grunts and gurgles of the rotting undead.
His hoofstpes, the sound of silent destruction.
His snorts, self-satisfaction.
Yes, Zuckerman was pleased with himself.
Quite pleased indeed.
He effortlessly waltzes by the lumbering abominations.
Unceremoniously stepping on the corpses of a fallen party of adventurers.
He breezes into the Baron’s stronghold, and faces him.
The Baron doesn’t notice him at first. He is wrapped up in looking imposing in case that party of hapless miscreants are stupid enough to rise and push forward.
A small snort pulls him out of his head, and into the present.
“What have we here?”
“Interesting. I shall make you a meal for the Abominations, pig.”
“You show no fear. I respect that. Come beast. Your end is nigh.”
The pig launches himself at the Baron’s face with a ferocity that seems quite uncommon coming from a pig.
He manages to hang on to the Baron’s lower lip, causing him to scream in anger and pain.
The pig, laughs.
Now, The Baron is used to fear. He’s used to false fearlessness, he’s used to the suicidal, he has even seen the truly fearless, once or twice.
However, he has never seen it in a pig.
And this disturbs him.
As adaptable as he is, The Baron is used to certain things, and he dislikes it when things do not fit into their proper places. If he were to think about it, he would find that he was the same way when he was alive.
This pig. Oh, this pig. This pig is not doing what a pig should be doing. Even if it had been trained by a skilled beastmaster, this pig is still not doing what a pig would do.
No. This pig is doing what a man would do.
And not a very sane man at that.
The fight, between the baron and this small strange pig is not an epic battle. no one will write odes to it, or carve great statues to remember it.
In fact, it’s not even really very messy.
When The Baron looses consciousness, it is simply because, in his confusion he falls from his horse and hits his head.
When he wakes, his only injuries are an extremely painful lower lip, and his bruised pride.
He is left wiser however.
He certainly will never underestimate a pig again.
Especially one who brazenly walks into his domain alone.
No. Those kinds of pigs he will be especially wary of.
The two undead women stand over him. Staring in disbelief.
“Pants. He brought back pants this time.”
Wynne reaches for the pants and brings her hand back quickly when Zuckerman growls at her.
“They look like Magisters.”
“Did he mug some poor mage and steal his pants?!”
“Looks like it. You should sell them.”
“I’m not going to sell stolen pants Wynne! That’s so unseemly.”
“Why not? You don’t know who’s pants they are. For all you know, he might have found them on the side of the road.”
“Why would a perfectly good pair of pants be on the side of the road?”
“Well. It is hot out in these parts.”
“I’m going to make some signs and see if any Mage has recently lost their pants in a pig attack.”
“Oh! Can I draw the pictures?!”
“Why do we need pictures?”
“So they know what the pants look like. You can’t just put up signs that say ‘Hey, I found pants.’ People won’t know which pants you mean.”
“Do so many people lose pants to pig muggers that they’d need a picture?”
“I think so.”
“Ok. Here’s some parchment, let’s get to work.”
A sign, posted on a wall in the Undercity reads:
“Mages! Have you recently lost your pants to a small pig with gray spots? Do they look like this? (see picture below)
Please contact Priestess Regatta for more details, and to be reunited with your bottoms.”
Below this is a crudely drawn picture of what may be a Troll.
He is not wearing any pants.
The mage never came to claim his pants.
Regatta stashed them in her vault at the bank just in case.
Besides, with the scourge invading, she really didn’t have time to think about half-naked mages and psychotic pigs.
Zuckerman, however, had endless pools of time. And a whole new way to make mischief.
If I had known that she had access to that skunk Ferine… She’s a thousand times more valuable than I thought. I thought she only hung out with that stupid dancing orc, the drunken cow, and that flakey warlock. If I’d have known that she knew Ferine.. well.. this would’ve been much more enjoyable.
It’s a shame he recognizes me though. I’d have liked to have surprised him. Oh well. I don’t need the element of surprise to have an advantage here.
I just need persistance, and time. Both of which, I have plenty of.
The whole damn world had gone to hell, and Doras was lamenting that fact when the familiar squeal reached his ears.
“You know, there are a lot of important things going on right now Pig.”
The pig grunted in agreement.
“I mean, not just your weird little errands.”
The pig grunted in disagreement.
Doras had reached a point in his relationship with The Pig, where he felt the need to confirm his existence. His assistant, assigned once the wear and tear of the job started to show, was out fetching food, and would be back in moments. If Klak saw The Pig… well, then Doras wasn’t crazy. And if Doras wasn’t crazy, then he’d feel a hell of a lot better.
“Who do you belong to anyway?”
The pig felt that this was an overstepping of the bounds of their… “friendship” and bit him to show his disapproval.
But Doras, was prepared for that. He’d taken to wearing copper chain under his pants after the last bite got infected. He saw this as a defensive measure. Kartha saw it as a sure sign that he’d gone out of his mind.
“Ha! I was ready for that, Pig.”
The pig looked up at him and grinned. One of his front teeth had broken on the chain mail.
“Get on your way.”
The Pig snorted and hopped up onto the wind rider, then flew off into the night.
Doras sat there for a bit, stunned. It seemed.. well.. it looked like.. maybe The Pig saluted him, as he flew into the night…
That Flight Master is getting smarter. I never expected him to wear mail under his clothes. I’ll have to find another way to subdue him. But for now, I’ll let him wallow in his false sense of security.
Tonight… I have other plans…
With every soul too busy fighting off the Scourge to notice me… the gates will be open.
And school, indeed, will be in session….
The Headmaster had just finished up some administrative red tape (running a school for necromancy is not all “raising the dead” and torture, you know.) apparently the Teacher’s Union was reviewing their contract and wanted more health insurance.
“What for? Most of you are dead!”
“What does it matter if we’re dead? What if we need it? Or how about our families?
“You killed them and ate them!!!!”
He glanced at the skull of a troll he had setting on a stack of papers, serving the purpose of, but not limited to, a paperweight. (In times of great irritation, he often threw it at one or another student who came in to ask for an extension.) He tried to remember who it had belonged to, and came up with nothing.
He grinned to himself and bent back over the large stack of term papers sitting on his desk.
“That damn elf… is it so hard to cast Power Word: Spell Check?”
For a second, the Headmaster thought that he, himself, had snorted, and thought that it was quite unlike him to do anything of the sort.
Louder and more insistent, the Headmaster looked over his desk and saw, sitting in the chair placed at just the right angle for supreme intimidation, a pig.
A rather ordinary looking pig at that, except for the bright yellow bow around his neck, which, strangely, was spattered with blood.
“What’s this now?”
He was startled when the pig jumped onto the desk to look him straight in the eye.
The Headmaster raised an eyebrow.
“Well pig, you certainly are bold. What brings you to me tod…”
The pig exploded in a fury of hoof and tooth. Piggy squeals were heard around the Scholomance. The students in the viewing room would all look toward the sound, and wonder what poor soul was asking for an extension on their term paper now. Whoever it was, was paying a terrible price… squealing and a high-pitched womanish wail wafted through the air. They went back to their studies.
The first thought the Headmaster had when the pig came at him was, that, this was not a pig. Or at least not your ordinary pig. The second thought was, “I should have ducked.”
He was attacked with such ferocity, such malice, he was almost in awe, or he would’ve been had he not been knocked upside the face with a furious pig. He batted at the pig and grabbed for purchase, but his hands found only the sharp teeth and an angry growl.
When the pig finally grew bored, he jumped down onto the Headmaster’s lap, and promptly urinated. Then he jumped off and trotted along on his merry way.
The Headmaster looked down at his lovely robes, then watched the pig gleefully trot out the door. He lifted a hand to his head where he felt several newly bald spots, and then he did something he never thought he’d do.
The Headmaster Gandling, cried.
Regatta turned the cowl over and over in her hands.
“He brought a Wildheart Cowl back with him?”
Raga looked confused, she stood in the doorway, as far from Zuckerman as possible.
“Yes, and he came back with a chipped tooth and wearing this weird bloody yellow bow…”
“Really Reg, you should think about giving him away or cooking him… or something…”
“I would I just… I don’t think it would stick, you know? I think he’d come back…”
Raga thought about this possibility and shivered.
Wynne took the Cowl from Regatta and examined it.
“Why is he bringing back armor, do you think? Are they supposed to be presents for you?”
Regatta looked at Zuckerman, pouting in his brand new cage.
“Noooo… they’re not presents for me. I don’t know what he wants them for.”
“Well… I kinda’ like him.”
Raga and Regatta looked at Wynne. This was a look she was used to getting and did not affect her in the slightest.
“Well you’re the only one.”
Regatta nodded in agreement.
“Heck, Ferine slaps him and glares at him every time he sees him.”
“I wonder why?”
“It’s not hard to guess why Wynne.”
“You mean, maybe Zuckerman stole Ferine’s pants too?”
“No. I think Ferine still has his pants. Though I’m not lifting his robes to find out.”
“Well Reg. What’re we going to do about your pig?”
Regatta thought about it…
“Well. Maybe the cage will work…”
She sighed as she realized what a completely ridiculous statement that was. She was an optomist, but that was taking it a bit far.
“I guess we’re just going to have to wait.”
The three women looked down at the pig in a cage, and cringed when he began to laugh.