The Iron Horde’s invasion of Azeroth is imminent. Jump back into action today! Pre-purcahse Warlords of Draenor and get a level 90 character boost to use in-game now.
Someone dropped the ball and released it too soon, or it got leaked.
This is adorable and I am eager to see more cinematics and cut scenes now from Wow this is amazing.
The mustache though.
I just want to watch a Sim-ified Zalakar play in the sand in his little red swim suit.
Why did you crash.
Far, far, far too fancy for Cerinna’s tastes. She’s itching to get everything off. This sort of wear isn’t her thing. suppose she’s just playing dress-up.
Checked on what I missed today and saw a lot of trolls in formalwear. Sketched this a few days ago… meh.
lil sketch of Zet in a cute lil outfit dang what a cutie
A sharp pull on Jilatal’s thin orange braids startles her awake. She snarls. “NnyaaAAAAH WOT DE FO—” She sits up and stops moving and breathing altogether.
Surrounding her, all over the hut, are toddlers with green moss-covered skin, toddlers with light blue skin, toddlers with orange eyes, toddlers with large fluffy red hair, toddlers grasping and poking and pulling and tumbling and wrestling and biting and crying and screaming and all. staring. at. her.
The toddlers all wail at once when Jilatal shrieks.
When Zalakar returns and discovers this, a bellowed roar rends the air.
It’s just a hut full of screaming and crying Darkspear and Amani.
(AU! Jilatal is not pregnant for this.)
Dawn breaks, waking Jilatal, and she stirs atop a thin fur pelt. “Mmngh…” She winces. Her voice is deep and whispy. She bolts upright and notices her broad, knobby hands and jutting knees and hip-bones. She pulls on her hair and finds thick green dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail that extends to her buttocks. Her chest lacks breasts and her groin area has gained…something else. Her mouth is framed with thick, short, crooked tusks.
Jilatal feels sick to her stomach. She rushes to a large clay pot holding tepid jungle water. She peers into it and sees a long face with a square chin and squinting orange eyes. A scar splits her lips by the right corner and another one cuts through her left brow. The top part of her left ear is shredded to light blue ribbons.
She stares at the face of her father, Geb’huza.
Jilatal roars—a deep, hissing roar—and smashes the back of her forearm into the pot. She watches water spill over the clay shards. She picks one up between thin fingers and holds it over one blue wrist. And she pauses, trembling…