The G'rogfather.

Greetings again from the land of the Gurog.

They are a crafty sort, those Gurog. I've only recently discovered this, you realize. I thought I was picking a clever name for my column and the stupid Gurog would never know. It is like making jokes about the Amish on the internet. You don't expect to get caught.

Lo and behold, the Gurog have been reading. Or perhaps the big, hairy, horned monster under my bed has been telling them, I don't know. Nevertheless, the Gurog have taken to tormenting me. I get these calls at three in the morning with deep, throaty giggles and a peculiar voice asking me if my computer is running. Then there was the personals ad in the paper.

SWM seking short, stumpi Eli 4 kudling & pasion8 nites. Must b wiling 2 tri new things. Hoomans ned not aply.

You can only imagine the phone calls THAT generated. I won't even describe the health potion in the gas tank incident or how my mom learned what Gurog porn is. (bleh!)

It took me a while to figure out who was behind it all. I never suspected a Gurog could learn to use a phone or knew what a gas tank was. It was the embarrassing call from my own mother that eventually clued me in, though. Those crafty Gurog!

But what can you do against the Gurog? They just seem to keep coming, no matter how many you kill. Nevertheless, I gathered a band of my adventurer friends and we went spelunking in the depths of some Linvak vaults. I thought that maybe I could grovel to some head honcho, we'll call him the G'rogfather, to leave me alone.

This is how my friends and I found ourselves in Winterhollows vault. There were only four of us, so it was expected to be a difficult journey. The trick to this vault was acquiring a key from the Gurog Confessor so that we might enter the vestibule. This is where I hoped to plead my case before some mighty Gurog that they stop tormenting me.

We quickly found the Confessor and, ironically, he remained pretty silent. I'm not sure what type of society needs to fill this role. What do they confess exactly? He only confessed to us that he desired to witness our end. That doesn't really seem any different than the rest of them. I sort of expected this Confessor fellow to corner us with his pleas for salvation as he sought penance for his Gurog ways. Nope. He just whacked away at us angrily.

One thing he COULD have confessed, though, was that he didn't have the key. That might have saved us some time. Yes, those crafty Gurog knew I was coming.

"We it locked up," the Confessor finally confessed after we'd slain him a third time, "and threw away the key."

"You threw away the key?"

"After we locked it up," he gasped.

"So it is in some discarded safe somewhere?"

"They key?" he gurgled.

"Yes, why did you throw it away? Didn't you need it?"

"Yes, we locked it up so you could not get it."

"You locked up the key."

"And threw away the key," he said.

"Did you lock it up or throw it away?"

"Am I dead yet?" he sputtered and died. Words to live by, I guess.

So we called upon the heavenly grace of +Admin Raven to help us in our time of need. Unfortunately for me, I had once upon a time muttered something disparaging about Raven's dog or parakeet or something. Long story short, we didn't get the key.

Since then the Gurog have only stepped up their efforts. I found my apartment TP'd the other night. How do you TP a first floor apartment?! And where did they get the double-ply? Somehow they managed.

This morning my car had "I lik darknfoul" scratched into my car door. You can't really make it out with all the lewd pictures illustrating the rest of it, though.

What's really strange is that the Gurog haven't really made any demands. It is almost like some greater power is behind these things. I wonder who could have it out for me so bad they would enlist the Gurog to do their dirty work for them. Whoever he is, I'm counting on all of you out in the land of AC2 to help put a stop to this nonsense. I can only handle waking up next to a Slavetaker's head once.

Gurog Grunts appears every other Wednesday here on AC2 Warcry. The opinions expressed here belong to the gruntmaster himself, Theiss. If you wish to grunt about his grunts, grunt to Theiss at editor@warcry.com. I know you are reading this, you filthy Gurog! This isn't over!!!