Haaram Var's Adolescent Drinking Habits Cause Unintended Ramifications.

The annual conference for Haaram's lab had commenced, and like every year, his laboratory was nearly full with visitors. Magi involved in the study of the effects of arcane magic on temporal flow in low-nether environments, their pupils, and their families from all around Azeroth came as guests, and like every year, everyone was having a joyous time. The various magi were conversing about recent events in their field of research, in-jokes were told, and this usually separated community of was reunited. The only difference was that this year a certain special guest had arrived, a guest that Haaram Var had been biding his time for an opportunity to meet for many years.

Recently, the HIghborne Night Elf Magi had spent a good deal of time and effort attempting to reintegrate themselves with the intellectual communities of Darnassus. Last year, they had finally found enough of a foothold to establish a magical research laboratory, and this year they had been able to squeeze enough funding to afford a trip to this years convention.

This was significant for several reasons. First, it provided a new opportunity for an extension and enlargement of this particular community. Var's field of study was largely based in the Eastern Kingdoms, and such a large separation had presented many readily apparent problems that greatly impeded the rate of research for his laboratory. With the additional help of the Night Elves, he could only surmise that his field would have more of a presence in Kalimdor, and it would be easier to obtain reagents and peer reviews/consultation from now on.

More importantly, however, one of these new arrivals was also the brother of a reagent vender in Darnassus who was totally hot. Var had had a crush on her for as long as he had been on Azeroth. Every time he passed through the capital, he made a point of restocking all his reagents at her store, just so that he could say hello to her. His heart fluttered and his stomach did seemed to do summersaults whenever he stared into her beautiful, deep, opaque eyes. He knew that if he could, he would get lost in them forever.

Unfortunately he also got really nervous around her because he was so self conscious, and he usually couldn't get himself to start conversation with her. The fact that he was even able to order reagents when he saw her was actually nothing short of a miracle.

He knew tonight, however, was his chance. This conference was his opportunity to spark something wonderful between him and his heart's long desire. To this end, he had spent the better part of a week training and conditioning himself. He wrote down what he was going to say; he had a long list of conversation starters. He had read up of Night Elf Culture so that he would have more bearings in interaction with her. He knew he was ready, and as he walked into the conference and felt dozens of faces smiling and thanking their gracious host, he was, for the first time in a long time, confident in his ability to interact with girls.

He walked through the crowd, nodding and smiling at all those who greeted him; he made his way across the room, attempting to find one of his lab-mates so that he could establish a social foothold from which he could use as a safe starting area to branch out and fulfill his plans. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking where he was going and accidentally bumped into someone. Even more unfortunately it was the reagent saleswoman.

The two stared at each other for several seconds. Var felt his throat dry nearly instantly as he tried his best to maintain his composure.

"Hi," she began.

"Hey," he replied.

The two stood there for several seconds, Var could feel sweat beginning to accumulate on his forehead; this situation was getting too hot to fast and he knew it.

"Um…I have to go…to the place…for that thing…" he pointed slowly off to the side, eliciting a somewhat confused look from his conversation partner.

"k,"

"Bye…"

Var made a quick exit to the restroom and stood over the sink, trying to collect himself. Dammit! He thought. How can this be? I prepared for this more than anything and I still almost embarrassed myself back there! He sighed and looked to his side, realizing that he was holding a cup of ale from the refreshments table. He took a long swig of it, hoping that it would calm his nerves enough for him to gain some composure. As he left the bathroom, he tried to look on the bright side of things. Well, at least she and I haven't had an awkward moment yet. He thought to himself.

Haaram spent the next few hours attempting to regain his resolve for a second chance at conversation. The events were cyclical: he would drink, try and approach his crush, get really nervous, back down, and finally drink some more. It was a commendable plan fit for only the coolest of high school freshmen, and just like said high school freshmen he soon found himself attempting to utilize his lowered inhibitions to compensate for his lack of confidence and grace. Tonight, as was usual when he drank too much, it manifested himself in the form of unfunny dick-jokes.

Thankfully, Homrin had been around the intoxicated Haaram enough times to know the early warnings, and as soon as his boss began penciling in the letter "s" every time he found the word "as" on some documents on his desk, he went in to work preventing a potential catastrophe.

Homrin approached his tutor, who, at the moment, was busy telling a group of people about that time he realized the profound and subtle humor of the last four letters of the word "canal." He grabbed Var by the shoulder and politely (yet firmly) ushered him off the side, "Professor Var…how much have you had to drink tonight?"

Homrin could tell that his professor was trying to think fast. Var's eyes darted between his pupil, and the drink currently in his hand. "True," he replied tentatively.

"What?"

"True."

"No, how much have you had…give me the real answer."

"I am giving you the real answer, In Boolean form!" Var giggled like a school girl at the hilarity of his own math joke that only he was a big enough dork to get.

Homrin rolled his eyes, "Ok…fine…then give me the answer again…in integer form."

The smile faded from Var's face, "Um…well…right…see…I…uh…

"…pass"

"Look, sir, I think you should take it easy for a while. You're starting to act a little…inebriated. I think you've had enough. Why don't you lay low for a little while until you sober up; I'm afraid that you'll embarrass yourself by accident."

Var's eyes widened with horror, "I've embarrassed myself? In front of all these people?"

"what?...no not ye-"

"Oh God!" Var breathed as he clutched his head, "My chances of getting with that night elf chick whatsherface are ruined!"

"Sir I think you're overreac-"

"I gotta get out of here!"

"Wait! Don't!"

But it was too late; Var had already begun fleeing to the back entrance of the lab, arms flailing and voice emitting a very high pitched squeal. Homrin sighed as he rubbed his temples, some people really need to learn how to handle alcohol… he thought.

As he was lost in thought one of his coworkers approached him from behind, "Hey Homrin, where's the professor at?"

"He uh…he…went outside…"

"Huh…like last time?"

"yep."

"I actually better find him," Homrin sighed, "If I don't he's just gonna end up telling racist jokes to strangers again." Homrin then composed himself, neatened up his robe (which had become somewhat sullied in the festivities) and exited the building, on a mission to find his tutor.

Var ran for quite a while. The seven foot tall, three hundred pound figure with steel gray hair, glowing sapphire eyes, and the look of a millennia's worth of wisdom and experience flew down the streets of the Exodar, emitting a high pitched whine and streaming tears down his face. Thankfully, the population of the streets at this hour of the night was negligible. If this had been any other time of day (like last time) the situation would have been even more awkward, if that was even possible. In a drunken haze his stamina finally wore out, and he found himself doubled over in the streets, panting.

He wiped his forehead and looked up briefly. He found that he was only a few inches away from the flight master for the city.

"Uh, sir. Could you please give me some more personal…space." The flight master said cautiously while trying to create some distance between him and the man who was screaming like a newborn only a few seconds ago. Suddenly, Var's mind hatched an idea.

"Hey I got an idea! How mucsh for a trip."

"Whereto…?"

"Uhh…I don't know."

The flight master visibly became more and more uncomfortable with Var's presence. In desperation he looked quickly down at his flight map and picked the first name he saw, "How about Ashenvale?"

"Slure!"

"Great…hop on one of these here and I'll get you on your way."

"Aweshome…Oh wait, how much is this going to cost?"

"For you…free."

"Aw, thanksh buddy!" Var walked passed the flight master and hopped up on one of the mounts nearby. As the master was untying his hippogriff he began giggling again, "Hey buddy, you know those humans…the ones with the darker skin?"

"…"

"Wanna hear a joke about 'em?"

"…

…no," he replied as he gave the taxi a swift kick with his boot and sent his customer on his way.

Gro'ash was a warrior of minor renown in his unit. His loved ones will probably remember him for his controlled (yet savage) combat technique, his high regard for family honor, and the fact that his son was a failure of catastrophic proportions.

Everyone in his family aspired to be a great warrior; it was a family tradition that had gone on for generations. However, all that his son Cro'ak seemed to want to was play with mud. He had no warrior's heart, no bloodthirst, no spirit. As he attempted to fall asleep in the barracks he was staying in at the lumber mill, Gro'ash couldn't help but reflect on his life, and wonder why the great and powerful spirits had cursed him with a son who was forced become a peon as a result of his lack of motivation. He sighed to himself as he looked out the window near his bunk, and saw his son on his night shift…sleeping on the job. "Dear Cro'ak…why do you dishonor me so?" he sighed as he looked back up at the ceiling, "Where did I go wrong with you?"

Meanwhile, Var was stumbling around drunk, not entirely sure where he was (there were a lot of trees), and so he did the only thing that came to his mind- he told his stand-up comedy to any sentient being that he found on his drunken stumbling. Dryads, elemental spirits, whatever he found he attempted to entertain with his juvinille sense of humor. However, the more and more he tried to interact with the residents of the forest, the more and more frustrated he became. This was largely because everything he tried to talk to ran away in less then five minutes.

He came upon a furbolg with its foot caught in a bear trap, and a smile dawned on his face This guy'll probably listen! Var thought excitedly. He approached the creature, and the furbolg acknowledged his presence with an imploring looking, beseeching him for help. "Hey buddy, what do call the hair in between your grandmother's breasts?"

The furbolg's eyebrows narrowed as realized the intentions of his new acquaintance. He pawed at the bear trap that was holding his leg in place like a vice grip, a certain new anxiety taking over his body.

Var giggled to himself, "her vagina" he said, snickering.

The captive's need to escape visibly mounted, as he began to paw even harder at his trap.

"Hang on I got more!"

The furbolg's eyes shot open with a fear so visceral and extreme it was unreal; he could never have imagined that a fate this cruel would befall him. In a final act of desperation, he used all his strength to ram his hands in between the jaws of the trap. Harnessing every ounce of his adrenaline, he slowly pried the jaws open from his leg. Tears streamed down his face as the trap's vice dug into his palms, and a river of blood flowed from hands. He inched the trap wide enough to slip his leg through, and without a moments hesitation dashed off, leaving Haaram alone.

"Alright, you know what, SCREW YOU. I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY." Var sighed. Now who can I talk to? He mused.

However, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a napping orc underneath a tree. A smile graced his drunken face as he discovered a new conversation partner.

Homrin searched the city for quite a while, marveling at how difficult it was to find a being as hard to miss as Haaram Var. Unfortunately for him, there were few people to ask as not many were up at this hour. After a half hour of searching, however, he managed to find another person in the streets of the city- the flight master.

"Hey did you see a guy with white hair come by here recently? He was wearing a robe and probably acting like a middle-school girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend of one week."

"Well I did just send a guy through and he was acting pretty peculiar…"

"How good were his people skills?"

"Non-existent."

"Yeah that's him alright. Can you tell me where he went?"

"Hey, buddy." Haaram nudged the orc, attempting to arouse it from its slumber. "Hello?" He poked the green man again. The peon awoke from its slumber to find a very large and very drunk alien looming over him. He immediately jumped on his feet tried his best to get into a battle stance. His hands were trembling as he tried to enter a combat stance; he was prepared to defend himself.

The professor, however, was oblivious to the individual's fear, and instead started where he left off with the furbolg. "Wanna hear a joke?"

The orc didn't really speak any common and so he became increasingly terrified of the situation.

"Alright so a priest, a shaman, and a paladin walk into a bar…

except it was like a metal bar…

…So they like…

…got hurt…"

Var leaned forward in an attempt to enunciate the (not?)punchline of the joke. The orc, however, misinterpreted this as an act of aggression which tipped him over the edge and into combat mode. Letting forth a high-pitched scream, he swung his axe at Var.

"Hey what the hell's your problem?" he retorted, dodging the clumsy swing.

The orc responded with another swing, which Var dodged again.

"Oh so that's how it's gonna be?" Var grabbed the orc's arm as it swung through the air, and, accidentally, conjured up a spike of ice that skewered the orc's forearm. The peon screamed in agony as he clutched his arm, attempting to stop the bleeding.

"Aw crap…this couldn't get any worse…" said Haaram. Just then, he heard shouting from behind in a language that he did not understand. He turned around to see a fierce orc warrior staring at him. Seeing that he was Alliance, the orc switched languages appropriately. "Who in the hell are you, and what are you doing to my son!"

"Oh dammit…"

Homrin had been searching the forests for some time, and yet still had had no luck in locating his professor. He sighed, maybe he'll just come back tomorrow… he thought. Suddenly, he heard screaming in the distance. He raced over to the origin of the sound and was shocked by what he saw.

Gro'ash slowly approached Var, his temples throbbing with anger. He began swearing in orcish, and Haaram could only back away slowly as the imposing figure drew ever closer. "Hey couldn't we just talk about this! It's a misunderstanding I swear!" The orc's response was to unsheathe his axe. He raised his weapon over his head and prepared for an attack.

Then, an unexpected figure ran up to the ancient researcher. "Professor Var, what's going on?"

"Oh, hi Homrin, not much," he replied, turning to face his student and, in doing so, moving six inches to the left. The Orc's axe came down with mighty force and, completely missed Haaram. His reach, however, was quite long, and the vertical slice did make contact with Homrin's arm. The pupil jumped back in pain as a large gash opened up on his bicep. Gro'ash stepped back, surprised that he had just hit the wrong target. Shrugging off his incredulity, he raised his axe for another attack.

As luck would have it, however, it was then that Haaram Var had his first not-completely-retarded thought all day. "Wait," he said, "if you try to kill us both, The Alliance and the Horde are going to know about this incident. Tension's are high enough as is, do you really want to risk being the guy that started a war that killed thousands?"

The orc lowered his axe.

"Taking lives will mean nothing. We need to get medical attention for my friend and your son. This world has seen enough death, there's no need to create more."

Gro'ash paused for a moment, and finally nodded in agreement.

"Wow sir…that was incredible…how'd you think of that?"

Var began giggling again, "Hey I got one. What's the difference between an orc and a pile of dog sh-"

Homrin slammed his hand over his superior's mouth. Perhaps it's best that he not say anything right now, he thought.

Homrin and Cro'ak were quickly and efficiently patched up soon after. Thankfully, there was a shaman on base who was a very good friend of Gro'ash and would be more than happy to keep a secret. Homrin flexed his newly patched up arm, making sure that everything was in working order. He turned to his host, "Thank you very much, dear sir, I am terribly sorry that we intruded here this evening." The orc nodded tentatively, his animosity could still be felt. Not wishing to see how patient this being would be, Homrin grabbed his professor, bowed graciously, and speedily walked as far away from the lumber mill as he could manage.

Cro'ak turned to the shaman as the spiritual guide began channeling natural energy through his body. He muttered an incantation, and the once gaping wound sealed itself quickly. Cro'ak stared at his miraculously cured hand, "How did you do that?" he asked, marveled.

"The elements of earth and water allow us the power to heal…among other things. It is a gift that we are truly blessed to have."

"Earth…water…" Cro'ak stared at his arm, enthralled by the wondrous magic force that had just saved him, "So uh…if…a friend of mine...wanted to learn about shamanism…where would he go first?"

Homrin held up his professor as the two slowly walked back down the streets of the Exodar, "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"NO YOU."

"Whatever. I guess I should be thankful that you at least didn't start a world war…and that you probably won't remember this in the morning.

"This night sucked…"

"I know. I know."

"I spent so much time trying to make tonight go well…and all I managed to do was avoid completely embarrassing myself…by almost starting a war…"

"You'll feel better soon enough…"

Homrin stopped suddenly as he and his professor approached the laboratory. The guests had almost entirely left, the only two people left at the party were a night elf and his sister…the sister that sold reagents. Var slid off of his student and began to walk towards his building. His crush was standing next to her brother, who was having a light conversation with one of his students. Haaram averted his gaze from the object of his affections, "It's probably better that I just stop while I'm behind," he mused.

He walked past them, and began searching his pockets for the key to the lab so that he could begin to clean up. Then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around slowly to find the reagent saleswoman looking up at him. "I just wanted to say thank you, professor Var. My brother really enjoyed this get together, and I'm so glad that I could come." She reached up and shook Var's hand while he simply stood back, paralyzed. She heard her brother calling her, telling her that they were about to leave. She quickly ran off to meet him, giving one last wave and a goodbye to her host.

Var stood completely still for several moments, attempting to take in what had just happened. A small smile crept onto his face, and began to grow into a full-fledged look of joy. He regained slight composure of himself as he turned around and went into his place of work. He spent the next half hour cleaning up after the soiree, beaming the entire time, and only allowing one thought to pass through him mind. It was the same thought that had been looping in his mentality ever since he turned around to notice the tap on his shoulder, "Holy shit, a girl's talking to me."