A Letter of Resignation to the Sons of Hodir

For anyone who spent a large chunk of their life running Sons of Hodir dailies for the shoulder enchants, this one is dedicated to you. I'm reposting it as I stare a large pile of Deepholm dailies square in the eye, and find myself wondering if I'll be handing the same sort of letter to the Stonemother, Queen Therazane, in the very near future.



Dear Sirs,

I am hereby writing to you to give you my formal resignation. Monday will be my last day serving as your horribly-underpaid employee. I have toiled every day for you for many weeks now, and it has NOT been fun.

I’m tired of feeding Arngrim. After Monday, he needs to find his own Jormungars. If he’s too feeble, he should find some softer food to chew, like Gnomes. I’ve seen quite a few buzzing around like flies right there in Dun Neffelem - let him eat those.

If you want Hodir’s helm oiled, well sirs, you’re going to have to go into that bear cave and get your own oil. I don’t care if you’re too big to fit. Go on a diet, or just let the stupid helm rust, I don’t care.

As for those invisible infiltrators, well, it doesn’t look to me like you guys have ANYTHING to protect or hide in that empty ice-hole you call home, so let them spy all they want - I’m not stepping in any more ghostly worg poop just to find some spies for you.

I’ve already brought you a mount of scrap iron, and killed enough Brittle Revenants that they must surely be close to extinction. I feel sorry for them - find some other way to cool off your scrap iron. And by the way, what exactly are you using all that metal for? It doesn’t seem to me that you’ve built ANYTHING with the hundreds of pieces I brought you. Time to put that anvil to use that I (yes, once again it was me) brought to you. Apparently all of you together couldn’t walk down the road and get it yourself. But now you have it, and you have the metal, so get to work.

And as for your forefathers, I’m not releasing them any more after Monday. They can walk around on that frozen battleground until the stars burn out for all I care.

And finally, I’m sure you’ve all had a good laugh at watching me fall to my death over and over as I attempt to kill a Wild Wyrm for you. I’m sure you get a big kick out of watching a cloth-covered Warlock try to survive without any useful spells, potions, or decent weapons. Well sirs, yuck it up all you want, because I’m NOT doing that stupid quest for you. Find some other shmuck to laugh at.

So come Monday, you’d better have my frigging Shoulder Enchants ready and waiting. Because I’m not standing around while you guys finally do some work yourselves. Have it ready when I get there. After I get my enchants, you will never, ever see me again.

Your soon-to-be-ex-employee,
Mortigan

PS - I hate you.