"I just don't get it," Throgg said. "I mean, it's kind of sick. It's just not very charitable, you know? And, it's completely savage, man. Totally Lord of the Flies."

"I know," Lolegolas replied. "I know, man. I just don't know what to say. What makes you do something like that? What makes a chap think that's OK?"

"I mean, I killed the werewolf -- I get that," Throgg said. "Hit him with a giant milkbone. He had no chance against the Lassie defense. And when I looted his still-fresh body for coin, beer and hair products, I thought nothing could go wrong. But this? This is just sick."

Throgg ran his fingers over the thick Wolf Fur Coat he'd plucked from the dead worgen. "I mean, I know we get a bad rap for Garrosh and the blood elves. Er, no offense."

"No, none taken," Lolegolas said, holding up a hand. "Probably a bit far with the babies-on-pikes thing."

"Yeah, maybe." Throgg blew his nose into the wolf pelt. "But they wear their own kind as clothing. I mean, that's hardcore, man. That's like some kind of mental problem or something. Even Garrosh is like, 'Ew, dog.'"

"And for a measly 6 armor," Lolegolas added. "Those worgen are just some sick puppies."

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