Today I became a Thuzadin Necromancer within Stratholme! I rather wonder why no-one puts out the fires, and I was mortified to learn of the nonsensical system of ziggurats linked to the slaughterhouse gates. If we need to keep people away from the slaughterhouse, why don't we just lock the gate? Forever?
I'm beginning to learn why things are backwards around here. This arrogant sod on a rotten horse strolls by and proclaims himself "Baron" Rivendare of Stratholme. The man has clearly mistaken the scourge for a petting zoo, as he spends half of every afternoon moving the disciples, minions, and constructs into small groups and stationing them around the city!
After the completion of the Baron's tea-time parade tonight, a party of oh, let's call them well-wishers, stomped through the city knocking down the pins he'd set up. "Lock the gates," I urged him. "The minions in control of my ziggurats will protect the slaughterhouse, boy!" he assured me. I'm packing my crap and booking it out the back gate!
It looks like I made a clean break. Judging by the smoke coming from the city, my flight was timely. A gainless venture, working in Stratholme, except that I stole the bastard's signet ring. A modest forgery bearing the Baron's seal should see me comfortably inside the walls of Naxxramas.