I am a loot chest griefer. I make no apologies. I make no excuses. And, I intend to continue my life of chest griefery.
I wasn’t always such a poor example of a Warcraft citizen. I used to dutifully empty every loot chest, even the crap stuff like banana bread and wild hog shanks, but it’s been a long time since I was so conscientous.
My life of chest griefing began one day about two months ago when I was out at The Best Camp Ever in Burning Steppes. Nasty little hellhole, the Steppes, but it was ideal for a mature rogue like me in need of some major cash: squishy casters and a few melee mobs sprinkled around to keep it interesting.
My modus operandi: pick their pockets, then rock their orcish world. As a bonus, every 20 to 30 minutes a chest would spawn in one of four positions. And, there’s more! About once a day, a named mob would spawn to check up on his camp and he would get the same treatment as his lesser brethren. Usually, he had a rare or epic loot on his dead body.
Yes, it was heaven on Azeroth.
Then the professional farmers got squeezed out of Azshara and the Scarlet Monastery — a dynamic virtual world with a changing economy (that old chestnut) — and soon thereafter, they discovered The Best Camp Ever.
