Monthly Archives: December 2015

Monday GUEST mailbag: Gurtash

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Okay, so remember when I announced this guest mailbag by Gurtash, and wondered if I was going to have to find him his own text color? Yeah, well, as it turns out, the kid found a way to make that question moot. Here, let me kick it over to him and let him explain…

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Hey, Gurtash!

Where did you get into art?

What’s your favourite piece you’ve drawn? Get well soon!

–Valinora Lightshorn, Stormwind City

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Dear Gurtash,

My name is Sarlin. I’m not sure if you read Warchief Hellscream’s blog or mailbag much. I’m a new reader, myself. Not sure if you’ve heard of me at all. It’s nice to see that you’re finally up and about! Well…up, anyway. Healing, I think is the word.

What you did a while ago was really brave. Putting your life on the line for a friend (who I honestly don’t have time to whine about; according to Garrosh, I’m still on the limit with you, too) and coming away with a badge to show for it? That took guts. You’ve done more than the Horde proud, and I really hope you see it.

Incidentally, if the scar is still a bit strange to you, maybe you’ll take a little comfort in the knowledge that I have one in almost exactly the same place. You’ll get used to it over time, don’t worry. Plus, you have a pretty damn good tale to tell whenever you get asked about it! Trust me, they LOVE hearing those in the taverns. Not that I spend much time in them, of course.

Wishing you a speedy recovery. Light be with you.

Rest easy and get ready for your training with Garrosh! Give the rest of the DPS my regard, also.

–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade

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Spirits be wit’ ya, Gurtash! I heard what happened ta everybody’s favorite artist and praise da Loa that ya recovered. 😀

Since you’re on mail duty while your body still be healing, do ya do any haiku or epic verses of your own besides the art?

–Alayea

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30 Days of Character Development #9: Tirion Fordring

[Periodically — granted, that’s been a long period in this case — a post will profile one of the blog’s many supporting players. (See the first profile for more details.) Feel free to chime in with recommendations for other characters you’d like to see more about! I promise the next one will come along with much less delay than this one…]

 

Name: Tirion Rutherford Alouicious Wulfric Fordring IV

tirion_profile1Occupation: Supreme Commander of the Argent Crusade, Highlord of the Silver Hand, co-leader of the Ashen Verdict, lord of Mardenholde Keep, governor of Hearthglen

Race: Human

Class: Paladin

Age: 59

Group affiliations: Argent Crusade (leader), Knights of the Silver Hand (founding member and highlord), Ashen Verdict (co-leader), Hearthglen (former and current governor), Kingdom of Lordaeron (former citizen), Alliance of Lordaeron (former member)

Known relatives: Karandra Fordring (wife, deceased), Taelan Fordring (son, deceased), Devlin Fordring (father, deceased), Talya Fordring (mother, deceased), Lucius Fordring (uncle, deceased), Tirion Fordring III (grandfather, deceased) (Apparent survival tip: Don’t be related to Tirion Fordring.)

Earth Online notes: Tirion Fordring doesn’t play Earth Online, as far as anyone knows. (And you know it wouldn’t be even remotely difficult to pick him out if he ever turned up online…)

First appearance: “Monday mailbag” (first mention and anecdote), “Where did all the words go?” (first transcript appearance)

Key posts and plot points:

  • Tirion Fordring, obviously, is a major lore character whose backstory is long and voluminous (fittingly enough, eh?). We’ll only be touching on plot points here that are immediately relevant to his blog appearances; those interested in a broader look at Highlord Paragraph’s history should check out his entry on Wowpedia.
  • Tirion, as it turns out, had a hand in some of the…ahem…cranial oddities of Garrosh’s Cataclysm-era model. When asked by a mailbag reader about his unusually small head, Garrosh related that he accidentally squeezed his own head down to its smaller size while trying to cover his ears to block out Tirion’s endless droning in Icecrown Citadel.
  • Tirion’s first major appearance in the blog occurred early in the Anti-Plague of Southshore arc, in which he set Garrosh on the trail that would eventually lead him to old Southshore by relating the story of the mysterious crystal that the Knights of the Silver Hand used to forge the Ashbringer. (The blog version of the Ashbringer story, incidentally, blog-canonically confirms a longstanding fan theory: that the crystal from which the Ashbringer was forged was actually the remains of a dying Naaru.) He later gave the human incarnation of Edwin Faranell a home in Hearthglen (until everything started to go all wibbly whimey splodey).
  • In the subsequent Timequake storyline, Garrosh found himself drawn into an alternate timeline in which Tirion died in Icecrown Citadel and was raised as the first of the Lich King’s new Deathbringers. In this timeline, the Ashbringer had passed to Lady Liadrin, who had assumed leadership of the Argent Crusade after Tirion’s death.
  • Argent Confessor Paletress, as depicted in “Argent Gossip Girl,” suggests that to those who work with him closely on a daily basis, Tirion may be more temperamental, lewd, and alcohol-driven than his outer persona might suggest.
  • Tirion made a memorable appearance in Orgrimmar in “Anger Management,” in which, “sponsored” by Eitrigg, Tirion attended the anger management class conducted by Ben-Lin Cloudstrider. Evidently, Tirion gets rather angry when drunk. There was some indication that Eitrigg has been laboring with mixed success to steer his friend away from his worse inclinations. Poor Eitrigg.
  • Tirion’s appearances in the blog are often accompanied by cameos from Daria L’Rayne, one of his aides in Mardenholde Keep. As a coda to a number of these posts, the long-suffering Daria offers words of wisdom in the form of Daria’s Pro Tips for Dealing with Tirion. Pro tips enumerated thus far have been:
    • #8: Do not wear black mageweave leggings. Ever. Ever.
    • #11: If he asks you if you want to hear a story, say yes. He’s going to tell you either way, but if you say no, he’ll just take longer getting to it. Think of it as steering into the skid, only with the skid being a tedious barrage of words.
    • #14: Never make eye contact. Eye contact makes him assume you’re interested, and increases word output by 25%.
  • Let’s establish some bonus blog canon for the first time: Tirion shares a birthday with our very own Warchief. Specifically, December 17. (Backstory: While working on a timeline of blog and canonical lore events — which will be added to the When Is This? page as soon as I finish getting a table set up and formatted — I noticed that Garrosh mentioned being 34 years old in one post that, in the world of the blog, would have taken place in November, then later noted that he was 35 years old in a post that took place in February. This meant that Garrosh’s birthday would probably be either in December or January, and since my own birthday falls on December 17, I figured, what the hell, I’ll give Garrosh that birthdate too. Shortly thereafter, an Ask.fm question prompted me to do a little research on famous people who shared my birthday. One notable I discovered who was born on December 17 was actor Bernard Hill, who, in addition to playing Theoden in the Lord of the Rings movies (dock yourself 20 nerd points if you needed me to tell you that), is also the in-game voice actor for one Tirion Fordring. And from there…well, really, those last couple dots just connect themselves.)
  • Thanks to regular commenter (and unofficial blog historian) Shen Wei, Tirion Fordring has a presence on Twitter as @HighlordFordrin. Yes, you read that right. Tirion on Twitter. The 140-character-limit jokes practically write themselves.

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In his own words:

Describe your relationship with your mother or your father. Was it good? Bad? Were you spoiled rotten, ignored? Do you still get along now, or no?

Greetings and good day, my friend! A pleasure to have your company this fine afternoon in Heathglen! Far too few visitors have graced these halls in recent days — not always so, I assure you! There was once a time — not long ago, in fact, but soon after I made my return from Northrend to take my place once again in Mardenholde Keep — when travelers would frequent Hearthglen, and these halls would sing with the raucous voices of fellowship! But strangely, my friend, most strangely, those voices have of late grown fewer and less frequent, as these past few years, for reasons unknown surely to any but the sagest seers, fewer and fewer visitors have found their way to these gates. Do not misunderstand me, of course, good pilgrim; a regular stream of adventurers still make their way here — often at the behest of my friend and colleague Nathaniel Dumah — drawn in equal measure from the peoples of the Alliance and Horde alike, offering their most-welcome aid to our noble efforts here. Nevertheless, their numbers grow few, and often transient, arriving in haste and departing just as swiftly, caught up, no doubt, in the rush and tumult to which youthful fervor is predisposed; and so our halls grow strangely quiet, our streets peculiarly empty of the visitors who once passed routinely within these walls. Surely not, however, for the lack of a warm welcome to be found here in Hearthglen, I assure you, my friend! To which you yourself, I hope, might attest! And even not, dear visitor, you may rest assured that I will endeavor personally to amend such failings before your time here as my guest has come to a close. A time, I can only hope, that will not run its course too quickly!

But now, I fear, I may have gone briefly astray of your original inquiry. But you will, I trust, forgive me my preamble, born as it was of the enthusiasm of a delighted host! Now then, to your question! What was our topic again, my friend?

Oh. Um… your relationship with your mother and father?

Ah yes! I recall it now! So you care to hear of the Fordring line that came before me! Quite the yarn to be spun, I can assure you, my friend, as the Fordrings, I will have you know, were present among the earliest of settlers to make their way north from the kingdom Arathor to lay the foundation of what would in time become Lordaeron. My kin arose from humble beginnings, as did many noble houses of their day, but thus began the story of a family line which, if you will forgive the brief immodesty of familial pride, may now lay claim to a legacy to rival those of some of the most celebrated houses on our time. Alas, my friend, it is a legacy that now nears its end, as — with the tragic passing of my beloved, departed son Taelan — I now stand as the last of the line of Fordrings. I do not ask your pity, though, good sir. All great stories must of necessity find their end — and I assure you I have every hope that my own chapter is yet far from its final pages! Regardless, I know you are not here to hear of endings, and no endings will you be forced upon you! Beginnings, then! The beginning of our tale, of the House of Fordring, a story — nay, a saga! — that now spans well past a thousand years! A thousand years, my friend! Can you fathom it? Such spans of time must tax the imagination of even the greatest of mortal minds, at least among we races who are so short-lived. Surely to the night elves — my esteemed aide Miss L’Rayne proudly among their number — this millennium-long expanse might seem as fleeting as a summer afternoon, and yet, to we more mortal beings? An endless expanse, long enough to encompass the rise and fall of empires and string together generations by the dozen. And so allow me to grace you, as per your inquiry, some small sampling of those generations: the line of Fordrings as they reach out across a thousand years! Again I ask you, my friend, can you imagine it? A thousand years of Fordring!

I think I’m beginning to understand what that would be like.

Hah! Indeed! Then yours is a keener intellect than mine, my friend! Often have I pondered the vastness of history, and equally often have I found my mind incommensurate to the task of grasping its enormity. But then, I labor under no delusions: I am an educated man, good fellow, but I do not presume to count myself among the great thinkers of our day. Perhaps history will count you among them, eh? Perhaps so! It would not surprise me in the least, noble scholar, for I see in you the quiet focus that oft accompanies great minds: you speak little, and think much! Is it not so? Indeed, I count myself fortunate to have found myself, by serendipity, in the company of many such minds.

And so, let us begin, let us not? The day grows short, and we have centuries of history to discuss! And so, to the beginning, and the mighty realm of Arathor!

Actually, this question was really just about your parents.

Ah! I see, I see — and here you prove me right, my friend! The focused mind of the scholar you do indeed possess, training with marksman-like precision upon the key object of your inquiry! It is a discipline of mind that serves you well in your studies, my friend; I myself would make a path through libraries and symposia that would surely prove more discursive. A credit to you! Yet if you would indulge an old man his musings, might I urge you in your pursuits to be wary of too great a focus, a narrowing of vision so intent as to cause all the world around you to fall away. My own dear uncle Lucius, I’ll have you know, fell victim to just such proclivities; he was a scholar in his own right, in his day, though he fell victim to misfortune ere he could complete such research as might be remembered. He, too, was ever focused on his studies: toiling night and day over tomes and scrolls; scrying into the records of the past in tireless search for hidden clues to unfathomable puzzles; never wavering, never relenting, until, at last, from too long reading and too short sleeping, my poor, dear uncle finally lost his grasp on reality, and spent his remaining days rambling through the world chasing bats and railing against windmills. His is, indeed, a tragic but fascinating tale in its own right, one which I suspect you may well find instructive. I recall all too well the final days of our interaction, when he lived near Andorhal, not far from this very place.

I’tirionprofile3m sure that’s fascinating and all, but… your parents.

Hah! Well played, good sir, well played! You catch an old man once again in his departures into memory. For such is the burden of so long life, is it not, my friend? The ease with which one may yield to the temptation of memory, to wander wistfully back to revisit a life well-lived. Ah, but I forget myself now, for I see your eyes yet glimmer with the brightness of youth, though I suspect I may yet catch as well the momentary, ephemeral shadow of hardship. Such is the burden for us all, is it not, my friend, all of us who have lived through the mounting troubles of our troubled age? Dark days, my noble scholar. Yet hope endures for a world we might yet build.

In any case, your question deserves an answer. Let me turn now, at last, to the crux.

Oh thank goodness.

My parents were modest in means but noble in mien. As I have alluded to, our family had been among the earliest of Arathi settlers to undertake the sojourn north into the land that would come be known as Lordaeron — ah, fear not, my friend; I see the shadow of vexation fall over your eyes, but I assure you no harm befell them during the trek, and while the details of their travels could spin into many a captivating a yarn in their own right, I must surely for not stay the course with the matter at hand. You shall not lure me into digression, my friend, so for now you must need content yourself with noting down points for subsequent inquiry! I commend you, though, for your obvious fascination — ah, your curiosity recommends you, good sir.

Now where was I? Oh yes! My parents were the most recent of tradesmen and craftsmen in the Fordring line — occasionally taking arms in defense of the kingdom, but, while serving with honor and distinction, never garnering acclaim for heroic deeds of particular note. Nevertheless, we were an honored family, respected, and while never affluent, my parents never wanted for the necessities, nor indeed some modest few of the pleasantries, of life. Just so, I cannot say I knew want as a child, though in retrospect I likewise cannot say I was showered with material things — the world, it seemed, furnished me with toys and diversions enough, without my needing to pester my parents to secure me others from the local shops. That, I suppose, was an austerity of nature instilled in me by my mother, Talya, who I recall would often remark on the misguided avarices that often plagued the ambitious: that the sense of one’s own happiness oft would rise from comparison between the measure of what one has, against what one wants; and that far too many of us err in thinking that the key to their contentment lies in maximizing the former, when in truth the key is minimizing the latter.

Clearly, of course, good fellow, I did not fully apprehend the wisdom of my mother’s words — hardly was I a deep thinker as a child. Indeed, one might yet argue, hardly am I one now! Hah! I see the look in your eyes, my friend, and know that I have beaten you to the jest! Hah again, I say! Well played again, sir!

Where was I?

Well, I think that pretty much covered–

Ah yes! My parents! And so, my dear, departed mother instilled in my a modesty of want that, I am sure, forestalled in me any sense of limitation in our means. My father, meanwhile, the late sir Delvin Fordring, took pains to teach me of duty and honor, and the kinship of all mortal souls. It was he who instilled in me an understanding of the fine line that separates even the most fortunate from the least, and the resulting shared duty that unites us all in turn. For we are all our brother’s keeper, are we not, my friend? And just so, under my father’s influence — aside perhaps from the earliest of youthful misjudgments, which, I assure you, Father was only too quick to correct, with no small degree of sternness — even before I had reached my teenage years, more than one would-be schoolyard bully had found his nose bloodied at my still-growing hands. I recall, indeed, on more occasion than one, returning home bearing on my own person the unmistakable marks of scuffle; to which Father’s only inquiry would be “Whose bruises would they have been, if not yours?”; to which — provided my truthful response: one smaller, one weaker, one set upon by an assailant against whom they could pose no defense — his only judgment would be “Then wear them well.” It would be the sense of duty and compassion instilled in me by both my parents in kind that would send me, soon enough, into service in the defense of Lordaeron. Would that they were still with us, to witness the world that yet we — I — strive to build in their memory, in their honor, a lasting tribute to their guidance.

So… Are you…finished?

My friend? Did I omit some salient detail you had hoped to glean from my youth? By all means, sir, if you feel some facet remains overlooked in my haste to expedite the tale–

No, no, that’s fine. I should probably get to the next question.

By all means! The night is young, and I am, of course, at your disposal, my friend, for however long I might be of aid to you!

Right… I kind of figured. Okay, so…next question:

Name one scar you have, and tell us where it came from. If you don’t have any, is there a reason?

I am a veteran of many battles of many wars, my friend — too many, indeed, for who but a fool or a monster would wish upon this world further bloodshed, when far too great a toll in lives has been paid, sacrificed upon the ill-begotten altar of all our foolish vanity? Who would seek such a thing? None, I tell you, good scholar — at least none that I should ever wish to find in my company. Not a problem we find here now between us, though, eh, my friend? None indeed! For I look into your eyes and know that we are two of a kind, bound in fellowship by our shared desire for the prosperity of our world, and the final attainment of that precious peace that has long — too long — eluded us.

Now, my friend, as to your question: scars, you ask! Scars indeed, good author, for after all the many days that I have spent awash in the conflicts of our age, many are the marks upon my person that I have taken with me as trophies, mementos of time spent amid the sober work of battle. I see that you, too, bear such trophies — you have seen a battle or two in your day as well, eh, my friend? A shame that fate has deemed it necessary, and yet an honor to know what such valiant souls as yourself yet walk among us.

tirionprofile2Okay. So we’ll put you down for “several scars but no particular stories”–

I beg to differ, good sir! No stories? No stories indeed! Ah, you have a fine sense of humor about you, and, rest assured, I appreciate your kind effort to spare an old man the need to delve into memories that, I suspect, you fear may be too painful to recount. Rest assured, though, my friend, after the horrors I have beheld in my day, a mere jaunt down the dusty halls of memory shall offer no such deterrent! A tale you requested, my good fellow, and so a tale you shall have!

Oh no…

Ah, it was a dark time, my friend. Dark indeed, and perilous, though I suspect I need not remind you — all too well do all remember the shadow that stretched its hand across two worlds, in the days of the Second War. When the demons’ poison coursed through the veins of the orcs — even those of my dear friend Eitrigg, as honorable a man as ever I might hope to know — whose acquaintance, perhaps, we share, my friend? but again I digress — yes, when the demons’ curse poisoned the orcish race and set them on their ill-fated rampage across their world and ours, when the Horde of old twice swept across Lordaeron, laying waste to all they met. We fought them, my friend; we nearly fell, on more occasions than one, as we struggled to hold them back, until finally we drove them back to their stronghold at Blackrock Mountain, and there, on the mountainside, we matched blades with our enemy one final time for the fate of our world.

I was there, my friend. I fought at Blackrock Spire, and saw such sights as I dare not repeat — indeed, such horrors as I might pray to wipe clean from my own aging recollection. For such are the horrors of war, are they not? The loss of life, the suffering uncountable, the nightmares forever seeded. The waste. Would that we might never see its like again, my friend; we speak at times of the glory of battle, but one need only sample its acrid taste once to understand such glimmer only exists in the imaginings of those not forced into war’s midst.

Right, so, war is bad.

Bad! Bad, you say, sir? Such understatement! I should hope a scholar of such obvious attainment should command words more fitting, for hardly does “bad” even suffice! And yet, sir — yet! — I would not wish words further from you, lest they should conjure more acutely recollection of such evils in their fullest form! For surely, all who partook in those dark days, those grisly hours of battle, spent many a year thereafter scarcely able to sleep soundly, for all the restless nights that dreadful dreams must have forced upon them. Even I, who was no stranger to battle even ere those times, was not immune to such things, and recall uneasily the weeks and months that followed, left alone to grapple with the haunting knowledge of what I had beheld.

Well, I don’t want to bring up bad memories for you, so–

The sky was angry that day, my friend! Angry and dark, overcast with portentous clouds, the air heavy with mist and dank with the stench of carnage.

Or not. Okay.

For hours — so many countless, unrelenting hours, my friend — we battled on the slopes of Blackrock Mountain, clawing our way, inch by inch, ever closer to the enemy’s stronghold. Do I say hours? They seemed as days, or weeks; nay, time itself lost near all meaning as the toil of battle weighed down upon us. And yet we did not tire, sir! Despite the wounds and blows, despite the ever-mounting aching of limbs taxed far beyond their limits, even still we pressed on, fought on, for we knew all too well what hung in the balance!

As the dark cloud gathered overhead, we marched upon Blackrock and fought our way past wave upon wave of enemy troops. There with us fought the great Alexandros Mograine, eventual bearer of the Ashbringer, the holy blade which even now I wield in his memory and honor — would that he were still with us, my friend, and not felled in the years that would follow by the vilest act of treachery. But that is a story for another day, sir — indeed, for another day, and you shall not sway me to digress from the tale at hand! Try though you might, you shall not delay me from the true object of my narrative!

Trust me, I won’t try.

As well you should not, my friend! For it is your very question that set me on this path, and you shall now lead me astray before I have forged on to a proper answer! I owe you no less, as my honored guest!

Now where was I? Oh yes!

While Alexandros rallied our troops to buttress our western flank, he briefly dropped his guard and left his back vulnerable to the attack of a charging ogre. Before the vile creature could land his blow, however, I interceded, blindsiding the ogre in turn and felling him with a piercing strike through the back of his neck. The ogre collapsed to the ground, and Alexandros and I exchanged words of camaraderie as he rode off to resume his efforts at the flank — but as he departed, and I called forth some few final words of encouragement, I found myself falling prey to the self-same error that nearly claimed the life of my friend. For I, as well, had failed to maintain proper vigilance, and a second ogre — perhaps a friend of the one whose life even still bled forth onto the field of battle — bore down upon me from behind. Surely, though, the Light was watching over me, as the ogre landed a blow that wounded but did not kill: his bulky club caught my back, just at the shoulder, with one spike digging deep into flesh. I managed to gather myself and engage my monstrous attacker, and with no small difficulty, smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Nevertheless, his blow had left its mark; my left shoulder carries a deep scar even to this day, and now and again, even to this day, I occasionally feel the lingering effect of the injury, as two fingers of that hand will sometimes lose sensation. A small price to pay, nevertheless, for the safety of our people, our homes — one that I would gladly pay again, with interest, should circumstance ever demand it.

Okay. Well, I think that covers everything…

Indeed, my friend? But surely there was more you wished to ask. Why, even now I see you still have several pages of your notes right there — questions, doubtless, for our continued interview. Hardly would I rush you through your efforts, or, worse still, force you to curtail the inquiries you’ve traveled so far to pursue! We shall have no such incivility here, good sir! I would never forgive myself such a misstep.

No, that’s really okay. Those notes are for something else.

Ah, I see — forever juggling projects, isn’t it just the way, my friend? The burdens of necessity, no doubt; I know myself that I can scarcely find the time to give my many varied tasks the time they’re due — oftentimes I’ve scarcely completed dictating my daily correspondence when it seems at though the whole of the day has begun to slip away. Ah, world enough and time!

Right. So… do you happen to know where Daria went? I think she said something about getting a drink at a tavern.

 

Previous Profiles:

  1. Spazzle Fizzletrinket
  2. Ben-Lin Cloudstrider
  3. Dontrag and Utvoch
  4. Taktani
  5. Korrina
  6. Mylune
  7. Mokvar
  8. Ruekie

 

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Daria’s Pro Tip for Dealing with Tirion #3: Beer is your friend. It’s your very, very best friend.

 

 

Monday mailbag

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Another mailbag, another chance for someone to annoy the living daylights out of me. So let’s get right to it and see what’s going to piss me off this time around…

 

Lok’tar Sir,

Man, am I glad to be done with my tour in Outland. Nagrand was beautiful and all, but Netherstorm had too many whiny elves and weird bandage guys. And it was too purple. Way too purple. It was good to return to Orgrimmar for a while, and even better to see the place finished! Guess you showed those goblin contractors, huh?

Of course, being home was good and all, but what the fuuuuhhhc-flip happened to Gurtash?! THIS IS WHY HAVING A MEATSHIELD IS A VERY GOOD IDEA! YOU KNOW, LIKE ME? It was good to see him, and the others in the DPS for a little while anyway (even if Gurtash was unconscious the whole time). I still can’t believe I missed him waking up, too! I wish that transport to Northrend came a few days later.

Anyway, you can probably guess where I am now, and even at your old command post! I can’t believe I got to meet THE Saurfang! He’s…not as tall as I thought he’d be, but that’s okay! I still met him and he shook my hand and *the letter goes on a bit in hastily scribbled and barely-decipherable fangirling*. Oh! He did seem kinda grumpy when I brought up that I was in your training group. What’s the deal with that, anyway?

I hope that things stay quiet while I’m up here. And if I’m needed for, like, tanky things, please please PLEASE tell me! The DPS can’t wait forever for a tank, right?

–Mirembe

Hoo boy. Here we go with a new spastic fangirl flipping the hell out because she met Saurfang. I’m not kidding, Mira, you should talk to Ruekie sometime. You two could start a club or something. You could be president, Rook could be vice-president. Or vice versa. Hell, Mokvar could probably be freaking treasurer. You could have your own secret handshake and everything. Although that would probably just consist of one of you saying “Saurfang!” and then the other one would be like “I know!” and then you both just flail and squeal for six minutes.

And you know, you’re right about the whole tanky thing, but dude, don’t act like I’M the one holding up the works. The whole reason the DPS is “waiting” on a tank is because the TANK is keeping them waiting while she gets her field training caught up to where they are! What’s next? Are you going to keep them waiting some more, then show up and be like, oh, oops, I need to run back to town and see a blacksmith because my armor’s all banged up and I didn’t think to take care of that before I came out here? Or maybe you can show up and go racing through the mission site as if there’s an outhouse at the end of it and OH MAN did you have an extra-potent heaping helping of chili for dinner. Is that what they get to look forward to?

So, yeah, punch line: STOP YAPPING AND GET YOUR SHIT IN GEAR, DAMMIT.

On the plus side, even though you missed it, Gurtash IS up and doing better. The healers are going to need to check on him for a little while, but he should be okay. UNTIL NEXT TIME. MAYBE SOME TANK SHOULD FINISH HER TRAINING LEVELS BEFORE THEN. TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK.

 

I’d like a package of all the blue crayons for myself, and one pack of nothin’ bu da the “trolls be trollin'” for Bob. I’d been wondering what ta get him as a present for an upcoming event, and it turn out I be saved by Garrosh’s mail bag.

–Alayea

Huh. Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting people to jump on the crayon bandwagon so quickly, but what the hell, merchandising cash is merchandising cash. So you know what, Alayea? You’re on. One package of blues, and… oh, why not? Here, on top of the blue crayons I showed off last mailbag, go ahead and take a few bonus shades:

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There you go. As for the “trolls be trollin’” pack… well, okay, I’ll send them, but I’m going to warn you: when you get that package, don’t touch it with your bare hands. Seeing as I know it’s going to that Bob guy, I might possibly have to see about Faranell doing… something special with those crayons before I send them out. Or failing that, mix in a little, ahem, gift from Mortimer. Or both. I’ll improvise something. Because fuck that Bob guy.

Anyhow, crayons on the way. Apparently this merchandising thing might bring in a few gold after all. Who knew WCB crayons would be the thing to take off? Hell, what else could I cash in on? Kafa mugs? T-shirts? Hey, how about a nice Warchief-approved bumper sticker for your chopper or whatever? Here, have at it:

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Hell, maybe I should let Spazzle put those action figures of his into production after all. Maybe giving people the chance to own their very own miniature plastic ME would get the gold pouring on in. (Dammit, I should probably rephrase that last part. Garona’s probably gonna get all excited now. FUCK, where’s the delete key again?!)

 

Hail, Warchief,

It’s good to hear that Grimjaw has settled in well at the stables.  Whatever task you have in store for him, I hope he serves you well.  

In response to your question about my children, they are aware of the trainee program, but my daughter is only 8 years old, so I’m not sure she’s ready for that, and my son has no interest in it. He’s been practising his axe-skills for some time now and is riding Blackfang daily to bond with her before he faces his om’riggor. He’s proclaimed he’s going to become a mounted warrior and follow his Thunderlord heritage. I’ve tried telling him several times that mounted combat is actually a Warsong tradition and if he really wants to follow his clan traditions he should take up the spear and become a hunter, but he won’t listen to me. Whenever I point this out to him he just grunts and says, “My strength would be wasted on hunting beasts when the animals who killed mother still walk free.” It worries me that he’ll get himself killed trying to hunt down Detanga’s killers.

At least my daughter has taken a less violent path. I was able to talk her into walking the path of restoration magic, and now she’s an apprentice of a shaman trainer in the Valley of Wisdom, Kardris Dreamseeker. She recently mentioned helping her teacher care for Gurtash, a boy from your trainee program who was grievously wounded in battle – on which subject, my condolences, Warchief – and how she’s been having some small conversations with him to pass the time. While he still has a great deal of healing ahead of him, I’m sure he will be fine.

I wish that was all the news I had, but unfortunately I have more news to report of Golmash and his strange green eyes. It seems I was right to suspect something – his behaviour has become more noticably erratic. When my son and I give them meat for food, Golmash is very discerning; where most wolves would simply eat the meat as it was, he refuses to eat anything except the softest part of the meat. I constantly find him gazing blankly outside the wolfpen, refusing to be with or socialise with the other wolves. On one very strange occasion, I was about to sell a fine young Nagrandeur wolf to a rather darkly-dressed shaman when Golmash came up behind me and growled loudly. The most bizarre part, Warchief, is that the growling was… layered. Otherworldy. Like listening to my daughter playing around in her ghost wolf form. Suffice it to say,the shaman left in a hurry. I attempted to reprimand him but he bared his fangs and took a stance that looked ready to lunge at my throat; I didn’t live this long by taking foolish risks, so I let him go back to the other wolves.

Warchief, I am now thoroughly concerned. I’ve had him looked at and examined by vets, shamans, mages and trained medics and no one can seem to pick up a reason for his behaviour. No sickness, no disease, no curse – there is no logical reason whatsoever. I almost laughed at the idea that the wolf Skychaser and Ner’zhul by proxy had something to do with all this… now, I’m not so sure I should laugh about it.

My apologies, Warchief. I fear I really have drawn your grandfather’s name into a dark and uncertain situation.

–Ogunaro Wolfrunner, Kennel Master

Hey, Ogunaro, good to hear from you again. So, a few points for you. A quick one first — I should have an update for you on Grimjaw soon. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve looked in on him a few times at the Kor’kron stables, and he seems to be settled in pretty well. Still seems like he has a little growing to do, but he’s a young wolf, as you’ve said, and he’s already stronger than a lot of others that are already full-sized. All of which adds up to an overall bright future for him. Again… updates on him soon.

Now, as for our OTHER wolf situation… Yeah, I don’t like the sound of this at all. Like…at ALL. I can’t say I’ve got any solid answers right now, but there’s definitely something fishy going on with this worg. So, here’s our starting point: right off, I want you to isolate Golmash. Keep him in a separate pen that will give him plenty of room to move around and do his normal wolfy things, but will also keep him completely separate from the other wolves. Until we know for sure what’s behind all this, I don’t want to take any chances with the others — whether it’s Golmash getting riled up and attacking them, or somehow spreading whatever it is that’s affecting him. I know you said you couldn’t find any diseases or curses or whatever, but there’s obviously SOMETHING happening with this wolf, so until we know for sure what it is, I don’t want to rule ANYTHING out. Matter of fact, just to be safe, I’m going to send a couple Kor’kron beastmasters over to give a hand moving him. I’m sure you’re plenty capable, Ogunaro, but it doesn’t hurt to have a couple other people who know a thing or two about animals on hand to help keep you covered.

So that’s step one. As for step two, for your purposes it’s going to consist mostly of holding tight for the time being. I’m going to see about sending someone over to have another look at Golmash. I know you said you’ve already had him examined by healers and shaman and so forth, but the person I have in mind has a pretty particular set of skills and experience that might be kind of useful in this case. So, hold down the fort and help should be on the way soon. We’ll get to the bottom of this one way or another.

Okay, so, now that that’s covered, on to one last item: your son and his om’riggor preparations and whatnot. So, just so I’m clear here… how old is your son? The reason I ask is because, well, you said that he “has no interest” in the military trainee program, and that’s all well and good… but the program isn’t exactly voluntary. When we put it into effect some months ago, the whole point of it was to recruit all able-bodied orcs aged fourteen and up. Well, up to seventeen, technically, but past that age I would figure they would already have passed their om’riggor and be out serving the Horde in some capacity. Anyhow, I don’t know if you just never got the memo about this, or maybe the notification wasn’t clear enough, in which case, yeesh, someone must have really dropped the ball writing it up, which means now I need to go crack down on some motherfuckers over in the public relations department. Which means I need to go find out if we have a public relations department. Goddamn, being Warchief is a lot of work. ANYHOW.

Point is, interested or not, chances are your son should already BE in the trainee program. But, before you start flipping out and panicking, I think this might actually be a blessing in disguise. You say your son’s hell-bent on avenging his mother’s death, but you’re worried he might run off and do something foolhardy. Well, here’s a win-win situation for everyone: you can pitch the whole trainee gig as a way for him to hone his skills so he’ll be that much MORE ready to kick some Alliance ass… but at the same time, he’ll be under the direct supervision of a veteran Horde soldier. Which means, he’ll always be under the watchful eye of someone who’s been around long enough to know the difference between seizing glory and courting disaster. No going off the radar, no reckless suicide missions, no surprises. And then, when he’s ready — really ready — he’ll get that chance to make the Alliance pay.

In the meantime, too, I can see about getting him into a group with a Thunderlord veteran. If you want. That way, he can get some exposure to traditional Thunderlord combat methods, work on his spear work and hunting prowess, that sort of thing. Not that you’re not perfectly capable of teaching him yourself, Ogunaro, but he might be a little more receptive if it’s coming from a fresh voice. Failing that, if he’s really got his heart set on mounted combat, I can see about getting him some Warsong supervision. That last option would be easy enough for me to swing, seeing as how I kinda have a smidgen of influence in that particular clan.

 

Dearest Warchief,

I have a question for you about Orc physiology! I’ve noticed that many Orcs such as yourself don’t have eyebrows. While others, like Garona or Gurtash do. Is there a reason for this? Are eyebrows a genetic trait that some Orcs have, and others don’t? Is eyebrow plucking simply a fashionable thing among many Orcs?

Your ever curious reader,

–Tandeleina, Silvermoon City

Curious about orc physiology, huh, Tandeleina? Is that what you’re calling it these days? Okay. I’ll buy that.

I’m just gonna leave this here: #TheLadiesLoveGarrosh.

Now, to answer your question.

You know, I actually hear this all the time, and it’s really not that hard to put together if you pay attention. You’re right, some orcs have eyebrows and some don’t. But if you look closely, there’s a much clearer pattern to it. See, all orcs have eyebrows as children. Just drop by the Orgrimmar orphanage, or, hell, check any of Gurtash’s drawings of the DPS trainees. Once they reach adolescence, though, male orcs start to lose their eyebrows. It usually corresponds with the appearance of facial hair — the beard starts coming in, and the eyebrows start thinning out. Don’t ask me to explain what’s different between eyebrow follicles and beard follicles, but there you go. Case in point, actually, is Kulkesh from the DPS. He’s starting to get some stubble, and if you take a close look at him, you can see he’s also starting to lose his eyebrows. Eventually the same will happen to Gurtash. Orc women, on the other hand, don’t lose their eyebrows. They keep them all their lives. It’s only adult orc men who don’t have them.

As for why it works out this way, I’m guessing it has something to do with the changes in male orc body chemistry during puberty. Smart money says it’s the increase in testosterone that happens when we go from adolescence to adulthood. So testosterone causes orcs to lose their eyebrows. There you go.

And so, with that in mind, before anyone else chimes in to ask…

thrall5

I mean, you do the math. I’m just the messenger here. Science doesn’t lie, bitches.

 

That’s going to do it for this time around. Before I wrap up, though, one last note: Looks like we’ve got a bunch of people taking an interest in Gurtash. Which I guess isn’t surprising, what with the not-completely-low-grade freakout people had when that spectral assassin first smacked him down. But here, I’ve got an idea. Gurtash is still going to be resting up for a few days at least, maybe longer, while the healers make sure he’s fully recovered and good to go. So he could probably use a little something to distract himself with. SO, how about this — since that guest mailbag that Shayari did a few weeks back went over pretty well, let’s give the kid one of his own. This way you people can pass along your well-wishes and ask him whatever you want, directly. So get your letters for Gurtash to me over the next few days, then I’ll put up a BONUS mailbag with his responses.

Hmm. Does that mean I’m going to need to pick out a text color for HIM now? Fuck, I just keep making more work for myself. Mostly for Gurtash, granted, but also for me. Dammit.

 

[Garrosh’s next mailbag will be Monday, January 4. But in the interim, as the Warchief just promised, we’ll also have a GUEST mailbag featuring letters to Gurtash next Monday, December 28. Get those letters in ASAP! (And please make clear whether you’re writing to Gurtash or Garrosh.) As always, use the email link in the right sidebar, or fill in the handy form below!]

 

Battle scars (part 3)

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* When Gurtash was injured in Blackrock Spire, he had just intervened to help Spazzle fight off a spectral assassin.

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{ONE MORE INSTALLMENT ON THE WAY, AFTER MONDAY’S MAILBAG…}

 

Battle scars (part 2)

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* Yes, it’s been a while from our point of view since Gurtash was injured here, but within the world of the blog, it’s “only” been ten days. Think comic book time, people! (You know, where three issues of Batman come out over three months from our perspective, but narrate the events of two days from Batman’s point of view.)

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{CONTINUED SOON…}

 

Monday mailbag

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We’ve got a bunch of letters to get through this week, and I have a bunch of stuff I need to do today, so let’s get right down to it. And lo and behold, we get to kick things off with everybody’s… um… “favorite” new correspondent of mine…

 

Hail, Warchief!

Okay, consider this to be a sort of test. Of course, my initial shock of your new limitations to these letters was perhaps a little…irrational. It’s just that I have never been confronted with such a shock, not once in all my years! However many of them there are, that is. So allow me to extend my utmost apologies for my over-reaction. Brevity just isn’t a common art form where I live. To be frank, I’m almost strongly advised against it. After all, how do you think we manage to stall our enemies long enough for a little rogue to sneak behind them and twist a knife through their back?

Nonetheless, I have no doubts that this wasn’t a mere act of impatience or annoyance, but as a test against the foes who would inevitably call our bluff and have their OWN rogues sneaking up behind us while we’re speaking. For this, I thank you.

Perhaps you never knew, since I noticed you did not fight the Lich King during his final battle, but I think that the only reason we won was because Arthas was so intent on making us suffer, he just didn’t imagine Highlord Fordring’s faith in the Light to win out! There wasn’t much I could say, what with my being dead. Dark days.

Have any big , bad guys YOU’VE stood against attacked you after 250 words? Or you, them? I must read into this!

Remain faithful, dear Warchief.

–Sarlinia-Grace Starstriker, Argent Crusade.

Um. Actually, Sarlin, the reason I…

<rubs forehead>

You know what? Fuck it. Whatever.

Yeah, you caught me. It was all just a lesson I was trying to teach you, making you limit your letters to 250 words or less. Just a big ol’ lesson about… hmm. Let’s see. FOCUS! There we go. Focus and efficiency. See, sometimes, sure, you need to… um… you know, that thing like you said with the rogues and whatever the hell that was… and sometimes you need to be able to focus in on the task at hand and get shit done, like pronto. Like for instance…

Hang on.

<flipping through book>

I know it’s here somewhere.

<flipping more pages>

So by the way, while I’m looking for this — speaking of rogues, have you ever met Garona? Because now that I think of it, that could be pretty damn entertaining if– oh wait wait wait, here we go. Here.

<opens book flat on desk>

Now we’re in business.

So FOR INSTANCE, like say you had a city taken over by those Scourge that you and your Argent buddies worry so much about, and let’s say the city was being run by some dude calling himself a baron — which would be kinda lame seeing as he could pick any title he wanted but settled for something ordinary like “baron” — and he’s holding someone prisoner, somebody’s wife maybe, and in 45 minutes ol’ baron-boy is gonna execute Ysera.

<squints>

Wait.

<leans closer to book>

Make that Ysida. He’s gonna execute Ysida. Man, Mokvar’s handwriting is some kind of spirits-damned awful, I tell you. But yeah, Ysida, not Ysera. Although, wouldn’t it be way cooler if I was right the first time? Doesn’t that sound kind of awesome, if the guy was gonna try to kill this giant green dragon? Now see, THAT would have made him a legit badass bad guy with some street cred.

Anyway, though, point is, say you need to get to your head-honcho baddie, and you’ve got limited time to do it in, you can’t just sit there taking your sweet time talking everything in the place to death, right? No, you want to get in there, kick some ass, take some names, promptly forget the names because who the fuck cares WHO those losers are, they’re dead now so pfft, then get to baron dude and beat him down before he drops the axe.

I mean, at least, YOU want to do that. From what I can tell, Ysida was a human, so as far as I would be concerned, fuck ’er, let ol’ Baron lop her head off for all I care. Good riddance. BUT YOU GET MY POINT.

Meanwhile, since you bring up Tirion back in ICC, I just gotta say… leave it to T-Ford to be frozen in a giant block of ice… and STILL find a way to break into a damn speech. No wonder Arthas was finally like “Fuck this shit, just kill me already, yeesh.”

Moving on.

 

So I don’t ordinarily do this, but this next letter came in the form of an image, and since it’s kind of visual, I’m going to just reproduce it here:

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Okay, so, this is kind of a weird question, but on the other hand, this is obviously just a thinly veiled excuse to spend a little extra time checking out my, ahem, skintone, and I don’t know if I can blame you for taking a good long look in the “artistic” interests of picking your color pallette, because ENJOY THE VIEW, LADIES.

But, now that you mention it, the fact that you’re all interested in Horde edition crayons makes me feel like we’ve got a potential opportunity on our hands, because MERCHANDISING, BITCHES. Hell, there might even be a market for Warchief’s Command Board goodies — I think Spazzle was toying around the idea of trying to make some WCB action figures or something. Although personally I think that was just his way of angling to be immortalized in plastic. Which is really kind of sad, to be honest. Anyway, though, I might have to look into taking advantage of this market, what with, you know, all of a sudden me having a lot more by way of expenses.

So since you brought up the subject, Quelita, here, straight from… um… well, Gurtash’s unattended art supplies, mostly, and some quick printouts, enjoy a possible sampling:

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Well, it’s a draft. Any thoughts on swag you guys might be interested in forking over your hard-earned gold for? It’ll be easier handing it over that way than at axepoint. I KID, I KID. Mostly.

 

Greetings, Warchief Hellscream,

After I recovered from reading your highly entertaining reaction to hearing about my potion, your ally Mogor persuaded me to send this sample of the potion. Although I was rather tempted to see you have another flip-out, I believe that’s the word for it, I decided instead that one good turn deserves another and agreed. I have only tested the effects of its standard strain on ogres, and two-headed ones at that, but at his discretion I modified it so that it can work pairs of heads on separate bodies which are very close in personality. It has been used on some ogre “duos”, you might call them, with fair success. I should warn you that it is still partially in the experimental stage, as I cannot account for the full effects of the potion and have never tried it on orcs. I should, but I don’t expect you would listen, and I can imagine you believe that knocking some sense into that bumbling pair of head-cases, Dontrag and Utvoch, is worth any price.  

Kind Regards,

–Draz’Zilb of the Stonemaul Clan

So first of all, you ever notice how people who are like… super creepy evil are always really polite, even when they’re BEING super creepy evil? Don’t know why that came to mind just now. But keep it in mind the next time you need an airtight response to some jackass who’s trying to say I’M evil, because FUCK THAT GUY, THAT’S WHY.

Anyway.

So, listen, Draz’Zilb… and good to hear from you, by the way, nice to see you’re still up and about and vaguely disturbing and everything… but so, I think I might have some bad news for you.

Short version is, I think you may need to give that potion another draft or two before it’s ready for prime time on non-ogre types.

Longer version is… I got your potion and gave it to Dontrag and Utvoch a little while ago. And it sure as hell kicked in quick on them… and apparently helped stop their two little pea-brains from being so disconnected. Which in THIS case, meant that each one of them all of a sudden had partial control over the other one’s LIMBS. So they spent like an hour and a half yanking each other around and each of them experimenting to see if they could make the other walk into a wall or flap his arms like wings or whatever.

Now, look, I can totally see how this potion effect could be handy for your typical two-headed ogres. I can see how having two brains — even if they’re bargain-basement brains — running one body can be confusing as hell, especially if the two heads don’t always agree on what the body should be doing. I get how doing something to firm up bodily control and coordination could be a good thing. And even trying it out here on the braintrust, it was kind of entertaining for the first 20 minutes or so. But after it got past an hour, it was just starting to get annoying, especially with how it didn’t seem to be getting old at all to THEM.

Oh, and don’t even get me started on that 45-minute period when they both thought “DON’T HIT YOURSELF” was the most hysterical thing in the world after 7000 repetitions.

And you know what, Drazzy? That wasn’t even the worst of it. Because your crazy potion really did do the trick, and put their two brains — or, I mean, the two HALVES of the ONE fucking brain that they split between them — in synch with each other… just not the way you were probably shooting for. Because, see, after a little while, apparently they started being able to hear each other’s thoughts, and communicate telepathically. And I know this because of the three or four dozen times when one of them replied out loud to something the other one was thinking… or when one of them said something out loud to the other one, only the other one didn’t say anything out loud in response, but the first one acted like he got an answer… or, get this, when the two of them spent spirits-know-how-long not realizing that the damn mind-reading thing didn’t apply to fucking EVERYONE, so that when I asked them something, they couldn’t just THINK it at me.

Speaking of which, by the way, there seems to be some evidence that the effects of the potion can be dispelled by a severe beating around the head area. Eventually.

So, back to the drawing board, I’m thinking. Keep up the good work, though. And by “good,” I mean “disturbingly yet usefully evil.”

 

Hello Warchief!

I was happy to see Gurtash is alive and recovering in your recent blog post. Give him my regards and well wishes.

I was curious about a book in the hands of the young shaman Ruekie. “Resto for Dummies” correct? Where can I find a copy? It looks like a book I would be interested in reading myself.  I am a rather new shaman myself and wondering if this is something I want to continue training in or return to my monkish roots. This book may help me decide if this is what I want to do.

Are there other books in the series that would be helpful?

Have you written any books yourself?

Books are wonderful! I enjoy seeing shelves full of them!

Sincerely,

–Misqueu Zephyrpaw, Wandering Isle

Hey, Misqueu, thanks for writing. So before somebody else notices this and decides to be an asshole — because you know someone will — let me point out: yes, this letter from Misqueu did come from the Wandering Isle. Now, when I first noticed that, I’ll admit I had kind of a WTF moment about it, seeing as, last I’d heard, all the pandas on the Wandering Isle had either come to Orgrimmar to join the Horde, or stayed behind to go on living in isolation on the island. Okay, there were also the batch of pandas who went to join the Alliance, but they don’t count because FUCK THEM that’s why. Although they DID get to punch Varian in the face as part of the deal, and, you know, as much as I hate the Alliance, I have to admit that’s a pretty sweet perk. I’d seriously be half tempted to try swinging by Stormwind wearing a panda costume just to see if I could cash in on it myself. Again.

But, after my initial what-the-fuckery, I did a little checking on the matter. Which, by the way, took way longer than I would have figured. My first thought was to ask Ji about it, only it turned out some place down by the Drag was having an all-you-can-eat buffet, and hoo boy, when ol’ Pudge heard “all you can eat,” he didn’t just hear a bargain offer, he heard a fucking CHALLENGE. So, he wasn’t available to field questions.

Luckily, I was able to catch Ben-Lin free. Or, well, I MADE her free. I guess she was technically in the middle of one of her counseling sessions with some shellshocked Wrathgate survivor. I’m not too clear on what his deal was, though, seeing as we didn’t have a whole lot of time to chit chat what with him crapping himself and running out when I busted in and yelled that his time was up. I thought Ben-Lin was gonna get all serious-facey about the interruption, too, but then she realized that now the dude was probably going to be on the hook for a bunch more billable hours down the road. So, win-win for everybody.

Anyhow, Ben cleared up the whole Wandering Isle thing for me. Turns out, even after the initial batch of pandas took off from the Wandering Isle, a bunch of Korga Strongmane’s people stayed behind for a while with the other pandas, and told them a bunch about the goings-on in the rest of the world. I guess even though they wanted to keep to themselves on the island, they were still curious about what else is out there, and so, after a while, what do you know, they managed to get themselves set up with the internet. Which, as we all know, is fucking spectacular when it comes to letting people sit back and observe life without having to get un-hermit-ified and actually becoming part of it.

Although, that also raises the minor question of, you know, HOW THE FUCK do you hook up stable internet access ON A GIANT FUCKING TURTLE? Grizzle Gearslip can’t keep my goddamn wireless connection stable in Domination Point, but someone was able to hook up THE SHELL OF A GIANT TURTLE with net access? For real?

Oh, wait, you know what? I’ll bet you anything there were goblins involved. Because, where there’s a will there’s a way, and where there’s the prospect of monthly internet access fees, there’s ALL KINDS of motherfucking will. Apparently it’s just when they happen to be on MY FUCKING PAYROLL that goblins STILL aren’t able to get technical things to fucking well work. GRIZZLE. Fucking hell.

Okay, so. Was there actually a question up there somewhere? OH THAT’S RIGHT. Books.

No, I haven’t written any books. Well, not unless you count all the thrilling adventures, thoughts, and musings I’ve written here on the blog. THAT should count as a book or two, right? I’m just writing it a little at a time. And…having other people transcribe the dialogue for me. And draw illustrations. IT’S CALLED DELEGATING, OKAY?

I’m not sure about the book you saw Ruekie reading, but it IS part of a series. What’s kind of sad is the fact that a lot of the books are bestsellers, and yet just from looking at the titles, you can tell that they’re STILL pretty badly needed. For instance:

 

  • Tanking for Dummies — Make sure you have the current edition, though, because they completely revise it from top to bottom every few months.
  • Getting Out of the Fire for Dummies — 600,000 copies sold. And yet.
  • Trolling for Dummies — Not sure if this one is about the jackassery you usually see in trade chat, or the ins and outs of life on the Echo Isles. Or how to tell the difference, come to think of it.
  • Earth Online Dollarmaking for Dummies — To be honest, I don’t know if this one is legit, or if it’s like one of those seminars you see advertised on late-night live streams that promise to let you in on some big moneymaking secret and then the secret ends up being to charge naive saps like you a fee to hear about some moneymaking secret. (I’ve never fallen for this, by the way. And there are no living witnesses who will say otherwise.)
  • Blogging for Dummies — Because not everyone is a fucking natural like yours truly.
  • Commanding a Ship Without Wrecking It for Dummies — Guess what Nazgrim is getting from me for Winter Veil every year for the rest of his life?
  • Timewalking for Dummies — I haven’t read a page of this book and if anyone brings a copy near me I swear to fuck I will beat them to death with it. Because fuck time travel.

 

I’m sure there are others, but those are the ones I can think of offhand. I might have to think about putting one of my own together, though. Something to share some of my own unique brand of wisdom, insight, and dead sexy kickassery. Hmm. Stay tuned.

But hey, if you’re a fan of books, Misqueu, I’ll tell you who you should have a sit-down with — Faranell down in the Undercity. I hear tell he’s pretty much read all of them. He can probably recite half of them back to you. Really saves space as far as the shelving goes, I figure. You should swing by and ask him about it, actually. He’s in the Apothecarium. Just go to the Undercity and…like… follow the smell. You can’t miss it. I’m sure he’d be glad to talk about… hmm. Actually, knowing Edwin, he probably WOULDN’T be too thrilled to…eh, you know what? Fuck it. Go drop by anyway. What the hell. It should be good for a laugh or two.

Now if you’ll excuse me, this is all reminding me of a couple things I need to go do, so I’m going to wrap this up and try to get back to the mail ASAP (fuck knows I still have enough of it building up…)

More soon.

 

[BONUS mailbag — the Warchief will be responding to his voluminous mail a second time this month! Garrosh’s next mailbag will be Monday, December 21. As always, send your thoughts to the Warchief using the email link in the right sidebar, or using the form below!]